my life, as honest as i can describe it

2003-11-09T06:46:00.000-08:00

being ill is now getting boring.
three weeks of influenza, migranes, sore throat and weakness and aching in the body.
id also lurches from one thing to another.
makes one thankful for the usual freedom we have from illness.

2003-11-03T01:51:00.000-08:00

monday
rain hits the window pane.
the last few weeks have been a slog.
idi sick with fever, infections
A completely lost her voice for the last 10
i had migranes but was the strongest of us all, and ploughed on.
feelings of antagonism to the world inevitably arise in me, an issue of inner rage
that i try to think when it first surfaced.
frustration that i have no framework, no way to push through my ideas.
since beginning to develop writing a little
it fuels an appetite that creates a tension with my life
the only time i have is after 9 in the evening when i am so tired i could die
and what i do write is filled with tired cliches, set at a distance from who i really am
i am an oral storyteller
i dig an anecdote in every situation
part of who i am
but to test it on paper it loses its flavour
must work
must make time must make space.

2003-10-23T12:33:00.000-07:00

A funny day, not in haha funny just funny.
My dreams so powerful they invaded my day.
Dreamt about my past as though it belonged to another person
Kept that feeling all day
A sense that my past is not something I can touch re-live, try and re-create
That whatever I build here will be put in the shade of what I established there
In the land of my past
Here I land, on the parachute of lust, and that disorientation lives on.
I spoke at length about memory and the creation of the self.
We talked about how both of us leaned on specific event filled stages as staging posts in our lives.
Which for us both concerned traveling.
She countered saying that one leaves behind a part of oneself wherever one has been and that one may never feel, truly feel as one did unless one can be in that environment.
Relying so heavily on pictures the other sense are dumbed and can’t be re-lived except by outside stimulus. Smell, touch etc.
And when one is no longer within reaching distances of those places where experiences were born it is difficult to ascertain whether they continue to make up a true part of the self, something that truly stays with one.
A has been in the same environment has the same friends that she’s had for 30 years. That I can’t comprehend, yet somehow wish I had. Now I am here I feel as though I am shipwrecked on an island, looking back out onto the sea for traces of my past. The future plays no part for me. I live in the past and the present the future is something I can’t comprehend, or have little faith in, at times that is. Building meaning frameworks, relationships here, formulating futures, which anchor me in Sweden.
So I joined a male synchronized swimming group.
First male group in Sweden since 1929.
A group of overweight unathletic men with a deep sense of irony and an eye for a grant from the idrotts forbundent.
Training camp in Estonia next year.
Is this the type of futures I yearn to build?

god leadbelly is god. tell me girl where did you sleep last night?

2003-10-21T12:13:00.000-07:00

time has passed
id has had an eye infection,
and all has been put on hold as he can't really go out.
A. is busy at the univ and at work, which means i'm back in an apartment looking out
frustrating, and difficult to do anything except be with him
id in turn has been in pain, quite moaney. poor him.
i take it all but still am exhausted and a little frustrated.
saturday a rare day of movement
went to lina's exhibition
some really good stuff as always and we made sure we got there early
bought a piece for 2,500.
she ended up selling about 8 pieces in the vernissage only
then went and saw a terrific doc about a one class school somewhere in rural france
a real beauty of a film. filmed with such feeling.
all these fantastic small children and 'that' teacher
you know the one you always remember.
the darkness is closing in here
clocks go back in a couple of weeks
then its grin and bear it time
fuck

2003-10-12T03:20:00.000-07:00

feel like a russian dog juggler
throwing too much up into the air
that i can't keep up
idi is sick. high fever
and i will stay at home with him for a couple of days.
means i have to call off a pile of things which i can't re-schedule
being with him is most important
but stress to push other things to move out of this impasse leaves me stressed

2003-10-11T11:00:00.000-07:00

autumn is in full colour.
weather is glorious here.
finding it easier to be with myself.
the rage that keeps surging has subsided somewhat
how long i have felt rage in my own company i am not sure.
something i have only just started admitting to others.
honesty to face this deep unrest inside me, helps i think

2003-10-08T00:31:00.000-07:00

tired.
my whole body is throbbing
sleep is never enough so i move around with a dull hangover of sleep deprivation
trying to do so much at one time that none of the holes i am digging get any deeper.
i turn my back to work on another only return to see minor landslides that come as the price of a lack of continuity and care

2003-09-30T11:33:00.000-07:00

creative writing class.
characterisation. today.
flat and round constructions of words did he call them.
so much to do to think to craft.
a great challenge which i fear will be too much for me
it needs such time and dedication that if one begins to fail to live up to ones expectations one can slowly fall by the wayside.
so many decisions to make in life
and i find that difficult
i am wayward am influenced by the thoughts the nuances of the crowd
that the work it takes to go into oneself and find a level of truth
of commitment
is the greatest of challenges

2003-09-30T00:53:00.000-07:00

beautiful day. high blue skies
trees mellowing with autumn.
i woke up a bit confused from a shaky dream
wondered about the meaning of life
why stress about stuff
then i had breakfast
took id to dagis and sat down to write
want to get stuff out clean
without pretension
but find it difficult when my being is full of questions of meaning of existence
think i might take a swim instead

2003-09-29T11:59:00.000-07:00

september flew by.
hard to make necessary the space
lots of impressions strong thoughts funny conversations
booze too much sleep not enough
this weekend we ventured north of stockholm for a crayfish party
traditional swedish type of thing
they are very much rooted in traditional festivals here
much more so than in the uk which has lost it
a national holiday has little to do with a shared piece of history ritualised in a party tying past with present
no for us in the uk its just another excuse to get a few pints in and watch sky sports
we stayed in a huge old tumbledown house
fantastic in size and dimension just past it
holes in the ceilings no adequate heat
but the house is kept going out of respect for the past.
it was the base for a summer collective when 5 families lived together
for 20 years they shared their summers
the walls full of free spirited adults and naked children laughing in the sun
i felt so melancholic on their behalf
now that the time has gone
all have aged and the house is just a casket of those memories
all were very glad and sang and drank some more
it was such a nice feeling to wake the next morning and have all these people around.
idi was in his element performing for whoever he met
we all chatted easily and openly
from the dalai lama's take on human destructiveness
to ringo starr(supposedly a truly great drummer!)
to living collective
to society's drive for money
to lonliness in the city
to what comes after post modernism
to bruce springsteen
to a story of identical twins who were identical to when they were 15 before one just began to grow like crazy becoming a giant in 4 years before they discovered a tumor pushing on his growth hormone
he's okay now, simply 25 cm taller than his brother
now as things start to slow in october i will begin the journey to educate myself on opportunities to house own with others...

there is much i need to say other than this drivel above
things that are pushing on my mind.
feel the pressure to get things sorted here in sweden
get some money in but a part craves to disappear and concentrate on creating something for myself by myself.
how can i explain
a friend studying psychology discussed personality types
i'm the type who relies on the field.
means i need interaction with others.
its a driving force.
if there's 25 in a party i end up talking to them all
exchanging stories
trying to open themm up whilst opening myself a little
thing is if one gets too reliant it becomes harder to gauge where oneself is
start being blown around in this wind oneself losing a grip on who one is
and what is busy
new questions pop up, new scenarios
dreams flourish
the noise gets too much in the head
i feel as though i need to cut myself off a little
concentrate on something which is cool for me for its own sake...
mmm
can't clarify any more just now.
too fuzzy

2003-09-26T08:37:00.000-07:00

feelings of lightness and excitement are fading slightly.
tramped under the wheel of relentless routine.
bornholm gave me the space and time to dream
now i feel choked. seeing obstacles where before there was only opportunity.
time to make concrete the next step in the master plan.
living in a fusion of dreams and reality is where i'll always be.
knowing i have to sharpen myself to get more productive
whilst wanting to hang on to the loose more playful me....

2003-09-25T12:14:00.000-07:00

good day.
sorted out some more lessons with a beta camera with pedro
although things are quite tight at the news, i still think its good to stack up skills
tune up editing cameras and sound.
lots to do but as ever feel very little quality time to organise it all.
tired but trying to get more strength to push on, develop a stronger constitution get more done.
use the time i have better.
mmmm

2003-09-25T01:12:00.000-07:00

...where was i?
ah sunny bornholm with the enthusiasm the wit the positivity of the yong fresh(ish) documentray maker.
like all other newcomers we arrive in a wave at the shores of documentary feeling such relish, connection, excitment at what beholds us.
imagine the possibilities the investigation, the learning, the fun that awaits those who can suceed to break through.
the reality is a harsh one, one that leaves many flayling, hoping a bigger wave will come to help carry them back out to sea. i sit alone as do so many i know, pondering, developing ideas the problem being to know how to implement make them happen.
life in sweden is a big big challenge. i feel i can make it happen but i must keep my focus, my energy must not dwindle.
still there are bill and responsibilities, the clarion call of stability onto a life reeked in instability.
i know not if i can turn my own tide.
this is my shore.
that is why bornholm was so good.
a sip of soba(was that what huxley called it)
to wash away the long days gazing navelly wondering how to move on.
to make a fleeting contact with similar souls.
good luck to them all. may they make sandcastles in the summer and shelters in the winter.

2003-09-24T10:51:00.000-07:00

spent a good part of the day discussing with masoud an idea of forming a film collective. working alone is difficult as one has to put so much effort into a project that other ideas have to stand still and oftarere than not rot. made sense to pool ideas experience and resources. a collection of filmmakers and producers who can work together judge each others projects etc...
wanting to be productive i am ears for anything but conscious that i need to think decisions through before taking them
a first for me.

A. is home after a back-breaking day....must see to her

2003-09-23T12:15:00.000-07:00

back yesterday from a thoroughly invigorating conference on bornholm
a fabulous location, we were right by the harbour in svaneke. sunny with fantastic 17th 18th century danish harbour houses it was idyllic.
the conference was a 3 day seminarium on doc films with other 'promising scandanavian filmmakers'
a jolly bunch of norwegians, danes, finns and swedes.
we talked watched and drank films
it was a strong bonding process and within a couple of days i found myself with a community
one that i still lack in stockholm
funny how communities of interest no longer revolve around location.
those that we share most experiences with are nearly always spread wide.
it was great to meet them
and i danced quite a lot
i went with a new project i thought to develop but learnt something important
that one must feel deeply connected to the project that one wishes to make
not simply have a ruthless edge which tries to take onboard trends and the like.
that way one moves simply further away from what one wants to, should or truly can say.
i thought a lot and have come back to Stockholm energised
to do films which i like
not simply worthy.
i do quite like to laugh at life, meet different characters and listen to them
so now i have a project
a mothership in size and ambition which excites me
for the simple fact that i know it will be fun and rewarding to do.
what else is there.
i am still backdrunk.
the screen is too bright and the ideas are flowing too rapidly.
i must rest a little.

2003-09-17T09:38:00.000-07:00

spent the afternoon with Anton, A's young brother tidying up a doc proposal that i can take with me to bornholm tomorrow. story is heavy, survivors hunting torturers from 70's argentian. powerful stuff. anton so good on a computer sorting out layout in seconds. i'm being left behind in the mist. a no-body man shrinking as this fresh young clued-up generation speed away on their cybernetic motorcycles. i had no idea what he was doing. makes you realise a new class system is developing. the technologically tuned and the finnish labourers that the rest will be. i am a finnish labourer. i feel like one. the world speeds up and i am sick of fighting for space. this is one of shakespeare's 7 ages of man i guess. the point where caring about the opinions of others blows in the wind. leaving one to tred one of either two main ways. the most common being ignorance as the path is already shaped and no incursions are allowed to change the direction, the second being strength. still taking on new perspectives but with a better grip of oneself. one's needs etc. etc...
am i jealous of anton's fingers?his brain?his good lucks? his musicalness? his smootheness of body?his cleanliness of lung?

is it upon this envy that consumption has built its model?
developing a jealousy of 'the young' - their purity, their potentiality so that we all try and buy into their ways, good books etc. making teenagers ever more dismissive. witness them strutting around in bad moods saying softa and tja no longer hiding their bad opinions of others, like roman generals they are.

2003-09-16T10:33:00.000-07:00

time seems to have slipt away from me this last week. things so tight with us, that it prooves difficult to be selfish and make time. bullshit excuse dylan and you know it.
went away for the weekend, invited out to the archiapelago to a friends summer house. an absolutely fantastic place perched directly over the sea. still i wasn't keen on going. A. had to stay in town and i was a little reluctant to go out alone with id, being with him, taking responsibility for a whole weekend felt too much. i was too tired.
so i was grumpy the morning we should go, had a bit of a go at A for nothing in particular. fuck i'm getting grumpy in the mornings. still i went. partly as i thought it would be nice for A to have some time to herself. get a chance to sleep as late as she wanted read as she pleased. take a coffee etc etc. so a bit of a sacrifice. then what happens. i have one of the best weekends in ages. the weather is fantastic. i bathe a couple of times. the sea is incredibly beautiful, i feel energized by playing with id and desmond, a 3 year old car fanatic. clattering over rocks. playing by the water.
evening meal lovely, a fantastic lunch, tomato and beetroot soup with lazy bread...sitting out on a cliff surveying the beauty of the islands. (insert superlatives)
just back from creative writing i am full of admiration for jon the teacher. that he has managed to make his passion real. perhaps it is not easy but he has made it his reality, and that i must admire.
sitting out in the idyll of moya with a mouth full of lazy bread i dreamt the dream of living out there at least a year with no contact to the outside world, and dedicate it to writing. being selfish and closing the door...to do that during one's life would be a real achievement from which one would come out a changed person. stronger i imagine.
still i have less time, that is my reality, but if i can develop discipline then i can still immerse and enjoy. keep the pictures of the three types of writer fixed in my mind....
started working on the poem for next weeks poetry class. a formal poem he said.

started shaping the memory of being on the boat as i left japan for shanghai all those years ago. leaving masayo behind with no idea as to where i was going. wanting to break something, change a perspective, an attitude, something but having to push out to sea and leave behind my first adult love. adult? that's a joke. i was such an impulsive whimsical creature back then deep navel gazing. i think of you often masayo. i know our story took on a mythical context when we met up some time later in the strongest most emotional of coincidences of my life. still i wasn't to know then. standing on a boat with salt in my ears. red eyes. not knowing where i would go, just knowing i had to leave something behind. then meeting that old chinese man with the story of being dragged away by the japanese from his village in china in 1938, leaving behind his loved one. and me meeting him on the ship that would finally take him back to china...
still makes me think.

as it stands, unfinished and unpolished

'out to sea'

wrinkled fingers grasp the rail
drained of colour painted pale
he fixes fast on the quay
as the ship slips out to sail

below bellows the yellow sea(dodgy)
he moves his head and catches me
my doubts swell like the sea below
.......line missing

words between us begin to flow
soft words saying what i already know
that leaving is a choice i make
a choice of seeds of which i sow

two verses remaining.

2003-09-08T11:29:00.000-07:00

sofa is finally in thank god.
sitting silently it spreads across the wall in 3.5 meter splendour
i am dead tired not having slept properly for a week
and tonight i work nights with sandro. a handicapped guy i look after.
today goodish news on doc front
got 13,000 to do a course with the european doc network
involves developing an idea for an international doc.
some time on bornholm in denmark in a couple of weeks and a week in helsinki in january.
hope i get the chance to grip and grin with assorted financiers
meanwhile working on the film about the woman who lives on a balcony.
no more than 10 sq.meters

now i must try and write three poems before tomorrow.
not keen on it. still i began one on the bus.
thinking of the finland boat trip i came up with an ode to red wine

beginnig goes a little like this

'ode to a chiraz'

bottle of red
sitting so meekly
what will you yield
when i pour you inside me

a joke
a laugh
a tear
a confession

a hope
a dream
a sigh
a depression

a question
a thought
a sense of
a solution

all lost in the moment
of drunken submission

alright not wordsworth
but have you ever tried..
writing about trees and sunsets with peach coloured skies
does not come from the heart

rightee ho

2003-09-08T08:51:00.000-07:00

2003-09-08T02:34:00.000-07:00

first chance i've had to sit down on my own for a few minutes. a friend visited, thursday was it? - she was up here to do a cabaret number in a wedding. she does a very good number as the stuffy slightly abstract waitress who moves in slight surreality for the first hour before unveiling herself after an hour to the unexpectant guests as the entertainment. always goes well. good to see her and belle the baby.

i in turn had my own thick slice of surreality the day after aboard the cruiseliner to finnland. supposedly a conference alcohol let down barriers never seen before and set me wondering whether they would remain lowered when we are back to work. very free and easy time, capped off by a cracker at the 'moulin rouge' nightclub which was jam-packed with 50 & 60 year old finns tango dancing in tune(!) to a dance band. i sat there watching and ended up writing drunken poetry on a beer mat.
this creative writing course must be getting into my blood somehow.

yesterday i was home again. a very warm sunny day so id and i went for a walk in the forest before taking a dip in the lake. he then chased ducks whilst i continued to read a rather terrible swedish novel. usually such a book lasts 5 minutes in my lap, but i am forced to read it for the swedish class, so it is a good exercise. question is can our hero save the day...blah blah

2003-09-04T11:38:00.000-07:00

no time to breathe since the last entry.
spent the afternoon outside looking at ducks
which was very engaging
i love helles gårdan so much. so peacful to have such a huge national park right by one's door whilst the centre of stockholm is 10 minutes on a bike.
why people are so obsessed with being in the middle of the city i can't understand
all about cool i suppose.
stockholm is a very trend obsessed place.
went to a vernnisage about 7 yesterday
a friend, lapsed artist successful advertisment 'creative engineer' or whatever they call themselves did this really great thiong
she travelled to nuie an island of 1012 residents in the south pacific and took a picture of every one of the residents(apart from the 4 sitting in jail)
it was great. wine and things and we bumped into a few friends. A. went off to sub-title the latest euro debate on t.v and i ate what i could get my hands on and drank a little wine.
ethnographic museum was the venue.
great little museum and got me pondering about what may have been.
did a masters in social anthropology three years ago and thought i'd found something
did well in the course and started setting up an idea of field study in hyderabad. there was fuck all money to do a phd and i got offered the job on a documentary instead.
now scrabbling around fighting to find people to fund films which just don't get the air-time, none of this docu soap shit for me, i wonder whether i should have starved my way into the crusty corridors of academia. university does give me a buzz. same time as it repels...

my guests are back..will write on

2003-09-03T03:43:00.000-07:00

id woke early this morning. starting pre-school has had a strong impact on him.
he is very tired most afternoons and wanting more attention.
being home with him a lot feels both good and bad.
quite stressful when i have other things on my mind. money is tight and i am trying to get work in the film branch as quickly as possible so as to evade getting a job job. back in london i was on a roll, doing docs for discovery and the bbc. that dylan often pays a visit. mocks me with my swedish beard making bread.
makes me feel i am back to square one, somewhere outside the world
his mockery makes me angry inside sometimes casting shadows.

i wrestle with swedish and try to meet people.
ideas are plenty, but frustration bubbles when i can't realise them.

so i run and swim and swim and run instead. getting rid of restless energy.

starting this writing course may help to help in finding some inner strength to withstand that mobile wielding success me that was the subject of so much parental pride. pride won back after their depression of a son with longer hair than anyone they knew who smoked incessently and cried about the meaninglessness of life

protestants have a lot to answer for. guilt is the baton they use to beat those who reflect.
pure functionalists.

still we can't hide or closet those thoughts for ever. once the door to reflection has been swung open there's no way one can find the key to lock it up again.
i know george bush did it, having read oliver sachs prognosis of him the other day
the alcoholic coke sniffing loafer who rejected the perfectionism of his parents as he could never live up to it, to a sudden burial of the carnal id, and the re-invention into an extremist who has answers to everything
how can one have the answers.
is it a strength to feel that one has them? is it a feeling that they can sustain throughout a lifetime
or do questions and doubts arise even in them. do they simply ignore those thoughts that don't fit into their new self-certain manifested frameworks.
i don't believe it
i once knew a pschyzophrenic rapper back in cardiff. ninja he was called.
tall as a tree. big fucker with gold chains that would bale out a small nation.
he was the town's unofficial town crier. they exist wherever you go.
you know the ones who live to shout out their truths.
who must simply let it all out.
i remember in anthropology how they talked about the importance of the idiot, the joker the outsider for all societies.

well that was ninja. a trinidadian with a mythical past who walked around the town in dressed in fancy dress.
something different everyday. sometimes he was dressed as a postman, others a cleaning woman, or a butcher or once a lollipop man. must set him back i used to think. told me he was training for the olympics. used to run and rap and walk around with the biggest god-damned ghetto blaster i ever saw pasted to his ear. one of those people, try as you might that you just can't imagine asleep. did he have a house, a bed a sofa, a tele.
couldn't can't just can't imagine it.
he once told me something that's stuck with me all these years
he said, you wanna know the difference was between heaven and hell?
fuck yeah
hell he said came when one had a thought that just went around and around inside the brain. that they'd just keep swirling and banging into the block in there which stoppped them being released out of the body. these blocks could be built up from any of the hang-ups that we pick up along the way. so these thoughts that just can't be allowed to run free just keep getting stronger and stronger, louder and louder inside the head...you know - someone only has to call you a bastard one time to set off a spiral where you call yourself a bastard hundred times(why did s/he call me a bastard?(X100)..s/he's the bastard X75 etc) - if this block is too well built the spiral gets out of hand and the thoughts start banging into one another causing frictio and heat, in the end so much heat that it begins to burn. hell on earth they call it.

i often saw ninja, muttering to himself. wonderded what his hell was.

heaven on the other hand, he said, is the free flow, when one just lets a thought come out. whether an action a word or whatever. when he mc'd in the shopping centre he was free flowing. fuck his body could almost not take his ecstasy
i thought of the vipassna course i did in the kathmandu valley. 12 days in silent retreat, except it was so silent. my brain was humming with words. so much noise in there. the teacher, a serene little bald man once described the brain as being like a full swimming pool. a thought being like air that escapes from a crack at the bottom. as the air reaches the surface it becomes a bubble. a thought. no one knows frow which crevice in the subconcious it escapes but the importance was not to claim ownership of it. watch it come to the top see it burst into the surface of consciousness, and let it pass out into the air. makes me think why the beginning of a love affair is so delicious. one feels the freedom the opportunity to jam these thoughts with another sympathetic ear, and it just flows and when its out it just isn't so important anymore. when i was a boy i used to climb the mountain behind our house and scream and shout. we all need that. need to play, to escape to let things float away and let our brains breathe and sense the wonder, the sheer perverse strangeness and gift that is this existence. to flip over the coin of our reality and look at it anew.

these pages are a cyber mountain for me.
throw out word after word after word and let them escape my blocks and hang-ups and let me breathe easier.
i am still censoring myself.
to be expected.
i will keep this going.
none of your category 2 person jonny boy.
writing with no hang-ups
none of the expectations of yester year or yesterday for that matter
you know martin amis is shit, i can do better than him
wanting the life of the reflector yet not quite reflecting enough
thinking more of what it is to be a writer than writing for its own sake
for that rush of adrennalin that one feels and the frustration that one's fingers can't quite go fast enough on this fucking keyboard.

ok id has awoken.

back
he was just crying in his sleep
so much going on for him
we 'adults' recognise the signs and symbols and sounds so easily that we don't even have to take notice of them. they're all dealt with so efficently by the unconscious.
paul whatever the poetry teacher asked a good question yesterday.
what makes a poet?
one who notices things
he asked what we remembered from our journey to school
my eyes had been closed the whole way
on the way from the class going to pick up id i sat on the bus and really looked, really looked at what was going on, well at least what i could be aware of. smelt the aromas of the packed bus, made narratives for the faces, which was easy to do. closed my eyes and listened to the sounds.
tried to exist in the marrow of the moment in which i found myself.

id lives on that plane all the time.

no wonder he gets so exhausted.

i remember being in india on my buddhist trip, smoking acres of grass and getting into the present in a big way. thought my head was going to explode from all the impressions fighting to get in.

so let him sleep a while longer.

god i hope he feels safe and that i can be strong and secure for him. a buoy in the ocean.

what do i tell him. what have i let him in for.
its his journey now, for him to make.
its just a gift to be sharing some time with him.

children are so perceptive its just us who are too blind too deaf too far out of our senses to follow them to feel their world. our world with no preconceptions
last night i dreamt i was in a giants kitchen. like jack up his beanstalk.
its a big world id.
where do you escape to when you dream
i think of ben okri and his spirit children in the famished road.

lunch

2003-09-02T14:14:00.000-07:00

2003-09-02T13:26:00.000-07:00

september 2nd

ok we're off.

started a creative writing course today
in which we're told a writer writes.
simple but true.
for a ponderer these are strong words.
so blogger is here to sharpen discipline get me writing
still it feels a bit false at the moment.
standing under a spotlight, that the awareness that this is not actually private but is out on the Net, freely available for A.N other's consumption has a falsifying effect on the prose. who am i writing this for, the eye of the other.

at the moment it feels as real as the smile of an air hostess.

idris, my 74cm 17 month old spiritual mentor and emotional tormentor always runs and buries his head in my knees when a new face arrives or a new situation arises. a few minutes later he's conducted the first set of exchange (see marcel mauss) and he's back to normal. so it is with this journal i feel.
so on with matters other than self-absorption.

this morning a couple of scousers turned up with the new sofa that A. and i compulsively bought a couple of months back. they looked a bit pissed off as it's three and a half meters long and heavy. a real beaut. so anyway they start bringing it in, swearing as they go. A. is at work, doing extra hours at the subtitling in order to pay for the thing. so i've got id one arm and part of the sofa in the other hand. i'm feeling too guilty to just watch. they were the cheapest we could find. our apartment is on the top floor and the stairs are narrow and these boys are struggling. they almost take out a window so i run up to the neighbour to see if she can hold the small fella for a few minutes.

carla opens the door. she looks terrible. early contractions have started she says and there's no sign of sven. idris clings to me and the scouser down the stairs shouts up. there's no fuckin' way we're going to get this up. carla is contracting and i ask her if she wants a cup of tea. i know. a stupid thing to say.

so i go downstairs again put idi pid on the floor and the three of us start to push. i'm a bit stressed cause id is grabbing hold of my legs and these guys are being way too rough on the sofa. idi starts crying. finally the sofa's up on the landing.
i open the door, the guy laughs. no way he says.
now i've started speaking scouse and swearing, sponge that i am,
you're fuckin jokin i say
no i'm not he says.
i'm sure he's laughing.

but i measured it.
measured it my arse he says.

a tape measure is a lot more flexible than your average designer sofa. still we spend half an hour trying and then half an hour getting it downstairs again. they can't take it away with them as they've got another job, a mate jimmy mcgovern has a load of rubbish for them to take to the tip. funny in two years in stockholm i've met so few brits, keeping away from theme pubs. i don't believe in hanging out with someone just because they know who bruce forsyth is or because they remember that justin fashanu volley that they had at the beginning of match of the day for all those years.
bit of a pseudo bohemian that i am i feel as though i want to leave the uk behind. bury it.
this has to do with something far greater and more complex than i have the lust to go into just now...

so they drive off. the sofa is on the pavement id is wanting food, but excited by all this commotion. i get paranoid that someone will steal it if i go up to make him lunch. carla comes out on the way to the hospital. sven turns up breathless looking stressed. god how i remember that look. that feeling. he knows of someone with a free garage, so i give her a call. which is where it is now...

now i have to sort out a crane. how much thats going to cost god knows....