here is distant

I'll tell you about me because I am here and you are distant

I love the contrast of abandoned space that shows abundant signs of life. When I worked in a cafe, I'd often be alone after closing time, cleaning down silent surfaces and humbling humming machines with the flick of a switch. The purpose of everything around me, from the coffee machine to the marked walkways, would sit dormant and lifeless. Object outlines dominated the concourse, but their meaning faded without the people who gave them life. I'd pad softly across the resting floor, no longer observing the energy of the day, but feeling it all around. I felt similarly the Saturday night I took my bike past the pubs and restaurants that had been ordered to close that day to prevent the spread of covid-19.

The evening streets would normally be full of taxis unloading frivolity into seas that vibrantly flow between drinking destinations. I'd be there amongst them, wearing jeans. That night I wore joggers as the usual commotion was replaced with only the motion of my nosy commuter bike. The would-be crowds were compartmentalised into suburbs and inner city flats, leaving me to peruse the hush they left behind. Like the peace I found in the cafe, the quiet was made beautiful by its close proximity to life. That night I viscerally felt the busyness that belonged there.

But as lockdown continues, the city seems less on pause, and more like it's crawling painfully by, as my romanticism fades. The streets move just enough to feign function and the missing bustle has become more like a fantasy than a memory. There's a sad litter-to-person ratio and the buses carry only their drivers. Posters show signs their lifespan has been exceeded by their tattiness and because they advertise mass gathering events, which are now illegal. Across Manchester, the side of some bus shelters have the big words Let's Get Together across a backdrop of a crowd of travellers. It's an advertisement for the very same train company that now frequently tweets: please avoid travelling by train unless it’s your only option. Those waiting for the bus don't look amused by the irony, they just look alone.

#Narration

Being “bored to death” is confronting life

said the concluding paragraph of my undergraduate dissertation. It continued. In boredom we get taken away from the trivialities of the world and towards whatever is important to us. Declarations of boredom often inadvertently answer important questions:

what am I doing?

why am I doing it?

what meaningful activities do I want to engage in?

True, feeling bored can be unpleasant. It can force us to stare at the clock and wish our time away. But a declaration of boredom transcends the experience itself. When we are bored we are made acutely conscious of the passing of time and therefore of the fleeting nature of life. By enabling us to establish both where we are and where we want to be, boredom reminds us what it means to be alive.

#Clout

Try shoving your head so far up your backside it comes out your frontside. Onlookers won't notice it ever moved from above and between your shoulders.

#Drivel

When I was twenty-four or one of the other ages when some say you should choose who you are, again or for the first time, I was walking home with thoughts that went a little like this:

Wintered into action, sprung into flower. Passion for a season, lust for an hour. Hunger for a reason, but with every must I cower. No one is seeking me out to

Ask me how I am. The contradiction in description would be fiction not fire. Not tiny metal canisters saw my moonlight desire. I'm wild like a flame, but by twelve just a lier. Rested on request from empty streets I tire. I confess I forget to ask how you are...

#Narration

I remember cutting my first onion thinking

How will I ever get used to this?

My eyes were stinging in pain but today seven years later I can watch the knife pierce the onion's skin with eyes as dry as a bone so I guess I did get used to it

#Journal

If something I say, do or create can enter the vicinity of others, I will often overthink or underplay it for fear of lacking the required clout. You could characterise this as insecurity or, at a stretch, as perfectionism. My internal speech filter can sometimes sound like an officer of the law:

But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.

I'm slow to text back because I fear judgement of imperfect opinions, which can hinder friendships or potential relationships.

I believe perfection in romance can't be achieved outside of hindsight, wine-sight and loveisblind-sight. Passion is controlled by blustering impulsive wind that doesn't keep direction or pace. The best thing to do is soar or battle towards functional loving relationships, but also understand that the effort to do so will never end. Although my love life will never reach perfection, as a romantic I will keep on striving towards it.

In business, perfection isn't the goal, so shiny things outdo clarity. I'm discovering that decisions are rarely made with rigour because of an abundance of pride and ego. It seems progression is easier to achieve by abusing context than by being diligent. Rhetoric is easier to understand than a process, so as long as deception is resonant, the substance doesn't matter. I'd rather spend longer than necessary working on a report, satisfying a creative need to the detriment of cut-throat capital.

Blogging is a creative outlet with more freedom. When writing I'm in control, as I can fail and improve until there's something I can be happy with. Like in life, I don't know where to go until I've been there. Unlike in life, if phraseology good is hidden in a mountain of crap, the crap has no reason to still exist. My process involves caressing up, addressing around and softly messing until the fruits of the moment become as fuzzy as the time between their conception and recreation.

#Clout

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 I'll collaborate tomorrow concede and align peter then go home

I need to clean my teeth then fall asleep in my own arms lain across my chest like a sky diver with a parachute peaceful, descending, and far from over

#Journal

What do you do in your free time?

I have sex and I take the bins out. How about you?

I can imagine you being very...

Very what?

Very quiet

I'm not a loud person

I can imagine you just sitting there.

Yes, with a mug of green tea and the radiator on.

Don't you get bored?

No.

Why not?

It feels nice.

I don't think it should disconcert you.

#Journal

I love London probably because I don't live there its streets of global collaboration pulse as the centre of everything pieces of all that's human. Now with a sliver of tomorrow there's a fuckton of poverty and baby faced posh boys drinking in pubs time to go

#Journal

I drag a mouse all day to meet an end found in the heads of boys who are paid like men to get up from bed with work that's just some made up free time. I went to work for nine then did more at home till when the phone's clock still in my coat said it's a new day since thoughts of rest were had as if it could be done.

#Narration

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