I'm so interested in myself in
what I am and want
To the absolute detriment of
what I am and want
There's nothing and everything to
what I am and want
It's why I blog
not why I eat
ready salted crisps,
my own head
I'd like to apologise for being difficult in the meeting today. Let's put it down to my inclination for mischief and your pride of age. Let's collaborate tomorrow; align and click; peter then go home. I need to clean my teeth and fall asleep in my own arms, lain across my chest like a sky driver. As usual I'm peaceful, diminishing but far from over.
Slimy grease of squalor, Sir
Diseasing of germs, Sir
Festering on rot, Sir
Life without class
Poverties of past
Away from you
extends hand out for a virtual handshake So nice to finally make your sort of acquaintance.
Hello. The pleasure is all mine, anonymous. Extends hand out for a prolific handshake in which you will find out, because I'm now telling you, that my hand is lukewarm.
The evidence of 2020
is walking home half an hour
with the remnants of freezing storm Ciara in my face
work trip to Bucharest
for fear of being quarantined there
because of Coronavirus
as you were
one thing about having a thing
for every month
opening a small blue notepad,
taking a pen
to jot and group
the latest transactions from HSBC
into a spreadsheet,
I can see
exactly how much
I've ever spent
of the alcoholic variety.
I struggle with writing. To produce anything I'm proud of takes time because something written for the first time is littered with things I don't like. I constantly revise the vast majority of posts as I write. Depending on the tone of the post, and the incremental value I want each word to have, one paragraph can take as long as an hour to type. I love stream of consciousness writing but reading it back can be frustrating.
I will have repeated myself across sentences. One sentence will not be well enough linked to the previous one. I'm terrible with speling and missing out words. Sentences will not be in a preferable order. There could be a better word to use or a clearer turn of phrase. It's impossible to get it write first time (ha!) just because I don't know where a piece is going until it's gone there. I only know what's wrong when I've seen it.
I'm a massive perfectionist. I'm constantly going back to old posts to re-engineer a sentence or swap out a word. I do the same with the reports I produce at work, probably with some detriment to productivity. By having this sober thoughts blog, I sought to have a place where perfectionising wasn't necessary. It's not pure brain dumps around here, but it's probably as close as I'm going to get.
There's no post on hereisdistant.co.uk that hasn't been touched up on a day after its original posting. Recently I've spent a lot of time going over every single post making sure a hair isn't out of place. There was a lot fluff. Whole paragraphs got culled unless there was a nugget of interesting phraseology or an idea that actually added something. The longer pieces barely resemble what they started out as. See in particular:
After a year of blogging I think I've found my blogging voice and it's not here on sober thoughts (this is just my voice as it is down the pub albeit a bit more personal). I've moved posts from hereisdistant.co.uk to here if they don't meet the standards I've self-imposed. I'm proud of hereisdistant.co.uk and could potentially show it to people I know in real life.
I might rework this into something called 'On Writing' at some point that says all the same things, but in a better and clearer way.
Putting on shorts and not looking forward to embracing the cold. I'm a footballer tonight. Picking up empty beer bottles from the living room. I don't mind mess but like to tidy.
Oops, I spent the whole day sneering. Oops, I accidently said what I thought. Thanks for the pay rise, you've outdone yourself capitalism. If the private sector was spilt onto the floor, I'd lick it up until I got a stomach ache.
At the Supermarket
Almost going to a person then changing my mind and using a self checkout. It won't haunt me.
Thanks for coming to my presentation. For those who don't know me, I'm distant and here. If you do, expect the expected to be unsurprised. I think this session would be most beneficial if it was interactive. But it isn't, so buckle up you turgid listeners.
I put my repression in a slideshow, then presented a self to the town. It overran, but so am I with all your sneering would've thoughts. You look ugly when you hiss at me, and when you don't. Imagine if I were any better, not dishwasher proof glassware claiming not to be. If I smashed, I'd be lucid to you.