Mind is blank. No title for you.....

I think maybe 5% of creativity is actually creative…pioneering….if you will. It starts when we are nippers. Monkey see, monkey do.  Only in later life, It’s monkey see, monkey change a little bit, monkey take credit for and get sucked off. I’m basically going to get high marks in both English subjects because over the past ten years, I have spent a lot of time waffling on about shit. They should combine Lit’ and Lan’ and just make it a vocational certificate in talking shit.  One moment that I keep revisiting is when I was in University: I was sat there in a pub; that on face value, you’d think was a working class, masculine melting pot. From the outside, it was a typical pub, on the inside, everything about it was the epitome of pubness. It was however, populated with all sorts of ‘hippy/pseudo intellectual/work a day for world peace/ smoke weed and do it tomorrow/analytical boffin’ types. It’s the latter that are relevant here. Weeks prior to sitting there thinking “Oh fuck off you haven’t got a clue” - I was sat in the crane bar, in Galway. I was pissed, and I was playing guitar. I was welcome to join in on the songs and reels, and everyone there was having a riot; it was boss- flash forward to my flash back, in the pub again- these English “musicians” are sitting there with their legs crossed, and their sheet music in tow, and their expensive guitars, and bags of knowledge; telling me I can’t stamp my fucking feet to join in. These people get so caught up, their heads up their own arses, that they lose sight of what music, especially Irish Folk music is all about. These same people who read things or see things created by bohemian minds, and make their suggestions,…telling us the hidden messages. You know what? Things sometimes are what they are; and they don’t need to be picked from the field and taken to the lab, dissected, and explored for meanings and such.

I keep finishing college for the day, and walking down into Liverpool city centre. I noticed today, that I am caught up in a loop of repetitive thought. I leave the college, and the first thing I do it take of my badge, because I’m sort of self conscious that I’m 26, and I’m at college, and I worry a bit,  what people will think. I turn the first corner, and I see an old boarding school on the left, brick, square, and depressing, with a sign saying “Pleasant Street School”- Not that pleasant. I then look over the road, and I see the modern day incarnation of pleasant street primary school; with it’s wacky architecture, making it look like a spaceship, in places, and it’s big security gates- it is a modern day monstrosity. I then start thinking about my time in primary school. I keep walking then I turn another corner, and there’s a multi story car park. I don’t really think much here, there isn’t anything visually stimulating to be honest. Then I turn onto the main road, which is a hill heading down towards Liverpool city centre. I can see the radio city tower; and I think about all those retards who listen to mainstream radio and live their lives in utter ignorance. Then I see my home in the hazy distance, across the Mersey, in the foreground; here, I start thinking about if I’m on the right path or not; will I see these GCSE’s through. Will I succeed? Do I really want to be a deck officer in Merchant navy?  Then I think “what else am I going to do” - Then I reach the favourite part of my walk home; walking past “Smokey Mo’s” - outside, there’s an old school chalk board sign saying “You’ve heard about us, now you’re here, you can see for yourself” - I'm thinking, "No I haven't.... and no I can't" The beer garden is full of track suited street urchins from Liverpool shakily smoking their rolled tobacco and sipping on  their pints of shit  bitter. Bear in mind it’s 1pm. Then everything suddenly becomes lucid. I might not be on the quickest path to living a content existence, but at least I have got my shit together enough to not be standing on the steps of smokey mo’s, smoking and drinking myself into the abyss. The ends now justify the means.

I then work my way through the metropolis that Liverpool is. There is an abundance of Big Issue salesmen; they’re really saturating the market. In the first week, I just said no to them, and felt a little guilty. Then I devised a slightly longer route, to avoid them completely, then I started answering them saying “Sorry, I’m illiterate” - but now I just wear head phones, and glide effortlessly through the mess.  When you’re not wearing headphones, people with headphones are little shits.  Can’t beat them, join them.

Here’s me on Wednesday just gone, at the top of the horseshoe pass, in Llangollen. A very enjoyable 85 mile ride, which I am going to replicate on Sunday to watch my friend Sean compete in the wrexham hill climb time trial.

It's a long way to paradise from here. . . .

That is all.

So, it’s September. Summer has gone just as quick as it came; which it has a tendency to do.  Next month, I will reach the unremarkable milestone that is 27, unless of course you’re a pop star; in which case I’d better be sure not to be taking any crack. I’m not a pop star though. I really can’t think of anything worse than being a pop star anyway. Music infuriates me.

 I’m going through the usual motions of drifting between optimism and pessimism. I’m not sure if it’s something to do with the seasons changing, but I really do tend to get a bit deflated at this time of year. But like I said; there is some optimism there, so it’s not totally forlorn. I’m a bit blue, but who isn’t?

I have finally started College properly. My first week has pretty much passed by without any major issues; aside from financial worries and a bit of customary fucking around from the dole, or the “Department of work” as I now like to call it. I’m sitting here chuckling to myself. Department of work. That’s great that. I’ve just started reading 1984 you see. I went to get a form stamped at the “department of work” and I was told I’d have to make an appointment, rather than them just stamp it for me there. I said “So . . .you want me to make an appointment….to come back tomorrow, so that one of your colleagues can stamp my college form for me?” - “Yes” I was abruptly informed by a woman with a face like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle leaf.  She told me to wait, and then some guy who reminded me of Penfold from Dangermouse shouted me over. I told him that I thought the fact I had to come back tomorrow was a little Orwellian. He seemed to agree, and he stamped it for me, and off I went to complete the enrolment process.  People who work in the job centre; not to generalize here….wait, yeah…to generalize; are a big fat trophy-like representation of why you should not settle on a job unless you really are happy in doing it  for a life time. The jobs I’ve done so far:  paper boy (lasted two days) pot dealer, parker pen salesman, production line operative, barman, pizza delivery boy, catering assistant, painting and decorating, smashing walls down and filling skips, demolition, concreting, roadie (for Vancouver band, The Tranzmitors), Music Promoter, Sound Engineer, Colletions & Recoveries agent, Credit Controller, Accounts Manager, Maritime Research Assistant, Data Entry Clerk,  Casino car park attendant. That’s all I can think of off the top of my head, some official roles there, and some not so official.  Out of all of them, the only one that I would definitely do for the rest of my days would be a Roadie. I was put up, and fed. It didn’t pay at all, but it was quality. Quality job, quality life. This goal of mine, to get me a job in the Merchant Navy has been in the pipeline for a good few years now. It’s definitely not some quixotic flash in the pan. I’m basically in year 4 of trying and not getting anywhere. I reckon I’m on the home straight now though. I’m in college and I’m retaking my G.C.S.E’s. English Literature, Language, Biology, Physics, and a maths for mongs course ( I didn’t pass to get on the GCSE, so I’ve gotta do this remedial course, but there’s a Maths GCSE in January that runs through to July) Over the coming months I will be applying to various shipping companies for next years intake. You know what I’m shit scared of though? Getting through all this rigmarole and either firstly not getting a position, or secondly, not liking it. I often go on about how society is fucked, and I suppose it is really, but where else can you get money, do free education courses, not have to work and get a free bus pass? I’m not beatifying the system, I’m just happy that it’s working for me at the moment. How narcissistic of you Daniel. I was waiting to get my bus pass, and heard the guy in front of me, he was an asylum seeker, and he was also getting his courses paid for, and he was filling in forms so he’d get paid £100 per week; now that’s a pretty decent amount of money to be getting for fuck all, considering I was born here, and I paid my taxes when I did work and I get £55.00 to live off. I could claim housing, and council tax I suppose, so that would sort of even it out. Am I angry, or unhappy about the aforementioned? No, I’m not. I have no idea what that lad has gone through to get to this country. I won’t begrudge him his free courses, and his 100 quid a week. I bet you were thinking, “Oh here we go, here’s another rant about asylum seekers and taxpayers money” Well you’re wrong. Fuck tax payers…. fucking morons. Fuck all those Sun newspaper reading dolts with their spoon fed ideals as well! Fucking thick racist bigoted ignorant sacks of shit,- wishing it was the morning, wishing it was the evening, wishing it was weekend, without seeing that they’re wishing their way to their graves!  I’m concerned with one thing. Getting this academic year out of the way. Getting 5 GCSES, hopefully C or above; I’m really going to give it my all this time. I want 2 A grades, and B’s if I’m honest. I’m appreciative of the chance that I’ve got here.  Going back to college is pretty much the same as when I last went to college. It’s the same as when I went to university. It’s the same as when I go to the pub, bookies, supermarket or even the park. I’m surrounded by people that I don’t seem to have any sort of connection with.  I seen some fat guy with a Mohawk in college; wearing a bright fluorescent “ALCATRAZ PSYCHO WARD” shirt with big stupid baggy pants. What a stupid bastard. Does he think he’s in a slipknot video? Fashion kills me. You have no idea. Seen loads of rejects with green hair and German military jackets hugging each other on bold street as well. You could bet they’ve got “revolutionary” T shirts.  Moshers love hugging each other don’t they? Oooh, old people. The word random. Cheese. Living with my Nan. Hurry up and conform you smelly little shits;  or, carry on with the whole charade, and march your kids around Tesco’s with Buffy the vampire slayer T shirts on. They’ll really love you for that.  Then there’s all these “super dry” t shirts. Why? Then you’ve got people who get their T shirts from supermarkets. You’re not bat man; your slogan about beer isn’t funny, you didn’t graduate from California state surf school college in 1979.Then there’s the Burtons/Topshop sect; T shirts and scarf- nice combination pricks. I seen some other prick, and I’m sorry if it was Robert Smith, drinking in the new Pseudo intellectual coffee place in bold street, but really it wasn’t actually him. It was some pathetic middle age bastard sitting there looking all pale, like he’d stuck a fork in a toaster or something. What’s going on?! If I had the money spare, I’d round up the tramps of Liverpool, and equip them all with plane glass box frame glasses, and give them a couple of quid each, on the proviso that they go in this coffee place, and cause a bit of a stink; both literally and actually. That would piss off all those fucking dandy bastards.