Free Verse

When it is my time to go

I'd like

To be shot by a blind sniper

The odds are not in my favour

But

It would be some consolation

For my widow

To be able to say I was

Literally

One in a million

When it is my time to go

I'd like

To be shot by a blind sniper

To be the exception

That greases the wheels of probability

And makes the sniper smile

When he hears about it

Later

On the news

To be shot by a blind sniper

To be needed

To square the circle

And to never know

***

Pretty moving stuff. Things are always moving if you align them properly.

I'm wearing my new shoes. They seem a bit tight.

My last ones were falling apart. The right shoe had an open toe. It was the kind of shoe you might find on the caricature of a mid-twentieth century hobo. My right foot kept getting wet and cold, so I took tentative steps and then serious steps to avoid having to take them.

They seem a bit tight. But they're preferable. On the way into work yesterday, I had to keep picking dead leaves out of the toe-end. My shoe was trying to swallow them. It was like Hungry Hungry Hippos, but less frantic and more mulchy.

It's better to have sealed toes. I'm terribly ashamed of them.

Reputation Building

I performed stand-up comedy on Saturday night. And what a performance it was. There I was, in a venue, speaking words, making sense, wearing a shirt. You should have been there.

Lucy and I arrived late, because our bus was late, so we missed our train, and then the tube wasn't running, and then it was a leap year.

The gig was very nice and relaxed. The audience were appreciative and very willing to offer ideas, interjections, suggestions, yawns, and other feedback. That sounds sarcastic, but they actually were very nice. They were at just the right level of participation: equidistant between silence and throwing stools.

It gave me the chance to offer up some improvised zingers (5%) and some endearing floundering (95%). It was a lot of fun. I did almost all new material, and it seemed to go down quite well.

On the way home, we got some food at Burger King. I haven't been to Burger King for many, many years. I got a burger that was 'bread-meat-meat-meat-cheese-bread'. I think it was a bit much for me. You can't suddenly leap back into fast food without having prepared. My body struggled to deal with the salt. I spent the rest of the night considering regicide.

You'd think the amount of Domino's pizza I eat would have prepared me. But I think the lack of vegetables threw me. With a pizza, you get the wholesome nutrition of that red sauce, which acts as a palate cleanser. And crispy onions are essentially a sorbet.

Next time I'll go for a 'bread-meat-meat-meat-cheese-limp lettuce-brown tomato-bread' option. That's proper balance.

I don't know why I list my burger components from bottom to top. You'd think it would be the other way round. Top to bottom, like reading Chinese. I suppose I'm thinking of them as building instructions. You start at the bottom. Build the foundation. Then gradually pile things up. I've always been architecturally minded. That's why I put a tiny french fry fire escape on the side of every burger: SAFETY FIRST.

***

I ordered some shoes online yesterday. It's the biggest risk I've ever taken. Even bigger than when I went to Atlantic City and bet all of my chips on rack at the roulette wheel.

"Everything on rack!" I said.

"Rack isn't a colour, sir," said the casino employee (though he was American, so there was no 'u' in colour).

"I'm on a roll," I said. "I can feel it! Luck is on my side. Everything on rack!"

"Again, sir, there is no rack. There's red and there's black. Also, you don't need to tell me what you're doing. Just put your chips on the..."

"I feel it in the water! Here," I said to a passing woman, "kiss my chips for good luck. Not that I need it!"

"We all know where this humorous situation is going," said the casino employee (though he was American, so he... oh wait humorous doesn't have an initial 'u' in it anyway? what about humour though huh wtf?).

"Do we?" I said.

"Well not exactly. But roughly. It's not going to be worth it."

"Fine."

Then something interesting happened. The end.

***

I might be a bit burnt out.

Leave me in a dark room for eight months. When I come out, I'll be as good as squinting new.

Grinning Paul Oh Yes

The title of my last post didn't conform to the 'NaNoWriMo'-style naming structure of my other November posts. This might give you a clue about how well the writing is going. It is not going well.

This month has been a bit stressful, so I've had to take certain measures to maintain my sanity. These measures include not writing thousands of words every day, and watching various WWF wrestling events from the mid 1980s. I'm still sane, so it must have worked.

I'm also doing some stand-up in London on Saturday. The details are here. I haven't done any comedy since last December, so I'm probably going to be brilliant. Comic ideas take time to ferment. If you're patient, you can come out with something bursting with flavour.

On the other hand, I've forgotten how to use a microphone. I can never remember which colour wire you're supposed to cut.

Just so you know, I've done twelve tweets about wires, plus another couple about The Wire. But I don't want to be thought of as "the man who copies and pastes his relevant tweets from a spreadsheet into his blog post and changes the font colour to blue". So I won't post them here. Two of them are really funny, but I won't post them here.

Instead, here's a picture of me. I think, from my Tumblr research, that this is what's known as a GPOY. That's a gratuitous picture of yourself. I've been doing these since before they had their own acronym.

I found this one recently. I like that the lighting makes one side of my face look bigger/more heavily made-up than the other.

I also like the fact that it represents the exact opposite mood to the one I'm in now.

I might make it my new Facebook profile picture. I like the idea that people who I once knew (and befriended online), but who have now almost totally forgotten me, will see this and think that I have a fashionable mental illness.

In real life, it's not fashionable. In real life, I have the Mumford and Sons of mental illnesses.

I looked in the mirror today, and my hair is getting greyer.

Right In The Beak

I just googled "Ancillary Rodham Clinton". Nothing. What are people doing with their time? Not coming up with names for politician clones, that's for sure.

This has been a shipwreck of a day. Apologies to those who have lost loved ones or luggage in actual shipwrecks.

I wonder how many tweets I've done about shipwrecks...

Oh jesus there are four.

Four different tweets about shipwrecks.

"I don't remember many details about the shipwreck. It all happened so fast..." - Idiots in the old days.

Lighthouses aren't always successful at preventing shipwrecks. But they're better than heavyhouses.

Out on the lash tonight. And by "out" I mean "in". And by "lash" I mean "shipwreck of an armchair".

There's a small area of your back that's impossible to scratch during a shipwreck.

The second one doesn't make any sense.

I just bought and ate an expensive sausage roll. How can it only be Thursday? How can I only be thirty? It feels like Friday afternoon and old age.

I'm not going to apologise for anything today. Except for the shipwreck analogy. But apart from that, I stand by everything I'm writing.

It's depressing? Good. It should be.

It's similar to previous posts? Good. That's the way I like it.

I'm being an attention-whore? Good. I want attention. I want you all to see how terrible everything is, especially that heavyhouses tweet. I want you to see that and pity me.

Belligerent? Fine. I will be. I shall do. Nothing you can do about it.

Coffee? Yes, I am drinking some. Why do you ask? Is it the aggression? I can see how you put two and two together. I'm applauding sarcastically.

I'm sick of you and your kind telling me what I can and can't say. I'm sick of filters and censors and propriety. I'm my own man. I'm out there in the world, living day to day, trying to take care of business. And if a few people get hurt, or confused, or offended, that's just their too bad (except, as I mentioned, those who have lost loved ones in shipwrecks, to whom I offer my profound sympathy).

Life's to short. To short to type a double 'o' after the 't'. One 'o' will have to do, you squares. I'm not Johnny Rulebook. I march too the beat of my own drum.

And yes, maybe I have done two tweets that include the phrase "I march to the beat of my own drum" followed my an amusing follow-up. But I'm not going to copy them here. They're not funny enough. Also, up yours. How about that?

You can tell I'm serious because I'm not using any exclamation marks. This is serious f'ing business. I don't even need to swear. Look into my eyes. Are these the eyes of a considerate man? No they f'ing well are not.

I'm going to punch something on the way home. And if that thing just happens to be a goose, I'm not going to bat an eyelid. Not a single lid. I'm tired of being dictated to. I'm ploughing my own furrow, and my furrow will be fierce.

Here's another gif I saw. Yeah, that's right: a gif.

I'm not sorry. Except about the lost luggage.

NaNoPicNiCo

I saw a woman in a bear costume in work just now. She was walking from reception towards the canteen.

I could tell she was a woman because she wasn't wearing the head at first. It was a woman's head on top of a bear body. To be honest, I didn't even notice the bear body. I only put the whole bear together when the head went on.

She was talking to a couple of people. None of them were talking about the fact that she was a bear. Maybe they hadn't noticed either.

I went to the toilet, and when I got out, the bear was gone. I don't know where she went.

Why was there a bear in the office? Is it Children In Need?

I didn't get a look at the front of the bear, so I couldn't tell if it was Pudsey. I would have needed to see her from the front. Some people might be able to recognise Pudsey from behind, but they probably wouldn't admit it.

I did a tweet about Pudsey once. In fact, it's a two-parter.

Pudsey Bear's whereabouts are on a Children in Need-to-know basis.

If I die before I finish this tweet - and I easily could - that Pudsey thing could be my goodbye. Tragic. I should have said 'bearabouts'.

I'd like to dress as a bear. It would be comfortable. You could probably just lie down and go to sleep anywhere, even on some stone steps or a thorn-bush. I'd love to be able to just drop and sleep. It would be my super power.

My NaNoWriMo writing isn't going well. If I continue writing at my current rate, I won't finish until March 2014. That's five months. It's no good. It's supposed to be NaNoWriMo, not NaNoWriFiMo.

But it's not about the word count. Not this year. It's just about writing. Slow and steady wins the Man Booker Prize for Tortoise Fiction.

***

I bet, somewhere in the world, there's a stripper called Crystal Maze.

***

It's quiet in the office today. I did hear what sounded like mauling just now, but that was probably the radiators.

I think a group of people in my office were watching the new Christmas adverts online. I could only hear a bit of the audio. I can't believe it's that time of year again: me not being invited to something.

I'm not going to watch the new Christmas adverts online. I want see them on television, muted, whilst I listen to an answerphone message from somebody else's lawyer, just as they were intended.

I assume there's going to be one with a winsome cover of popular song, one with Ant and Dec driving a hovercraft, and one that tries to subvert the whole thing by raping a snowman.

***

Interesting. After writing about rape jokes ages ago, I haven't done any. I haven't even felt the need to. I'm proud of myself.

But I thought of that snowman one, and then couldn't think of a good alternative. The word "snowman" seemed to be a funny one to finish the list. So I needed a verb. And I think it needed to be a harsh verb. "Killing a snowman" isn't funny. "Stabbing a snowman" would have no effect.

I just think that they rhythm of the joke, and the concept of subverting Christmas advert conventions, demanded the use of that word.

I might be wrong. I'm willing to admit that. I just want you to know that whilst I did write a "rape joke", I thought about it carefully, and feel that it is artistically justified.

***

Here are some bonus bear tweets that aren't just here to pad out this entry:

Stroking your beard makes you look thoughtful. Stroking your bear makes you look less thoughtful. And don't try stroking Bea.

I tried to follow my own advice, but it lead me up an alley and now I'm in some sort of bear trap.

Sometimes it's just not scarf-weather, Rupert. I mean, you're a bear. You have FUR. Maybe it's a circulation problem?

It would be terrible if you were going on a hot air balloon trip, and got mauled by Yogi Bear as soon as you got in the basket. Terrible.

It takes a lot of courage to admit you're wrong, especially if you're trapped on a falling bear.

You know when it feels like your head is full of cotton wool? You're probably a stuffed animal of some kind (eg bear).

"Should I start locking my Canadian golf supplies shop?" "Does a bear shit in the woods?" "Um..." #conversationsthatmighthappen

I'd never eat a bear's porridge. Think of all the hairs! Goldilocks was a madman.

Beware of Greeks gifting bears.

It's the saddest thing. My friend, the cardiophobic bear, went to a counsellor and pawed his heart out.

I'd love to attend a Teddy Bears' picnic, but they always give such short notice.

What kind of bear parents name their son Bungle? I mean, with that name he's only ever going to be a total disaster.

The thing I like best about Valentine's Day is that I get to wear my giant pink fluffy bear costume without anyone looking at me askance.

I really wish I could hibernate. I could, physically. It's just social convention that stops me. Bears get all the breaks.

The Care Bears really dropped off the face of the earth, didn't they?

Looking back, I'm sure even Disney would admit it that was a mistake to reinvent 'The Gummi Bears' as 'The False Teeth Bears' for Season 7.

"Someone's been sleeping in my bed! Good! That is its purpose!" #practicalbears

Teddy bears don't go round and round MY garden.

Remember that horrible episode of Yogi Bear where he finds Boo Boo's corpse in a pic-a-nic basket? Terrifying. I think it inspired Se7en.

"Put your hands in the bear like you just don't care... about the bear's welfare!" - Me, in that sort of club.

People think I'm a bear for 3 reasons: 1) I had porridge this morning, 2) I look like a bear, 3) I keep forgetting to lock my front door.

The play's the thing - Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king. Or maybe a kind of modified bear trap.. No. No, I'll go with the play.

I've got a cold nose which, according to the vet, means I'm a healthy polar bear. My cubs will be relieved.

Never make eye contact with a self-conscious bear.

I covered my bathroom walls in bearskin and now I'm infertile. INFERTILE. IN FUR TILE. TILES LIKE A BATHROOM TILE. AND FUR. #goodjokes


***

Huh.

Twenty-five.

Twenty-five tweets about bears.

Do most people have that many? That's not even including the Pudsey ones, or the ones that didn't make any sense.

Twenty-five bear tweets.

My ancestors would be baffled if they could see how I spend my days.

NaNoSlowMo

I'm kind-of, sort-of, almost doing NaNoWriMo again this year. You might remember me writing about my last attempt way back in November 2012. On that occasion, I completed my story and reached the required word count. So this year, I don't feel so much pressure to get it done. As a result, I'm way behind already.

But I'm sure things will pick up. I've just had an idea.

Last year, I never decided what I was going to write about until it was written. This year, I vowed to plan ahead, and to complete a considered, structured, thematically consistent whole before the beginning of November.

I have broken that vow. Just as I have broken every vow I've ever made. (I think my only other one had something to do with Red Dwarf - now that's fallen by the wayside...)

But I've had an idea. It's not a concept, or an outline, or a framework. It's not a tone or an approach. It doesn't dictate the genre, or the setting, or the characters.

Yet it is an idea. And ideas can move molehills. I know they can.

So I'd better get writing. At some point. Later on, probably.

For now, here is a thing I saw somewhere: