‘No pain, no gain’, ‘Who dares wins’ etc.-there are countless sayings of that nature, which in the right hands can be a valuable line to stick to. Getting as much out of life as possible,-living life & playing a part rather than letting life ‘happen’ to you. There are however things you cannot actively ‘control’ -one of them being death. Yes,-that old chestnut!- that is kept safely hidden in so many homes & hospitals & faces passing by. A constant denial of the inevitable that can even attach stigma to those who are still here but have lost a loved one- as if they themselves were dead.-So they have to make that extra effort just to prove they are not.-(stage & screen is full of them). Anyway, I learnt today that my uncle had taken the plunge, had dared, had taken a risk that only the living can take. Over xmas he took my fathers ashes from the funeral parlour and sprinkled them somewhere on the seashore in England. A bizarre thing to learn by email-the wonders of technology!-Under the circumstances though, a simple phone call beforehand would have been preferable. -An example of something that ‘happens’ to you over which you have no control. I phoned my brother in Amsterdam who was also in shock at our uncle’s decision: “Its as if dad has died all over again” he said or words to that effect. Officially we had’nt reached a decision yet between ourselves of where & when to scatter dad’s ashes & us being in different countries did’nt help. But this does’nt mean to say we did’nt care & were’nt thinking about it. We were just coming to terms with dads passing as everybody was. Our uncle could’nt think of dad ‘in limbo’ as it were, any longer & went ahead with the scattering to finally put dad to rest.-Whatever your beliefs or inclinations,-you can’t argue with that.- Of course we wanted our father to be symbolically ‘at peace’ but selfishly-as his sons, it would have been preferable to wait for us or at least warn us so we could have participated in thought at that moment or something. I don’t know, its a bit of a mess. But I can’t really bring myself to fault uncle-he was his brother after all. It does seem though, that having now lost both our parents,-My brother & I do have this ’stigma’ thing attached to us & are somewhat considered the black sheep of the family,having persued different lifestyles -maybe my uncle thought dad was the last of our worries.(my brother’s take on it is that our uncle himself was a blacksheep & always on the margins of the family-& this was his way of showing us what he was capable of.I don’t know.its swings & roundabouts, its fucked up). What is for sure, is that what our uncle did is irreversable. Thank god for the celestial internet,-dad is with me right now.- A feeling which will be confirmed I’m sure,-when I see my brother’s ugly mug on new yrs eve!

In a fictional space there exists a hole,
Is it a physical threat or just a door to the soul?
Whatever its purpose, whatever its sort,
It seems to get clearer in silence & thought.

I overheard a conversation today that stuck in my head.-I was at the cash machine AGAIN(I think I should withdraw a large sum at the beginning of every week instead of pretending I don’t need much & ending up going back every five minutes).-Anyway as I was typing in my code & the snow was falling, I noticed an old man on the corner to the left of me. I had already seen him around a few times before & apart from thinking-’god, he’s old’-had not thought twice about him & moved on. Anyway,-a middle aged lady with a smokey voice who apparently knew him,-stopped to say hello. “How are you Monsieur? Happy christmas!” That was nice of her I thought..”Happy xmas to you too madame” replied the old man “What are you doing during the holidays?” she continues,-”I hope you are not alone this christmas monsieur” “um..yes, as a matter of fact I am. I’m ninety seven you know..” I hung around a little longer infront of the cash machine pretending not to hear..”Oh! Wow! that’s amazing monsieur!-You are a lucky man to be in such good shape at your age!” she says, trying to maintain the xmas merryment “Oh yes..um..I lost my wife a year ago..” he replies, his eyes watering with cold.. ” & what about you madame? Have you family staying?” “Oh yes monsieur! You have no idea. The place is full! The place is full!” I don’t know why she felt the need to repeat that twice.-It was probably her way of getting out of something that she had started but could’nt finish.-In other words: ‘I’m sorry u are on your own this xmas old man,-but you can’t come to my place’.-So why did you ask him in the first place bitch? At this time of year people are filled with good intentions but when push comes to shove-they don’t really give a shit.- I don’t know,-am I being too harsh? Of course, you need to look after yourself before helping others- & although I feel bad doing this alot of the time-its something I do conciously but when I’m at one with myself,-then I reach out. This I do on my own- I don’t prey on other people to make myself feel better. Watch out! we’re surrounded by vampires I tell ya!
Got the old accordion out last night which I had’nt played since the summer. It definately needs tuning. I was thinking it is probably the best present I have ever had. My mother bought it for me on my sixteenth birthday.(I don’t look after it as well as I should)- I would learn old french tunes by ear which I would play to mum back in the UK,-reminding her of her country. Its a very festive instrument which is
ideal for busking on the street & it seems to attract people in a different way to say-a guitar or trumpet. I have certainly met a few people that way.-Of course most of them were tourists who were just pleased to hear accordion music in paris ‘just like in the movies!’ Anyway, it helped me make a few extra francs in my student days & that.

In case anyone failed to notice,-it is the christmas season- tis the season to be jolly & that. At this time of year everything is ‘christmas’.-Set aside the actual day with all its ‘christmas’ goodies-normal everyday things seem to be unavoidably infected with the word.-This I was thinking last night as I got off the train at my ‘xmas’ stop, left the xmas subway, onto the xmas street in my xmas area of paris, passing xmas people digesting their xmas dinners whilst walking their xmas dogs who leave little xmas turds on the xmas ground as I xmas discovered with my xmas shoes, leaving the cold xmas darkness,climbing the xmas stairs up to my xmas abode & waking up today with a xmas hangover.-(I think I know why its called ‘boxing’ day-I feel like I’ve done five rounds with Tyson!) Resting & gathering my thoughts until new year’s eve arrives-when I shall be getting on a new year’s train with a new year’s pal to new year’s Amsterdam where we should be meeting up with my new year’s brother & where I’ll be thinking of my new year’s resolutions whilst imagining Van Gogh with a ‘new ear’ for the new year.Whatever…Best wishes friends- life’s too short to learn german & that.

What the hell do you buy for a lady who you’ve met about three times, who has recently had a baby & who happens to be married to your 2nd cousin.They have invited me to a xmas shindig at their place tommorow night. Just as I am trying to think of something to bring as any civilized person automatically does when invited somewhere-I get an email from them in the form of a list of the various guests & stating that each guest should bring 1 gift that will be alloted to 1 other guest. Apparently this is so as to avoid having to buy presents for everybody.-Well, I was’nt bloody going to,-I’m skint, I’m skint Eastwood for that matter. I was’nt going to arrive empty handed anyway & quite frankly- I object to having the law laid down as if I’m stupid & that before I’ve even arrived. On this basis-the evening promises to be a barrel of laughs!-Perhaps we’ll have a stamp put on our hands before going in-like they do in some clubs & there will be a ticket system for whoever wants to use the bathroom. Anyway my alloted person for the gift is the lady of the house.-Perhaps I’ll get her a book on how to throw a party or a pair of shoes that just happen to be my size or maybe some nice wrapping paper..In the meantime I have to practice feigning surprise-as I already know whos buying my gift-she even called me to ask what I wanted.-I felt like asking her to buy me the present I have been requested to offer the hostess- but that would be silly. No all I want for christmas eve is a room full of people who don’t try & fill embarrassing silences by bombarding you with killer questions like- “so,-what is it that you do?” ( which is just a way in these circumstances,-to see who earns the most or has the biggest dick). Why are people panicked by silence?- On the contrary-it will give us a chance to eat properly & if we’re lucky-hear the bells on santa’s sleigh when he does his rounds.

Its funny how buying so many expensive things in such a short period of time can give you a heightened feeling of existence-completely artificial of course-as is the cashier’s “Have a nice day” when somewhere in your bank account there is a resounding flushing sound. My bank account-I wonder what its like in there-what does it smell like? I imagine it as a small metallic cell like a submarine with some robotic entity inside who absorbs your traits & mannerisms that it picks up on a monitor when you visit the cash machine. If that is the case- mine picks its nose & says ‘fuck’ & ‘bastard’ alot & every now & again-’yes!’. Anyway, my decimal clone can at least spend xmas day in the empty lonely bank wearing some nice new clothes-on condition that I visit the cash machine again so it can see me-which is probably not a good idea-& even if I did,-these pants would be wasted on him-cos he can’t see that far down. /Thank the lord for the gift of music!-You say to yourself when you put your feet up on a cold winter evening & listen to something of your choice that taps into a particular memory or emotion. I definately think to date,it is the purest & most powerful of artforms-unless someone finds a way of harnessing smells into a consumable form.-Um..I think what I have just described exists already & is known purely & simply as cooking!-God I am so far up my own arse sometimes. Perfume fits into the ’smell as an artform’ category I suppose-I certainly like some of the imagery used to sell the stuff in glossy magazines. There,-the purest artform would be eating whilst listening to music in a grainy sepia Chanel environment…whilst fucking. Nah, now I’ve ruined it,- Im bringing this down to base animal pleasure now.(incidentally- I’ve noticed that u can actually derive pleasure from throwing up or sneezing-hmmm..eating with music whilst sneezing, I’ll have to try that) Anyway,maybe making love is the purest of artforms-but if the pope has anything to do with it- the end result will eventually grow up & annoy you with ramblings on ‘what is the purest of artforms’.

After last years farce when I spent christmas day with a girl who I’d only known for a week,-my libido is not on my sleeve but behind my ear like a cigarette which I may smoke later-its my choice. Anyway, this bitter-sweet memory now coupled with that eternal xmas of 94 when we said goodbye to mum,-is enough to bring down the veil of melancholia & nostalgia when your eyes sting with cold peering out from under your scarf at the blurred xmas lights & windows.This year I’m looking after Anthony & my libido is sufficiently counter-balanced with all these thoughts,-to be able to ignore any passing oppurtunity without regret. I’m certainly not conciously going out pulling. No, tommorow I’m going to be reinacting a scene from ‘pretty woman’-(where I shall be playing both julia roberts & richard gere) & visiting various parisian department stores to treat myself to some nice threads & that.

ooof…the sound of typing hurts me head.SSShhh..Alsace white..never again. Where’s a bucket when u need one.

Holy buckets!-got round finally to cleaning my oven tonight. I was very pleased with myself & whistling as I chopped up various vegetables (alas, no turnips) in view of making a nice sortof vegetable lasagne concoction. So, everything is ready-I slide the ingredients into the tefal dish (still whistling)-& finally turn on my nice clean oven whilst smuggly sipping a glass of wine & putting on some nice music.-My winter smuggness was violently cut short- as a huge flame erupted from the plug socket-burning quite badly my hand (as I was nearby).-The cheesy background ‘easy-listening’ music took on a different tone as I am screaming my head off & frantically flicking through my book of ‘best swear words’. Luckily- it did’nt short out my entire electrical setup,-but now I’m looking at a cold half-cooked still-life on a plate,-with the firm decision of never buying an electric oven ever again. mmm..maybe I could paint a picture of the aborted dish-but only after I’ve soothed my very sore hand.-Fuck.