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I’m hanging with two boy cats in the woods. I’ll have an early bed tonight and then it’s a good week here. This house was bought on a footprint of an old gamekeeper’s cottage in the woods. It is silent silent silent. Just a bungalow, but plenty of rooms. Two cats.

Carlos is lying on me. Rajah takes his time, he’s gone out hunting, he’ll be back when he fancies, he might bring me a present. First night last time he got me a shrew. That was midwinter and I was mostly in front of a roaring fire, or buying logs. Now it’s Spring, the flowers are up, blossom on the trees. Rajah will likely murder something for me. I’m hoping it doesn’t work out for him but I know he likes to assert himself first night. 

I’ve got tuna bits for him. I’ll be barefoot and I’ve stepped on a mouse before while barefoot. It’s a form of cat love that I’ve always been happy to put aside. I tread lightly now thanks to Wendy Allnutt. Pre-Guildhall Al probably would have put full weight on the mouse. As it was it was just a brief strangeness.

Which reminds me. Threads that need tying… I was in Stratford the other night. I taught a workshop. I thought it was a Shakespeare workshop, but literally nobody knew anything whatsoever about Shakespeare including the teacher, it was almost terrifying how clueless they were, like we had teleported into a dimension where Christopher Marlowe was the big guy and Shakespeare was as well known as Webster. It was excruciating but I managed to go to The Dirty Duck after. They still have their “hilarious” dogs mixed with the actors thing, but they’ve actually done a good thing and put back Colin McCormack’s picture. I’m friends with his widow, Wendy aforementioned. She taught me to be aware of my body. I often see alignment in her view of me and Lou’s. I’ll have to get them in the same room at some point, they’ll forensically take me to pieces. Wendy even came to an understanding of my pronated hips that nobody else has ever followed. I had some idiot chiropractor called Arthur twice try and tell me my pronation is purely intellectual. Absolute fuckybums, but he loves to dismiss things like that. He did it first in The Dirty Duck – he doubles as an actor. I then went to him on recommendation pre Camino and he did the same half hearted assessment and reached the same conclusion and I remembered he was that idiot and regretted my decision giving him money. My body works strange but it works and I’ve spent my life pushing away from my intellect, seriously, that’s all I do.

You want me to walk with straight legs though we will be there until Doomsday coz sockets and apparently according to an x-ray I was dropped as a baby and my lower spine has a vertebra that is entirely rotated but healed. I was lucky. 

Wendy took about two years of close observation and work before she quietly came to the conclusion that it was my body loose but following different tracks from “normal” bodies. Even then I only got wind of it when she got me doing legswings and whispered to an apprentice “You see, some people’s bodies are just different.” She never gave me the get out, but I know it to be so. “Walk forward into the camera,” said some well known casting director twenty years ago with the camera on my legs, and how am I gonna tell them I’ve got the cowboy roll? They never called me in again cos my hips aren’t straight. Fucker, but you just have to keep rolling. Literally in the case of my hips.

I remember Colin Mcormack very fondly though, and I’m glad he’s back in the duck. He was an actor after my own heart as far as I could feel it, a team player, good at tofkhe classics, mischievous. He married my movement teacher before I was born. Wendy and I pushed hard for that picture going back up when I was up in Stratford with Othello. So yeah, the picture I was trying to get put up in The Dirty Duck, I got it back. Happy about that. Thread tied.

Also the local crows aren’t dead. They are just pissed off with the construction so they are nesting at the other side of the block. Means I don’t see them so often and I haven’t yet won their favour enough to be able to recruit them to my crow army. Tied.

There might be other threads needing tying up, but that’s life. I can’t remember what I’ve written here half the time, I’m just enjoying life, attempting to stay in the struggle, astonished at how hard it is to even get a meeting, believing, experiencing, golden, catfriending.

God though I still have this knife in me where I have to be working as an actor, I need a theatre job… I’ve never been in the room for any theatre you’ve actually heard of. It’s straight offer or no meeting… Weird but that’s how it has been. Might be nice to have the meetings at last. I fancy a bit of theatre, something beefy to think about, the live experience. I love the splinter of film as well, could totally get behind a consistent role on film or TV… I think I’m just … craving a creative journey. Othello was such a treat, the company really bonded, I was so happy. I miss them.

A week in the woods first. Downtime and cats. Winning.

Oh I’m so sleepy. Dawn was like a huge red planet coming up in my face as I hit the road back home. A lovely night in Stratford but there was invigilation to be done. I had to be back at Imperial for half eight, so taking in the need to get coffee at least once on the drive home I reckon I was easily on the road by half five. We aren’t far enough into spring yet for that to be morning, the dawn broke as I was pulling a terrible latte out of the Starbucks machine at Warwick. It remained impressive most of the way home even if I was barely in a state that could appreciate it.

125 people in the great hall, on paper, loads of us. I wasn’t even leading, could leave that to Andy. Happy easy work, keeping it ticking over, helping the next generation of business tycoon to tick the boxes that will open the doors. We were finished by half twelve. I went and sat in the Physic Garden after work and brought myself back into the room.

Crowded there though. Tour groups and so forth and I wasn’t feeling the people thing. I was only there to look at trees but all the trees were oversubscribed so I went home. Brian on a conference call and Maria complaining about the fact that washing machine was on so I turned around and left, sat in my car for an hour with the door open.

It’s here. The long range weather forecast allows me to be happy. I’m off to the woods and they will be springtime woods. I’ll have to pack in the morning and I’m not sure what I’m gonna need but perhaps it is summer clothes? Maybe I’ll throw in my block print summer shirt from Lou. I think we might finally have crossed into light. Oh calloocallay

Right now though I’m exhausted. Went to Kutir, had the wine pairing, spent the evening with a dear old friend, we are still standing, actually getting some traction now, fitting who we are. An incredible meal, not too heavy. Spice, fish, taste and delight. Just enough. I’m done with awake for today. Sheets are clean, world ain’t cold, life is… good? Yeah I think so. I’m definitely enjoying it.

I’m sitting in The Dirty Duck, on my own. Just went and saw Edward II. They gave me a local discount last minute which is nice, so it was £25. It’s not a cheerful play. Dan Evans is great, he’s still a cracking actor despite all the admin he’s had to accommodate. I could key into it, but it’s such a hard play to watch. Shakespeare at least gives us jokes. Marlowe gives us poetry. The language and verse is always so deep, so complete. It’s wonderful, but…

We made our audience sit for three hours with Othello, so 1h40 straight through is a blessing. What we lose is the journey. What we gain is half of our evening. This dense and obscure play maybe doesn’t warrant 3 hours of our attention in the modern world, but perhaps it was sliced so much that some of the prominent characters felt a bit like they were just actors shouting. It was hard to really feel where all that stuff was coming from with some of the lords. I loved it anyway. I’ve got friends who overreact to everything. It tracks.

I’m a bit put out though, as I’ve been excited for ages about an usher I met up here who happened to have tickets to 4.48 Psychosis in June. She couldn’t use them and offered them to me. I was astonished and thrilled, and I never made her send them to me as I kept thinking I didn’t want to bother her too much as it was such a great opportunity. I messaged her tonight to say I was in town, partly hoping I would have the chance to get the tickets. She randomly decided to return them to box office, where they would have been snatched up immediately. I’m upset. I wanted to catch it when I was at Guildhall third year. Dan Evans is an alumni. At wanted to support him but tickets were strangled to the rich. Suddenly there was a chance to see it without breaking the bank, and to see it on this incredible replay of the original, with the same cast but up here in Stratford at 4:48am on the day it was written. A huge ticket to have been offered randomly. And it’s a lesson not to get swept up with people you meet in the pub. She seemed legit. I don’t get why she returned them to box office. I smell a fish.

I’ve told her I’m here in the duck. I am so disappointed it’ll be hard to make conversation. But fuck it, she might be lying to me. I’m happy to buy one if she thinks they have resale value. But I kept offering to pay for them when I first met her, and she just insisted that she was happy they were going to a good place.

We shall see. I’ll wander round and see if she’s here. If not I’m going to bed at Georgies and I’ll be out by 6 to make sure I’m back at Imperial for my invigilating tomorrow. What a bollocks but it’s important. They help pay my bills.

Everything but my contract filled in. I made a CV on Word. “When I actually look at it, I’ve had a hell of a career so far,” I notice. Nothing you’ve done is ever aspirational, but if I teleported into 27 year old me I’d be pretty impressed. I’d also wrongly assume that that guy must never stop working. Phone gonna be ringing off dat hook for him eh? Big old dude he be making dat acting thing work nah! Never looking back our boy he be workpocalypse forever never stopping our boy hooah.

I invigilated two exams today. At lunch I had carbonara from the market at Imperial. Mel was at home to receive a special delivery that didn’t bother delivering. Honestly, sending stuff signed for when you need to know it gets there – it’s the best way to make sure it doesn’t get there. I reckon he was in my block, got in downstairs, came to the door. Neither bell works so Mel didn’t know. He gave up and instead of leaving his packet of paper where I could get it be took it back to the depot as it needed a signature. Fucking idiotic.

I’m off to bed now as I’ll be driving to Stratford first thing and starting a new venture, delivering Shakespeare workshops to the same age group I’m normally having to gee up about The National Grid etc. I often have to teach presentation skills to school groups so they can tell the room about how they’re gonna build a nuclear fusion generator. Now I’m gonna actually teach something I really fucking understand and love. Getting a new generation into Shakespeare. There’s less money in it than engineering, but it is just as interesting and deep, just in a very different way.

Time goes slow when you’re at Imperial in those exam rooms. Huge rooms, often. Ten percent of them go to the loo at least once in two hours. The core team is tighter now, I haven’t seen so many potatoes as there used to be. I enjoy the work, to be honest. It is very temporary, it involves being chilled and responsive, and dealing with people from all over the world. These are smart young people, the globally smartest young business people. I enjoy facilitating them. One of them might change the world. Many of the rest will try.

Early bed for me, I’m a little apprehensive but it’s only a two hour workshop. One and a half hours with warm-up. Even with no handouts, so long as I don’t get ahead of myself, I’ve got enough material that I can just pull out of my arse to keep it inspired for just an hour and a half. I just wonder if I can find 27 tennis balls before I get there.

I’m a gov approved expert on how to prevent terrorism now, it seems. I’ve been filling in forms. It’s about last minute cover for something absolutely bread and butter. In order for me to join this company I need to be better at admin than I am.

I’m gonna do the best I can.

Today was varied. The Globe historically threw a load of costumes out. There’s not enough room to keep these things. My friend Jon lived locally, saw the bin, knew what he was looking at, took it all home. I’ve worn things from that haul many times. It was the basis for a strong pitch.

They did a thing much like Glyndebourne did where they wanted to disseminate costumes they could no longer store. I’ve been at The Swan for long enough now that I can ask to be included, and they did a brilliant thing where everyone who was interested on Facebook got to cherry pick, and then I got to take the bulk.

There’s all sorts. It’s three Bergmans worth of costume. I’ll need to sort it properly. I’ll need a space. But this has been a long time coming. The costumes we had the other night cost more to rent than they might have cost to make. I’ve got some variety. I’m gonna try and make things work. I’m underplaying until I know what’s there. It’s nothing excellent, the good stuff has all been creamed off, but it is nuts and bolts and actually that’s the stuff you overlook. I didn’t want any of the stuff I’ve ended up with. I have a feeling it’ll end up splatted across the low budget theatre scene, the burlesquers, the humans who are my jamjam. Just as soon as I’ve made sense of what’s there I’m gonna start disseminating it, and I’m pretty happy to facilitate people who are doing weird stuff. I’ve already put so much stuff into the unusual. I’m looking forward to more.

Bed now though. I’ve filled in the forms but then they needed a word doc as a CV. Christ, I’ve never had to do it. I can’t remember things, I’ve been a practitioner for decades but…

Sprite. Factory. Honey Tongue. Roland. AFTLS. There are so many companies that aren’t big noonoo. Then sure the ongoing Collab with Globe, the recent RSC … if I want to be noonooface I can do it. Largely I’m just offering cover for my friend. I’ll try and send the stuff they want in time. I hate it though. Mister Al has splurg in the bumface for urgles and he worked with Ea Nasir, Bottomhead and Splat. It is all just a rearrangement of noise. I know my stuff. I know it deeply. I can transfer it without complication. That’s all you need surely?

Still, after a long day moving costumes I’ve ended up stymied by not having a Cv in word. Got all the rest, even the dbs etc. Just marketing. I could probably make a Cv that was the one cv to rule them all. I’ve had a long existence and only had darkness about one exploitative job on the water staffed by the bodysnatched. I suspect it’ll be fine. I’ll find out. Hopefully will be good to sort stuff out in time.

Mother’s Day. Never an easy day. I woke up in Brecon. We packed up the lovely cottage. We gradually got ourselves together and left in time for checkout. That place was amazing.

We drove up to Pelsall. I’ve spent a while now on that sofa over time, making polite conversation with Lou’s mum and dad. We had thought through a few topics before we arrived. My emergency dad topic was ferrets. I made use of it and indeed it bore fruit. He remembered another application of ferrets from his youth. Find a rabbit hole. Work out where the escape route is. Send ferret down one hole, fix net around the other hole. Wait a few minutes. Rabbit supper, so long as you are up for the messy business of humanely killing them and then skinning. I’m not sure how I would kill a rabbit in a net, now I think of it. I wouldn’t want to club or drown it, too hands on. I’m not dissociated enough to freeze it. I think I would have to be waiting at the other hole with a rifle. Let it run a bit and see if I can roll it. If I can’t that’s my lookout. But then I would also have to skin and prepare it myself. That’ll be unpleasant but if I’m gonna be a carnivore I can’t be squeamish. Tristan taught me how to deal with the gutting and giblet removal, I could do that bit. A lot of work and misery though, for something that’s so lean that if you only eat rabbit you’ll eventually starve to death, it has actually happened. You need fat pretty quickly.

A lovely few hours though hanging with that old couple. Now she’s back in Brighton and I’m here in London with the cats again. Misty is trying to crawl into my armpit and assimilate with me, Boo is observing proceedings with disinterest from her post near my feet. All is well.

I think I need to move to the countryside, but my menagerie is ever growing. I don’t really care to have a dog but Lou will have one. Cats of course. And it seems I just prefer predators. I would love to have a hawk. And a ferret. Maybe next time around. Unless something massive changes financially. Which I’m always ready for. Come on lucky madness. I’m right here for you. It all might work out strangely. You never know.

I’m off to dream with the cats.

One last night in the lovely little cottage in Brecon. Although Lou was unable to get a cancellation test this week, so we might be back here in May if she can find one to suit her needs. It’s a delight here, it really is. I’m sorely tempted. Wouldn’t it be amazing to find a little ruin and have enough money to build it into a little home, like Jamie did in France forever ago, like people could forever ago before everyone started buying places to rent.

This is a rental, obviously. The owner bought it intending to live in it, but as is so often the case the refurb was such a huge expense that she lives somewhere else and we get to stay in it until she’s made some of it back.

Today while Lou was driving I was puddling around in Bergie, taking in the delights of the Welsh hills, up and down, through the green, occasional boy racers but nobody like the angry ginger boy from yesterday. He was a study.

It’s good to be back here with Lou to decompress. The event took it out of me as it got political when we realised they wanted to pay us peanuts and mawkishly hit the negotiating table too late. They would have been happier if we had sat on peanuts. For an extra £200 each we might have fucked the relationship, but sadly that is exactly as it should be. There is a standard to be upheld. Pay peanuts, get monkeys. Hopefully we judged it right as I think it was an honest oversight in both directions…

I’ll need to find more consistent and less exhausting revenue streams if I’m gonna get the ruin in Wales. Series regular? A couple of years of constant fucking work… I’m fine to work hard, but I just can’t be in an office without starting to vibrate imperceptibly. The longer I’m there the more I vibrate. Two weeks and it starts to become noticeable to me. Three weeks and the building starts vibrating. A month and I drill a hole in the floor to the centre of the earth causing the atoms holding it together to disengage from one another and shatter off into the universe forever. The longest I’ve dared risk it so far is two and a half weeks.

But yeah, I’m starting to realise what this money lark is all about and it isn’t just expensive meals and petrol and travel and nice bathrooms, although that’s part of it…

Alarm at 5 and Boo was sleeping right on top of me. I didn’t think too much about still being tired, just rolled into clothes and jumped in Bergie. I was out of London before the traffic, speeding up the M40 perhaps a little too fast. Police car parked at the side and I didn’t see the radar so I’m hoping they were taking notes at the time cos I’m pretty sure I was out of the permissible range.

I was at Rochdale Crem easily by ten, and changed into my suit in the disabled loo. They took Peter in a land rover hearse and brought him in to Hawkwind To Love a Machine. Apt. This was a sad funeral and I’m glad I made the effort. He was a great dad, made four boys, one of them Brian. I remember him giving Jack and I the free tour of Hare Hill House. He told us lively tales that stuck with me – a natural storyteller, a performer, an artist. If I’d known then how he was to decline I would have stayed up longer, as his last years were hard with dementia. This is why the funeral felt so loaded, heavy with the bittersweet memory of another gorgeous soul gone back to aether, not be arranged like that again, gone. It’s a necessary ritual, a funeral, and if we miss it the grief can be harder. We all go… some go hard, some go relieved, some drift, some cling. We leave a unique hole in the shape of things that resonates through time. It’s a power to say goodbye properly.

Brian carries a lot of his dad forward. I’m happy to see that connection, to know how proud his dad will be of the sonly that currently lives with us in our catflat in London.

I then drove briefly to St Helens but the idea of an all night Irish wake weighed too heavy on my tired bones. I needed to get some sleep. I’d even had a proper road rage incident on my way from the funeral to Robin’s. I’m in a suit, some great big hairy ginger lad starts trying to cut me up, laying on his horn and shouting so I let him pass but he pulls up alongside. My window is open and he’s shouting “it’s MY lane” and I gesticulate open handed, ‘go for it’ “Are you calling me a wanker?” and the obvious answer would be “I don’t need to call attention to it,” but I just ask him to back down. And there’s a queue ahead of us and I know he’s a problem. I realise in plenty of time that I’m gonna be alongside him in the queue so I stop, leaving about 6 car lengths before I’d have stop beside him. And immediately the car behind me starts honking and gesticulating, not understanding why I’ve left the space. I creep forward, watching the queue in front, waiting for the best moment, guessing what might be about to happen. This isn’t my first rodeo with an irrational driver, and I don’t think the suit helped. Sure enough, I time it just right. I get alongside him as I see that the two cars in front of me are about to get on the roundabout. And he’s out. I knew it. “oh here we fucking go,” I find myself saying. About six foot with meaty hands and all the ginger hair and beard and “You jumped up prick, get out of your fucking car,” and like that’s gonna happen. I wait until he’s come round (he’s on my right). He’s almost in my grill, but the cars in front are pulling onto the roundabout so I floor it and glide into their wake and I’m the out the other side and round a load of corners before he’s back in his seat. Shaky legs but still got all my teeth. I’m not worried about him taking my numberplate. He’s not the type. He was just having a moment, and his girlfriend was in the car with him laughing. Perhaps I’m lucky I could get clean out, I was worried he might have got across the roundabout in time to see where I went and that’s when it might have got dangerous, but I had let him come round his car to get to me. Peter was with me – nobody needs to get beaten up after your funeral.

Good lord.

This was the only photo I took tonight. It was to send to a friend who wanted to know if they could use me for a thing. “I’m on a thing!”

This thing has been a long thing coming. And it has been a learning thing, as I’m trying to balance the creative side with the fact I’m having to be hard and hold my ground about money. We almost fell flat where a miscommunication had left the client expecting they could get two experienced event actors for the price of one. Actors at events get a bad rap and rightly so, so it’s important to hold value if you aren’t gonna be a nightmare. Often the client hasn’t got a clue. “We want vampires” the booker hasn’t got a clue “Can you all be vampires, you’re actors.” You get there and there’s nothing but some shit fangs and a pound shop costume. “What do we do?” “I dunno, just be a vampire.” So you do whatever. I remember dancing in a shower of blood in a singlet vest and a guest came in stupid vampire costume and started talking in Dracula accent. The booker lost their shit about “that fucking actor doing Dracula shit”. He still treated me like a wanker even though they realised the mistake when someone was sent up to fire me, realised I was stuck in a shower doing my Blade shit, and then got told by the guest that “I VANT TO DRINK YOUR BLOOD!”

New actors might want to justify their pay by DOING. That’s a trap. Nobody wants to be acted at. Particularly when they’re getting drunk with friends. I remember rehearsing “audience moves” for an event for the Princes Trust and having to pretend to be an  audience member so the young actors could practice moving us. I chose to be like people genuinely are at these events, being rude, breaking world, being patronising. The director asked me after the first move not to “be so obstructive in rehearsal”. Oh summer child. I said “I’m being realistic,” I tried as these extremely skilful musical theatre performers were going to get eaten alive and I could smell it. 

Come the audience moves at the event, all these young actors went up to all these drunk rich people and started “acting” at them and of course got totally resisted and couldn’t move them. They had no technique to genuinely engage or undercut or play, to read the person and quickly serve what they might respond to. Sure it’s a skill that’s learnt. Sure it has taken me decades. Sure it involves abandoning your crap and shifting up your charm. But a teaching moment was shut down by being told I was being problematic. I still walked away with my head held high, and the performance part of the event went well, but the expectations of the cast were vastly shorted. You won’t get what they thought they were gonna get. Ever.

This evening we balanced it fine for a small audience as part of a pitch. I was white rabbit so timekeeping and madness conversations, but also can touch on things like rabbit hole – he can be a bit mad himself and maybe has bought into one of the crazier pattern matches.

Playing it back I maybe went in energetically harder than I needed to at the start as I had to have a discussion just beforehand about what we were worth, and I knew with that discussion just done that we would be under scrutiny. “They asked for £200 more than we budgeted for each.” Yes we fucking did. Cos you wanted to pay us in tapeworm. I’ve done events, twenty years ago, at that rate all in and everyone on it was bitching about it back then: “This is much more work than that accounts for”.

I held my ground, I’m glad I held my ground. If they want to employ the thirty years ago version of me for peanuts next time time they can, but there’ll be a learning curve before they can do it like we do it. Ffion and I know what to ask the booker now, what to ask the client when I’m given a direct line to them, what I can sort with the venue first, what it needs to build what the client wants, how to deliver it in a way that the guests are happy but so is the client and the booker. etc etc. We play, we learn, we play more, we earn. More.

A good night. I’m fucked. No specifics, just a brain dump. That’s all you’re getting. Off up north at dawn tomorrow. Fuck. Good lord. Night night. Mel is in my room after reading tarot all night with a snake round her neck. I’m in Brian’s with cats. I thought I would drive halfway up tonight but I can barely think. Sleep. Early early start tomorrow. But seeing off a friend.

What a lovely day.

The cherry blossom is all up in the trees, and the magnolias are a good month early. Everything is in bloom.

I’ve just exited a conversation online with a friend who has no particular timeline but is very prone to pattern matching, and has found a reason to think that aliens made the pyramids or whatever. It’s a necro of an old post about something deeper underground, it’s very heavily trodden ground. My friend believes in wonder. It’s why I love them. But they are why we all had to learn not to follow the weird guy who said he had puppies. They would have been eaten.

There’s this guff around the arbitrary system that brought about one way of expressing the numbers of the speed of light, well they correspond with the system of numbers that were normalised when we made longitude and latitude. As Burroughs taught us, if we look for the number 23 we find it comes up again and again. And maybe we feel more powerful if we are certain that the guy who says he has puppies actually does have puppies even if he then murders us in his van before we’ve seen the puppies.

The internet has made us all stupid. People I love have bought into absolute idiocracy. I choose to be disobedient and playful and sideways. That’s important – we have to examine. But examining requires our own discernment. If we start to isolate ourselves because we are convinced things work a certain way? Fucked.

I’m not being patient with it today. I might even be tipping into impatient, just as I’ve had persistent noise from someone I respect. I hold space for a lot of people who are absolutely full of shit, but it’s weird when you realise someone clever has drunk the Kool Ade. These things are so fucking pervasive. You can’t stop it by being annoyed.

I’ll try and track it back. It’s usually an identity crisis at the heart. “I’m this, they are that.” As I say I’m being impatient. I’ve had occasional rubbish for decades. It could just be a flash in the pan. But…

Maybe there are vast alien created super machines buried under the pyramids. Coils of metal, only written about by certain internet outlets and only recently because THEY don’t want us to know and haven’t been able to *complete sentence here please*. This is the life changing news ya, even though it so isn’t. Good for north African tourism perhaps? Good god it is such bollocks based on bollocks based on bollocks and I’m actually bored of having friends who are such dupes they buy into it. *insert prose congratulating all comers on their clever different thinking* Fluff them into believing they have discovered something new. Tell them they are clever and special, not just more fucking idiot thoughtzombies. Idiots. I’ll let it slip if I don’t have them shouting about it to me. “Mummy mummy I did a poo poo in my trousers!”

Yayy secret knowledge. There’s more where that came from. I’m going to share it with you now. Here it is: MOST PEOPLE ARE INCOMPETENT AS FUCK AND CAN’T ORGANISE SHIT, BUT SOME PEOPLE CAN CORRAL PEOPLE INTO ACTUALLY GETTING SHIT DONE, TRUST ME I’M ONE OF THEM WHEN THE MOOD TAKES ME. BUT YOU PROBABLY DON’T KNOW THAT SO YOU THINK COMMUNITY IS WITCHCRAFT SO YOU CAN’T MAKE SENSE OF THE GREAT EARTHWORKS OF THE PAST. Also they did a poopoo in their trousers.

It’s one of the most egregious of all the fucking bullshit stories to me. Stonehenge saksaywaman pyramids etc CAN’T HAVE BEEN MADE BY HUMANS WITHOUT TECH! Why? “Because PERSON SAYING IT is completely incompetent and shit at working with other people and has no understanding of tools or society or time. Must have been lasers? You fucking child. LASERS!? Engineering. God it makes me hate stupid people, that one more than all the rest.

If you are an entitled lazy incompetent frog of a human you will think that these huge endeavours were made up cuz you could never do it. But it has been done for you again and again. And someone has to teach you to use the remote control you take for granted.

“I’m shit at life so the pyramids were made by aliens.” Join a big group, do a hard thing as part of it, see how some push away and some push towards, marvel at whichever of the two you happen to be, learn from that when it gets done whether or not you helped it cos you aren’t the main character cos that only exists in stories, you are just a narcissist, if you think I’m talking to you, adjust.

I’m so bored of it. I shouldn’t even write this blog, I’m sure I’ll annoy some friends. I’m just done and done. I can still hold space for you, just… have some self respect. Hold space for yourself. This shit is tempting but ultimately it’s a great big pile of poo and you might feel clever but you look dumb as shit. Do better.

So yeah, I’m going to be short, even with old friends, when they start thinking this flat earth idiocy is new or clever. It’s dire. And it just exposes them as a consumer. And oh god the bollocks I’ve been fishing through, where’s it coming from? Meh

I’ve got nothing against consumers, but it makes me sad for the makers and shifters that the idiots who eat their stuff always seem to have the reins of conversation. What are we making for? Not some idiot that thinks they’ve beaten society by shrugging.