Pith in the Wind

Everest too Much?

Answer: Every night.

I’ve decided to make the most of the daylight. This is no compromise though, there is no trade in of night time for day time. I’m having my cake and eating it too. I figure the need for sleep must be, at least in part, placebo. We live in an age of hand sanitizers, supermarkets, massage chairs, birthday candles and portable everything. It is to be expected that sleep is overvalued. 9 hours seems a bit excessive doesn’t it? Most of those are lost to pointless unconsciousness anyway. I’m getting carried away here. The point of this paragraph is, and this sentence is more of a reminder to me than to the reader, that I’ve started waking up at half past five. 

I expect you, the reader, to be, at this point, wearing a kind of “Yeah, so what?” expression. Well, bare with me. My story’s about to switch into past tense and, hopefully, become interesting.

My alarm rung, I winced and sensed some enjoyment on my alarms part. I smacked the sadist and with a roll and two thuds I was standing, in, what I’m remembering as, a groggy hunched backed pose. Anticipating having to trudge through long grass covered in dew I slipped on jeans, a sweater and a jacket. I grabbed a book and a pencil, and set off at a jog for the hills, that were still in wonderful slumber, mountain, that looms up behind my estate. 

On my way up the sleepy, alp-like cacophony of cliffs, I found out how detrimental to my fitness the holidays have been. When finally, with a sputter I reached the summit of the everestic peak, one of my knee caps exploded out of my leg, or so it felt, and I collapsed into a delightfully positioned set of rocks. 

For a moment, let’s focus on these rocks: there was a stream like gathering of them flowing down the hill mountainous slope. Of the two I folded into, the higher rock, at my head was covered in a grassy substance, might’ve been grass, creating a sort of pillow covering on the rock. The lower rock carried the bulk of my weight, and perfectly accommodated a comfortable posture for writing. 

In unexpectedly convenient comfort I looked at the depressing sunrise. Or rather, looked at a wall of grey overcasting, it gave me a goofy smile back, I thought nothing of it. Later, I’d find out that goofy smile was the same as the one a small child gives you when you’re about to sit on his whoopi cushion. Disappointedly I wrote in the book, I’d brought, about half past five, and compared alarms to hangings. 

I looked up, probably out of poetic romantics. To look dramatically at the ominous clouds for an extended period of time and then write some deep thought in the book I’d brought, too theatrical to pass up. When I looked up, I noticed a figure walking through the next paddock across from the base of my everest. I took an instant interest in the figure. An internal discussion, with the intention of rationalising the figure, took place in my mind.

“He’s a farmer”
“No, he has no vehicle, and he’s coming from the opposite side of where the farmer lives. Too far to walk.”
“Well he’s just a dude going for a walk”
“At this time, it’s 5:30 in the morning, and there’s nothing but creek the way he’s walking”

As this was taking place in my mind, the figure was obscured as he walked, from the left, behind a large clump of, youthful, camphor laurels. As my brain had pointed out, there is a large creek come swamp there. The figure had to either cross the creek, or else become visible at the left side of the trees again. In remarkable time the figure emerged from the right side of the foliage. My interest in the figure was making it’s on trip up a, graphical, peak. “How could he have crossed the creek so quickly” my eyes lowered slightly, in deep thought. As this thought and I were interrogating each other, the figure crossed another patch of the stream. With the ease of a saint the figure walked straight across the stream. In amazement, I moved slightly to get a better look, at the figure in the distance, through a patch of visibility in the long grass. My movement must have been picked up by the figure, as if he heard me tread on and snap a twig, the figure turned around.

I figure tension is better created in present tense:

He is now impossibly looking at, what I assume is, me; and I am staring at him. I am frozen in amazement, terror and peaked interest, my mind is blank; and the figure begins to walk in my direction. Like a bucket of cold water thrown in my face, my mind is snapped. I dart back to my rocks, not only comfortable but comforting. “I have to write this down.” Follow your intuition. Quickly, I scribble down the events. My brain can’t concentrate. My eyes jump from page to the vacant ridge to page. Every moment that passes brings a heavier breath, a harder thump of my heart. I sit on the whoopi cushion. The floodgates open and spatter my page. “I will finish this paragraph.” Soft swearing and the words “come on” are whispered. The figure’s speed is unknown. My page is close to waterlogged. My wrist on fire. I feel my jumper gaining water weight. I finish the last word. My eyes snap to the ridge. Vacant. I jump to my feet. For the first time for what feels like hours I can see over the ridge. Nothing. The figure has vanished. The building rainfall forces me off the peak, with another sputter. 

Jesus, I’ve got to get better at that. Total lack of suspense. I tell it better in person, I swear. This entire story is true, none of this is made up.

Anonymous asked: Can you plaaashee post more personal massive stories again? plashe?

Point taken. I guess you’re right, it’s probably better that way. I haven’t been inspired to write at all for the past few weeks. The holidays are a killer for creativity; probably something to do with the old tortured artist romanticism. The holidays aren’t painful enough for anything to come of them. I’ll give it a little go, two odd things have happened over the past week or so. 

… C’est Ahh-ther Guy?

Yesterday I went to the dentist. When I got there, I found out, I wasn’t going to have my dentist. I was going to have “the other guy”. I hope you know “the other guy”. The other guy is your health practitioners colleague. Wether it be your dentist, GP or physiotherapist; the other guy is the guy you occasionally see in the hallway, or in the waiting room, maybe he’s come out to talk to the secretary, or welcome another patient. Whatever it may be, the other guy, is not your guy. You have no rapport with the other guy. The other guy doesn’t know how you like your eggs, so to speak. 

Bare with me, this story branches off and I’m about to switch tense.

So, now I’m at the dentist. I don’t get my guy. I get the other guy. I’m being forced into a handshake, introduction and a first impression. I am not in the ideal situation for a first impression. For reasons that string back to the previous night. 

Here I am at the dentistry. Limping on a twisted ankle; one shoe in one hand, my belt in the other. I haven’t had to time to brush my teeth, and I’m still late to this appointment. The other guy stands behind his secretary, looking at me, with a badly hidden expression of disappointment and prediction. We shake hands, and he leads me to the surgery. 

Now, I should have written this yesterday, when the events were fresh in my mind; but, evidently, I didn’t. So I’m going to have to give a light recount of what ensued.

He ushers me to sit down, and within a few questions, begins to make prematurely discomforting jokes. This is the kind of guy who, when he gets a girl back to his apartment, slams the door and locks it, and says something like “No escape now.” He says to me, as I’m lying down, completely vulnerable, something covering my eyes, “Now let’s rip out a few of those teeth, give him something to remember us by.” I’m not paranoid. I can take a joke, but don’t you think that’s a badly timed joke?

After a little while of checking out my teeth, he stops. He says to me, somewhat rhetorically “You’re not taking very good care of yourself are you?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” I take him slightly off-guard
“So you’re in peak physical health?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”
“So you aren’t taking very good care of yourself then?”
“No. That’s not fair. I’m saying it isn’t a dichotomy. It’s not black and white here. I’m not in peak physical health, but I think I’m doing okay.”

Finally, his check up ends. “I can’t find any holes” he tells me somewhat reluctantly, “now, we end our sessions with a gentle, relaxing jaw massage. Release some of that tension.” A little weird, but I’m not going to interrupt this guy. I’m not sure if he’s got psychological training under his belt, and wants to start another discussion. So I relax my jaw completely, making sure to not show any signs of frustration. Whilst he’s giving me this absurdly gentle jaw massage he starts up again with the taking care of yourself discussion. Which somehow leads into a philosophical discussion. After a little while he gives me a compliment, which I do not remember in its entirety ”You’re clever”.
“Thank you” I reply
“No, you know it.”
Later on he continues his peculiarity 
“You know, you’ve just discovered something that none of you school mates have. You’re smarter than them, which means you have a greater responsibility… To take care of you body and such.”
I don’t know how to respond to this guy anymore. I try and defend my school mates. 

The last and possibly oddest thing he says to me, in reply to the conversation we are having, before he finishes the already weird massage “You have to dispense with beliefs, they just cloud the truth”
“Well that’s hard to do. Seeing as all you really have is beliefs. What I mean is, I believe I’m sitting here, I may not actually be here.” I refute him
“No don’t do that. That’s just tricking yourself.”
“I don’t like solipsism either. I was just saying…”
“No, don’t. Dispense with your beliefs. Just go with truths. Listen to your body, it will tell you the truth. It will let you know what you need.”
“I guess that’s one way to look at it.” I punctuate the conversation with civility.

I just burnt my caramelized onion and mushrooms writing this thing. “Smells good champ, but I think you burnt it” 

You’re a bad person, if you buy your kids christmas presents that make noise

From Tumbler to Tumblr

Today I received a book in the mail. I did not buy this book, it was not a christmas present, nor a gift from an old friend who’d moved away. This book was from a man I met only a few days ago, and who I’d only spoken to for maybe an hour.

The other night I was at a friend’s house, drinking scotch from a tumbler, having quiet disagreements and discussing the mechanics, and short comings, of wheelchairs. For reasons I won’t go into, one person was peeling peaches, stacks of peaches, or rather lines of peaches. I internally debated, being a good dude and, helping her out. I ended up looking for external help, I asked aloud “Would I be a hero?”. To which another friend responded “No, get the fuck out”. Taking things literally, I went got my shit together and left. 

I’m not sure how long I was gone. At one point I tried to climb a palm tree. Failure is a good teacher. I learnt that, if stranded on a desert island, in the rain, vans will not help you attain a life preserving coconut. A design flaw unlikely to be exploited by chance, I admit. 

When I finally returned to the house, I was greeted with “Damn, I thought you’d bring back something incredible”. It was a short stay. This time, I had a purpose. There had to be something incredible waiting to be owned, close by, I thought. After a short walk, I passed a house, that I heard a few people sitting outside of, smoking a cigarette, I speculated. I only walked a little farther than that house, for on my brief return to my friend’s house, I’d removed my shoes and hadn’t replaced them. 

I stopped, at a point on the road I thought dramatic. I was at the beginning of a long line of overarching trees. The moonlight was blocked out, and the archway was illuminated only by darkness. Dramatic. I wasn’t going back without “something incredible”. I decided, to walk back to the house with the, speculated, smokers. If they were still sitting outside, I’d introduce myself and hope for good conversation. In hindsight, a debatable decision. I walked back whistling “Singing in the Rain”. When I got to near, there was a man leaving the house. “Nice whistling man”. An introduction must have been fated. I introduced myself to the unknown complimenter.

I got the good conversation I was looking for. We spoke philosophically for, what must have been, an hour. As it turned out, he was a born again christian. He told me his story, without motive of conversion, and I listened without skepticism. By the end of the conversation, he’d decided he wanted to send me a book. Not the bible, I’d told him I’d already read that, but a book about quantum physics and God’s place in it. I received ”Quantum Glory” today, and am eager to start it. 

I returned to my friends house to be greeted by a house full of bedtime. I walked in and announced, “Voila! Something incredible, courtesy the divine”. I placed the bottle of wine, that the christian had given me, on the bench, made farewells and left, this time shoes in tow. 

Found a pair of binoculars

Looks like I’m masturbating tonight.

I don’t know Tumblr well enough to make jokes like that, do I?

Bye Cycling.

Just found out my bike was stolen. That’s the second, relatively expensive, bike I’ve had stolen. I live in a little, bucolic village. Bike thefts are not meant to happen in towns like these. That’s one of the upsides of living in boring pastoral towns, whose population is made up of farmers and upper-middle-class, quasi-retirees.

I wish that hadn’t have happened. I used that bike, quite often. I do like to keep my possessions to a minimum, but the bike is a regrettable loss. On the upside, I don’t have to carry around the key to my bike lock anymore, and I can fit all the things I own into a smaller box. Now that I think about it, if I discount furniture (I did buy my own furniture), I could probably fit all of my things into one, arguably, petit box. 

Strike up another reason I need to get myself a motorbike. I could buy a nice motorbike with the money I spent on the bikes I’ve had stolen.

They would’ve had to cut through a lock to steal that bike.

I like pumpkin more than The Simpsons and pillows

Today Kelly brought me some pizza she made. It had pumpkin on it. Kelly has my undying love and affection. She is now my woman. I stuck a flag in her and everything. 

After you watch that Izzard clip. Watch the rest of them.

Anonymous asked: Oh man, That kind of dancing could never end friendships. Your groovin' yesterday was definitely the blossoming of great things for you, my friend.

Algebraic! 

Anonymous asked: do you wish you could have gotten to know somebody better before it was too late?

“…before it was too late”

My life is not at all like a day-time soap opera. 

I don’t remember there being a time when I was “too late”, I feel like I should though. The question implies it. 

It’s never too late, right?

Old chinese proverb:
“The best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago, the second best time is now”.  

Anonymous asked: You danced like a fuckin' retard today. Luuvin it ya. Bongo that shit up west way alley

Anonymous asked: Your dancing was wonderful today, just saying...

I think I’ve successfully ended the possibility of friendship, with most of the people in that hall today.

Reveal yourself. Whisk me away. Take me to Neverland.