It's all about finding the right Mudpuddle for the right time. By that I mean there are so many different mes that it is quite the challenge to find the right me for right now. Why do I need to find the right me for right now? Well, my 40th is approaching like a steam train - out of control and hurtling along the tracks looking for the wrong sort of leaves. What I need to work out is what I want a forty (say it quietly) something Mudpuddlin Man to look like. Which Dave should it be?
I could stagger onwards as a more dessicated version of the Thirties model - but that Dave was far too introverted and took some bizarre decisions regarding hiding from the world and losing nearly a decade of adventure in the process, so really I am ruling out November 25 2011 and the days that follow it being business as usual. What then of Twenties Dave? What facets of that glorious decade can I carry into the halflife of my forties?
Of course, that all depends. In my early twenties I was like a newly born planet in some fledgling solar system - raging, hot, fiery, restless - every day was an eruption - it would begin with fire and end dowsed in alcohol fuelled forgetfulness. It was electric, life literally made the hairs stand up on my arm. Friends, lovers were all integral to the Proto-Dave - I surrounded myself with those that complimented the eruption - fire stokers and fire soothers both as important as each other.
Later, things settled a little. There was still fire, but it was contained. I had learned how to be. Life coalesced somewhat - routines of entertainment set in, comrades began to take on functional dimensions, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow began to have relevance. Life was less abstract and extended beyond the prism of today. Looking back, this is where I made the big mistake - as tomorrows take on relevance and you comfort yourself with familiarity, it is all too easy to let that overcome you - in other words, whilst the later twenties were about finding how to be me, the thirties were about getting stuck as me, and unable to take on the changes that took all those around me onto new vectors. Thus you end up screaming in an aging void. But, back in the twenties, life was sweet. I often wonder now if I'll ever love again the way I did in my twenties - so wholly, and rawly, and intensely? Much of me fondly hopes so, as terrifying as the troughs were to those magnificent peaks.
Such a quandry, which Dave to be. Of course, in truth I can be neither of those Daves, nor (thankfully) can I go on forever as Thirties Dave (Meta-Dave) - what is needed is a new paradigm, but why come to that conclusion without a wordy deliberation? I want the best of all my previous worlds in a brand new one - I want to rage like a new planet, love so deeply I can barely breathe and keep myself sane, whole and true. I want to fulfil all the promise that has come before in fits and starts as a complete picture. I want to grow up without growing up, the best of me has always been just that bit more childish than my age should allow.
I'm not going to go quietly into that good night, I'm coming back, baby. Watch yourselves.
Friday, 14 October 2011
Saturday, 8 October 2011
Bizarre lurch to the funny side
Greetings Mudpuddlees, and apologies for not regaling you somewhat sooner with musings, mutterings and mastery. However, I hope today's update will somewhat make up for that as I am now a Mudpuddler with a goal, a determination, even a destiny....
Back in the dim mists of January, resolutions were made - I resolved, you resolved, he/she/it resolved. Many of these promises were straws in the wind, some were wishful thinking and some, dare I say it, were outright pisstakes designed to enchant and delight, but with no discernable possibility of coming to be.
Having said that, one of my resolutions has nagged and pawed at the recesses of my febrile mind. It has, quite literally, kept me awake at night with its sheer wonderment and cunning, and it will not allow itself to be cast into the murky depths of might-have-beens and never-weres. On New Year's Day 2011 I promised myself I would take to the stage and perform stand-up in front of an audience. Now before the chuffing and guffawing commences, let me just say I mean this, and in earnest! I am determined to do this very thing.
There we have it - Mudpuddling with giggles, the next exciting divergence for a Mudpuddler who has drifted far too long between ludicrous dreams. To assure you further of my intent, I have begun (and indeed got most of the way through) writing a routine. This was rather harder than expected, whats funny in the mouth is not such a riot on paper - however, through a process of linking to a relevant earlier comment (keeping me awake at night), I have found the right approach. I perform to myself at night in my bed and write down what works in the morning. Furthermore I promise to try and include the phrase 'I perform to myself at night in bed' in the routine, which is based in part around my famous romantic shortcomings. Oh what a tangled medpuddle we weave..
Needless to say, once I have found a relevant open mic night I shall provide details to interested Mudpuddlers that they might come and rescue me from myself with some charity titters.
Joke on, friends.
Back in the dim mists of January, resolutions were made - I resolved, you resolved, he/she/it resolved. Many of these promises were straws in the wind, some were wishful thinking and some, dare I say it, were outright pisstakes designed to enchant and delight, but with no discernable possibility of coming to be.
Having said that, one of my resolutions has nagged and pawed at the recesses of my febrile mind. It has, quite literally, kept me awake at night with its sheer wonderment and cunning, and it will not allow itself to be cast into the murky depths of might-have-beens and never-weres. On New Year's Day 2011 I promised myself I would take to the stage and perform stand-up in front of an audience. Now before the chuffing and guffawing commences, let me just say I mean this, and in earnest! I am determined to do this very thing.
There we have it - Mudpuddling with giggles, the next exciting divergence for a Mudpuddler who has drifted far too long between ludicrous dreams. To assure you further of my intent, I have begun (and indeed got most of the way through) writing a routine. This was rather harder than expected, whats funny in the mouth is not such a riot on paper - however, through a process of linking to a relevant earlier comment (keeping me awake at night), I have found the right approach. I perform to myself at night in my bed and write down what works in the morning. Furthermore I promise to try and include the phrase 'I perform to myself at night in bed' in the routine, which is based in part around my famous romantic shortcomings. Oh what a tangled medpuddle we weave..
Needless to say, once I have found a relevant open mic night I shall provide details to interested Mudpuddlers that they might come and rescue me from myself with some charity titters.
Joke on, friends.
Tuesday, 13 September 2011
For the world is hollow
Sometimes, on days like today, the world passes by outside my window and I barely notice it. I find myself locked, deep in thought, a Chinese finger trap for the self, whilst images of supposed failures replay themselves over and over in my mind.
This is just one part of suffering from depression, or at least it is just one part of my experience of it. Of course, there is no intention on my part for things to proceed thus, it just sort of happens. The most innocent of thoughts can set the thing in motion. I might wonder why I had not watered the plants, or posted that package I meant to, but at the moment of thinking it, I can almost feel myself slap on the brakes, cast out the anchor and everything around me ceases to have much significance.
I have cranked the starting handle on another day of disappointment in myself. All those things I wish I had done, or promised to have done, or intended to do. All the dreams unfulfilled, all the difficult choices avoided come flooding out in a torrent. I become transfixed on all the things I haven't done, and wracked with grief and shame that I have let people down. It is the cruelest of illnesses that eats away at your self-confidence like this, but it is what I find myself fighting, week after week, month after month.
Nothing I tell myself can shift the guilt pangs and borderline self-loathing that accompany this part of depression. Worse than that, I am hopeless at sharing this (outside the safety zone of my blog) - I don't feel my issues are worth airing, or I don't want anyone to worry about me, about what I am thinking, feeling or suffering. Internalisation sets in, and is just as rotten and ruinous as the doubt and the guilt. Everything is crammed down, held in the very pit of my stomach. No-one need know I am unhappy, no-one need see or share in it. As hopeless as I am at dealing with the thought cycles, I am determined they shall not bring a moment of darkness to anyone's day.
Sitting here now and typing this, it all seems so easy - just let your loved ones in, just talk, just accept the innocence of forgetting to post a package. If only depression were not so cruel, did not take away from me moments of sharing and compassion I constantly deny myself. If only I could let myself collapse in someone's company and let them put me back together again. If only.... if only depression were not such a cruel master or I such a compromised servant. And yet it is, and so here I sit on another silent evening, a single fat tear running down my cheek as the only testament to the torture within.
This is just one part of suffering from depression, or at least it is just one part of my experience of it. Of course, there is no intention on my part for things to proceed thus, it just sort of happens. The most innocent of thoughts can set the thing in motion. I might wonder why I had not watered the plants, or posted that package I meant to, but at the moment of thinking it, I can almost feel myself slap on the brakes, cast out the anchor and everything around me ceases to have much significance.
I have cranked the starting handle on another day of disappointment in myself. All those things I wish I had done, or promised to have done, or intended to do. All the dreams unfulfilled, all the difficult choices avoided come flooding out in a torrent. I become transfixed on all the things I haven't done, and wracked with grief and shame that I have let people down. It is the cruelest of illnesses that eats away at your self-confidence like this, but it is what I find myself fighting, week after week, month after month.
Nothing I tell myself can shift the guilt pangs and borderline self-loathing that accompany this part of depression. Worse than that, I am hopeless at sharing this (outside the safety zone of my blog) - I don't feel my issues are worth airing, or I don't want anyone to worry about me, about what I am thinking, feeling or suffering. Internalisation sets in, and is just as rotten and ruinous as the doubt and the guilt. Everything is crammed down, held in the very pit of my stomach. No-one need know I am unhappy, no-one need see or share in it. As hopeless as I am at dealing with the thought cycles, I am determined they shall not bring a moment of darkness to anyone's day.
Sitting here now and typing this, it all seems so easy - just let your loved ones in, just talk, just accept the innocence of forgetting to post a package. If only depression were not so cruel, did not take away from me moments of sharing and compassion I constantly deny myself. If only I could let myself collapse in someone's company and let them put me back together again. If only.... if only depression were not such a cruel master or I such a compromised servant. And yet it is, and so here I sit on another silent evening, a single fat tear running down my cheek as the only testament to the torture within.
Monday, 29 August 2011
Twitter ye not
Greetings Mudpuddlees, I am posting today with news of a diversion from the norm for me. I have decided to document the world and my life in verse - well, technically, in Haiku. I have converted my twitter account to now be a dumping ground for my thoughts on life, the universe and nothing at all in a Haiku format. For those of you that do not know Haikus, it is a short form of poetry, with many ridiculous rules, but fortunately the modern English version of this Japanese artform is 3 lines of 5, 7 and 5 syllables respectively. For example;
The air that I breathe,
Though supporting endeavour,
Is thick with failure.
The twitterati amongst you will be able to follow me on @Haikusareus.
The reason for this diversion? I have been a lazy little Mudpuddler and have let the habit of writing slip over the past two or three months. Its not good enough! I am hoping this will keep me in the habit of forming my ideas and thoughts into words - which will, in turn, force out the classic idea I have had - the novel that encompasses a single moment in two people's lives, but darts back and forth filling in blanks you never even realised were there.... trust me on this, its a doozy.
The air that I breathe,
Though supporting endeavour,
Is thick with failure.
The twitterati amongst you will be able to follow me on @Haikusareus.
The reason for this diversion? I have been a lazy little Mudpuddler and have let the habit of writing slip over the past two or three months. Its not good enough! I am hoping this will keep me in the habit of forming my ideas and thoughts into words - which will, in turn, force out the classic idea I have had - the novel that encompasses a single moment in two people's lives, but darts back and forth filling in blanks you never even realised were there.... trust me on this, its a doozy.
Thursday, 11 August 2011
My life in people - one for each year since I was born (1971)
Giovanni Leone 71
Bobby Fischer 72
Ted Heath 73
Richard Nixon 74
Bill Gates 75
Jimmy Carter 76
Elizabeth 2nd 77
Anwar Sadat 78
Margaret Thatcher 79
Ronald Reagan 80
Bobby Sands 81
Leopoldo Galtieri 82
Michael Foot 83
Carl Lewis 84
Michail Gorbachev 85
John McCarthy 86
Rudolf Hess 87
George HW Bush 88
Salman Rushdie 89
Nelson Mandela 90
Tim Berners-Lee 91
John Major 92
Bill Clinton 93
Lorena Bobbitt 94
Nick Leeson 95
Boris Yeltsin 96
Tony Blair 97
Augusto Pinochet 98
Lance Armstrong 99
Steve Redgrave 00
George Bush 01
Ronaldo 02
Dr David Kelly 03
Kelly Holmes 04
Pope John Paul II 05
Kevin Pietersen 06
Gordon Brown 07
Chris Hoy 08
Michael Jackson 09
David Cameron 10
Muamar Ghadaffi 11
Bobby Fischer 72
Ted Heath 73
Richard Nixon 74
Bill Gates 75
Jimmy Carter 76
Elizabeth 2nd 77
Anwar Sadat 78
Margaret Thatcher 79
Ronald Reagan 80
Bobby Sands 81
Leopoldo Galtieri 82
Michael Foot 83
Carl Lewis 84
Michail Gorbachev 85
John McCarthy 86
Rudolf Hess 87
George HW Bush 88
Salman Rushdie 89
Nelson Mandela 90
Tim Berners-Lee 91
John Major 92
Bill Clinton 93
Lorena Bobbitt 94
Nick Leeson 95
Boris Yeltsin 96
Tony Blair 97
Augusto Pinochet 98
Lance Armstrong 99
Steve Redgrave 00
George Bush 01
Ronaldo 02
Dr David Kelly 03
Kelly Holmes 04
Pope John Paul II 05
Kevin Pietersen 06
Gordon Brown 07
Chris Hoy 08
Michael Jackson 09
David Cameron 10
Muamar Ghadaffi 11
Wednesday, 3 August 2011
A letter to my 18 year old self
Dear Dave,
I guess right about now you're thinking about going to University, whereas for me it was 21 years ago. Don't worry, I'm not going to spoil the surprises in store for you, let's not go destroying the space-time continuum before you've even set out on your journey. To tell you the truth, I just felt like dropping you a line, to tell you to hang in there. It is all going somewhere, I promise. At least that's what it said in my letter.
Listen, you've got some fights ahead of you, mate, and you're gonna need to toughen up a bit. Not so soon that you can't go nuts for a few years, though. It's all good, just promise me you'll remember when it's time to put away childish things, OK? It's very hard to do this without giving the game away, but its important. There are times you are going to feel totally helpless - you're not. Whatever happens, however overwhelming it seems, you're bigger than it, Dave, you are so much bigger than it.
All those questions that are gnawing away in your head right now, you are going to find the answer to some very soon, and some of them are still questions I ask myself today. I'm just older, I'm not perfect, nor do I have all the answers! It's hard for me to find the words, there's a deep crevice between you and me, when you're there no words will come from the future, or the past, and it's the hardest things will be. Just remember one thing - 39 year old yous cannot write unless they make it out. You do make it out, I did make it out.
I won't tell you to do things differently. As funny as it may sound and despite everything that you will come across, I wouldn't have done a thing differently. Not one moment. Even the pain goes towards making me the man that is writing this letter to you. And like I said, your bigger than it all, you never make the wrong choice, you just make a choice.
What else can I tell you? Not much, but in the late nineties there's a reason it feels too good to be true. It is. Other than that, you already know the people you love, they are the people you'll always love, and you'll meet a few more along the way, I've never known us to pick a dud as a friend. You might tell them a bit more often, though, however clumsy you are with emotions. Ahhh, you'll do great, it's been good chatting to you.
Cheers Dave,
Dave
P.S. 'Do you fancy getting some chips?' - trust me on this ;)
I guess right about now you're thinking about going to University, whereas for me it was 21 years ago. Don't worry, I'm not going to spoil the surprises in store for you, let's not go destroying the space-time continuum before you've even set out on your journey. To tell you the truth, I just felt like dropping you a line, to tell you to hang in there. It is all going somewhere, I promise. At least that's what it said in my letter.
Listen, you've got some fights ahead of you, mate, and you're gonna need to toughen up a bit. Not so soon that you can't go nuts for a few years, though. It's all good, just promise me you'll remember when it's time to put away childish things, OK? It's very hard to do this without giving the game away, but its important. There are times you are going to feel totally helpless - you're not. Whatever happens, however overwhelming it seems, you're bigger than it, Dave, you are so much bigger than it.
All those questions that are gnawing away in your head right now, you are going to find the answer to some very soon, and some of them are still questions I ask myself today. I'm just older, I'm not perfect, nor do I have all the answers! It's hard for me to find the words, there's a deep crevice between you and me, when you're there no words will come from the future, or the past, and it's the hardest things will be. Just remember one thing - 39 year old yous cannot write unless they make it out. You do make it out, I did make it out.
I won't tell you to do things differently. As funny as it may sound and despite everything that you will come across, I wouldn't have done a thing differently. Not one moment. Even the pain goes towards making me the man that is writing this letter to you. And like I said, your bigger than it all, you never make the wrong choice, you just make a choice.
What else can I tell you? Not much, but in the late nineties there's a reason it feels too good to be true. It is. Other than that, you already know the people you love, they are the people you'll always love, and you'll meet a few more along the way, I've never known us to pick a dud as a friend. You might tell them a bit more often, though, however clumsy you are with emotions. Ahhh, you'll do great, it's been good chatting to you.
Cheers Dave,
Dave
P.S. 'Do you fancy getting some chips?' - trust me on this ;)
Thursday, 14 July 2011
Reworked, The Statue
The statue of the lovers wrapped,
In warm embrace endures.
Their features worn, and indistinct,
As time young love matures.
He holds and looks upon her,
Sweet angel in his arms.
She looks back at him, adoring,
Held captive by his charms.
This gaze, held for the ages,
Was to put doubt in its place,
But the fading years betray them,
They cannot recall each other's face.
In warm embrace endures.
Their features worn, and indistinct,
As time young love matures.
He holds and looks upon her,
Sweet angel in his arms.
She looks back at him, adoring,
Held captive by his charms.
This gaze, held for the ages,
Was to put doubt in its place,
But the fading years betray them,
They cannot recall each other's face.
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