Sober Thoughts

Don't tilt me on my side. You'll hear a rattleful of butterfly thoughts. I am poor in cohlistenance but rich in facetiousness, laziness and jealousy. This is grounds to renounce whatever and to empty one bottle and fill another.

It would be nice if the now-empty was a message-in-a and not a Semillon-Sauvignon. Yes co hearance is distant but jaggardy sober thoughts are not because they never are.

Let's push things forward

Rolling through the English countryside I had a thought. It was quite a beautiful thought that fluttered through the air like a butterfly's dream. It filled me with warmth and then it left, all flying away distant and gone.

Intelligence intimidates me. I'd rather be silly or naughty than engage with themes or big ideas. I don't know how the world works and I don't enjoy trying to figure it out. Ideologically, it troubles me that through passitivity and privilege I've blood on my hands.

But ideology is scary. I don't understand it and I don't want to. What I really want, is to know what I really want, and then get it forevermore, so I've nothing worth wanting. Realistically, I don't think that's going to happen.

The countryside is flat, the carriage is quiet and the radiant skin of the stranger over there is making me feel jealous or sad. Did I mention I'm also intimidated by beauty? It might be a confidence thing or a fear of vulnerability thing. Either way it's not too fun.

I forgot to set my out-of-office reply for today. “I'm out of the office, back Monday” or “thank you dearly for taking the time to contact me, even if just in cc. Alas, I won't see your mail until Monday as I'm too hungover to deal your crap today”. There's something a bit too self-important about an OOO but that's just me overthinking.

Ladies and gentlemen, we will shortly be arriving at our next station stop which is your armpit, if you are leaving the train here please make sure you have all your belongings and mind the gap between the train and the platform.

Followers of mine will know that I've recently renounced the need for coherence in blog posts. So -Take it easy -Stare at the sun to remind yourself that you are blind to everything you think you know -and take out a payday loan to buy something expensive and useless

There's no excuses, my friend

Let's push things forward

Yes yes oh yay

What is missing from the majority of posts I read dot write dot as is a bit of humour and personality.

I guess blogging in general must have some intrinsic earnestness about it, which certainly turns me away from the form.

The process of blogging is reflective, so it provides one with the illusion of wisdom. You can spend as long as you want getting your words right, but a coherent pile of shit smells worse than one you can't quite put your finger on.

And then there's the lack of feedback, but my train is approaching my stop so you'll have to draw your own conclusions about why I think that might devalue how you spend your time online.

Self-efface yourself, Lighten up, and most importantly don't forget that the process of blogging sure as hell provides you with the illusion of wisdom.

I'm scared I made the wrong decision when I decided to quit a job I enjoy. Did I do it for career / cash like a

full-fledged capitalist pawn

Or did I do it for change and the never-ending pursuit of the greenest grass?

I got a second, third and tenth opinion, and yeah I was being messed around by the employer. I didn't have the courage to tell them to fuck off, so I told them I had a new squeeze on the horizon so they'd finally up their money.

They did and I said yes, “give me that raise”. And to the new company I also said yes, “give me that job”. Meanwhile I'm live-squeaking the whole thing to colleagues. I look like a messy drama queen sat on a fence not knowing whether the fuck either side has anything interesting to offer.

I've decided to quit the job I enjoy but I don't have the conviction to hand in my notice. I channel my conviction into storming to the window to shoo away the pigeons who think they live on my balcony. But the patter is just rain, and there's no tiny vermin feet to scare from the sill.

A new desk neighbour moved in next to me this week. If it wasn't a gorgeous Spaniard who flutters her eyelashes as she begs me to stay, maybe I'd be out the door (or (fifth floor) window) much quicker.

Inquiry, you make me blush, and boy do you make me not hush. Please do carry on blogging the limelight. Whether it's real or fake, I don't respect any conception of sanity that he, you or a hedgehog may use to devalue anything textually crafted outside of commerciality.

On the subject, I once saw a porcupine have the cognitive wherewithal to order from the below 500 calorie menu in a well known Italian restaurant. It was an unpopular decision with his date, who valued her healthy appetite more than his spikey personality.

I'm still here, I'm checking in, checking it out, showing my face, like it matters more than the bowl of cereal I had this morning or the rain that reached my hair through my helmet as I cycled to work at 8.45am this morning.

And maybe no one cares that I had a minor confrontation at work today, or what I listened to when the earphones went in for less than two minutes before I was approached for some business by colleagues. Those bastards probably have no interest in my middle name, but they might ask one day, because that's a thing people sometimes do to fill up time, in the same way you might fill a car with petrol.

But I'm excited about my new chopping board, it's great for chopping and so much bigger than the ones I used before. And I'm excited about the moment because I'm alone on a comfy sofa and I can hear the freezer humming over the thoughts inside my head telling me to go to bed because they have nothing better to do and who can blame them?

Today I sent a stranger to the ground without touching him. I had a football at my feet as I flamboyantly twirled, twisted and turned like a ballerina with hairy legs. As soon as this man knew which direction to send his foot, the necessary direction changed, and he was left tangled on the floor. People laughed and they called me Messi but I just felt embarrassed.

I can't think of anything else to say, but when I do I will shout it from the rooftops and you will be deafened. I leave you with some invaluable advice for everyday life: Eat greens, Drive less, And tell 10 white lies to someone you love.

Bus driver Chris Blast has slammed the results of the public inquiry that acquitted the local council of responsibility for the recent influx of traffic collisions on the Chesterman roundabout.

After a massive five reported smashes since the road markings changed at the start of the year, a public inquiry was called in March to attribute responsibility.

The dubious inquiry concluded that the new road markings did not cause the accidents. Supporters of the inquiry result have been heard saying it is the fault of “fucking stupid drivers that need their eyes checked”.

The bus that Chris Blast was driving on Monday collided with a motorbike. Following the accident, Blast told local media that “I question the validity of the inquiry results”.

After Blast declined to pay respects to the motorbike driver, who passed away on impact, he has been receiving constant abuse social media that has distressed Blast through the misquoting of the police report.

Blast said “the motorbike driver's family and friends have been spreading false information on twitter. One said my breathalyser reading was four times over the legal limit, when the police report clearly states I was only three and half times over”.

This incident brings into question the legitimacy of the inquiry result. The credentials of the inquiry leader has been put into major doubt in recent days following unfounded claims about the media's use hyperbole.

Today I caught a bus that took me to space. The first stop was the moon and it took forever to get there. When the bus pulled up at the famous American flag, I stood up to alight. I was getting tired of sitting around. I looked like a big fat moon tourist, as I wandered around, taking a video of the flag flap flapping in the moon breeze, to upload to internet as evidence. These days I feel I have to capture everything on camera; what kind of person goes to the moon and creates only fragile memories?

I sat down to a picnic I had prepared earlier, watching the world from a distance. It was really peaceful but I got restless before too long. I didn't really know what else to do, so I took a walk. I had to stop after a bit because I was getting frustrated that everything looked the same. I was lonely up there. I wanted to come back. So I did.

I took a sick day today and lay in bed drinking lucozade. I found myself watching the two part documentary Leaving Neverland that everyone was talking about a couple of months ago. It is an uncomfortable fact that Micheal Jackson, the biggest star in the world, had actual romantic relationships with young boys.

Some people say that because Micheal Jackson was open about sharing a bed with young boys, it should have been obvious he abused them. Others say that because Micheal Jackson was really creepy and unhappy in his own skin, it should have been obvious he took advantage of children. In the same way, some radio stations removed his music from their playlists simply because a well produced piece of film (which contained no new allegations) was watched by enough people to spark some backlash.

I know that Micheal Jackson did bad things because my mum told me so when I was eight in 2003. But don't worry, I came to my own rational conclusion by watching this documentary, which was almost 200 minutes of two victims telling their stories. I can say that Micheal Jackson was a child abuser and I can do so with so-called rationality on my side, unlike those who defend his personal life because his artistic life made an impression; or those who believed the expensive lawyers that defended him; or those who have faith in the legal system that declared his innocence.

But who am I to say that I am rational simply from reaching a conclusion through the consumption of media? Media isn't rational. I know that I know nothing. Having said that, I know that Rupert Murdoch is a scumbag.