What the fuck is going on in the world? Idiots in a desert calling on holy war in the name of some guy in a book, and idiots in other parts of the world killing innocent bystanders in the name of the idiots' agenda.
Sadly, the civilised part of the world has no other option to respond to this idiot, psychotic aggression. And nothing good will come of that.
But what else? What else does the civilised world do in the face of this archaic, barbaric idiocy?
Nothing good - absolutely nothing - has come from religion that you can't get from compassion and common sense. Why are we as a species so superstitious? And how as a species have we seemed to degenerate into such levels of hatred, genocide and probably suicide? What is wrong with us?
Above, there is a lovely clip from John Lennon. I think he understood.
I've included, below, a lost verse from this great song of love and peace.
Imagine no batshit crazies,
It's blissful if you try,
No idiocy to deal with
You just poke 'em in the eye...
In light of not having anything happy to write about during these shitty (but in a first world problems kind of way) times, I give you this. I absolutely fucking hate this style of music, but absolutely love the pairing of this footage (the kid, I believe, was reacting to another piece of music) and the hellish tune. It makes me smile.
Looking forward to a fun weekend of debauchery with easy-going friends.
I enter the cafe, walk through to the back and hang my bag on the rack and immediately hear the front door being knocked on. It squeaks open. A customer already wanting a coffee, fuck it. I don't agree to make coffees until I am at least 95% set up because it can just put you on the back foot very quickly. You spend time making coffee when you should be setting up, you will get another customer who also wants an early coffee and it's just a bad way to start the day. Which is why I leave the lights off and keep the door shut until I'm ready to start.
But I forgot to close the door. And there's this guy in a hoodie already inside the darkened cafe.
"We're not open yet," I tell him as I walk towards him.
He's hanging onto the open door, because if he lets go, I realise, he'll fall over. He's a smackie so high he's almost falling asleep on his feet.
"Okay - get out," I tell him, waving him out. Just then The Dreaded One arrives after parking the car. She sees the guy and stops, wondering what the hell is going on.
Then the guy says something. Says the same thing again. I notice that he's clutching some money in one fist and some empty tupperware containers in the other. He says that thing again. It's a question, and suddenly I wonder if he's not a smackie but someone with physical disorders in need of help.
"Sorry - what are you saying?"
He says that thing again, and now I understand.
"Any job vacancies?"
He is totally a smackie, totally whacked, and he's asking me to give him a job. It's funny and tragic. I tell him no, there are no job vacancies as I guide him out. The Dreaded One comes inside and I lock the door. I watch our whacked out friend make his teetering way up the road and into the day. There's a part of me - the into-the-abyss part of me - that envies him for his blissed out, fucked up state of mind.
But mostly I feel grateful that I am mostly okay, and that I have a little cafe to set up and a day of work ahead of me.
"I'm going to shirtfront Mr Putin, you bet you are - I bet I am."
The most intriguing thing for me about this recent bit of idiocy from
our PM is the 'you bet you are' bit. What on Earth is that all about?
What is actually going on in this guy's head? Was this another voice in
his head backing him up? Does he have multiple personalities in his head
in constant discussion with each other and this bit of dialogue
accidentally slipped out?
Maybe the full, uncensored quote could
have gone a little like this: "I'm going to shirtfront Mr Putin, you
bet you are. Ooh by crikey you are sooo going to shirt-front that
bear-cuddling fag, and Tone, my man, when you shirtfront someone they
know they've been shirtfronted. You bet they do. You know they do,
don't I... erm who's speaking now? Me, I am, and I don't want a pansy
shirt-fronting, I want to bend Putin over and poke him from behind like
that cellar scene with the gimp in Pulp Fiction, man that was a hot
scene, I really liked that scene... didn't we? You bet we all did."
had a few worrying weeks in the cafe. One of our workers, knowing we
have been quietly stressing, gave us a bottle of wine to say thanks or
cheer us up or whatever. She went to the pub across the road where we
sometimes drink and asked the guys behind the bar which kind of wine we
I was packing away the outdoor furniture for closing yesterday when this intriguingly kooky looking chick with an American accent asked if I needed help with carrying the table. I told her I was okay and went inside. She followed me inside. I asked what she wanted. She said she wanted to recharge her phone and have something to eat. I looked at the outdoor furniture stacked upside down - a pretty good sign that we are closing up - and said "I'm sorry, but we're closed."
She apologised and left, and something about her intrigued.
She came back in this morning and I apologised about yesterday's confusion. No problem. She ordered some breakfast. She read one of my Grumpy columns on the clipboard menu as she ate. I always watch for a reaction. Much blankness until a certain point when she opened her mouth in a silent, still, laugh. A good reaction.
She said she enjoyed her meal, said she enjoyed my writing, mentioned writing of her own. Conversation ensued. From what I could glean, she seemed to be a writer, musician, performer, here on tour from New Orleans.
Sometimes people can be well-known even though you know nothing about them, and asking them what their name is so you can Google them can be awkward. But I asked what her name was so that I could Google her.
Random writings, stories, magazine theatre reviews and interviews, fiction, and occasionally my bi-weekly column Grumpy, which used to appear in the pages of Tsunami mag. Oh and be sure to check out my ebook, 17 Stories Of Love & Crime.