Judge not lest ye be caught doing something really f**king stupid.

I like to believe I am not judgemental.
And I'm not.
Not actually.
Not in the sense that I consider myself blameless and others hopelessly flawed.
I am hopelessly flawed.
Hopelessly.
But I am not actually physically blind, and I do have thoughts, and I do form opinions, and sometimes I express them, sometimes publicly, and usually with less subtlety than most.
Believe me when I tell you, this tongue is a precision instrument in more ways than one.
But oral skills aside.
My thoughts, when turned into words, can be razor sharp, and my gut feeling is that if i don't release them from the cage of my locked jaw, I may actually end up slashing the inside of my own mouth.
This is a vastly dangerous proposition, and as much as I love you all, the thought of drowning in my own blood whilst attempting to tie down a tongue lashing armed with only my lips and aging teeth to assist me seems nigh impossible.
I love a bit of hanky spanky, but I am not a masochist.
If there are barbs to be unleashed, I would rather they kept away from my soft bits.
Rarely do my words vent far beyond my trusted inner sanctum anyway, and by now this select group have come to accept that once in a while I tell it like I see it.
They know it is never directed at them.
I do not keep morons within my inner sanctum, that's why they are in my inner sanctum.
And they know who they are.
But today I'm feeling lucky.
So let's talk.
Imagine a world where the only thing you knew for sure was that someone with a reputation as a totally flakey - albeit bright and charming - pants man became the love of your life. He came to your bed dragging a trail of broken promises on a string.Imagine then that he broke your heart by sleeping around........and you never saw it coming.
For fucks sake.
Imagine if when cornered, he placed blame squarely on the state of the modern world and it's inability to keep a mans private affairs private....then hurumphed himself out of the playpen, throwing toys and sticks over his shoulder at his playmates.
One might suggest this man might try to keep HIS privates INSIDE his pants, and he wouldn't have an issue.
Or perhaps the star struck woman who have 'pick me I'm desperate' stapled to their foreheads could just run it by any other woman on the planet, just to check.
But either way, if you sleep with a man who is a known cheat and he cheats on you, you deserve to drown in every tear you shed.
A bad workman blames his tools.
And a tool has no one to blame but himself.
Stupidity is one thing.
Lunacy is quite another.
I often describe people as being ' as mad as a cut snake'. I have never cut a snake, so I am not actually sure how mad they get, but I can bet it's pretty mad.
Thing is, for me, this is a term of endearment.
I love a bit of good old fashioned 'out there' with my coffee and a chat.
I would hope I am described in the same manner- although I suspect it may not always convey the same love for eccentricity that my label intends.
But 'nutbag' and 'being nuts' are not the same thing.
I once heard a discussion on radio in Australia about the word 'bastard'.
When Australian men greet each other, they might say " how are you, you ugly bastard?".
These are kinsmen. Being a bastard here is like being part of a secret club of brotherly man love.
If you were to gently chide that man for not bowling well at cricket, you might say "come on ya bastard" and it would mean' you can do it, we believe in you'.
But if someone is described as 'a bit of a bastard', they want him dead.
And 'being nuts' is not the same as being 'nutty', or a nutbag' or 'as mad as a cut snake', it's being insane.
And that's not fun for anybody.
Well, maybe a little at first, but then less so.
Once the novelty value has worn off, the crazy can be pretty wearing for those chaffing against it.
Paranoia is only fun until they really do all start talking about you.
Plus it never ends well.
Unlike being permanently deluded, which is more fun, because you always end up winning. Always.
I have long worked with creative people, I like them. Some of them are a bit deluded- which is not the same as being a bit of a bastard, although some do also fall into that category.
A week ago a man with precious little talent but mighty mighty powers of delusion was thrust into my path, as he is 3 or 4 times a year.
It is exhausting.
His self belief system is so enormous it has it's own climate.
Thankfully the only person who has ever remained close enough to him is his wife, and she is not without delusion herself.
Somehow they have managed to co-exist without actually spinning into one an others head space for many many years.
Personally I think it's because they each have their own gravitational pull that keeps them both rotating and functioning around each other and out into the wider world.
It is the ultimate symbiosis.
Were one to die, I should think the other would instantly disappear, not through grief- as they actually hate each other- but because the lack of 'ego force ' which would result in a delusion vacuum whereby they surviving partner would disappear up his or her own arse.
A quite literal black hole.
Ewwwwwwwwww
A hideous thought.
And one I shall leave you with.
Along with this chestnut.
Remember, life is like a box of chocolates.
If you press the caramel ones, the inside oozes onto the foil then you can't eat it without zapping your fillings and in three weeks time all that will be left of that box of countless delicious moments will be 2 sad and lonely orange creams leaking their guts into the butter compartment of the fridge.
W.

This Graph Will Explain Everything.

I am having 'a moment'.
I have been having it since February.
Some who claim my acquaintance would suggest that I have been having a moment much longer than that.
To them I say, "Bite me. If you are not part of the solution, clearly, you are part of the problem".
It's nothing major, this piccola crisi (God Damn and hooray :) I have always wanted to use the word piccola in print in place of small... take THAT bucket list....), and it has taken the form of neither self abuse nor black dog.
Merely inertia.
Not in every area, and not even consistently enough so that you would notice.
But I know it.
There have been more than a few times so far this year when my preferred course of action to any issue deemed 'too hard' has been to 'do nothing' and see how that pans out.
The problem is, sometimes it works.
Inbox full of questions that seem stupid and irrelevant?
Do nothing. Half the problems will solve themselves, and for the others, if it's that vital, they will contact you again and you can deal with it later.
Irritating tick you were once involved with jumping up and down about some hideous article of clothing he thinks he left under the bed?
Do nothing. He has already told anyone who will listen you are a psychotic bitch anyway, let your continued kidnapping of his favourite rugby shorts stand as proof of your unreasonable behaviour.
What have you got to lose?
Also, the material they use in those shorts is fantastic at mopping up cat vomit. Seriously, that is some super heavy duty cotton.
Writing deadline approaching?
Do nothing. Nothing will appear, but then you can always claim 'the need for creative retreat' and appear even MORE enigmatic when you emerge.
You see, this inertia business is the business, as they say.
It does fall down somewhat on the domestic front.
Not buying toilet paper because you are having a crisis day/week is all well and good for a while, but it runs a little empty on about day 3.
Thank God I have the habit of stealing tissues from coffee shops and hiding them crumpled up in my handbags.
And thank God I have several handbags.
There are times when I am being inert that it feels like I am lost in a sea of words. Words make the waves, and they pound me and rise up around me, drowning me as wave after wave crashes inside my brain, echoing and reverberating in the caves of my mind.
They are mostly quite intrusive words, self doubting and ponderous. They tend to be heavy in weight, and they slosh about like a thick, dark soup.
I know that the inner workings of my mind sounds ghastly, and it can be a scary place, but what surprises me about all this is that, rather respond with fear or courage -good old fight or flight-, I do nothing.
I stop.
Dead in the water, as it were.
Other things get done, mine is an active, fruitful and happy life, but some things simply do not, and these in actions remain suspended by the words that surround them in a kind of high wire word act attached to a large transparent jelly like Zorb Globe made of words.
Or at least, that's how I see them inside my head.
I wish I could draw, then I could show you, but I hope you can see what I mean.
Today, whilst on a bus, I saw a woman wearing a t-shirt that said " Be happy, it's one way of being" and I thought OH MY GOD !!!! it's a sign, because words can do that for me and I was having a moment, and I wrote it down in my notebook. Then as the bus pulled away, she unfolded her arms to reveal a final word...."wise"...and I thought, bollocks.
You know, I HATE,I simply HATE the concept that happiness and wisdom, or ignorance and bliss, or awareness and self satisfaction are in anyway connected.
Ignorance is not bliss, it is ignorance. Being happy is - like your orgasm- your OWN responsibility, and NOTHING EXTERNAL can make you happy if you do not BE happy. Being happy does not make you wise.
Spongebob Squarepants is happy, and he's a moron.
Why, oh why, oh why does everyone get the same right to breed?
I don't actually blame that woman.
T-shirts in HK say all sorts of things that make no sense.
I once saw a man wearing a t-shirt that loudly proclaimed that he was going to ' rock out with his cock out' and he was about a hundred.
Whilst I admire his intent, I somewhat question the reality of his situation.
And I say that with genuine respect, 'cause I know old people have needs too.
Like my need to achieve something more this year than mark another birthday.
Yes, yes yes, those of you who know me think I do lots of stuff, but there is more.
I need to write a book, several actually, that have been suspended in jellied word bubbles in my head for so long that the coating is becoming opaque.
I need to pick up my mentally inert self and throw myself into the fear abyss and smash those bubbles into cliffs so that the words spill out and fall onto the page.
I need to not wait and see how this one pans out.
Who knows what will happen?
Perchance not much, but at least there will be space made inside my head for more productive inertia.
You know that face recognition thing on facebook?
The one that tags your photo's?
I was deep in thought last week, studying the folds of my own navel whilst juggling 900 balls in the air as per usual.
I was uploading pictures, and in a candid shot and caught off guard, my face reflected everyone of my 41 years.
"Who is this?" it asked.
"Fucked if I know," I answered, and then retreated to my mind cave for half a day to see if the words held any answers.
Mind you, I may have over reacted.
Sometimes, there simply are no answers, and the reason doing nothing works, is because nothing is all there is to be done.
Inside my head, and even outside my head.
Once cyberspace tried to tag the face of the Mona Lisa that was in a poster behind me.
"Who is this?" it asked.
Dude, you are facebook. If you don't know, how the hell would I?