Who Were You Today?

Walking along the beach in the dark, the water lapping at our beautiful Welsh shore, I was struck by how nature lulls us one minute and buffets us the next.

The pebbles under my feet, were once boulders and will one day be sand and glass. The driftwood pieces wedged into cracks and strewn over the high water line were once part of great ships, of houses, trees and ballustrades.

The water itself playing here in Carmarthen Bay may well of come from many miles away, other continents, other places.

God's eye cracks no tears just wise when asked for all the answers. No great portent casts its way down the wire to ever eager souls in situ. Nope, nothing external was forthcoming.

Do the monks on Caldy (Ynys Byr) pray for their own redemption as much as ours. In their darkest moments do they stare into the great unknown and just slightly, imperceptibly, shudder.

Who were you Today?

The Fool of Bute Park pt3

I sat there for at least an hour on the wall at the corner of The Boulevard de Nantes in front of the museum gardens, opposite Park Plaza Hotel, immobilised by thought, thinking about someone something some situation.

What if? Maybe? Touched very deeply and feeling it so.

Not strictly in Bute Park I know, but close enough to be the Fool anyway and close enough for my arse to eventiually go so numb that my only connection with the universe was the feeling of being compacted.

Then I led under a Pine Tree and listened to snippets of conversation.

Cardiff was buzzing and felt like a real city(again), as people lolled about in the sun, or kicked balls around in front of the museum.

I watched the people in their spring and summer finery, they all seemed so happy, with a sense of distinct purpose and I wondered whether it was all true, or whether it was 'front', 'keeping up appearances'? What hidden neuroses lay dormant below their surface?

Is it better to strive for your own way in the world or is it better to knuckle under, knuckle down? It's a question that I have asked myself everyday for a long time.

What tastes better? Success on your own terms? Or the Stability that a regular lifestyle provides? Does that stability in itself have a price to pay, a compromise to keep?

I feel and think too much and apparently ignorance is bliss.

I love bliss but have never been particularly fond of ignorance.

I am not a dreamer.

Couldn't Even Get a Job Writing Porno Movies

A Few Years ago I wrote a Porno Movie satire about a girl with an unfeasibly large arse who becomes a world celebrity icon and a symbol of hope for humanity. I still feel that it's a great idea.

It would of been, like the arse, huge in Italy.

Needless to say its radical retake upon the whole hump 'n' grind movie scene did not-unlike the heroine-go down well with the sort of companies who make regular smut. Shame.

It would be a shining star of genius in what is otherwise a morass of excremedia.

Lately I was reminded of this Movie idea by watching two people having sex in a car.

I must pointout that it was not my purpose to actually watch two people blitzkrieging, but I walked along a very quiet lane at night and there in my eyeball was a couple of arses bouncing about boing boing boing in the back of a very nice Red Subaru.

Now, you know the way that eating an entire box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts is very bad for you (do they still sell them in Kings Cross Tesco's I wonder?) but you still do it anyway?

As that orgasmic hit of carbo-pleasure is sailing it's way down those grooves at the side of your mouth next to your tongue that provide salivation, you know that in about twenty minutes you will be hanging off the lampshade doing Clive the Gorilla impressions (or is that just me?).

Anyway there's me transfixed, watching this fellas big arse smudging against the window whilst he delves into a woman smeared somewhere below him, the car squidging on its suspension-four wheel drive very good for that sort of thing I should imagine-and I thought back to my foray into the Porn world a few years earlier and all the dodgy geezers that I had contact with and how I could still smell the pomade and easylube.

I was snapped out of my trance by a woman on a bicycle coming past me and shouting 'pervert'.

Bloody cheek, me a pervert, i'm not the one making stains on the turbo racing seats am I? Bastards.

The Hero Perishes with Dignity for the Sake of the Radiant Future

For life to have meaning.

We must rise above the mundane mapped out mediocrity that existence has become and be, even for just a moment, truly alive.

To let the full scale and scope of an un-ending universe into our feeble animal brain soup. We must experience everything real in an instance.

Metaphysical Bollocks? (Oh look a Photo).

Malteaser Angry Mob

Has the world turned to idiocy whilst my back was turned? Or am I just turning into a snob who thinks that he has better taste than the rest of 'them'?

It's always stated that if you feel disturbed, get excited because that's when a change is coming. Often i'm overexcited you can tell by the way I walk.

Apparently energy in men rises up the kundalini pathway in the spine and when it gets to the heart chakra it brings up many many issues to do with emotions, love etc.

Christ alive the secret to life is not another plasma screen TV you idiots!

(well maybe a Plasma screen TV to play games on with your kids or friends to share some amazing experiences is...but you get my point don't you??).

It's like 'Dawn of the Dead' without the comedy bits. (The original Romero/ Savini one you chav!)

Q) Seriously why does everything have to be bloody complicated?
A) I know I know, it's journey to achieving the goal and what it makes of us as people.

The Fool of Bute Park pt2

In the wilds of Alaska there is a place called Akiak. I have this on good authority and Google Earth, as I have never been there mind you.

But apparently it is a small town at the confluence of the Kushokwin River, on the Kushokwin/ Yukon Delta.

Despite, or maybe because of being surrounded by a landscape of extreme grandeur and really wild majesty, Akiak has a problem.

It is being eroded by the power of those rivers raging through the countryside. It is being worn down, dis-located, torn to pieces.

Dramatic and elemental stuff. The residents fight a daily battle to stop their river destroying their community.

It's as if they have upset god and now they have to make amends.

I once planned to write a Love Story set in Akiak, Alaska.

Where two people who only knew each other from afar-opposite sides of the river-knew that they were in Love and yet were seperated by not only the raging torrent of the River, but also by the impossibility of Love itself.

They fight to bridge the gap between themselves and their mal-state. With nature and the River in particular, as the arch antagonist.

If you've ever seen a Michael Mann movie ('Thief', 'The Keep' 'Manhunter' and even later stuff), then you will know what I mean about 'the impossibility of love'.

Just like Akiak, this week I have managed to upset a couple of people who really deserve better, by not being able to give them what they wanted at this particular time, or by having given them the impression that things were different than they really were.

And just like Akiak, I find myself standing at the river of my emotions, wondering why there's so much flotsam floating by.

For the upset I can only apologise, profusely.

Sometimes we make things so bloody complicated.

Feeling Pretty Alkaline

They are on my beach now, yes they are.

Suddenly spring has sprung here in south-west Wales and instead of being windswept and buffeted it is blow-dried and manicured, but still on west-walian time.

I refer of course to the tourists, who god bless them, bring in the tourist pounds euros and dollars and keep this corner of god's green acre in underwear and latex mini-gloves.

I was almost shocked when coming along the sandy path that spills out through buckthorn trees onto the top of the beach, because there in front of my personage were people.

But not just any people mind you, say walking their dogs or throwing stones, or the dedicated runners who run for ultimate pleasure and solemnity, but holidaymakers!

Lots of them. Holidaymaking.

How dare they! I felt like the grumpy farmer shaking his angry fist and saying 'gerroffmoiland!'

This of course means that the tourist season has begun, the boarding houses and hotels are all being painted and the caravan parks are cutting their grass.

Soon people will flock to this beach and you won't be able to move for creamy bodies and mewling babbies. Ah well, good luck to them.