here is distant

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

You can catch me exhaling in the foyer or saying supposedly something to an elsebody. My line between thinking and speaking can sometimes be dense, like the passing thoughts I have about you. Saying without thinking's vice versa is tantamount to rolling eyeballs up walls, and back down again. My self assurance is growing quickly, at the expense of a whimsiness drowned out by adults keenly performing poise. If we liaised soon, I could try to show you what remains of my wit.

#Narration

Is my phone vibrating or narrating? A lousy story of itself or something more, like the making of plans that sit me on Thursday evening trains. The seat behinding me is reminding me I'm awake and have been all day. I've been busy thinking about things I don't care for, such as percentages. About eighty percent of the talk I do bores me. To put it another way, I'm not a chronic worrier. Reading my scattered mind on the web, the lack of hidden depths could surprise you. I've no dark secrets although I must disclaim this post was sponsored by the winter rain.

#Narration

Your room once was the deep forest and still wants to uncurl itself.

That's what my mother once told me before she wrapped me up in bed. I asked her what she meant and she replied with a level of assurance I had yet to see outside of her.

It doesn't really matter. The most important thing is that I'm already thinking about watching some more television.

All I could see was the ceiling and all I could think about was the hole in my head. No one else had one, why did I? I'll ask my mum tomorrow, I thought as I closed my eyes. But tomorrow never came. I passed away peacefully in my sleep and so avoided all the joy and pain of years to come. The lows wouldn't have been as difficult as dealing with the hassle of everything arranging itself between recognisable forms.

It's better that I died. The last thing I'd want to do years later is watch two policewomen accost a homeless man for sitting alone on a high street. I wouldn't want to watch it play out like a film, as I sip a cup of tea. The man telling a stern face of the law he doesn't want to move, that he shouldn't have to.

A police van arrives and two policemen get out, relaxed as if browsing for furniture. They're chatting, presumably about how they should exercise their power. A passer-by starts shouting at the homeless man, calling him a fucking junkie, whilst another films the scene on his phone.

The first becomes less a passer-by and more someone who's chosen to get involved. The police lead him away so he can pass by somewhere else. On departure he shouts at the cameraman, asking why he's filming the police with this fucking junkie. If the question wasn't so rhetorical, the answer might have been

politics

One policeman puts on a blue glove because he thinks it will protect him from disease. The footage shows the homeless man being put in the back of the van but ends before the policepeople convene on the curb to chat. The women patrol off and the men drive the cage away. Fortunately, I died long before this could take place.

#Narration

Prawn Cocktail Cheese and Onion Salt and Vinegar Smokey Bacon Tai Sweet Chilli Ready Salted Frazzles Chipsticks Hula Hoops Kettle Chips Pom-Bears

#Drivel

I'm not your friend. I've dressed pixel ducks. Giving a goose hid inside my Valentino white bag.

It's quite nothing. Just a spare tired. Honeygry as fuck because my Valentino white bag.

Go therverywhere. It's fucking noisy. Sad hours pm at my Valentino white bag.

Spill farcicles. Pleasure from Pretty. Stuffing skullenvoid into my Valentino white bag.

#Drivel

I call myself an agnostic, but religion has been a huge part of my life. This post shares my subjective experiences, and how they have shaped my opinion and attitudes towards religion.

My mother is a devout Catholic and my father is non-religious. Through my father's passivity and my mother's strong beliefs, a strict religious homelife was cultivated for my three siblings and I. We were brought up with the Vatican's versions of right and wrong, family prayer was daily and going to church was weekly.

When growing up, it felt as though faith and duty were bound together because beliefs themselves weren't questionable. With other siblings, I think this upbringing of certainty and rigidity strengthened their faith, but to me it had the opposite effect. I think due to my passive but rebellious personality, religion was always something to tolerate rather than to enrich. Church was a place not express my own thoughts, but to just be with them.

The first Sunday I moved out of home to go to university, I didn't go to church. That was my first opportunity to make my own decision, and it was made based on control, rather than on religiosity. When living at home I had felt powerless in the weekly situation of being woken at 7am for church. In the teachings of Catholicism, not going to church on Sunday could lead to eternal punishment, but that didn't cross my mind during my new Sunday lie-ins. The biggest unease I felt was the extent I was disappointing one of my parents.

My mother's response was a mixture of disappointment and passive aggression. Whereas my father could cohabitate by being passively non-religious, when home from university I was made to feel I had to be passively religious. It must have been hard feeling powerless to change your son's beliefs when you believe they literally damn him to hell. When I avoided talking about religion, I wasn't the only one sparing my mother's feelings because, although she often reiterated how much God loves me, she too avoided the obvious confrontation.

It's not as if I haven't had enough time in pews to give religion plenty of thought. The only conclusion that makes sense to me is agnosticism. Science cannot disprove deity, because God is not scientific. You can look at religious figures historically, but you can't make a scientific argument for or against their supernaturality. It comes down to faith, which simply some people have, and others don't.

I question why I should believe the one religion I was born into. My main conundrum is between choice and dogma: I now cannot have the latter without exercising the former, and if accepting the latter, I must surrender the former. To submit myself to Catholicism, I'd have to surrender agency, the very same thing I should apparently be using to get into heaven.

But the reality of any personal relationship with a macro institution is vastly more complicated than can be reduced to a logical argument like the one above. What it really comes down to is personal experience and from where one draws meaning. Even within Catholicism's supposed dogma, I have seen people with a variety of beliefs and attitudes. Religion seems to be able to attract people for different, sometimes contradictory, reasons, just how people are deterred from it for different reasons. I don't think it's for me. That's why I wrote this.

#Clout

We're on the same page

Different book

Same genre

Yeah, horror

I will never ever jump out on you. I will lie about your sofa, ceilings and mind, if you don't mind. I'll creep in circles for longer than I'll linger under your thumb or arms. I'll say nothing. The only way you can be sure I'm even there, is because I'll consume your toast.

#Narration

Feel free to use this email to formulate your next mediocre barely readable retort

Thank you for the idea.

I dare say it might be the most interesting thing on your blog, though you do again, have yours truly to thank for that one.

Keep it coming.

That is definitely one very obvious difference between us, because I write for purpose and I don't argue, and certainly wouldn't be caught dead doing so just for 'the fuck of it' as you seem to be fond of doing.

I never thought of it like that.

You're really quite fragile

Openly.

You write badly formatted crap post-teen crap

Unashamedly.

Your posts aren't what I think anyone considers 'an enjoyable read'

my posts don't seem to be what you think anyone considers “'an enjoyable read'”

Until you have this many views on one of your posts (see attachment). The most 'read/established blog', that crown is also mine, especially seeing as 4,000 of those views were made within 3 days. You'll have to try a LOT harder though and quite frankly, I don't think it's possible with the content and style of writing you have.

What a handsome attachment.

You're lucky I don't have half a mind to come back and publicly ridicule you for the cheap hack you are. Well anyone with half a brain will realise after wasting time reading just one of your posts that there's nothing worth commenting on at all.

And yet...

#Drivel

Arguing online lacks tone, indifference and commenters who aren't sure about what's right and who's wrong. So I prefer doing it offline, where I've made a hobby of always advocating the hell out of the devil. Having no passionate opinions, I challenge any idea put forward, facetiously switching between viewpoints, at the whim of a desire to get under the skin of anyone exposing that they might care about something. I get no cruel pleasure from upset, only from frustration or blind indignity. Yet my lack of conversational wholesomeness remains unknown to many who know me only as uncomfortably shy. To find out what I actually think, they'll need internet connection to read how my humour is reactive, conversationally redactive and interactionally unattractive.

#Clout

Every afternoon chunks of lethal metal spill out of the city, and they're all mad at each other. The evening commute can be frustrating behind the wheel, but in this traffic I find escapism. My bicycle peddles get me past Sat Navs telling the poor to take the next left towards ludicrous APR and the rich in leather seats they love more than their ex-wives. It's my window of life, away from days reserved at a desk and nights of undeserved rest. I pass Ubers stuck up each other's asspipes and feel the wind in my face as I dart by cars and buses crawling in a slow motion notion. It feels good overtaking something 10 times my size. They all want to be me or I just think they do; I don't care which.

#Narration

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