Suggested Audio Jukebox:

[1] Taproot “Violent Seas”
[2] Metallica “Hit The Lights”
[3] Incubus “Pistola”

 

You ever wake up with no motivation whatsoever? You’re darn tooting it sucks and that is the position I find myself in currently. Last night was a fairly insipid one on the health front and I found myself without the simple energy to lift my head. I’m starting to get used to the way this C.O.P.D. works, even though I’m still waiting for my official diagnosis. Three weeks seems like an eternity to be told what you already know but I’ve become rather adept at killing time so I’ll keep my pecker up as best as I can during the interim. Of course, days like today don’t help one iota, as my ordinarily blushing word font is looking decidedly anaemic right now. This is where you lot come in as, just by sitting here shooting the shit with you fine people, who knows where that will lead? Heaven forbid I locate my flow as then we’ll all be in trouble. You see, regardless of how lethargic I feel, my fingertips have a tendency of running riot in these moments and that’s great exercise as far as I’m concerned. Through prose I can cover some ground, hit it running, and snag myself all the motivation I need to make today a decidedly good day.

They say a good hearty breakfast works wonders for greasing the gears and I only wish I took the bait. I even went as far as procuring myself some low-grade muesli, of the red berry variety, and it all turned out to be one huge deception as all I discern is raisins. You don’t see caffeine attempting to pull the wool over your eyes; which is why I make this my very first port of call. Unfortunately, a cigarette isn’t traditionally far behind it and, before I know it, I have assumed my position on the chain line. When my coffee cup becomes empty, I head straight for the taurine, as this provides just the false boost I need to stimulate myself into activating those thrusters. Last night they stalled in spectacular fashion and I believe nights like these are something I will have to get used to while waiting for my fate to become clear. Fatigue is no friend of mine and it proved as much by shorting my circuitry early evening and not permitting any kind of reboot. The world still turns but I feel like little more than observer, people who care worry, feelings then become hurt, and not a dash of it is ever intentional.

This wipes me out more than anything else as I wish I could provide some reassurance and I guess that’s what I’m doing as we speak. You see, I may have been culpable in the past of being a closed book, but I’m not now. It’s just that the pages are stuck together with a glue that my condition slathers on for its own sick amusement. I wish to soar and can still do this on occasion but I have to pick my moments and take every last rough with the smooth. Tuesday 28th June 2015 was one such rough and my sole consolation is that today’s Wednesday and the scripture hasn’t yet been written. I’ll try working as much as feasible, supplying treats for those who spark my ignition every last day. This gives me more joy than anything as I wish to be one of the people, in whatever way I can, be that tiny or towering. One sparked fuse is all it really takes to achieve this and I gather momentum in return which affords us all the spirit lift we’re crying out for. Today needn’t be the same as yesterday; ’tis a whole different ball game and there are home runs to be hit if we just know when to swing those bats.

As a matter of fact, that is precisely what I am doing right now; swinging wildly in hope of landing myself a sixer. My body may be betraying me a little, but my mind is open to the elements, heart pulsing wildly, and my soul cage rattling as I ‘m gradually afforded access all areas. Do I have any great burning desire for woe to be me? No sir I do not. Mind over matter is imperative when those doubts begin to manifest, and they do, as I’m no different from the next guy. If things start off a little dry then that’s okay with me as the neurons are motoring and, when they do, that’s when the magic happens. I vacate my weary shell and roam freely through an ocean of possibility, glancing every soul I can as I soar. Naturally I often end up revisiting my childhood as these are safe confines and generally bear the very sweetest of fruit. Considering I struggle to achieve one portion of my daily five, I’m grateful for the nourishment this provides as it keeps the wolves from the door so to speak. Besides, I’ve seen a lot of funky shit in my time and nothing is off-limits to recollect so I’ll dip back in with a firm smile each time and, God willing, a mischievous one also.

Have I ever enlightened you as to the very first time I spanked the monkey? What a night that was, a voyage of discovery, personal enlightenment, and a fair dose of silent terror just to crank it up a few notches. My friends and I had decided to partake in a slumber party of sorts but one which concluded with lit methane as opposed to pillow fights and bubble blowing contests. Our host could fart on command and took great pleasure from hollering “hit the lights!” at random intervals just so he could retrieve the lighter, assume position, and start himself a short-term fire. He also possessed a treasure chest of porn and, up until this point, I had not been exposed to such smut so it offered riches unbounded to this particular pirate. The problem was that I hadn’t yet mastered the art of walking the plank and my pent-up sailors had no way of going overboard. Instead they congregated in the lower deck, discussing eleventh hour mutiny, and generally causing a furor. As the captain of my vessel, all fingers pointed at me, and I had no idea where I should be dropping anchor. It’s hard to ponder masturbation when the words “hit the lights!” can ring out at any given moment and you’re left grasping full mast like a deck hand.

I knew that timing was of the essence and had managed to obtain myself the captain’s bunk that night so this was to be my chance. Both my fellow seamen were below deck in sleeping bags and I was left to steer the ship through these treacherous waters. Lights were off and it had been fifteen minutes since they’d last been hit so all seemed quiet on the western front and I knew the moment of truth was about to arrive. However, I wasn’t taking any chances, and hung it out for the next snapshot moment just in case I came a cropper. If there’s one prospect more mortifying than becoming that rabbit in headlights then that would be being the bunny caught with its dick in its palm as the eighteen wheeler approaches. Fortunately, my friend was like clockwork, and “hit the lights!” was cried right on cue. His flame was impressive and we all rejoiced for a second, although mine was more of a cunning celebration as I knew full well what would be going down once the darkness returned. It was time to release the shrink-wrap and find out what this supposed special purpose could really do with a hand around the scruff of its throat.

Serenity soon returned and I spotted my moment, grabbing it enthusiastically. Earlier that evening we had embarked on a group discussion and it had been suggested that there was a way of releasing the valve so to speak. Movement would be required to be both rigorous and repetitive, hell for leather I believe is the term, and would entail around five minutes of patiently waiting, ten or so seconds of gurning like an infant, and an explosion that may well light up the skies. This unsettled me as the last thing I wanted was to unwittingly let off a flare and alert other crew members to my defilement. However, details were vague about the tail-end of my expedition, only that it would all prove worth it when the storm hit. And indeed it did, although that is not to suggest plain sailing as the eye of this particular twister was decidedly angry, downright furious you could say. As my honey prepared to seep, my first consideration was that my bladder was about to burst, and panic set in accordingly. However, this soon subsided as another feeling entirely took precedence. The weasel went pop, big dipper dropped, and I was whisked promptly away in the fiercest of undercurrents. Was it fun? Hell’s yeah it was fun but it also left an unanswered question or two.

The first was why the hell didn’t I do this shit earlier and, the second, why did I feel as though I had just given Slimer a full body hug. Had my associate yelled “hit the lights!” at this point then I would have been turfed out of his cabin before he could strike that first match. Thankfully, neither of them appeared to have stirred, despite my animated encore. This left me with a fresh kind of conundrum, that being, how does one destroy all incriminating evidence without a night lantern. I was fully aware of the sizeable splash damage but knew not how to dispose of it before it dried into indefinite chain mail. Frantically I pondered the color of the wallpaper and, if memory served, it was magnolia. With some trepidation, I redecorated it with my tacky adhesive, and prayed that I’d matched the tones correctly. All that was left now was to wait for daybreak and secretly reflect on this invigorating experience. Needless to say, I slept like a baby, and awoke overspilling with the joys of spring. Then the realization sank in that light was no longer my friend and I anxiously surveyed the wall to my right. Nothing, perhaps a little more off-color than previously, but there was nothing to suggest I’d just petted my monster on his majesty’s personal throne. Moreover, I had learned a new trick which would become indispensable for the remainder of my adolescence and still serves me well to this very day.

Did you see what I did there? Unless I’m frightfully mistaken, I do believe I just snatched victory from the jaws of defeat. Let’s not twist the pretzel any more than it already is; I’m still feeling every bit as lethargic and no more likely to break into a brisk jog than before. However, I’m feeling chipper, like I just got a load off my chest so to speak, and thank the heavens above that my mother chose magnolia wallpaper too. This my beloved friends is a sure-fire case of something from nothing and the best I can offer given my woeful current energy levels. The critical factor is that I have gotten to hang out and chew the fat some, as opposed to wallowing in indifference. Where would we be without childhood memories eh? Call me a shameless wanker and I shall reveal my hidden stash of odd socks. But I’m a happy wanker and that has to count for something right? That said, if a single one of you yells “hit the lights!” at the very top of your lungs without prior warning, then you’ll soon see that grin wiped away in an instant.

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