A note of assisstance with death and change.

It was not more than five years since he died. It took an indefinite period of time too stop crying, to stop feeling guilty, to try too regain that ever elusive notion of equilibrium between events and understanding. A little history here is necessary to help the reader relate, at this point. Father was 53 when he died. At first all the normal, evaisive terms of reference appeared liberally, such as, "passed away", "passed on", even during some periods of attempted joviality, "pushing up daises". It seemed to take a life time to say dead. But he was. It seemed obvious. This fabulous man, all ceremony, "misapplied" intelligences, all duty and strength, lay strewn between the bathroom and the hallway, wearing nothing but his pyjama bottoms and a vague look of pained surprise. On his cheek, running from his mouth, a small dribble of vomit punctuated the death of his dignity. The effects cast shock waves through the writers mind like no other experience ever had, or has since. The absolute assault on reality was so unimaginably vast, somehow, although his death seemed inevitable, (as some would all of ours do), the actuality of the event jarred so fully with normality that all things came into question. No certainty appeared to be left free of doubt after his death. At this point a stern warning should be issued. During these periods of utter emotional and interlectual insicurity the individual is unpresidently open to sugestion. At that point the writer, up until then a hardened atheist, would have embraced any religious notion that had seemingly proved irrevocably that Dad's "soul" or "personality" would endure beyond the grave, or even merely given reason to his life. Fortune would have it that a preist or some such "representative" was not on hand, instead a marvelously cunning exponent of that ever so blind "operation mind fuck" manifested its selves. Regardless we wonder from the point. A personal truth is to be made apparent. Since his death, life has been interesting. Never, before then, could any of life's "cruel" experiences be properly assimilated. Issues from the past, having endured an abusive childhood, failing to achieve life goals, hurting others and the guilt this encored, excessive drink and drug use, the estrangement from mother, childish anger, hatred, desire, all the stress and fear, and every other medal had allways governed life and permitted the development and perpetuation of a weighty victim mentality. Now they are beautiful mealy because they are. It would appear that the differentiation between "good/positive/constructive" experience and "bad/negative/de-constructive" experience, can only be reconciled, that is to say, return to its base or route form, "experience", when the end of the acquisition of experience can be conceived. Only when death is encountered, when ones one demise can be felt and considered can life can be appreciated mealy for its own sake. With out death life seems sterile, or infected depending on which seems less appealing to you. With out death life tastes like shit or mashed potato depending on your taste. And conversely the same can be said. It seems so beautiful that this was the last insight in a long list that strong, weak, and beautiful man donated. Many thanks for all Sarge, even for the bad bits. x x

Direction for Our 90’s/00’s “Counter Culture”

The following was originally written and delivered as a sarcastic request for funding from a "liberal" "community" orientated arts and development funding body. Today’s culture often appears to me, more than mildly apathetic. Even our modern youth culture seems comfortable. Happily lounging in voyeurism and self indulgence, throwing back larger and drugs, going to clubs and avoiding feelings of social responsibility. number of them that are capable of conceiving of the idea of community work without either the word “Service” replacing “work”, or a flash back image of the Salvation Army banging out “Come all ye faithful” whilst hand backing cakes and knitting appalling baby grows for the local maternity ward is nil.

But wait! All is SAVED!! The counter culture is here!!

A massively diverse group of people, from a multitude of different ethnic, cultural, an social backgrounds, an astounding myriad of 60s, Hippy throwbacks, 70s, Punk throwbacks 80s, New Romantic throwbacks, 90’s Rave throwbacks, and just plain strange people, that share common goals in their political dissent and cultural evolutionism.

However, even a scant glance at this massive body of people, (Bristol having way more than the average city), will quickly burn through the lie and clearly display the truth.

They happily lounge in voyeuristic tendencies and self indulgence, throwing back larger and drugs, going to clubs and TALKING about their social responsibility’s, political views and idealistic concepts of cultural evolutionism.

For god sake their even exists a “counter culture” market niche! And when such an appalling state of apathy is reached to ALLOW new look, next, and top shop selling you, your Hip/Dark/Sick/Weird threads carefully sown by the hands of a starving four year old, without raising a “political” or “ethical” eye brow, the counter culture is no more than a new wardrobe.*

So spot the difference, uh, man?

They talk about it! They think about it the seed is there it merely needs propagating, cultivating, and growing!

Now before you reach to set fire to that funding check, to the imagined sounds of your legal team nagging a merry nag in your ear lobe allow one to reassure you.

I’m not talking about organizing protests and anarchist riots, (I’ll aim for that as a personal development in my own free, i.e. unfunded time), I'm talking about gathering groups of young people and cutting through this farce that fits so poorly and giving them a means to make a difference.

Can you imagine how many people we can inoculate against our nations biggest killer, (of others), apathy, when a whole room of people are forced to see how ridiculous the observation or perhaps excuse, “but what can I do” sounds when every one says it in unison.

After studying the “Mission” section of your main website I think that this would not only help send more people in your direction, but also inspire a shade more proactive view of how to bend our beloved truly totalitarian democratic system to the will of the people.

Again much like your selves I see people, especially the youth culture, as a dragon with its head cut off.

The generation X dragon, if you will.

Hell, theirs a lot of dragon muscle their, tons of political weight, (every one knows how notoriously powerful a youth vote is), and a hell of a lot of flames in the form of anger and political mistrust.

But the dragon, alack, has no head. No where to pool its collective thoughts, to figure how best to utilize its muscle and weight, and no method of venting its flame.

What it needs is its head.

What it needs is a place and some gentle encouragement.

Grate huh?

So how the hell do we make such a thing come about?

When the dragon can’t fight St. George, let’s see if we can’t talk the feller into stabbing himself with his sword.

I’m talking advertising. Or rather subvertising with out the criminal damage charge.

There is only one way the youth of the day trust a sales pitch.

With a hefty roll of tongue in cheek.

Think the last time you saw a music flyer with an amusing message, or, dare I say, spoke to street fundraiser. Comedy as well as empowerment attracts youths to a concept.

So some cohesion to my ramble.

ACTION PLAN

· Flyer the world, inform your body of youth in the most trusted of ways, the flyer!! These distributed in “Youth Culture Hubs” around the city. These will promote the events and meetings.

· Write somefing smart, like, perhaps publish material in a small volume, (that’s book size, and production volume), partly to propagate these thoughts, partly to promote these events but mostly to allow a vent for my oh so self righteous sarcasm and wit.

· Set up a Website, for all of the above and more, like online meets and community discussions.

· Have something to say, plan the meetings and encourage a dialog or group interaction and self governance dynamic

· All action starts at home, As many problems as there are in the world try and keep these meetings concentrated on the local area if not on local issues. I.e. the stone you chuck in the water sends out far reaching ripples. And other such cliechaied energy/information/ entropy focused proverbs

· Make a Difference a Month, with mind bogglingly short attention spans only perpetuating the issue of apathy, not to mention the benefits of positive reinforcement through success to add momentum and gain support to a project such as this could be. Also this sets attainable goals.

ISSUES

· Sorry, how much?, How dose one maintain or find a constant sources of funds for such a project?

· DUDE!! Nice van! What about these guys? Getting the right venue size with out throwing people out or cramming people in, or, worse case giving a nasty echo to my lone murmurings

· SHUT UP!!! Although I feel reasonably capable a controlling groups of people some more group work skills would stop me killing people.

· What dose THAT say? I am dyslexic, (or dislemsip as I prefer), this means that my writing, though I feel reasonably creative, (all right! At least accredit some spirit to it. That’s ambiguous enough that it could mean “good effort”), may need some development to utilize it fully.

· Look how thin I am!! How the hell dose one stay alive whilst running a project of this magnitude.

· I Wanna take over the world!! The only problem with the concept of meetings run to the beat of a socially democratic drum is that some bugger may not keep pace with everyone else. How do you keep control over such a beast with out the some what dictatorial notion of executive veto? Or do you just let go of the rains and hope?

Attempting just the literary side of the above rant would be like a dream come true for me.

So if all that sounded a shade “Full On” or little/stupendously over ambitious/idealistic/

Implausible, try some of my other potential uses for your money.

• Street theatre- I have previous experience in this and find it tons of fun
• Poetry- possibly coalitions with others, though most of our poetry is highly political, poorly, (i.e. non conventionally), constructed, and, in some places inspired by existentialism and extreme drug consumption
• I want to WRITE! Any form of interaction with this medium is a joy for me, though subject matter may return to its source mind bogglingly altered
• I also paint and draw- the former to some reasonable caliber the prior, at present, poorly.

Many thanks on your continued interest with my possibilities, even though I, too, suffer with that laziness that personifies my generation.

Hey! Thanks for the interest!

TI, i,e, I ME is on its side, oh yes it isnt!

And now. The end is clear. Like the spot on my helmets visor cleaned by a chance encounter with spilt coffee what seemed around midnight whilst reaching for the state meant in mind. At present it is crystal. Drawn only with the fractures of uncertainty that linger around such un-calculated foresight. But like the sticky mess left by the spill, the eventual image is left blurry and dangerous to pear through, should it effect the distances perceived or the presence of unforeseen objects in the path ahead. Still. for now. Certain. And it is I that demand certain tea served in a silver cup, with Diejestives on the side to mop the dregs of chance and nonconformist occasionings from the all producing cup. Would I not be served its Normal I tea then the fit and stopstarting to that church on the edge of that sinking place would surely ensue. And has before, but not for I. I retain dignity in the caddy ready for the next brew to boil, yet no pride of self can be held, as to make more socially stimulating beverages, one to often looks for the Percs-to-come-later. Rush for ward, slippers and pipe in tow, or livivnig now without looking to Penned eon's ahead, for the sake of their betterment and so that they may be trusted funding for the past to come. Why? In the name of recording do we caddy our truest absence of progression to make the present more palatable. With past cups well documented the real tea tastes much sweeter, but not when we always wish for the last cup or hunger more for the next. So Spill Real tea in the I, and let it wince at its freshly empty cup, only to learn its nearly time for a Refill.