Sunday, 3 November 2013

New Blog

Unsurprisingly, I've re-invented myself, or at least, started a new blog. It's nothing to shout about, but it has the virtue of being all my own work... the usual nonsense. You'll find it here A Floored Personality
Cheers!

Monday, 8 April 2013

Distrustfully yours...

It happened. The lone hours I've spent sitting here at my computer, thinking about this, that, the other, all and sundry, have paid off. I've achieved a not insignificant realisation, though not in a dramatic way. It's no epiphany. Not a bright light in sight, no ecstasy or profound sense of knowing. On the contrary, it was more a gentle prompting from my subconscious, a kind of whisper that could easily have been overlooked had something else vied for my attention. But it was a rare perfect moment. No TV. No external noise. Even the cat had ceased purring. Only the rhythmic ticking of the clock (giving emphasis to the silence) and my thoughts, occupied my space. And then it came. 

I'm a victim. A casualty of calcified thinking. The world, and in particular, my local environment, may change on a daily basis, but how I deal with it doesn't. My thoughts, of the world, and in particular, myself, are set. I'm limited to a small set of precepts. 

Not much of a Eureka moment, I confess, and nothing that hasn't been covered countless times in books and inspirational quotes. Indeed, I've held this knowledge for many years, but what makes it different now is that it applies to me! Hitherto, I thought it applied to others only, that whilst they viewed the world through the lens of their bias and prejudice, I had a privileged standpoint, a much broader and deeper perspective. Well, that's not true. My outlook is narrow. And though I've always called myself a realist, in truth, I've been a cynic. Of the worst kind.

It's not for me speculate on the motives and feelings of others. If I need to know, I should ask. Who better to inform me? Cynicism?  A vile form of arrogance!

So... what do I do now? I have no idea.


Sunday, 13 January 2013

Mr Stanley

Janet decided it was time to have a new lodger in the house, so here I present to you,  Stanley, aka, Stan the Man! He's not much above 12 months old and already he's taking control around here. But like most kids, the way to calm him down is to keep the television on. He loves to sit and watch and only occasionally jumps at the screen in an attempt to catch some moving object.


Saturday, 12 January 2013

Cogito

Said to me during an online conversation, "Dude, you think too much!".
Now it's not the first time I've been accused of "over-thinking", but I mention this instance because I had an epiphany as to what was really going on. It became obvious to me, her "accusation" meant, "Dude, let's not go down this route, I don't want to talk about this, entertain me, make me feel good! Talk about me!".

Over-thinking? Hrrmph!

Surely there's more to online conversation than mutual-masturbation (figuratively speaking) is there not?

[thinks]

[thinks a little more]

Friday, 11 January 2013

Breaking...

News...

I'm not only writing this via my cellphone whilst sitting in a toilet cubicle, I'm posting from here too.

Here's a big hello to my readership!

Friday, 19 October 2012

Man Flu...

Oh woe is me. Once more a victim. A victim of that most incapacitating and insidious virus known to the male of the human species - man-flu!

It's best treated via means of tender loving care, in the form of a nurse, a female at one's beck and call for the duration of the ague. But in this instance, due to the absence of this quasi-waitress cum tummy-tickling service, I shall manfully self-medicate with caffeine and digestive biscuits, punctuated by doses of Lemsip.

How fortunate females are.

Sniff.

Saturday, 29 September 2012

Solitude will not be the same without my furry friend.

Rosie is dead. Janet took her to the vets earlier today. The decision to terminate her life was relatively easy. She was weak. She was almost certainly in pain. She was in extreme old age.

It's sad. I've shed tears. What else to say? I don't subscribe to any dubious theory of an after-life... serious talk of this nature leaves me exasperated. You can't know, you fuckers, so what do you prattle on for? It's all very simple. Life is animated. If it ceases to be so, we call this death. All communication with the unfortunate (or fortunate depending on their circumstances) ceases. That's it.

I shall try to avoid using cliches regarding her death, saying only, and no doubt inappropriately (after all, she was a cat, dammit) she was a good girl

How strange to be without a furry dependent.