here is distant

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

My eyes were wide, my mouth was wider and squeaking erratic frenzied vowels. My brains were thrown up living room walls, where they dripped down towards the skirting boards. I wasn't distressed just fleetingly home alone, eating cereal and picking shit up.

Before too long, the lights went off again and a self was arranged. As tasks of necessity became pasts of necessity, the rock and hard place metaphor came to mind. I considered it altogether ill-fitting, because if my hard place was a post-work engagement, that would make work my rock. I don't think so.

Today, faces in scenery and memories were pierced by eye contact reminding me I'm not the only one who can make me smile. Under my reflex to laugh is a need to scream out in composed fraught. I want everyone to watch me in a cultural space but find me in my dreams.

#Narration

Two youths approached me as I locked up my bike. They warned me how easy it was to break locks and that the city centre isn't a safe place to leave your bike. They demonstrated the ability of their feet by dislodging some wheels that were apparently better than mine, due to their suspension. Not one for aggro, I smiled trying to banter, asking them not to steal my bike. I was trying to mix mature poise with youthful cheek. Of course, they could outdo me on the latter: I was undeniably the owner of a midrange commuter bike.

I should have just hopped back on and parked it somewhere else. Pride is a strange thing, I thought as I walked away from my locked bike, almost certain that they would soon pleasure in its demise. I was meeting a girl at the pub, intending to break up with her after a couple of months of seeing each other.

If my bike dies, so be it, I deserve it

I thought as I avoided the pressing subject, and her eyes.

This is horrible

We hugged on the street. It was cold and there was potentially a long walk home.

This girl is hurt because of me

We walked in opposite directions away from each other forever. The good news was I soon found my bike untouched. I felt relief cycling home, on two counts. As I showered before work the following day, I thought about crap like upsell and cross-sell. It was a big day coming up in the office.

True story.

#Journal

I have been a blogging for a year now and I can see myself continuing for years to come. In the coming year I will continue to deep dive into today's challenging issues, and I'll of course keep up the life hacks and easy-to-follow advice to make you the best YOU. Here's some of my favourites from the year just gone:

Ways to save money WITHOUT BUDGETING

Tips and tricks to make blogging effortless and fun: how to blog for big cash in 2019

Fake fake news is the new fake news: finding post-post-truth has never been harder: 3 truths you'll know is real news

#Drivel

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 my second nose. No one else had an extra 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 hassle of everything continuing to arrange itself between recognisable forms for years to come.

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 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 at least 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. Due to my passive but rebellious personality, religion felt like something to tolerate rather than to enrich. Church was a place not express my own thoughts, but to just be with them.

When living at home I had felt powerless in the weekly situation of being woken at 7am for church. The first Sunday I moved out to go to university, I didn't go to church. It was my first opportunity to make my own decision, and it was one of control, rather than of religiosity. In the teachings of Catholicism, not going to church on Sunday can 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.

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 regard 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 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.

#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

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