Not A Goth

It’s been a long time since I looked in the mirror and asked the question ‘ Am I A Goth?’ Moreover being goth does not enter my thoughts until I hear the phrase ‘Not a Goth’ Then the black clothes, chains (real and metaphorical) leather gear etc come rushing into the centre left of my mind and in a pile someone sticks a sign that reads ‘definitely goth’ and I think back to the time I died my hair black in an attempt to communicate something (to my soul?) that it was alright  to choose to be who you want to be and that other people could go fuck themselves if they had a problem. OK! It wasn’t Othello, Macbeth or even Sesame Street but I had my plan.Nights spent watching music videos with a musician friend did more to turn me onto goth influence on our culture than any guy or girl.

Have you seen the goths walking down the street in full gear? Goth gatherings in Germany photos of which  on the internet did turn me on to going to one event or another, preferably with a film crew and plot for some al fresco shoot. Hell Dogs. Cyber Goths rule! They may be younger but the costumes are just fab. Not that I am some sort of cultural guru but goth does seem to be both  cool and fresh yet also dated anachronistic and well just weird! Hello! I like goth for all these reasons, the weirder the better (makes for a better film WINK) human interest, variety and life story, the pursuit of pleasure, guilty secrets, the suspension of disbelief, stories of abuse, neglect, love and hate.

I think therefore I am could be a goth quote. Its peaceful, thoughtful and forceful. Was Shakespeare a goth? These and other secrets are yours to explore. There is a lot of literature surrounding goth subculture from YA fiction to old favourites Like Edgar Allen Poe, and the old school of witchcraft and wizardry Crowley et al going back to Malleus Maleficarum and other texts. Owning a bookstore would give you ample opportunity to own and read some of these books.But beware…of things that go bump in the night. You could be one of them. But seriously for a moment. I do not believe in a goth hierarchy with a super goth at the helm but one of self-expression, self-exploration and trying even if you fail the first time. Goth is social too. Corpse paint not exclusive!

Writing about goth is something I never thought I could do. It’s a bit scary too…Eek vampire bat attack! Stab with a fork, stab with  a fork! (not really)  But life should be fun and not all Annie Get Your Gun or Independence day or Mars Attacks! I remember the first time I painted my face mask on. I looked in the mirror and asked ‘Am I a goth?’ I showed my girlfriend who asked me what have I done and if I wanted a biscuit  and that was that. Am I goth? I think by some people’s definitions yes.

I could do with some facial piercings though…

When Windows 95 Rocked

This one’s for you, my friend.

 

I used to think that long hair was cool, that Alanis Morrisette was a tool

And that Cummerbands were the height of goth fashion. And the world

was turning ever so slowly after the Mac plus and Mac SE30 days I remember

from my childhood spent spilling blood, unintentionally of course.

 

Then one day I heard upon biscuits dunking on the news of Windows and how

it was sweeping aside the Macs and Unix-like some big-eyed bug who liquefied

desktops for a living. Ha! I thought this Micro-soft Windows will soon be everywhere

Wouldn’t It be nice to have my share?

 

So off I went to Waterstones and my local Prometric testing centre and PC supplier

and purchase a Windows 95 desktop computer with modem and CD Drive and speakers.

I took it home and plugged it in and got it all setup. This is the future in my living room,

Big Spiders and A windows 95 manual the internet, Netscape and Paint Shop Pro!

 

I forgot that some boys wear curlers  and my time was miserable filled with icons and

progress bars while other partied from dusk until dawn and in magazines the strange

language used to explain was human enough to understand but alien enough to make me

dribble for the riches that would come if I tamed this dragon son of mine. Networking for

Windows 95.

 

For the record, it was just as I had envisioned. Everywhere you looked was Windows just

as predicted. I worked my way up to Head of Antivirus and saved the company millions

of beans by tackling Chernobyl to the ground before it took out the majority of the

desktops in our company. Promotion followed and a payrise.

 

But the wheels of change were turning and turning and my mainstay which was

mainframe became obsolete and then along came a manager and asked me ‘What is it

you actually do?’ I thought honesty would be the best policy but soon I found myself on

the moon an access programming book in my hand far away from the computer room of

old.

 

It just goes to show that lives can and will change despite how much information you

give to your followers about your wisdom and experience which is worth less than a mint

boxed retail edition of Windows 95 OSR2 which can now change hands for twice its

original value.

So, friend. Thanks for dropping by and if you ever wonder why it’s the story that’s out to get you. Well, you could always try writing your own. 😉

 

Time

While time is marching happily forwards without interruption

It is a different story inside my head, literally.

I swim in an ever-changing state of being from the past to the present to the future.

There is a lot of space where nothing really happens. It’s in these spaces when I write.

I write best when inspired and something that cannot be defined, like the sea, is inspiring to me.

 

Cathartics

Not to be confused with Catholics

On our TV we hear comedians gather in groups and say words about things that we think is

nice for them to get a chance to air their lives in public.

Cathartics.

In the newspapers we hear stories about how a child survived cancer and worse and this is his story. His story is a blend of triumph over adversity and faith and trust in science.

Cathartics.

I write a blog and in it I divulge personal information and some juicy gossip tht will hopefully titillate my followers into giving me ‘likes’.

Cathartics.

At a funeral, a relative gives a solemn eulogy to his deceased relative whom in real life was such a laugh there was never a dull moment.

Cathartics.

After the defeat of World War Two the Germans go on to become a leader country in Europe.

Cathartics.

After writing this I will rinse my mouth with cider and contemplate the rest of the afternoon.

Cathartics.

I will never get away from cathartics.

St Peter – Tell me about yourself, Andrew.

Me- OK. Well I wasn’t that good, but I wasn’t that bad really in all honesty.

St Peter – Too bad My Son. Take the elevator to level H

Me – I punch St Peter in the face (uncharacteristically)

St Peter – What did you do that for. I sent you to Heaven.

Me – Oh Sorry. I thought you meant the other place!

St Peter – Well now I think about it…

Me – Don’t worry mate I’m going. See ya! . Cheers! Bye!

Cathartics.

Somewhere…

I am here but music takes me somewhere…I am here and music does nothing. This is just a short passage or two on music.

I am here writing this and realising that both statements are wrong. I can’t speak for you but when I put on a tune I stay exactly where I am…physically in atoms…anyway. The rest I can’t explain. How can a room be a room and then a different room with different people in it or with music playing? What is this phenomena called? Music? Attraction? Sympathy?

There are books on musicology but I haven’t the patience to read a whole 3 hundred pages when I could be listening to music from 300 different artists in the same time it takes…Think about it…What is your head for? It’s a microphone and speaker. And your ears are the most wondrous pieces of equipment. Imagine you were building a human from a kit on some human parts website. You have already given your human a digestive and reproductive system, a sympathetic nervous system with four senses sight, touch, taste, smell. Then you see on a page ‘Sound System’ You read the description.

Give your human the gift of sound. Ears with built in drum enable the detection of soundwaves from 20 Hz to 20,000 Hz. A Four stage system comprising Outer Ear, Middle ear, Inner Ear and Neuronal filters and direct sounds directly into the CNS of your human allowing it to experience the wonderful tapestry of sound perception i.e. pitch, duration, loudness, timbre, sonic texture and spatial location useful for a range of humans from leisure to military construction. Vocal folds in the larynx, lungs and articulators enable sounds to be synthesised by your human with a possible range of E2 to F6 in male models and F3 to C6 in females. Actual ranges will differ per individual human. Factory Fitted.£136.00. Add to cart.

You think this is OK and with a price tag to match you go for it. What a gift you have given your human!

But this gets away from the elements. Fire, Earth, Air, Water. Bear with me… Why does it seem easier to comprehend the power of music in elemental terms? Because like in the description of the build your human website shopping cart in the sound system feeds directly into the very heart of you – the immediate part. This is insufficient to explain the difference between opera and rock but imagine that you are a piece of earth, a pillar of fire, a wave, or the wind and then give each element qualities.Use them in your talk and you have a wonderfully rich mix of tonality. By mixing your four voices and experimenting with them, you will achieve different results. By exposing yourself to experimentation techniques, you will stimulate the brain into learning via observation, interview and analysis.

Really?

I don’t know I’m afraid. I’m only a writer with limited time on the  planet. I can’t know everything. But I do love music like its a part of me – a third leg to stand on if you like that sort of thing.

Just in case, I got you interested, here are some links on sound and music.

Wikipedia

Sound

Music

Here is some music I like


 

 

The Toaster Handle Depressed

The handle of the toaster blue, not depressed with a satisfying click, rick, I swivelled around on my bare foot but in my doing so forgot totally red what I was doing next. I gazed around my multicoloured kitchen with eyes blue ready for whatever truth should befall me white. I was accused by violent looking yellows, given the cold shoulder by incandescent blues stared at by vermillion greens, looked at sheepishly by scarlet reds and my light scattered by silver and blue. heres looking at you.

And I hadn’t brushed my teeth yet, yellow and red, blood, of course, would be spat and the moment that contained not a bit of grit as my unkempt hair grey and brown stared back at me accusing the use of a brush-like a murder weapon throbbing black and deadly, or was that the vein in my forehead red.

Meanwhile, the windows in my kitchenette were staring at me brown bread between my eyes in some sort of Wild West face off in a saloon of the slim chance. The condensation soiled white plastic covered in a mixture of dust and grime stared at me sideways while the faded wooden blinds looked implacably at me like policeman annoyed and calling for backup to have a good laugh at the sorry figure before him. It was all I could do not to blood wilt before this visage of brown wood and plastic white. What was gone from me was all mention of the fight. In my eyes was yellow of cowardice striped over me in thick Pebeo paint. The mark of the blind upon me, I shuffled into the living room cum bedroom with the cup of coffee in hand. I chose where to put it down brown. onto a stained wooden squarish coaster red. I am dead. I am rotting at the bottom of a cheap wooden cask on a boat which will dump me at sea which is cheaper than crematoria blue. How can this be cheaper than gas? I don’t know but polka dot blue walls golf ball sized reminds me that change happens. just like in the Allianz advert green. Change happens.

A door sparkly green opens up before me in the time it takes for the toaster to make the sound of ejecting a finished matt piece or two of toast and then slams shut as I reach for the butter brown. Wearing a frown, I am dammed to pick up a clean knife from the pile in cupboard issue number one. Navy Blue. The toast is now neon pink and hot and dusty as I take it from the toast yellow with a sugar coating.

I load butter onto the knife umber burned and place it on the toast black and white and patterned in pentangle blue. The butter melts red and soon my toast looks like a slab of flesh fresh from a bomb blast. It’s impossible to pick it up without shivering at some level deep inside wide.

It tastes good as sausages and I remember that in time soon I will need to clean my teeth. Washing up now building up. Butter put away in a stripey red cupboard. Flashing blue hue as I clang the plate beside the brush beside the sink. I blink and see that it is dirty. I care. I am aware of the things that bring me down, that make me frown. But if I were to be happy I would need to clean fro two or more hours a day and to spend all my moola green on cleaning and polishing products blue with fragrances yellow like a meadow next to an industrial tyre dump fire. I say that now blue cow. Really I seem brown again like soft tree bark again I get it wrong. I meant soil brown. it wears a brown for brown soil you know. a crown for brown you see. It makes me jolly.

I shuffle back into the Bedroom and then remember my tablets blue. I go into my room bath and spy the tabs upon the loo. I take two into the kitchen and water clear pour, not onto the floor but into a tumbler that I use to wash down the chemical splat that I fire myself like an archer twice a day in the hope that they will hit the target Bright cerulean blue.

Now tectonic shifts are taking place in the muscles of my back and they suddenly pull me erect in the direction of the ceiling green as I spy the toothpaste kit upon the sink.

Squeeze out a pea-sized amount is what I hear but I squeeze out double clean onto the bristles green of my toothbrush blue. Do I put the lid closed now green yellow blue red, or do I bang it on my head. Do I play the game red-brown? or do I leave the bathroom wearing a frown? I decide its better red so I bang it on my head closing the cap foolscap. I put the brush red plastic into my mouth and place the pea sized amount against the edges of my gums and begin to brush. Back and forth and above me rains grey slush cold and wet down my back and into the but wellingtons I wear where they will fill until I freeze to death. I brush and soon I am on my front teeth where I change brushing direction to an up and down motion. I could operate farm machinery I thought orange. The pain goblins at work behind my eyes shoot arrows at my mouth which mostly blue miss but sometimes brown connect. I carry on brushing like the wind up father Christmas red. I feel like going back to bed. Thirty seconds have passed says I time to spit and to the toothpaste kit say goodbye. I spit aiming into the centre of the bowl but letting it spray everywhere. I put on the cold tap and rinse it thoroughly before taking a mouthful of water and spitting again. this time more accurately into the centre of the sink black and silver shiny and clean and decaying chrome. I reach fro the towel brown and wipe my mouth dry. I replace it on the rail and turn around ready to  leave that room of pain.

I leave and venture back into my living room cum bedroom green. One day I would like to meet the queen.

To be continued…