"Magic and dreams and good madness..."

There's only so many times I can possibly say it's been a crazy few days, or variations of the same, before I start yawning myself. :-)

What may be better are a few details. So, here we go...

Friday

Friday night was a night at Katzenjammers, with Claire and co. I've been declared the Oompah Brass bands fifth official groupie, which I deny whole heartedly. :-p

I met up with the guys from Snortle Comedy; they're like the new Goodies, if only because there are three of them and Steve reminds me of a hairer version of Graeme Garden, rarely seen without glasses and suit. Chris was celebrating being unemployed, and his mothers constant attempts to point him in the direction of jobs that pay peanuts. Jamie somehow got into the place looking like a swarthy fisherman. Some said he looked homeless, but he hadn't quite got the dirty bearded look, the nicotine stained teeth and fingers or smell of beer and urine. Although I didn't check too closely.

As official groupie it is part of my job description to stand outside talking with them during smoking breaks. There were tales of weird sex, of ladies trapped in bathtubs, and of ball cupping. The latter was demonstrated on me by the tuba player. It's almost a rite of acceptance into a new circle of weird friends.

A coin toss determined I wasn't going to the Intrepid Fox. Which was good, because I hadn't got much money left for the weekend.

I got home to find myself listed in someone's Twitter #ff post as someone who looked to be promising in 2011. Which I considered incredible praise (and, frankly, a kick up the arse to perform). Thank you @Decimoo :-)

Saturday

Because I hadn't got much money left for the weekend, I walked to Wimbledon Village from Kingston, to join the Wimbledon Eight pub crawl I'd promised I'd go on. I had the intention of only drink coke and water.

I got there, didn't see anyone I recognised, sent a text to the guy who arranged it then remembered his phone was buggered. I wondered around a bit, checked other pubs, and left the meeting point at about 2.30, half an hour after we'd arranged to meet.

Apparently he was late and arrived at 2.40.

Because I hadn't got much money left for the weekend I walked back to Kingston. In all that was just over two hours walking. I felt vaguely fit by the end of it.

Because I hadn't got much money left for the weekend I turned down a request from my friend Glenn to go drinking in the evening at the Intrepid Fox.

Because I hadn't got much money left for the weekend I hesitated when a girl I'd met just once when very drunk at the Intrepid Fox facebook messaged me to see if I was going.

Using advanced mathematical principals unknown outside my head, I estimated it would be possible, to go for a drink, if I only travelled by bus.

And so I went on to meet my nice new Romanian lady friend and hung out with her. And although nothing really happened much, we did spend most of the time exclusively in each others company.

And she got a massage out of it. I think that scores 'nice guy' points but I have a slight issue with always being the nice guy. It usually fucks me over in the long run.

We spoke about future plans - Slimelight in the near future, Stonehenge maybe some time in Summer.

Sunday

Posted something about Slimelight and Stonehenge on Facebook. My second cousin from The Netherlands announces she wants to come too. :-)

Heading out to London I pass a dog with a pink collar that takes an immediate liking to me and decides to follow me. I've no idea who her owner is, but she keeps following, sniffing trees, investigating gardens then catching up with me. Several times I turn around and attempt to find her owner and then, when she's occupied sniffing something, turn around. After the first couple of attempts I try to put a car between us. The last time, near the end of the road, she nips into a garden and I run like crazy, round the corner, round another one, and keep running for the best part of a minute. This wouldn't be so bad if I were not carrying a large boardgame and what looks like a giant metal dildo (it's in fact an elaborate case for a card game, designed to look like a bullet - but a bullet that's about the size of a bottle of wine).

The dog, apparently, is unable to pick up my scent.

I met up with friends to play boardgames near London Bridge, including one that takes the piss out of the War on Terror, and one that takes the piss out of Chavs (and is loosely based on Monopoly). One of my friends confided with me that he'd been wanting to get down to Slimelight with his mate, and so a plan was hatched. I think I've got a good new friend in John - I didn't realise we had such similar tastes before today.

Went home feeling good but had a bit of a come down moment. Possibly because the alcohol was wearing off. Possibly because I half hoped to hear from my Romanian friend. Possibly because what goes up must come down.

Monday

Checking my Inbox in the morning I find a long email from a celebrity confiding me to secrecy, so have to write a reassuring message back. That was weird.

I fired off a message to my Romanian friend about Slimelight and Stonehenge.

Most of today is devoted to my volunteer work with two charities: Sutton Centre of Independent Living and Learning and Poet in the City. During the first I draw my 'Under A Cheshire Cat Moon' pic, which I scan and drop into Facebook and Tumblr along with another bunch of pictures later that day. Get some nice responses. I'm happy.

Poet in the City is an evening meeting. At Kingsplace, Kings Cross, we discuss upcoming events. I've already volunteered to help with the 'Love Poetry' event on Valentine's Day, but discover that what I thought was a one off event called Borderlands, about poetry from eastern Europe ("Ooo, Romania's in eastern Europe") is, in fact a run of about six events that are all tied to Romanian poetry. Wow! So, well, yes, I sign up to that too.

I'm also asked if I'd like to take at least part responsibility for Blogging and Tweeting on behalf of the charity. Wow. Sure. Yeah. Okay.

And then in a taxi ride to Waterloo station I am told by the guy who runs it about a book of poetry they once produced, and how he had me in mind to design the next version. Wow! I've already done something a little like this as a private project, ambient photography cut together with what I considered cool quotations. So... yes, yes, yes!

I get home to find my dad watching the film version of Aeon Flux. And find replies from my Romanian friend, who says she's still up for Slimelight, she's glad that I'm taking Stonehenge seriously and she likes the fact that I'm nice.

So... yes. Eventful. A very eventful few days. I think I'm allowed to chill out just a bit today. Just a bit, mind.

"May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art -- write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself."

Neil Gaiman

Amen to that. I almost feel like wheels are turning where I can't see them, as if someone has decided this year should be a good year for me.

I bloody hope so. :-)

From Tumblr. And an indication of maybe where I'm going this year. :-)

From Dave McKean's Cages.

Words, words, words...

It's been a crazy weekend. And all I really want to do is write and write and write, to try to get things out of my head and onto what passes for paper here, this strange little bundle of memories, inspirations, insecurities, sights and sounds and songs, all bubbling away, threatening to spit and splash and startle and... and... I don't know what to write. I don't know where to start and I don't know where's the truth and where's the fiction.

It's been a crazy weekend. It's been a GOOD weekend. Life threw a few curve balls, decisions I might not have made were made for the better and I'm all the happier for every little anecdote this weekend has thrown up. But I just think I'm coming down a bit.

I think I need to stop thinking so damn hard.

I think maybe I should go listen to music until I can't keep my eyes open any more.

Maybe a little longer.

It's been a crazy weekend. And maybe the first of many this year. And maybe posting Neil Gaiman's New Year's Message was a step towards ensuring it all comes true.

Every.

Last.

Word.

Happy New Year

This is something I stumbled across online earlier today, something Neil Gaiman said once at the end of 2001, then repeated in 2004 before deciding that every three years was just about right. And so, after 2007 he reached 2010 and had the following to say. And although these aren't my words I'd like to pass on the sentiments to you...

May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art -- write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.

And, once upon a time, he performed an extended version of this before a live audience, as can be found here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2d0QIt1EOGo

I don't know what my coming year promises, let alone yours, but here's to good things. Happy New Year, every one of you. :-)

Invitations...

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon…
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day.
And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

The Invitation, by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

The reason I’m starting this post with this poem is that this poem, which led to a book, was once referred to (by an ex partner of the author) as the longest ever singles advert he’d ever read. Which brings me to this next point - which hopefully I can mention in just this Blog… then get on with other things…

This week, whilst looking at a job site, for creatives (that’d be Creative Pool) I found an ad for single creatives (that’d be Date A Creative) which I found intriguing, particularly since I’m single and creative. So I signed up for free, only to find that the better features are only available if you pay money. Ah, yes, creative types have money, don’t they? No more starving poets in the streets, although I’ve been assured that there are plenty of starving screenwriters.

From Date A Creative I considered what I’d been considering for a while. My perfect partner would most likely be a geek, someone with a playful attitude to ‘stuff’, someone a good distance away from corporate suits, media types and wealthy headstrong mouthy ladies looking for a wealthy headstrong mouthy bloke to marry. So I did a quick web search for a dating site that might cater for the geek, and found, amongst others, GeekDate. Which doesn’t look too bad, but I suspect GeekDate is just a name on a larger site that may include a whole bunch of non-geeks. But, ah well, it’s better than Date A Creative, and feels like a step in the right direction.

I have yet to try Match.com, although I have friends that have used it and swear by it.

Anyhow, this poking around on dating sites has prompted a little whining on my behalf on Twitter and in emails (apologies - hopefully it was little enough), which prompted the entirely relevent “As a last desperate resort, I believe there are women in the real world” comment I got. And it’s true, previously I’ve met people through social groups. Or, if I’m honest, loitering around pubs where they’ve been working as barmaids in two instances.

But, well, Twitter as a social group has yet to get me linked up with anyone, and most of my real life friends are in happy couplings (and there’s a whole bunch more than there were when I was last single, back in 2004) and have yet to introduce me single (desperate) friends. I always imagined that I’d be the bumbling old socially inept fool that friends would end up looking for a perfect match for, but I’ve been in a long term relationship and have two kids - suddenly the idea that I’ll be lonely in my old age doesn’t quite have the same cold promise.

If I’m honest it’s because I look around and see lots of people in lovely little relationships. And, for the first time in ages, I’m looking around and seeing various cute ladies around and not feeling incredibly guilty.

Here’s hoping that the festive period, and sprigs of mistletoe help usher in a happier new year.

Copied and pasted from my Tumblr account, til I can get this blog (without bells, whistles and randomlinks) set up.

In additional news, in the four days since I posted this elsewhere, I've had a little contact with someone. It's early days but it's not so lonely days any more. Even the suggestion of interest is enough to get me in a good mood and getting on with things more poitively.

Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue...

No, I'm not getting married again. Just considering whether to start blogging here ocassionally again, or whether to just confine such things to my Tumblr account, or the new website I'm working on.

Any opinions? Anyone keen to see me updating on Blogger more often?

Theoretically I can link Blogs together some how.

Anyhow, it's late and I can't muse over these things when I've got sleeping to do. Goodnight!