I have no idea why I am writing this blog. The word ‘blog’ is itself absurd, a real glob of a word, hardly a suitable medium for someone who loves language as deeply, passionately and incestuously as I do. But loneliness and despair have driven people to do worse. So here I am, adding to the mountain of words daily spewed forth in the name of self-affirmation. I have a shot of vodka beside me and an evil cigarette smouldering away in an ashtray. It’s cozily pointless. It’s reassuringly sad. It’s me versus the word in the ultimate medium of solipsistic self-indulgence.
I watched an awful film this evening. It struck me, looking at the characters, who weren’t really people at all, not in the mythical sense of the word, what a mush of matter is humanity. What gelatinous gunk. All those limbs and tits and pecs and words. All blurred into billions of overlapping stories. But the moment has already escaped me and it is time to retire into a night of fitful sleep and love-haunted dreams. I once loved people with a Jesus-like idiocy. Now I just look at them and think: legs, arms, words. Animated by sturdy verbs. Go study the ways of the ant and be wise. Or just shut up, keep your head down, and be thankful to have made it through another day with brain and bones seemingly intact. I once loved this life with a suicidal passion but now I just hope for a decent night’s sleep. Jesus: is this the blog of disquiet? Oh n