Long time no see

Ive not been here for acwhile & im posting because if i dont i think theyre going to delete unused blogger sites so im using it now

Living Colour

One of the worlds most underrated bands, Vernon Reid's Living Colour

I found this tonight on the net so I borrowed it and put it here where someone might find it and find that it's helpful. I know how you feel, NO I really do! Because I've been there on quite a few occasions. It's harder than anyone can imagine, but if you feel this way just put it off a little and go and talk to someone who will take you seriously, a doctor, psychiatrist, go to a church or a hospital, go to someone you trust who will listen because you can't go through this on your own and there are people out there who can help, believe me on this one, it can and might well get better. There are so many things that you can achieve because you do have the strength, you just need a little helping hand, everyone does at some point. I've cut myself, I've stood on bridges, I've swallowed pills and thought of throwing myself under the wheels of a truck. Things are better for me now, I'm not rich, I'm still alone, but I've got great books still to read, great bands I'm discovering all the time, I'm helping people who are worse off than me, homeless and afraid. I try and do one thing each day that makes me feel human, even if it's just a walk through the park and sitting under a tree with a book. Life can be shit, I know, but simple things can make you "feel" again. I spent five whole, long, miserable years being mentally abused by someone who was supposed to love me, she didn't. I destroyed my world for her and she screwed me mentally and financially, she took away every last shred of happiness I had. I've still got to work in the same place as her every day, and it makes me angry and full of spite and hatred, but perversely the fury makes me want to survive and rub my new found reason to live in her smug, middle classes face. Can you tell how much I hate her? I'm sure you have similar feelings too. Use them to rebuild and there's nothing as satisfying as rubbing their faces in it be the pure fact that they HAVEN'T beaten you. No need to resort to violence, don't dwell on it but use it to feed your recovery.

I honestly and sincerely wish you happiness and peace. Live and be free.

100 Reasons To Why You Shouldn't Commit Suicide. 

•  1. We would miss you.
•  2. It's not worth the regret. Either by yourself if you failed or just simply left scars, or the regret everyone else feels by not doing enough to help you.
•  3. It does get better. Believe it or not it will eventually get better. Sometimes you have to go through the storm to get to the rainbow.
•  4. There's so much you would miss out on doing.
•  5. There is always a reason to live. It might not be clear right now, but it is always there.
•  6. So many people care, and it would hurt them if you hurt yourself.
•  7. You ARE worth it. Don't let anyone, especially yourself, tell you otherwise.
•  8. You are amazing.
•  9. A time will come, once you've battled the toughest times of your life and are in ease once again, where you will be so glad that you decided to keep on living. You will emerge stronger from this all, and won't regret your choice to carry on with life. Because things always get better.
•  10. What about all the things you've always wanted to do? What about the things you've planned, but never got around to doing? You can't do them when you're dead.
•  11. I love you. Even if only one person loves you, that's still a reason to stay alive.
•  12. You won't be able to listen to music if you die.
•  13. Killing yourself is never worth it. You'll hurt both yourself and all the people you care about.
•  14. There are so many people that would miss you, including me.
•  15. You're preventing a future generation, YOUR KIDS, from even being born.
•  16. How do you think your family would feel? Would it improve their lives if you died?
•  17. You're gorgeous, amazing, and to someone you are perfect.
•  18. Think about your favourite music artist, you'll never hear their voice again...
•  19. You'll never have the feeling of walking into a warm building on a cold day
•  20. Listening to incredibly loud music
•  21. Being alive is just really good.
•  22. Not being alive is really bad.
•  23. Finding your soulmate.
•  24. Red pandas
•  25. Going to diners at three in the morning.
•  26. Really soft pillows.
•  27. Eating pizza in New York City.
•  28. Proving people wrong with your success.
•  29. Watching the jerks that doubted you fail at life.
•  30. Seeing someone trip over a garbage can.
•  31. Being able to help other people.
•  32. Bonfires.
•  33. Sitting on rooftops.
•  34. Seeing every single country in the world.
•  35. Going on roadtrips.
•  36. You might win the lottery someday.
•  37. Listening to music on a record player.
•  38. Going to the top of the Eiffel Tower.
•  39. Taking really cool pictures.
•  40. Literally meeting thousands of new people.
•  41. Hearing crazy stories.
•  42. Telling crazy stories.
•  43. Eating ice cream on a hot day.
•  44. More Harry Potter books could come out, you never know.
•  45. Travelling to another planet someday.
•  46. Having an underwater house.
•  47. Randomly running into your hero on the street.
•  48. Having your own room at a fancy hotel.
•  49. Trampolines.
•  50. Think about your favourite movie, you'll never watch it again.
•  51. Think about the feeling of laughing out loud in a public place because your best friend has just sent you an inside joke,
•  52. Your survival will make the world better, even if it's for just one person or 20 or 100 or more.
•  53. People do care.
•  54. Treehouses
•  55. Hanging out with your soul mate in a treehouse
•  55. Snorting when you laugh and not caring who sees
•  56. I don't even know you and I love you.
•  57. I don't even know you and I care about you.
•  58. Because nobody is going to be like you ever, so embrace your uniqueness!
•  59. You won't be here to experience the first cat world emperor.
•  60. WHAT ABOUT FOOD?! YOU'LL MISS CHOCOLATE AND ALL THE OTHER NOM THINGS!
•  61. Starbucks.
•  62. Hugs.
•  63. Stargazing.
•  64. You have a purpose, and it's up to you to find out what it is.
•  65. You've changed somebody's life.
•  66. Now you could change the world.
•  67. You will meet the person that's perfect for you.
•  68. No matter how much or how little, you have your life ahead of you.
•  69. You have the chance to save somebody's life.
•  70. If you end your life, you're stopping yourself from achieving great things.
•  71. Making snow angels.
•  72. Making snowmen.
•  73. Snowball fights.
•  74. Life is what you make of it.
•  75. Everybody has a talent.
•  76. Laughing until you cry.
•  77. Having the ability to be sad means you have the ability to be happy.
•  78. The world would not be the same if you didn't exist.
•  79. Its possible to turn frowns, upside down
•  80. Be yourself, don't take anyone's shit, and never let them take you alive.
•  81. Heroes are ordinary people who make themselves extraordinary. Be your own hero.
•  82. Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect. It means that you've decided to look beyond the imperfections.
•  83. One day your smile will be real.
•  84. Having a really hot, relaxing bath after a stressful day.
•  85. Lying on grass and laughing at the clouds.
•  86. Getting completely smashed with your best friends.
•  87. Eating crazy food.
•  88. Staying up all night watching your favourite films with a loved one.
•  89. Sleeping in all day.
•  90. Creating something you're proud of.
•  91. You can look back on yourself 70 years later and being proud you didn't commit
•  92. Being able to meet your Internet friends.
•  93. Tea / Coffee / Hot Chocolate
•  94. Sherlock season three.
•  95. Cuddling under the stars.
•  96. Being stupid in public because you just can.
•  97. If you are reading this then you are alive! Is there any more reason to smile?
•  98. being able to hug that one person you havent seen in years
•  99. People care enough about you and your future to come up with 100 reasons for you not to do this.
•  100. But, the final and most important one is, just, being able to experience life. Because even if your life doesn't seem so great right now, literally anything could happen

Blood Meridian...

“A legion of horribles, hundreds in number, half naked or clad in costumes attic or biblical or wardrobed out of a fevered dream with the skins of animals and silk finery and pieces of uniform still tracked with the blood of prior owners, coats of slain dragoons, frogged and braided cavalry jackets, one in a stovepipe hat and one with an umbrella and one in white stockings and a bloodstained wedding veil and some in headgear or cranefeathers or rawhide helmets that bore the horns of bull or buffalo and one in a pigeontailed coat worn backwards and otherwise naked and one in the armor of a Spanish conquistador, the breastplate and pauldrons deeply dented with old blows of mace or sabre done in another country by men whose very bones were dust and many with their braids spliced up with the hair of other beasts until they trailed upon the ground and their horses' ears and tails worked with bits of brightly colored cloth and one whose horse's whole head was painted crimson red and all the horsemen's faces gaudy and grotesque with daubings like a company of mounted clowns, death hilarious, all howling in a barbarous tongue and riding down upon them like a horde from a hell more horrible yet than the brimstone land of Christian reckoning, screeching and yammering and clothed in smoke like those vaporous beings in regions beyond right knowing where the eye wanders and the lip jerks and drools.” 

― Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian, or the Evening Redness in the West

"Gloomy is Sunday, with shadows I spend it all 

My heart and I have decided to end it all." 

Every day is like this these days

Sunday is gloomy

The hours are slumberless

Dearest the shadows

I live with are numberless

Little white flowers

Will never awaken you

Not where the dark coach

Of sorrow has taken you

Angels have no thought

Of ever returning you

Would they be angry

If I thought of joining you?

Gloomy Sunday

Gloomy is Sunday

With shadows I spend it all

My heart and I

Have decided to end it all

Soon there'll be prayers

And candles are lit I know

Let them not weep

Let them know that I'm glad to go

Death is no dream

For in death I'm caressing you

With the last breath of my soul

I'll be blessing you

Gloomy Sunday

Dreaming, I was only dreaming

I wake and I find you asleep

In the deep of my heart here

Darling I hope

That my dream hasn't haunted you

My heart is telling you

How much I wanted you

Gloomy Sunday

is absolutely Gloomy Sunday

Gloomy Sunday

...Sunday

Why the hell is this not available for Kindle?

Can't Save Me

I sold my soul just so I could feel paid

I broke my heart so I couldn't feel pain

I've lost my faith cause' I can't justify the weight

I've got no hope that's only for losers and fakes

I'm nothing but a user and an abuser

You don't wanna know what's on my mind

I know i'm just a fool but i'm not fooling

Not afraid to make a fool out of my self

And fuck your money

Fuck your fame

Fuck my life I walk away

And fuck our love

Fuck i'm sorry for everything I ever done

You can't save me

You better give your self to someone else

Fading

I'm just fallin' into my condition

Fading

You better put your time in something else

Save me but don't worry about it now

You better save your fucking self

I lost my mind just so I could escape

I still got time but I know it's too late

I still got friends to tell me i'm ok

I still alive but I keep on testin' fate

I'm nothing but a user and an abuser

You don't wanna know what's on my mind

I'm nothing but a fool but i'm not fooling

Not afraid to make a fool out of my self

And fuck your money

Fuck your fame

Fuck my life I walk away

And fuck our love

Fuck i'm sorry for anything i've ever done

You can't save me

You better give your self to someone else

Fading

I'm just fallin' into my condition

Fading

You better put your time in something else

Save me but don't worry about it now

You better save your fucking self

Try just a little understand what i'm telling you

I'm not what you think

I started off doing the right thing

Life got in the way

You don't know what to say

I'm not asking why

You can't save me

You better give your self to someone else

Fading

Fallin' into my condition

Faded

You better put your time in something else

Save me but don't worry about it now

You better save your fucking self

God

“I always thought when I got older that God would sort of come into my life in some way. He didn't. I don't blame him. If I was him I'd have the same opinion about me that he does.” 

― Cormac McCarthy, No Country for Old Men

Two Dreams

“I had two dreams about him after he died. I dont remember the first one all that well but it was about meetin him in town somewheres and he give me some money and I think I lost it. But the second one it was like we was both back in older times and I was on horseback goin through the mountains of a night. Goin through this pass in the mountains. It was cold and there was snow on the ground and he rode past me and kept on goin. Never said nothin. He just rode on past and he had this blanket wrapped around him and he had his head down and when he rode past I seen he was carryin fire in a horn the way people used to do and I could see the horn from the light inside of it. About the color of the moon. And in the dream I knew that he was goin on ahead and that he was fixin to make a fire somewhere out there in all that dark and all that cold and I knew that whenever I got there he would be there. And then I woke up.” 

― Cormac McCarthy, No Country for Old Men

Nearly there

The summer holiday is nearly here - time for lots of reflection and lots of rest. I've got six weeks to get my head back together and try and return to some form of normality, deal with a few personal issues and formulate a plan of some description that will create a reason to continue the daily and sometimes hourly battle of existence. 

Depression still looms over my shoulder, a devilish psychological vulture. If you haven't ever experienced this affliction you may find this image a good introduction to what anguish millions of souls go through. 

Pirelli and F1

Just thought it would be really funny, admit Pirelli

Pirelli thought having their tyres explode without warning at the British Grand Prix would be a total chucklefest.

Speaking after the race where several of its products were reduced to flailing strips of rubber even more useless than the Mclaren one of them was attached to, the Italian manufacturer admitted it just getting a bit jaded with the whole going-a-whole-race-distance-with-fully-inflated-tyres thing.

Head of rubber and shit, Giorgio Treadio said, “we were just a bit bored to be honest with you. So we decided to put explosive charges in a random selection of tyres.”

Just thought it would be really funny, admit Pirelli

                                                           "Who shall we fuck up next?"

“Then the guys had a sweepstake and whoever got the first car won the pot.”

“Plus we could all bet on how many we thought would go in total and that went to charity. It was a really fun family day: until everyone started moaning about people getting killed.”

Sunday’s event looked like being a finely balanced duel between the Mercedes of home favourite Lewis Hamilton and Red Bull’s Sebastian Vettel before the British driver’s left rear was the first to go, earning Darren Fleetwood 23 pounds in Waterstones book vouchers.

Subsequent tyre terror saw drivers spear off track at frightening speed, Fernando Alonso’s head nearly get taken off by Sergio Perez’ errant tread but Great Ormond Street Hospital gain a cheque for £39.80.

“It’s not every day a children’s hospital gets nearly 50 quid from a bunch of strangers so I think the death warning and boycotting stuff was a bit of an over-reaction, frankly, ” continued Treadio.

“I mean; so we lose a couple of F1 drivers.  Have you ever *met* Nigel Mansell?”

“Exactly,” he added.

Courtesy of Pitflaps

Downsizing

Spent my morning sorting out bags of clothes that contain items going back years. I've collected four sacks for the charity shop, discarding many pairs of jeans, shirts, T's and pullovers. Some memories to be found in old clothes even. Many memories are better in the trash bin but I hope someone finds comfort or even pleasure in them when they peruse the local PDSA - destination of these cast offs.
I have, however clung on to most of my tour and promo T Shirts with their logos and images - these are memories that I want to cling on to. Good times.

A Great Story

I found this on a link via my Facebook page, and shared it with a few people in work, we were in stitches as I read it out to them, a great tale perfectly told.

I haven't posted on this blog for years and years, and I'm a little surprised its still here. A lot has happened to me in the intervening years and some I might care to mention if I choose to continue using this site. Most of what has happened has been bad, some awful, some tragic, people dear to me have died, and I have made many mistakes. I'm hoping to be starting out on a new chapter in my life, a bit of a clean page so to speak, perhaps I've got somewhere here to record some of the stuff that may or may not happen, hopes, dreams, fears. We'll see I guess.

For now I want to thank a few people who basically have saved my life.

Mum and Dad, Helen, Dave, Marla, Dave H, Dr. Proctor, the staff nurses and doctors at The University Hospital of Wales, and the memories of my dear Gran and Cal and Kitty.
No words can ever explain what I owe to this select group who have helped me, and guided me and bailed me out and fixed me when I was broken. To them all a sincere and heartfelt thank you.x

The Autumn of the Patriarch

Only then did we dare go in without attacking the crumbling walls of reinforced stone, as the more resolute had wished, and without using oxbows to knock the main door off its hinges, as others had proposed, because all that was needed was for someone to give a push and the great armoured doors that had resisted the lombards of William Dampier during the building's heroic days gave way. It was like entering the atmosphere of another age, because the air was thinner in the rubble pits of the vast lair of power, and the silence was more ancient, and things were hard to see in the decrepit light. All across the first courtyard, where the paving stones had given way to the underground thrust of weeds, we saw the disorder of the post of the guard who had fled, the weapons abandoned in their racks, the big, long rough-planked tables and plates containing the leftovers of the Sunday lunch that had been interrupted by panic, in shadows we saw the annex where government house had been, colored fungi and pale irises among the unresolved briefs whose normal course had been slower than the pace of the driest of lives, in the centre of the courtyard we saw the baptismal font where more than five generations had been christened with martial sacraments, in the rear we saw the ancient viceregal stable which had been transformed into a coach house, and among the camellias and butterflies we saw the berlin from stirring days, the wagon from the time of the plague, the coach from the year of the comet, the hearse from progress in order, the sleep-walking limousine of the first century of peace, all in good shape under the dusty cobwebs and all painted with the colours of the flag.

One Hundred Years of Solitude

"The only difference today between Liberals and Conservatives is that the Liberals go to mass at five o'clock and the Conservatives at eight."
- Gabriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Some great sites....

Here are a couple of my regular stopping places:

English Russia: a daily entertainment blog devoted to the events happening in Russian speaking countries, such as Russia (Russian Federation), Ukraine, Belarus, Moldova, Kazakhstan, etc. Everyday something interesting happens in the countries occupying 1/6 of the populated world.

Russian Blog: Language and Culture of the Russian-Speaking World

Russian Reading Challenge 2008: A 12 month reading challenge of all things Russian - novels, short stories, biographies, history, poetry - by Russian authors or by authors about Russia. Challenge begins January 1, 2008 and ends December 31st, 2008. (hope this goes on another year picked up some great tips)

SovietLit.com: Works of Soviet Literature summarized for those unable or too lazy to read them in the original. (that'd be me then!!)

José Saramago - new novel due soon.

Excerpt from The Elephant’s Journey

There is no wind, although the mist seems to form slow whirlpools as if boreas himself were blowing it down from the far north and from the lands of eternal ice. However, to be honest, given the delicacy of the situation, this is hardly the moment for someone to be honing his prose in order to make some, frankly, not very original poetic point. By now, the people travelling with the caravan will have realised that someone is missing, indeed two of them will probably have volunteered to go and save the poor castaway, an action that would be most welcome if it weren’t for the reputation as a coward that will dog him for the rest of his days, Honestly, the public voice will say, imagine him just sitting there, waiting for somone to rescue him, some people have no shame at all. It’s true that he had been sitting down, but now he’s standing up and has courageously taken the first step, right foot first, to drive away the evil spells cast by fate and its powerful allies, chance and coincidence, however, his left foot has grown suddenly hesitant, and who can blame it, because the ground is invisible, as if a new tide of mist had just begun to roll in. With his third step, he can no longer see his own hands held out in front of him as if to keep his nose from bumping against some unexpected door. It was then that another idea occurred to him, what if the road curved this way and that, and the direction he had taken, in what he hoped would be a straight line, led him into desert places that would mean perdition for both soul and body, in the case of the latter with immediate effect. And, O unhappy fate, without even a dog to lick away his tears when the great moment arrived. He again considered turning back to ask for shelter in the village until the bank of mist lifted of its own accord, but now, completely disoriented, with as little idea of where the cardinal points might be, as if he were in some entirely unfamiliar place, he decided that his best option was to sit down on the ground again and wait for destiny, chance, fate, any or all of them together, to guide those selfless volunteers to the tiny patch of ground on which he was sitting, as on an island in the ocean sea, with no means of communication. Or, more appropriately, like a needle in a haystack. Within three minutes, he was fast asleep. What a strange creature man is, so prone to terrible insomnias over mere nothings and yet capable of sleeping like a log on the eve of a battle. And so it was. He fell into a deep sleep, and it’s quite likely that he would still be sleeping now if, somewhere in the mist, solomon had not unleashed a thunderous trumpeting whose echoes must have been heard on the distant shores of the ganges. Still groggy after his abrupt awakening, he could not make out just where it was coming from, that fog horn come to save him from an icy death or, worse, from being eaten by wolves, because this is a land of wolves, and a man, alone and unarmed, is helpless against a whole pack of them or, indeed, against one. Solomon’s second blast was even louder than the first and began with a kind of quiet gargling in the depths of his throat, like a roll on the drums, immediately followed by the syncopated clamour that typifies the creature’s call. The man is now racing through the mist like a horseman charging, lance at the ready, thinking all the while, Again, solomon, again. And solomon granted his wish and let out another trumpet blast, quieter this time, as if merely confirming that he was there, because the castaway is no longer adrift, he’s on his way, there’s the cart belonging to the cavalry quartermaster, not that he can make out details because things and people are nothing but blurs, it’s as if the mist, and this is a much more troubling idea, were of a kind that can corrode the skin, the skin of people, horses, even elephants, yes, even that vast, tiger-proof elephant, not all mists are the same, of course, one day, someone will cry Gas, and woe betide anyone not wearing a tight-fitting mask. The ex-castaway asks a soldier who happens to be passing, leading his horse by the reins, if the volunteers have returned from their rescue mission, and the soldier responds with a distrustful glance, as if he were speaking to some kind of provocateur, because, as a quick flick through the inquisition’s files will confirm, there were plenty of them around in the sixteenth century, and says coolly, Wherever did you get an idea like that, there was no call for volunteers here, the only sensible course of action in a situation like this is to do exactly as we did and sit tight until the mist lifts, besides, asking for volunteers isn’t really the commander’s style, usually, he just points, you, you and you, quick march, besides, the commander says that when it comes to heroics, either all of us are going to be heroes or none. To make clearer still that he considered the conversation to be at an end, the soldier rapidly hoisted himself up onto his horse, said goodbye and galloped off into the mist. He was displeased with himself. He had given explanations that no one had asked him for, and made statements he was not authorised to make. However, he was consoled by the fact that the man, although he didn’t really have the physique, probably belonged, what other possibility was there, to the group of men hired to help push or pull the ox-carts whenever the going got rough, men of few words and even less imagination. Generally speaking, that is, because the man lost in the mist certainly didn’t appear to lack imagination, just look at the way he had plucked out of nothing, out of nowhere, the volunteers who should have come to his rescue. Fortunately for the man’s public credibility, the elephant is a different matter altogether. Large, enormous, big-bellied, with a voice guaranteed to terrify the timid and a trunk like that of no other animal in creation, the elephant could never be the product of anyone’s imagination, however bold and fertile. The elephant either existed or it didn’t. It is, therefore, time to visit him and thank him for the energetic way in which he used his god-given trumpet to such good purpose, for if this had been the valley of jehosephat, the dead would undoubtedly have risen again, but being what it is, an ordinary scrap of Portuguese earth swathed in mist where someone very nearly died of cold and neglect, and so as not entirely to waste the rather laboured comparison with which we chose to encumber ourselves, we might say that some resurrections are so deftly handled that they can happen even before the poor victim has passed away. It was as if the elephant had thought, That poor devil is going to die, and I’m going to save him. And here’s the same poor devil heaping thanks on him and swearing eternal gratitude, until finally the mahout asks, What did the elephant do to deserve such thanks, If it wasn’t for him, I would have died of cold or been devoured by wolves, And what exactly did he do, because he hasn’t left this spot since he woke up, He didn’t need to move, he just had to blow his trumpet, because I was lost in the mist and it was his voice that saved me, If anyone is qualified to speak of the works and deeds of solomon, I’m that man, which is why I’m his mahout, so don’t come to me with some story about hearing him trumpet, He didn’t just trumpet once, but three times, and these same ears that will one day be dust heard him trumpet. The mahout thought, The fellow’s stark staring mad, the mist must have seeped into his brain, that’s probably it, yes, I’ve heard of such cases, then, out loud he added, Let’s not argue about whether it was one, two or three blasts, you ask those men over there if they heard anything. The men, whose blurred outlines seemed to vibrate and tremble with every step, immediately gave rise to the question, Where are you off to in weather like this. We know, however, that this wasn’t the question asked by the man who insisted he’d heard the elephant speak and we know the answer they were giving him. What we don’t know is whether any of these things are related, which ones, or how. The fact is that the sun, like a vast broom of light, suddenly broke through the mist and swept it away. The landscape revealed itself as it had always been, stones, trees, ravines, and mountains. The three men are no longer there. The mahout opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. The man who insisted he’d heard the elephant speak began to lose consistency and substance, to shrink, then grow round and transparent as a soap bubble, if the poor-quality soaps of the time were capable of forming the crystalline marvels that someone had the genius to invent, then suddenly disappeared from view. He went plof and vanished. Onomatopoeia can be so very handy. Imagine if we’d had to provide a detailed description of someone disappearing. It would have taken us at least ten pages.

Kosovo

It is today, nearly ten years after NATO and the UN took over Kosovo. An elderly Albanian couple is sitting in their dark flat in Pristina. The electricity is out, yet again, and they are sitting in front of a blank television, lights out, food beginning to rot in the refrigerator which isn’t running, no hot water, and certainly no cooking to do. They are just sitting there, wondering what to do next when all of the sudden, the crackle of electricity is heard when the lights begin to flicker. The television comes to life, the hum of the refrigerator can be heard and the water heater starts up.

The old man looks at his wife and says “Honey, get my gun. The Serbs are back.”