I reach for my phone and it says 3am. Fuck. These are wretched hours when dangerous thoughts snuggle up to you under the duvet. I try to sleep but after fifteen minutes I give up. I reach for my phone again and read Twitter. Then my iPad and scroll through the reader. I switch on the reading lamp and pick up Alan Moore’s V for Vendetta. When I finish, I scroll through the reader again. Sign Avaaz’s latest campaign. And go back to Twitter. And tweet about Britain’s NHS, Eastwood’s new film, American Sniper, which I found deeply lacking in nuance, and retweet something from Guardian’s Owen Jones and a quote from Bukowski.
It’s still only 4am and I’m not expected in the waking world for another two hours. Then I think it’s just two hours why don’t I get up. But I’m tired and sleepy and the rest of the day will be fucked without sleep. So I shut off the lamp and try again. The thoughts crawl back into bed with me, lay on the crook of my shoulder, nudge my chin determined not to be ignored; you know those thoughts, the ones that tell you you’re either running out of time, money or relevance. Bastards. I practice mindful breathing, which usually helps, but the thoughts are heavy as a corpse and refuse to budge.
Finally I get up and scramble a post, which just as I am about to hit Publish I realise is completely incomprehensible. So I do what I always do. I delete. Then I edit, I cut, I delete published posts which no longer make sense. At some point I may very well end up deleting this blog. After all the heavy lifting I start feeling drowsy. It is almost time to get up. I am knackered so I shoot off an email to cancel my 8am appointment. I say I am sick. And I slide back under the covers, my body heavy with regret, but the thoughts have evaporated. They’re usually after a bit of skin– sometimes I picture them as Desire and Despair in Gaiman’s graphic novels– and they’re satisfied now having watched me go through my blog with a scalpel. At least it’s just my words this time. Just my words. And words are cheap.
Jellyfish hours, I call these nocturnal trysts because they sting, not enough to kill you, but enough to hurt, to keep you awake, enough to cause some damage.
oh what a comparison! Long back it was writing and running, now its nocturnal thoughts and jellyfish !
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This is basically why I deleted my blog. Gets me right in the feels.
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because the blog is the best listener…
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Why do guys like us know what duvet is?
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I was wondering about “American Sniper.” Which Bukowski quote?
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Some reviews say that there clearly is a strong anti-war sentiment (not sure I agree) but I felt that the issue behind the Iraq invasion wasn’t something that could be so easily sidelined, which this film did quite theatrically. It’s very one-sided and right now, do we really need discourse like this?
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I kinda know the feeling, but so far I still manage to fight the urge to delete any of the written pieces I’ve ever posted. Incomprehensible or absurd as they maybe, each and everyone of them represent a phase I’ve been through. Each of those phases is a part of what I am.
And I don’t want to forget what I am, or what I’ve been, even if I don’t really care about what I will be.
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haha we all have our neurosis. this is mine.
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Well, the next time you face a jellyfish moment, recall your SpongeBob moments. 😉
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uh I don’t know this Spongebob… Is he a happie chappie or something?
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Something like that. XD
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Love this. Found it because I was looking for your jellyfish reference in your blog just posted. Your blog is one of my favourite reads so far in my new blogosphere.
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Yours is definitely one of my favourites too! So funny and well written. I’m not funny. eww yuck female mutual admiration 😉
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Scared of sounding all fawning now but you ARE really funny … and reading your blog has made me want to check out Bukowski because in my love for American lit i have not touched him. What’s recommended to start with and add to my growing pile of ‘to read’? Apparently his gravestone reads ‘don’t try’. How hard is that!?
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PS just realise he wrote Barfly. I love that movie.
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Then you must read his novel, Hollywood. It’s about the making of that movie and is hilarious.
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Ok I might go with that one first. Thank you!
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If you like fiction, of course you start with Ham on Rye, his first. If you like poetry get the collection, The Pleasures of the Damned. When I can’t write, I read his poetry. And it usually gets me moving… 😉
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Insomnia until you have to get up… Then it hits you… Love the jelly fish comparison…
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Sounds all too familiar…
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