Welcome. Anonymous Author holds a mirror to the face of humanity, asking what it really means to be human,

and in doing so blurs the line between what is good and bad writing.



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Thursday, December 30, 2010

Satisfaction.

Once you've read this, think to yourself for a moment before walking away a little less satisfied than you expected to be.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Monday, December 27, 2010

Stop.

He knew everything except how to stop being the way he was.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

Christmas.

On this day of materialism and its unabashed promotion, take a moment to consider those who are so deprived they are only able to exchange glances.

Friday, December 24, 2010

Metaphysical Fridays.

What is naïve realism with regards to the correlation between the objective universe and the phenomenal world? 

Thursday, December 23, 2010

People who bother me.

People whose confidence is actually rented superiority bother me.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Virtue.

I frequent cocktail bars and have a penchant for women of scant virtue.

Monday, December 20, 2010

Threat.

Angst-ridden people experience greater time expansion in response to equal threat stimuli.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Angst.

What is 'nothing'? To explore 'nothing' as the entity out of which everything emerges you must abandon logic. Nothing is not the absence of 'something'. Contemplate 'nothing' and you notice the character of your mood. 'Nothing' is what produces a feeling of dread or angst. This intense feeling is your clue to the nature and actuality of 'nothing.'

Thursday, December 16, 2010

People who bother me.

People who are Russian wizards bother me.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Peril.

He now faced more peril from the mortally maligned antagonist. Disaffection has the effect of affecting those who, truth be told, are most ineffective.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Monday, December 13, 2010

Indelible.

At any moment you’ll be discovered and thrust deeply into the bitter truth of this place. Who said that? 
The author didn’t allocate the line to a character, and was undecided whether or not to include it. There was a chance critics may pounce on it as being autobiographical; that the author’s recent drugs charges would be smudged faintly but indelibly like a watermark on every page. Every fiction must embrace unavoidable elements of fact.

Friday, December 10, 2010

Metaphysical Fridays.

A morning-glory gives me more pleasure than the metaphysics of gardening.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

People who bother me.

People who write to hide in iridescent dreams what's left of what we are and what we could be, after taking the lion's share of my money, my time and my mind, bother me.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Discovered.

At any moment you'll be discovered and thrust deeply into the bitter truth of this place.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Tension.

He needed to be written out of my life, but could not be for fear of dullness. His fury contrived to clash with my desire for a serene lifestyle; lounging pool-side under impossibly clear skies, or in cafes, the coffee unlimited, the newspapers and magazines delivered to my table with double chocolate brownies, or wandering aimlessly around the city, vicariously absorbing the sensation of people going about their work and play. This idyllic routine was tempered by his stifling existence. He was my dramatic tension.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Friday, December 3, 2010

Watermelons.

Why did the man climb a lamp post next to the motorway with 4 watermelons in a backpack? 

Because he had a degenerative disease of the mind and had lost touch with reality.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

People who bother me.

People with convex philtrums bother me.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Frost.

Celia closed her eyes for a second longer than would constitute a blink. Her long eyelashes fluttered, caressing Quentin's cheek. He rested with his arms stretched coolly above his head, fingers clasped as if in prayer. Her face almost pressed against his; misty breath rolling across the space between them. She lifted her hand and gently soothed his brow, tracing the line of his nose to his lips. He felt cold. She closed her eyes, for longer this time, and sighed. Celia, too, felt the chill as she stepped away from Quentin and shut the freezer door.

Monday, November 29, 2010

Deception.

So great is the power of human self-deception that, despite my bunion's relentless ache, I didn't think it necessary to reinforce the corrugated iron roof, because I didn't believe that the meteor shower would happen. Ignore bunions at your peril.

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Friday, November 26, 2010

Metaphysical Fridays.

What is a chicken? What is a road? Did either have a purpose in regards to one crossing or being crossed by the other?

Thursday, November 25, 2010

People who bother me.

People who feign dishonest ignorance bother me.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Is like.

Writing an obtuse simile is like writing a simile as obtuse as this simile is like.

Monday, November 22, 2010

Friday, November 19, 2010

Metaphysical Fridays.

Circular logic works well because circular logic works well.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

People who bother me.

People whose character, when held up to the light and its fine print examined, is found to be riddled with clichés, bother me.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Reason.

The following excerpt is lifted from a thesis I wrote as part of my third PHD. At the time (1998) I was living in Athens and submitting papers extramurally to the Aristotelian University of Peripatetic Contemplation, Atlantis. (Formerly the Platonic University of Socratic Dialogue). It involves a field experiment I conducted with locals from the inland village of Ano Souli which hypothesised that 'Neither rhyme nor reason can be explained either in rhyme or by reason.' 

...The stifling session neared its conclusion. The sun maintained an intense heat even as it rapidly lowered. Answers had been difficult to extract and my theory was no closer to being proved or disproved. A zephyr passed and gave cause to the parched ground on which we stood to puff clouds of choking dust. The tiny dessicated particles mixed with sweat and spittle to form a dry paste on the faces of us all. I sensed my subjects were agitated and tired of my questions. One last attempt, I optimistically thought. A breakthrough of some sort was required to boost morale for tomorrow's gathering.
"Hands up if you've brought dishonour to the group," I accused in my most dictatorial tone. "Dishonour!" Not one of the accused raised an arm above their head. They shuffled uncomfortably and surveyed the hot earth. "Well, dishonour has been visited upon this village; of that there is not doubt." I was joking, of course. "Now, wave your hands in the air if you just don't care!" I invited in my most convincing children's television presenter voice. "Woot woot!" was the cacophonous response as 24 hands were flung skywards. 
I was perplexed. How could it be that to indicate apathy such an active response was deemed universally appropriate? "Ok, let's call it a day," I proffered, and hoped my odd English vernacular was understood. "We'll reconvene tomorrow." Tomorrow I would ask them to shrug nonchalantly, or twitch an eyebrow if they just didn't care. Would this engender the same woot woots of apathetic approval? I had a hunch that it would not, and the reason was something to do with rhyme...


As you can tell, this was a thesis at the forefront of its discipline. 
I may include larger tracts in my yet to be published autobiography.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Voices.

I've been hearing voices in my head for a while now. People worry for me, but I allay their fears with a small dose of sanity. In my head is really the most appropriate place to hear voices, I tell them. If I begin to hear them out of my fingers, then you can be certain something is terribly wrong.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Friday, November 12, 2010

Metaphysical Fridays.

Are there some questions that can't be answered? Prove it.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

People who bother me.

People who are really capybaras that shape-shifted into people bother me.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Vagueness.

I'm within a few paltry calculations of completing the mathematical equation which provides the formula with which to prove the certainty of the human fascination with shadows. It is called the adumbration blueprint.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Art.

Text.

All authors are artificial constructs to some extent. Derrida was partially correct when he suggested nothing exists outside the text. I advance the theory to a further conclusion: not only does nothing exist outside the text, but more than that, the text actively creates this Author. I imbue the text and it imbues me. If it were not for the benevolence of words and language I would not exist and yet neither would the text that is formed to describe my existence. The text does not absorb me to supply a framework for my narrative but rather it designs and delivers me and I in turn supply it with the narrative with which to explain my being. There is no hierarchy. Rather the text and I are inseparable: letters are my cells; phonemes are my DNA; my atoms are thematic.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Friday, November 5, 2010

Metaphysical Fridays.

Do you like music, or do you only enjoy how it sounds? Is music mere auditory wallpaper to you, or a vessel from which to extract meaning about yourself and the universe?

Thursday, November 4, 2010

People who bother me.

People who claim to have coulrophobia bother me.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Decision.

I've come to a decision: rather than have you attempt to decipher my intentions, let's assume you are mistaken and we'll continue the story.

Monday, November 1, 2010

Shame.

His ears burned and he felt sick. Dad's voice was uncomfortably loud. Strident adult debate about the news of the day excluded him as it swirled around the room. His stupid unshod feet dangled exposed from beneath the nylon cape the barber had draped across his shoulders before lifting him onto a board that straddled the arms of the solid steel chair, raising him to an embarrassingly false height. He was too hot and the noise was too much. He was being ignored and everyone was laughing at him. They must have been mocking him for the ridiculous way he had to sit propped up with naked toes. Frustrated tears welled in the large mirror. He caught his father looking at him and they were both ashamed.

Saturday, October 30, 2010

Friday, October 29, 2010

Metaphysical Fridays.

No, Mann is an island.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

People who bother me.

People who have lit a fire in a hospital emergency department just so they can be the one to put it out and claim hero status bother me.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

DNA.

My genetic code is made up of only lowercase letters and includes a silent 'g'. 
It was first written on the back of a napkin, and has since been typeset on my cell structure in 14pt Helvetica Medium on 22pt leading, left aligned. What this means for me as I evolve is thus far unclear.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Writing.

Writing is not like thinking about writing; writing is like thinking.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Friday, October 22, 2010

Metaphysical Fridays.

Things are what they seem until we learn otherwise. We think that the sky is blue, the rock is hard, the fire is hot. In fact, the blueness, the hardness and the hotness of those things are not the same blueness, hardness and hotness as you know in all your experiences. You are merely observing the effects of these things upon yourself. Similarly, you cannot be certain that you exist or whether you have achieved singularity with an idea of what it is to exist.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

People who bother me.

People who, constantly burdened by misfortune, have yet to develop the antidote of optimism, bother me.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Ridiculous.

Life is intrinsically ridiculous; nearly all things are idiotic.

Monday, October 18, 2010

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Friday, October 15, 2010

Metaphysical Fridays.

What is matter? Does it matter? What if it does matter? What does it matter? As a matter of fact it does matter that it matters: matter matters; as to why it matters is another matter.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

People who bother me.

People who are indescribably moved by their own soliloquies bother me.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Meanwhile.

Meanwhile, tucked into their beds, fast asleep, Poppy and Sid were dreaming of monkeys and trains and cheese and dancing. On this particular spring morning the sun decided not to get up and it remained night time for ever more. Poppy and Sid were troubled by this to begin with, but adapted well enough. After a short while, the gravity of the situation became apparent and what had begun as a super adventure turned for the worse. A chaotic descent into war and madness by all of humanity followed. Somehow Poppy and Sid ended up as the last human beings alive. They were obviously very competent and resilient. How do you think you would have done in similar circumstances?
Don't be too sure... You see, I made this little story up. That's a fact. And if I had placed you into the story I would have fabricated a scenario not necessarily in your favour. That is the power of fiction. So just be aware one day you may end up as a character in a story; possibly a flawed character.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Shaping.

Our crude reality requires a finesse that only the gentle stroke of uncertainty can apply.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Post.

This post entitles you to one hour's contemplation on the merits of black type on a white background. 
One post per reader. To be redeemed by 20.12.2010.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Friday, October 8, 2010

Metaphysical Fridays.

Why is there something rather than nothing? Or is there?

Thursday, October 7, 2010

People who bother me.

People who vote for a political party, believe a religion, practise inane traditions, think certain things and behave certain ways, not because that is what they have explored and decided upon through experience, but because it's what their parents did, bother me.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Poppy.

The phrase 'tall poppy syndrome' was invented by twerps to avoid justifiable criticism. It doesn't exist in practice. As long as diversity of values exists, there will be deserved criticism of those false icons who hold themselves up as people that we should aspire to be like. That is not tall poppy syndrome, that is honesty. Place no merit in the idea that your perceived achievements warrant universal regard. If you're being a dick, then you're a dick. Respect is earned, whether you're a famous-anus or not. Don't attribute the reason you're now disliked to your success. Success isn't the flaw; your new personality is. We're not jealous, we're saddened that you've become a jerk. We don't want to cut you down, we just want the nice person back. Never label your fall from popularity as the result of the non-existent 'tall poppy syndrome.' That's just another way you're carrying on as a prat.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Monday, October 4, 2010

Physical process.

Delivering the words to readers was all that mattered. The roughly typed pages, the smudged ink, the imperfect typesetting with its widows and orphans and spelling mistakes, the poor punctuation, the stream of consciousness – they all undid the intended goal. Words were diluted, their meaning lost in the translation of the the physical process of writing. I really need to develop my telepathy and find a niche market, he thought, screwing up another draft. 

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Knowledge.

Despite a love of knowledge I cannot conceive a solitary realistic thought.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Friday, October 1, 2010

Venn diagram.

Metaphysical Fridays.

During a visit to a farm, a man saw the farmer feeding his pigs. The farmer would lift a pig up to an apple tree, and the pig would eat the apples off the tree. They moved from one tree to another until the pig was satisfied, then he would start again with another pig. The bemused man watched this for some time, then said, “This is the most inefficient method of feeding pigs that I can imagine. Just think of the time that would be saved if you shook the apples off the tree and let the pigs eat them from the ground!” The farmer replied, “But what’s time to a pig?”

Thursday, September 30, 2010

People who bother me.

People who fail to understand that it is them who is bringing everyone down bother me.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Type.

This seemingly insignificant tract of type expects you to figure everything out for yourself.

Learned.

If anyone tells you they have ever learned anything from what I have written, let me tell you they are lying.

Monday, September 27, 2010

Error 404.

Madness.

Being mad is a great excuse for giving reign to hate and bad behaviour and bad jokes, while handing over to others responsibilities for one's life; the effect being to cause as much trouble as possible while remaining a virtuous victim.

Friday, September 24, 2010

Metaphysical Fridays.

Considering your brain is conscious and fully functioning for up to 20 seconds post-decapitation, it's possible that it has already happened. Can you ever be totally sure no one is behind you?

Thursday, September 23, 2010

People who bother me.

People who shuffle lamely through life at the speed of radioactive decay bother me.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Nothing.

A nothingness of incomprehensibility is a sensible outcome if you really think about it.

Venn diagram.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Colour plate.

Suspension.

In belief of certain types, the will must be passive and the intellect suspended; a realm of phantoms entered into.

Monday, September 20, 2010

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Discovery.

I have discovered that you have a single weakness: that you are weak.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Introspection.

Take a good long hard look inside yourself. Like what you see? Is it revealed that you are a fat, drunk, cliche with bad feelings? Do you discover a grim euphoria in what you find? Or both?

Friday, September 17, 2010

Pleasure.

Metaphysical Fridays.

Once you have read this you cannot unread it, and so your dalliance with its meaning is unavoidable, even if you should try to avoid considering its purpose.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

People who bother me.

People who feel good and moral about themselves while stipulating that the moral high ground is where others are not, bother me.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Trust.

On my third visit, the bottle of rum came out in full view before breakfast. He lifted it to his lips and swigged gleefully, directing a knowing glance and a lopsided smile at me. He'd obviously decided I could be trusted (and after only three visits!) I was flattered and burdened.

Accent.

I have the rare gift of easily imitating accents in writing: The blue towel in the cupboard is threadbare (Spanish);  The blue towel in the cupboard is threadbare (American English). 

Monday, September 13, 2010

Experiences.

The next person you see, tell them that I asked you to tell them to read this so that you both have a shared experience; I know how lonely it can get.

Actinic word sequence.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Friday, September 10, 2010

Affirmation.

Over-analysis of why 'having it all' isn't as life-affirming as you'd expect is best resolved when you accept a portion of your daily life as being an unavoidable series of minor disappointments.

Metaphysical Fridays.

The announcement that my ability to focus was stifled by the ruthless grip of ennui drew a visceral response from Carl, who, shouting above the roar of the wind, suggested that perhaps I should have made peace with the absurdity of human existence before I joined him on a world record tandem paragliding attempt.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Feeling.

She told me she had an inconsiderate suitor: he didn't feel what he knew he should feel.

People who bother me.

People who display ostentation in mute eloquence bother me.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Actinic word sequence.

Memory.

Once again I'm experiencing amnesia and deja vu simultaneously. I'd forgotten how familiar it feels.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Colour plate.

Fiction.

Nothing is universally truer than a work of fiction set in an imaginary world by an anonymous author. Nothing is less reliable than eyewitness accounts of a specific event by two well-known historians.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Verb.

Anticipation.

Whatever it is you anticipate gaining from reading this post, there is no way I can know what that might be at the time of writing. I'll hazard a guess: that you are looking for semantic insight and lexical inspiration to help turn your life around. If that is correct, I find it too heavy a burden, so will provide neither.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Naming rights.

Choose an epithet for me. You'll think of something; it's what you do.

Friday, September 3, 2010

Pagophagia.

Metaphysical Fridays.

A friend of mine has a predilection for sugary snacks. Cory is a practicing Buddhist, and when his teeth required attention due to decay he decided not to use pain relief. He's not ideologically opposed to the drugs, rather his refusal to accept anesthesia was because he wanted to transcend dental medication.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Voice.

The only time I am present in my dialogues is to explain my absence. For example, today I am attending a b-list celebrity book launch so will be unable to write an excerpt on the origin of the universe. Had I been here to do so, I would have written in the third person. I do not write in my own voice; there will be no treatise on the subject of my own ideas; all of these words are yours. 

I think I am.

She told me that when it came to us the only things worth considering were those things about which there was no more to consider. I said I had no idea what she meant, and she said exactly, only ideas are worth contemplating; nothing else is real. I scratched my non-existent head with my non-existent fingers and said nothing. Now you're getting it, she nodded.

People who bother me.

People who reach out to pull an imaginary rope, thinking that somewhere a bell will sound, bother me.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Monday, August 30, 2010

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Friday, August 27, 2010

Metaphysical Fridays.

Consider a system's degree of complexity and its feedback mechanisms. Does it have experiences which correspond with the intensity with which you experience things; or in other words, although a system may be a more simple form than you are, does its world-experience seem as real to it as your world-experience does to you?

Thursday, August 26, 2010

People who bother me.

People for whom it takes the anti-epiphany of a random personal tragedy before they question their blind faith in a supernatural, omnipotent and omnipresent force, having ignored the infinite random tragedies of others that preceded theirs, bother me.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Lights.

I feel unplugged from something in this life, he thought. Unable to decipher what I'm supposed to do. Like an insect with broken antennae. During the week my days smell of anxiety. I need validation. He stood as tall as his stature would permit and stared down the camera. I don't know who I am as a person let alone who I'm meant to be as a game show host, he sadly reflected. Someone called action. He smiled.

Colour plate.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Monday, August 23, 2010

Assistant.

I flinched as his warm hand clasped my shoulder a little too firmly. He leaned closer and I could feel his breath spread across my neck carrying with it the damp inquisitive whisper: "Are your dreams as profound as your waking life is banal?"  He handed me a shirt, one size larger as requested, and limped away from the changing room, returning items of discarded, creased clothing to their perfect display racks.

Not art.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Memento Mori.

Carpe diem is so last year.

Friday, August 20, 2010

Idiosyncrasy.

Her hairs block the plug hole, her toenails are lost among the loop pile. Wads of tissue lie against the skirting like damp tumbleweeds. He forgives her for these indiscretions. Half of her brain was taken out when she was 26 and now the spinal fluid that fills the vacant left-hemisphere sloshes around so she feels the ocean lapping inside her skull. This drives her to distraction, particularly while she grooms herself. He felt he was magnanimous in his overlooking of such foibles; "most would not stand for this!" he often reminds her, as she floats about half submerged in the real imaginary world in her head.

Metaphysical Fridays.

As you seek to determine the answers to questions of existence, you think you may have stumbled upon the writings of Anonymous. At this juncture in time, I say to you that science and linguistics have proved beyond doubt that our considerations and undertakings are simply the artifice of a predetermined existence; and that 'free will' is a ruse.

If you agree with the above text, and endorse the concept of determinism, click the following link:


http://theghostwriterinthemachine.blogspot.com/2010/08/metaphysical-fridays_13.html


If you do not agree the universe is fully governed by causal lawsclick the following link:



Thursday, August 19, 2010

Dedication.

Last week he'd contacted her anonymously through a dating website, requesting a recent photo "full length, wearing a really short dress, or panties and a t-shirt please" and inquiring whether or not she'd like to meet him for a drink on Saturday afternoon. "To emphasise my sincerity," he wrote, "I've included a poem that you may like to print off and bring with you. That way, if your photo doesn't arrive in time, I'll recognise you. I've named it 'Together' and dedicate it to you, and the relationship I hope we will forge." 


silence screams an awkward glance
over its shoulder 
to someone else who might be listening or
the voyeur behind the musty drapes.
we smell of those drapes 
we smell sadly of the stories with which they regale each prurient bedfellow
we benignly devour, with no ounce of passion, the answers to non-sequiters.
look under rugs of matted hair and insects for a trap door out of here.

She called out urgently to her flatmate. 
"Shelly, I need you to take a photo for me. And I won't be here Saturday night."

People who bother me.

People clothed in synthetic material who stand in front of empty fireplaces and rock back and forth from toe to heel, musing aloud about the length and severity of the approaching winter and speculating what the change in season may bring in terms of discomfort, misfortune or unfulfilled promise, hinting that the fire should be lit by someone else, bother me.

Continuum.

The beginning, the middle and the end of a line that forms a circle are simultaneously at infinite points along that line. Similarly, the beginning, the middle and the end of your search for answers have no distinct locations.
Consider the following: When did you decide to read this? Why? What caused your decision? What do you expect to get from reading this? What do you think will happen once you've stopped reading? And if something else happens instead, is that the beginning of the next experience or the end of your reading experience – a continuation of the current activity or the beginning of a new one which was (or was not) influenced by the fact you were reading anyway? Did knowing the only way you got to read this was because I decided to publish it change your response to any of the above questions? Do you care? Do I care? Do you care if I care? The beginning, the middle, the end.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Watercolours.

Is, be.

Something that I do not know with absolute certainty, in as much as anything is or can be certain, and in as much as anything actually IS (because really what is IS but an arbitrarily proscribed state of be-ing), is whether unicorn farts smell like the taste of marzipan.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Fog.

Deduce.

You think your thoughts and I try to think what your thoughts might be, write them down, and try to make you think about the thoughts I thought you had.

Monday, August 16, 2010

Sunday, August 15, 2010

The truth about lying.

Propped up on one elbow, her neck extended at an unusual angle, she met my gaze.
"We all lie a lot," she stated. "We experiment with the science of deception; forge fact from fiction; extract truth from fable. Most of us do so as an instinctive, face-saving social tactic – a protective reflex to advance our cause in the world." She blinked. Her pupils dilated as they refocussed. I lay supine next to her on the floor. "But you do it," she accused, "simply to hurt others. You fabricate to wound and destroy."
"I do not," I lied. And it was only mildly ironic that my features were unable to express pensive torment.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

Pursuit.

I have no idea where you are headed; but I will pursue you like the new line of narrative I am in the process of writing as you read this.

Friday, August 13, 2010

Old age.

Senility slowly arrived. His confidence ebbed, replaced with an almost imperceptible accrual of confusion. His liveliness drained away; his ability to decide or deduce decayed; his impulse to improvise faded. And we watched, fabricating scenarios to ensure this did not happen to us.

Metaphysical Fridays.

Q: Is this a question?
A: If this is an answer.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

People who bother me.

People who appear in my dreams, night after night, like dogs returning to a buried kill, bother me.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Monday, August 9, 2010

Plagarism.

Us.

I achieved profound inner change, matched only by a slow outer decay.
I have a distant and forced interest in other people's lives.
I possess an abundance of apathy – yet I threaten others with my achievements.
I am seduced into being what others see in me.
I don't feel vulnerable or exposed in writing things down; it's you I'm writing about.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Cold.

You know that feeling you get when you're cutting vegetables and the knife slips and you're sure you've just sliced right through your knuckle? I feel like that all the time.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Metaphysical Fridays.

I was relaxing in a pub with a close mentor of mine, René Descartes, enjoying a lager. The bar manager asked us if we'd like another round before closing time. 'I think not,' Descartes said, and vanished in a puff of logic. 

I was with another of my colleagues, Jean-Paul Sartre, in the local café, helping him revise his draft of Being and Nothingness. He asked the waitress for a cup of coffee with no cream. The waitress replied, 'I'm sorry, Jean-Paul, but we're out of cream. How about with no milk?'

Thursday, August 5, 2010

People who bother me.

People with lean academic fingers, who only lie on forms and truly believe in the faux innocence of the 1950s; who cling to youth but in reality seem older, more tired, as though they've attempted something remarkably important but have failed, bother me.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Monday, August 2, 2010

Metaphor.

Unacceptable.

I called talkback radio to bemoan the lack of work ethic in contemporary society. On air I emphatically opined that from where I was sitting: on the sofa in front of television, just before noon and fresh out of bed, large whiskey in hand, slippers on and pants off – such prevalent lethargy was unacceptable.

Friday, July 30, 2010

Metaphysical Fridays.

I recently visited a psychic with a great reputation – she is apparently both accurate and successful in her readings. In the stereotypically musty and drape-laden front room of her old bungalow, she lit a candle and poured me a cup of tea before consulting the tarot cards.
She studied the cards and then twitched violently, like she was coming out of a dream, and said to me, "I wish there was an easy way to deliver this news, but there's not. So I'll just be blunt. Prepare yourself to lose a very close friend. He'll die suddenly in excruciating pain later this month."
I was obviously shaken. Even knowing her reputation I was immediately sceptical. How could she know this? Was she playing on my insecurities and fears? I stared at her silently for some time; the candle flickered shadows over her lined face. I took a few deep breaths to compose myself before asking, "Will I get away with it?"

Therapy

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Words to console the afflicted.

Choose the aspects of reality you wish to include and those you wish to omit.

Lines.

She told me everything I ever said was misinformation, a lie, a line. 
I said Yes, but they were great lines. Lines like: "No compromises. Not for me not for you. Compromise only occurs because people aren't prepared to not compromise. It doesn't have to exist, and for us it won't. And I'm not compromising on that."

She told me that insecure people italicise their speech in the most interesting places.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Selected colour plates.

The attached colour plates are taken from my yet to be published unauthorised autobiography, 'The Ghostwriter in the Machine'.
Initial forays into psycholinguistics were largely philosophical ventures, due mainly to a lack of cohesive data on how the human brain functioned. Parmenides claimed truth cannot be known through sensory perception because perception can deceive. Only pure reason will result in the understanding of the truth of the world. From that position I invite you to consider the following images and accompanying text. Make of these examples what you will and decide whether perception or reason informs your understanding of them.
Random Category Mistake: Most bananas are atheists.