Wednesday, September 08, 2004

Flying Colours

Welcome to the tiny barren patch of dirt where i've planted the flag of Pinhut.

Autonomy, i'm wondering about autonomy today. How did anyone ever even come up with the word? Is there anything autonomous? Please show me something that is...

The fact is, the Bank, the System, the flaming Combine has fiddled with the clocks in the dayroom again. I feel like the grimy future-man in The Terminator, slamming into the pavement in his birthday suit and asking a tramp - "What day is it? What month? What YEAR???" Yes, that's how chumped-up i feel trying to feel my way like a Blunkett through the machinations of my online bank account.

Other things are the stories. The stories i've been working on. As my finances have collapsed, i've had to forego chasing experience to excite me, my favoured practice as a recording device. For those not familiar, i have at times been guilty as charged with being The Most Remote Man in the Universe, someone so unaccustomed to the basic idea that other people have Lives, Inner Lives, even, God forbid, feelings, that i have been peppered with the slingshots and arrows of outrageous abuse, a little like those statues the Taliban zapped.

But now i've Changed. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, i've done it! I've only gone and changed. So listening and watching, even participating, and registering the finer details of my experiences has become part of this swaggering entrance into what i am tempted to call "Life". But with no money, and no inclination to transcribe the attendant miseries of being poor, not when there are millions with absolutely nothing, plus Knut Hamsun has already cornered the market on literary struggle at the sharp end in the genius of Hunger (and his disciple John Fante in Ask the Dust), then i am sat in stasis, mired in a Dublin internet cafe.

And thinking... why did my father bring me that gift? The Arthur Sarnoff painting of dogs playing pool? When he knew, surely, that i was an intellectual??? This led me on a google journey that took me to The Best Posters of Dogs Playing Pool.

There it is, the first large image down, the wonderful gift from my dear dad. This is bringing back the most terrible shivers.

Oh, a romance ran its way into a scam today. After a pidgin-English month of exchanges with a Russian girl, who is so in love with me, "you are dream, like the man made by computers in the wind tunnel", and an array of saucy pics, i made a remark about helping fund a trip over here. One week on, this has terminated in a suddenly incredibly detailed message that climaxes not with a declaration of true love, but with instructions on how to wire 1300 dollars via Western Union. Ha! A modern classic. i'll treasure the photos, though.

That concludes my introduction. The flag still flies defiantly. Goodbye

2 Comments:

Blogger bhikka said...

Booo! I feel an Abba song coming on.......
Autonomy-:I shall go and read some Satre!

From Bhikka ; -)

9:22 AM  
Blogger The Bang said...

You may pitch your flag, but Russia got there first.

5:20 PM  

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