The world is round, my square don't fit at all...

I am not made for modern life.

After 23 years of struggling with what the fuck is up with me, i realise (in a completely non-egotistical way) that theres nothing wrong with me. Well maybe ...

I could do an entire book on the intricacies of myself. Seriously, at times i make Evil Knievel look entirely like a life choice rather than a death sentence. However i will be Honest, i am a bonafide 100% fuck-up. Sure i have my moments, them times where i am both tuned in and tuned out, but they are few and far between. Hell, at times i am practically approaching acceptiability with being involved socially with people. But, i fuck up, a lot.

Theres a beast, inside of me.

I can chat shit, maybe entertain some motherfuckers for a few hours... But really, i kinda view myself as a single spliff. Good whilst it lastes, an enjoyable hour or so, another 60 minutes of self-indulgent bullshit which somehow becomes a pleasant memory, but its out of the consciousness once the morning comes...

It ain't no Cash reference, i'm not that cool. Theres a self-destructive fire that i struggle to contain, i need either A) My band. B) A Good Brother (BFAM). C) A Good Woman. D) Family or E) Self-Destruction . Thats no specific order, but's its kinda my pyramid.

Don't get me wrong i have some amazing people who love me. I truly appreciate that they want me to be breathing air, connecting and enjoy their time with me. I am eternally grateful for them stoking my fun fire.

But still.

I belive i have a good idea of who i am, i may not acknowledge it, or act on it. But i fucking know it.

I have come to realise lately; maybe in my god-complex-like state (Jokes), that i ain't in the position i'm meant to be in. Where i wanna be, it ain't where i am at.

The world i am in, the world i am involved with, it's not what i want but its everything i desire at times.

I want the bullshit, the drama, the problems-that-ain't-really-problems, i love the "non-woman" woman problems dance. But why?

Maybe its the backs-against-the-wall-fight-for-survival instict inside, maybe its because i've been self-sufficient for 6 years...

Honestly though..

I don't get it, for a man that wants a simple and pure life ( pure in what i believe, nowt religious) how can i make it so complicated for myself?

But is it me? Or is it a World thats prefuckingdestined to never get me?

This ain't no call for help, this is just me saying i seriously don't get it.

Whatever i am meant to be, wherever i am meant to be at, i don't get it. I know this hole, this mis-understanding at the center of who i am needs to be sorted out. It does. There is something deep inside that i need to sort the fuck out so i can divulge from this path of self-destruction. It's the truth. Still though i think, if all i offer is a laugh, jokes, and some ridiculously good dancing at the worst of times, i am that bad?

Right now, right fucking now. I'm just a motherfucker stumbling through life from one high to the next envitable let-down.

I just hope my path is a right one.

"The world is round, my square don't fit at all..."

Word Joshua, Word Indeed...

Its all kinda connected...

You see, in this modern age of Face-crack, mobile phones, e-mail address's and an inability to just let fate take hold, we're all connected.

Let's face it, "6 Degrees Of Separation" wouldn't realistically last a day currently. Its more like 6 degrees of photo tagging.

The idea that you're 6 steps away from someone else is in the modern climate...ridiculous. I'm pretty sure there ain't even restraining orders for 6 steps. Some bullshit.

So in the place we're at now, and you know what place we're at now. You're just a photo click away from being connected. So to speak. We all know it. Some random cocksucker and his friend that you planned to insult, but it came out as something nice, takes a photo. Mistaking your insult of "I can't decide who is the bigger cunt?" as "I can't decide how many shitty photo's we should take?" you find that suddenly you're best friends and he wants to rut with your cousin...

I mean really the whole "drunken-night-out-i-think-you're-funny-and-shit" is not really cause for some human connection to be made. Much like that last disappointing lay, it was very much a case of a time, place and intoxication triumvirate, so lets leave it at that motherfucker. Still however people persist to make this mean something. Really?

Because (Bad grammar i know, suck my dick.) thats the position we've allowed ourselves to get into. Since when has this shit mattered? Social politics and economics. If i wanna picture with you, its because i want this moment captured. If i wanna spend the evening drawing you into my murky fucking world i will. Thats because i want some kind of connection.

But please, lets distinguish the two. For me a photograph is a single frame in a single moment of something. Fuck it. I might want it taken to remind myself of a beautiful moment, i might want a reminder of the beast i am. Fuck it. I like it myself, maybe because photographs allow me to put a picture to the hazed memory of vibes that i got from a night out. Maybe.

But i digress. Theres connections everywhere, we don't need Facecrack, Mobile Phones or Digital Memoirs to remind us of where we've been or what we're doing. Sure we like them, and at times it can be sweet.

But those real connections, when people are inexplicably drawn together, an orbit which should not be. They are real connections.

We're all kinda connected...

10 Top Annoying Things To Say To A Bartender

1) "Can i have a pint of lager?"

No dip-shit, you cannot. As you can clearly see this bar contains multiple lagers, all of which have very different fucking names. The companies that own these particular beverages pay satans-offspring (Also known as the most evil organisms in the known universe aka Marketing Bastards) ridiculous amounts of money to imbed in your ameoba-like-sponge you call a brain, the name and brand of their particular alcoholic-liquid.

They even have these little things called adverts. You might see these things on that little black box in the corner of your room that glows brightly, on football teams shirts and right before your eyes from the pump that i won't be pouring your pint from.

In these mystical things called adverts the marketing organisms (i refuse to acknowledge that they are part of the human race) use anything from sex, lad culture to "Arty" references to gleam your goldfish level of attention to their product so you will buy buy buy! Honestly, its not fucking difficult. Even children watch these things and know what they want.

So until you learn to ask for things by name, preferably with a please or a thankyou and without beckoning me over like a dog thats just shat on your favourite sofa, the only thing you're gonna get is a look of indignation and a dry mouth.

Give Me Something I Can Take Away...

So my fervent readers...

This week i get old, well not that old... But OLD enough to bring the usual questions to mind.

Have i still got it? What the fuck is it? Will i begin on Friday to start pissing myself, need help getting upstairs and pay for shit with coppers and vouchers?

So many questions, so few answers.

So i hit the rather small 2 + 3 this year (not 5 for our brain-cell-less readers) and i'll be honest, it worries me. So many things not accomplished, so many mistakes made and so many resolutions not found...

But

And it's as big a butt as J-Lo's ass + 4 tonnes of cellulite (which im told by scientists would rival my ego in size) i know i'm not old.

I still love loud music, late nights, non-dementia induced memory loss and a lack of true nostalgia (the 90's were mostly shite). Im still afraid of sunlight, dog walking and smoking any pipe that isn't a bong.

Don't get me wrong, i love my old folks, my grandad is one bad ass motherfucker, still though i can't but help to wanna escape old age.

Maybe its the Peter Pan inside, maybe.

Or maybe its the fact that i don't wanna end-up having someone else wiping my ass for a living...

The Death Of Culture As We Know It...

So as ever, its time to release...

Y’See, whats filled my camel-hump-of-hate this week (in a way that only Chris “Fair-Weather” Martin can do) is the multiple; and believe me these bell-ends are spreading like rabbits, multiple motherfuckers who embrace a counter-culture and bastardise it as their own.

Now, i know i come across to people who don’t know my good self as some sort of rock/Viking/bearded/twat-end of a person. Hey i kinda like that. But i love all kinds of music and culture and if there is one thing that truly makes my soul hurt like a good Johnny Cash heartbreaker it is these cunts...

Wearing a sparkly T-Shirt in faded grey (sold by Primark, made by an underpaid, poorly nourished asian child) by an artist you neither understood or appreciated is bullshit. Truly bullshit. Much like the makers of your apparel, these people lived, and in some cases (James Brown, JC, Lennon etc) died, whilst making and spreading their art.

And you fuckers (and i mean YOU!) choose to acknowledge this by parading yourselves in something you will never get and something that was never made for you.

If good music and culture is only appreciated by tuned-in-and-turned-off-motherfuckers then i don’t give a flying monkey fuck if I come across as truly cuntish, i ain’t special, but pull your head out of the sand.

Fuck You For Killing My Culture...

Don’t believe me? Someone defecated a Banksy piece recently (http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/top-stories/2009/06/24/banksy-art-vandalised-115875-21466895/)... Seriously, the most anti-establishment figure in our generation (name me someone else who dared fuck with the Giza wall?) and all our nation can summon is destruction rather than appreciation...

Fuck You For Killing Our Culture.

British Standard Column II

10 People That Royally Fuck Me Off In The Modern World...
Or, a list of people deserving a karma driven clusterfuck of pain...

10) Jodie Marsh – Famous for being a slag.

Now maybe it’s just me (or maybe my school really was that shite) but I find it funny how the celebrity world is a microcosm of your time at school.

You all know the girl i’m talking about...

The type that should have had “Easy” tattooed at birth on her forehead, her career projection goes from giving hand-jobs in the toilets at break-time for fag’s, dancing in your local strip club (a story for another time), drug addiction, reproduction with multiple scum-sucking dole chasing cunt balls, domestic violence, drug addiction again (as an addict is anything but god-damn reliable) before finally an early death, with her spawn all ready and waiting to bring the cycle round full circle...


Essentially a Redneck in Great Britain (that would make a good film. Fuck remaking Werewolf in London, lets have hicks fighting the queens guard...) and yet, a point that pains me the most, is that somehow society sometimes unearths a “Gem” such as Marsh.

Society in its idiotic daze (a shitty by-product as the beast is made of nimrods) wipes her shit-stained form off its shoe and rather than casting this oxygen waster back down where she deserves... it places the bitch on some gawdy Daily Star sponsored pedestal for horny teenagers and lorry drivers around the country to play a one woman game of cookie upon.

Now these may seem like harsh words, but just as a positive HIV Positive test doesn’t change in the morning, neither do people. She’s scum...so stop celebrating her you motherfuckers.

New Years Eve...

Awake, little sleep, work is easy, quick pint, trip to Tesco for beer and fags. Get home, spliff, shower, shave, beer. Plan begins to formulate for night, wait for people, trip to These Waves house, more beer, off to The Bless, more beer, party begins to get organised at my house, sink two newcastle browns in a row... Home just before 12, everyone important is there. Champagne, more smoke than a cheech and chong out-take, Motown, Soul, Funk, Dance and Hip-Hop. People get fucked up, dual spliff action, good times, freak-out over mis-placed ciggerattes, memory gets hazy, fuck is that the time? People leave, Others in K-Holes, i'm pretty fucked right now, its 5am, rolling one for the film. Sleep.

Good times...