I'm currently struggling with the next Conversation from the Nuclear Power Institute, so thought I would post something. It didn't help that I had a three-beer lunch accompanied by a hand-eaten garlic naan with dhal and tandoori chicken. It didn't help the writing that is - it did wonders for my psyche. Anyway, I've peeled myself away from the television for five minutes to post something/anything.
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I am utterly themeless. I mean I have some, but they all seem a bit too trite, forced, silly. What I mean is that usually when I write I try to stick an underlying theme in here. I consult books on metaphor quite often to see where I can hang ideas, so they are not strewn in a clumsy, ill-tasting stew. But, at the moment, I can't be arsed.
I actually started something about numbers and their effect on my life, but it was dull. Even with a bolt of lightening shoved up its end it would have been still pretentious, and dull. I was going to write about the fact I've lived in twenty-seven different homes so far in my life and how I know this one is nowhere near the last. I figured it could be weaved in with all kinds of forgotten, colossal numbers like how many steps I've made compared to the number of keys I've tapped in my life. Boring - more fucking boring than putting socks on for the ten-thousandth time.
I then drifted on to snow. I've seen a lot of snow in my time. Great, human-high machine-swept pyramids of it at Russian road sides. I've had bread pieces of snow plough into my cheeks until pearls of ice dotted my eyelashes. I have first hand experience of snot freezing at minus eighteen degrees celsius. Two-metre icicles crash down Russian buildings in the thaw and kill about half a dozen people a year. More caution has been taken since a governer's daughter was pummelled to death by one of them several years back. The writer, that is the bastard in me, wants to know what that looked like - her dying and dead body and her father's face on finding out.
I've only seen dead bodies in Russia. It's a telling statistic. In my first thirty years of life in the UK I never saw one. I want to see another one in another country to break this reputation. It doesn't matter whose body as long as I don't know them. I mean, that's what the dead bodies were to me - fuel. And, with this hapless post, the fuel is burning low.
27 homes, 4 dead bodies, minus 29 degress, plus 51 degrees, a student from every nation - and I post this shit. Someone else deserves all this.
