Tuesday, 6 March 2012
Feels like I have nothing of value to say right now. So many Big Things Happened just in one week .. I can't keep up with such themes. Such archetypes. So I'm struck dumb by the Bigness instead.
Here's a poem I wrote:
I see the leaves turn yellow/and summer can suck my dick.
Every year at the change of season, me and my American friends are all, "Oh I send summer up to you now." "Here's your winter ... rug up, it was a cold one, tee hee!"
Yeah, ain't nothing funny this year. I'm reading of spring up in North America which means autumn is on its way down here and WE NEVER HAD A SUMMER. Like, the sun comes out these days and I look up at it, blinking. And just go back inside. You're too late, arsehole.
This is my very last week on planet earth ..... in my thirties. On Sunday I will be forty, hot damn. Forty is big. Jesus was tempted in the desert by the devil for forty days and forty nights. At the end of every single U2 concert, Bono sings "40" .. a snippet of a song they wrote years ago, based on Psalm 40. It's a power number, a master number. If I was twenty and knew in my head what I know now? I may have ended up punching a hole in the world. But I didn't ... I only know what I know now. Guess that'll have to do.
I always thought 40 was old. Guess what? IT IS. Come on. You should see my hands. And my neck. But I did hear a quote that "Forty is the old age of youth." I like that very much. I get to be a goddamn youth elder for the next decade.
I have been planning the BIGGEST party ever. Went searching for a group of Turkish women to pitch a gozleme tent in my front yard. Debated whether to hire this cool band I like, or force everyone to dance on my back deck to my Top 40 favourite songs of all time. I googled caterers, weighed up desserts, and wrote out the BEST invitations. (Skull themed.)
Then I cancelled it. So relieving! Maybe forty is about doing things in life that you are comfortable with, not because you think you are supposed to. I worried too much about whether it would be a fun party. And questioned why I would invite a bunch of people to my house to watch them drink.
Alcoholism is not for pussies, kids.
The response to my last post has been incredible. I've only made my way around a few bloggers who linked up so far but I will come visit everybody in the next few days, I promise. I love seeing your Instagram shots and twit pics and emails about it. Extraordinary.
I write about angels and demons a lot, one day I'll explore vultures. They're an entirely different beast altogether. One has taken roost on my shoulder this week - I'm feeding him pieces of my raw flesh, bit by bit. Soon I'll stop and he'll fly away. Always happens.
I have no idea how to end this post, but then again, I didn't really know how to start it either. Guess I'll just do it anyway.