a feeling not as fickle as love.

-

I know that I write so that I can make a living, some day. But now I’m worried about my characters. Even if they are real.

God.

Most of the people I write about are real. So when they die, that is that. So I need to write about them, to capture them (if I can).

Most of the time I do that, in my journals. I write people as they are, no shields up, no gimmicks.

Without a single declaration of love, there is no one I won’t try to save the way I save people. Even the people I hate, I save.

Right, back to the work.

I do love you.

You know who ‘you’ are.

I love you, but I can’t say it to your face and will never allow myself that close to another living being. So in the absence of calling it ‘love’, I cannot live without you. Even if you are far from me, there will always be the show of affection. There will always be the place in my heart. A feeling not as fickle as love.

ultra-bigimist-aholic

this is a non-extract from my new novella. this is completely its own thing, in the novella it is written from a different perspective. i hope you like it.

My ex girlfriend. By which I mean, the last girl I was in a long-term relationship with. The girl I was in a three year relationship with. That ex-girlfriend has just had a baby with another man.

It doesn’t really bother me. I’m a little put out that she got with a new guy and got pregnant. That she was part of a new family within a month and a half of us breaking up. I’ve always wanted to wake up one day with a family. To just not have a choice either way. That’s just how life goes sometimes. Some days are like torn condoms.

In the aforementioned month and a half, I slept with 4 women. So I know that I didn’t love her. I explain the three years to people as being a time when I couldn’t see that I didn’t love her for all the loving things I was doing. Its like not seeing the wood for the trees. Except you don’t see that you feel nothing, for trying to feel something.

What I never told her, because I was busy trying to love her, was that I was already dating someone when we met. I later learnt that the girl I was dating had loads more in common with me than my ex girlfriend. I sometimes think that if I had chosen differently I might not have had to fake love. ‘Might’.

My mother used to say that when you sleep with a woman, she stays with you. You are married to her by God. She always said the same thing about horror films, that once watched they never leave and you’ll have those images in your mind forever. She never warned me against romantic comedies. She should have.

Understanding this, to say I am a bigamist is an understatement. I’ve often though about having all the women I’ve slept with come together. There would be a festival of brides, because a church would be too small. Also because a lot of them would get on, so we’d get a few bands to play and have a laugh.

At the festival of brides I’d get up on stage and all the girls would file past me in one line. Just like the Pastor did at my old church. Each Sunday he’d welcome each person and they’d take the bread and wine. Except that I’d only kiss each girl. There would never be another last meal between us. I’d never ask them to do anything in remembrance of me.

If I had to choose between keeping all these wives, or trading them for one wife and a kid. Then I’d choose the baby with one. Except that is human nature. Its the same thing as hunger. An involuntary feeling. One you can ignore. In fact, if you asked me to choose then I’d sucker punch you in the gut. I’d say ‘I can do as I please!’ ‘There’s no God in control of me!’. I’d think hard and then say. ‘I don’t think I’m in control of me!’

So my ex girlfriend has had a baby and named him after a singer who killed himself. I’m of the opinion that this is asking for trouble. If I had to choose to name my kid after someone who killed himself, then I’d choose someone who was at least very successful first. Otherwise what hope’s the kid got?

In truth, I don’t worry for the kid. She’ll be a great mother. I know I didn’t love her, but the kid has too. I’m glad that she’s found a guy she can be happy with. I’m getting on with things. Sleeping my way through the phonebook. As Jim puts it.

When the festival of brides rolls into town, there will be no ex girlfriend with her baby and new boyfriend. There will only be me and the women I never loved. The women I lied to. Out of hope, not out of cruelty.

Margin:0.0px or maybe ?0.o?

“  City of Birth

Much of the place is now just a flourish of the mind. Rivers and streets have altered position and where you might follow one in real life and come out at its proper exit, in my mind it turns about and you arrive elsewhere altogether. The whole city is a fading dream, less and less factual as the months wear on.

Except the truth is that I do not strive to remember, the death of it suits me. Rather than not leaving me at all, gradually is an accepted evil. However I lament that it could not have been torn away in one swipe. I wish the whole place burnt away, its ash caught and carried off by a wind of forgetfulness. I wish nothing ill on the inhabitants of that city in its real and present form, but its form in my heart is a solid lump that runs to the throat if I consider it for too long. I mean it not to remind me of my own failures.

In truth the city is merely the scapegoat for my own shortcomings, for my own mistakes. It is a laden creature, cast out and laboring under the burden of blame for injuries I’ve suffered. The city did nothing directly, supplant me and my life to another with the same set of circumstances and I’d be sure of similar results. The same progression of cruelty, neglect and eventual isolation. The same reasons for the breakdown of relationships with almost everyone. My own ego and lack of humility. My envy of other people’s talents and embarrassment at my own lack of courage.

No, I cannot blame a city for what was my own doing. The truth is that I lost my sight, my judgement clouded. Or, more rightly, my vision was distorted by a thin film over the eyes. An idea of how the world looked, except that in that way of seeing I could not perceive the slow corruption of my life. Each time I rallied myself and thrust forward with my creative projects, I was in fact just shuttling along in a blinkered, eager rush. I shut out the distraction of friends and lovers. Then, when I’d collapsed into the sense of futility that seems to run through me like a core, I was surprised that they’d moved on to better things.

It is a great and painful process for a man to learn of his own failings. More-often he might bury the facts under a layer of disbelief. Or else under the debris of the facts themselves; as he picks each apart with lies and self-justification. Delusion is the tonic for most things.

Myself, I’m no less the fool. Even knowing what I do I cannot bring myself to believe I was to fault. I too ignore these things and move on with what I do agree to take with me. So from these lessons comes the genesis of a new self. I do not wish to remember my sins, though I will learn from them. It is hypocritical indeed to ignore the legitimacy one’s crimes and yet still take wisdom from them; though to have the position reversed would be far worse an error.   “

—-

The above is the beginning of the novel I was speaking of, not too long ago. The tale of my life. A way to purge myself of the old crimes and explain how things progressed and perhaps absolve myself slightly through showing how I’ve bettered myself. It will however be ‘warts and all’, I hope – if I have courage enough to paint myself in my true (past) monstrous form. All names altered, no great revelations about the other people involved. I will stay in the bounds of my own head, the things that I saw and thought – I will not attempt to second guess the people around me, nor anything of their opinions of me at that time. What I do not want it to be, is a way of explaining away the evil I have done, but rather to seek to hold onto it – lest I forget – and remind myself of how far I have come so that I do not retrace the same steps. I also don’t want it to hurt anyone from the past, hence the only alterations will be to the unsavory portions of lives of others and not to my own life, wherever possible.

The NaNoWriMo novel is far more accomplished, though I do wish to return to the previous novel soon. I’m a little behind in terms of the monthly goal – though it has proven itself as necessary and so I will be moving forward with it. I’m not all too bothered about the NaNo win because NaNo has been a bit of a joke as far as I’m concerned. There’s been no proper management or communication with those involved, so the community fun was sucked dry long ago. I’m just glad that I’ve got a wonderful manuscript out of it and I can break on through with the knowledge that I can write about 2,000 words a day with very little hassle, so long may it continue. Fuck NaNo.

Nevermind.

I’m loving quite a few bands at the moment.

1) The Bicycle Thieves

2) Cocoon (‘Hey Ya’, ‘I don’t give a shit’)

3) Soko (‘I’ll kill her’)

4) The Thermals (‘Now we can see’)

5) Fresh body shop (‘My artificial sun‘)

And in terms of poetry?

1) Derek Walcott (‘Elsewhere’, ‘For Adrian’)

And I’m reading…

1) 2666 by Roberto Bolano

2) Omeros by Derek Walcott

3) The Book of Shadows Don Paterson

4) Fugitive Pieces by Anne Michaels (again)

In other news. I’ve made a promise with myself to write a poem, take a roll of photos (34 photos), make a short film and read a book every week from now on.

Further updates will follow.

a break?

I’m going to take a break from my novel to write this. I’m doing well with the NaNoWriMo challenge, I’m on target for my 100,000 word personal target, so I’m more than able to hit the standard 50,000 word mark. I’m not stressing too much about it because I know that whatever I get out of it is something in the right direction.

At least I’m putting pen to paper with an aim in mind and I can stick at it. In the past I’ve been distracted by lots of things, but this time I have a focus that I can really only put down to maturity and real determination.

It is a while since I’ve blogged and I feel like I need to, to get some stuff out.

I got a job! I’m working at Waterstones and I have met new friends and everything on that side of things is great! I’m pretty good at selling books and helping people out. I’m very well read, so whenever people come to the till and ask about something I’m like… ‘oh you mean X, sure – just follow me’ or I’m like ‘I’ve read that actually, can I recommend this?’ Its lovely to have a job where being who you are really makes you good at it.

I’ve more calmness now, my character has altered and I’m able to see it clearly now for one particular reason.

I’ve quit my medication, both the fluoxetine and the sleeping pills.

I’m in a better place, so I don’t need them to keep me still anymore.

I’m starting to get back some of the old feelings again, but that makes me feel more like myself. There is the old nostalgic sense of a lost life and a part of myself that has fallen away. That had been hidden from me by the pills, they sort of alter you into a more carefree and less concerned creature. That’s not me, I know who I am and it is okay for me to dwell slightly. It is where I get a lot of my strength from.

I’m more focused, have more regard for people. I’ve done well. It’s almost like enlightenment, but not as sudden or significant really.

I’m getting back into the swing of being okay with being me again.

And just in time for new year.

oneward and upward

Okay. RIght. Testing, testing. Hope this is working.

It is.

Right.

I’ve been giving a lot of thought to this whole One and Other thing. I’ve done my smart thinking now, I’m over that. I’ve reasoned out things and I think I’m going to be okay. Just going to get up there, pose my ideas and then breathe it all in.

Been having a few emotional tantrums recently – my heart all a flutter.. ex-cetera … It all comes from me putting too much stock in this thing.

The truth is, I don’t need to get it ‘right’ or do anything to ‘please’ anyone. I’m smarter than needing to take my level from other people’s figures.

I wrote a little piece last night for my novel – “Feel bitter, feel like you want to hit me; but don’t deny the fact we made each other pretty happy. In the time we had.”

That’s what all this means, it is getting up there and just saying ‘This is me. What are you?

I am the art that can ask questions of itself, as much as of the observer. Now that is a revolution!

This morning I got a call from a mental health team member and they have invited me over to get checked over on Wednesday. I’m going to go along and tell them everything. I will write a little something for them first. A little history maybe. Something to explain better than I might be able to.

Oneward and upwards with things.

not happier but doing something

Today is just the same as yesterday in terms of mood, but something happened last night.

I know it is a tired fact that I start a new novel every week, but this one isn’t new.

This one has taken shape in my mind over the last three years. This one I have lived.

So everyone who has known me over the last three years, you might feature in my new novel.

I’ll not be posting anything up. It is far too sordid to do in anything but a clean surgical incision.

Publication is the aim. I have written the outline already (I usually never have a plan).

The first line is a gem. It isn’t making me happier to write it, but it is at least something to do.

Lessons Learnt

Lessons Learnt

When I came to this land of sandstone and moody weather. This dockside city and this peninsula. When I came to this new backdrop, I had no clue what lay in store for me. I had little knowledge of who I would meet. I had still less idea what I might do to make a living. I had a small collection of belongings and a small collection of clothes.

Almost six months have passed and I still have no clue what to do to earn a living. Then again, I’m in no hurry to. However, I have met a good stock of irregular people who now form a very integral part of my existence.

Not least of those I have met one who has made a very clear impression on me.

I come to the six month stage reflectively. I met the challenge of collating my lessons and describing myself in two senses. The former self and the fresh self.

Former.

I was selfish, a liar and a coward.

Fresh.

I am selfish (though less so) and cowardly. Though I no longer lie to anyone, not at all to myself.

Former.

I drank and ate in order to sate my boredom, lethargy and to comfort a troubled heart. I was self-destructive.

Fresh.

I have used self-destructive energy to create things. Jewelry, gadgets, art, writing, video, photographs. I drink only socially. I eat only when I am hungry. I have awakened myself to the need for challenge in my daily life and my troubled heart is therefore somewhat eased.

I should not consider myself truly a better person. Merely a different one. I do think that I am better equipt for life. The previous me was a lot more giving (but recklessly so) and that secured a wider social circle. In the short term I am not spreading myself so thinly that I cannot cope with the number of people who require my attention.

With all of this thinking, comes a review of my future and how I see myself moving forward.

I’m still awaiting appointments. I’ve set up many contacts with people regarding photography and reviewing and also in the realm of music. I have a keen desire to get more involved in the visual art scene in and around Liverpool. So that is certainly a goal.

I’m still in the process of refining my ideas for the near-future. I’m organizing my focus. More will follow.

Other News.

So I’ve clearly been inspired recently to be more energetic and to that end I have started to make a list of all my books and DVDs. The hope is that I can post the complete list online and have people request things from me, in exchange for other things in return. I am aiming to be less materialistic. So the idea is that I give away one thing to get some title/book in return that I will watch/read and then I will return said title/book to the person. If they like my book, I may well let them keep it. See how much I myself like the book.

I will post later with more details.

Photography is going well. Very well indeed with my camera phone, I’ve caught some wonderful images with it. Will continue to post them to jensensnaps and hope that you will comment on a few, tell me what you think.

I’m working on making my way over to a few gigs in Liverpool in the next few days. I’m thinking it will be both a chance to take some snaps and also an opportunity to do some reviewing. See if I’ve kept my ability in that sense.

Writing.

Writing is going wonderfully. Really working hard and hope to make a writing blog shortly, until then I will continue to use the excerpts section on here.

Reading.

I’m reading Quest for Adventure: Ultimate Feats of Modern Exploration (Hardcover) by Chris Bonington’ http://amzn.com/0792279530 – which is about…

‘There is a special breed of person who thrives on risk, for whom an unconquered mountain or an unexplored ocean represents an irresistible challenge. Some are world-famous — Hillary, Heyerdahl, Chichester — while others are known only to a tightknit group of their peers, but all share certain hallmark qualities: a fierce desire to be first and best; a deep commitment to their goals; and most important of all, a kind of determination and endurance that is even more spiritual than physical.

Chris Bonington understands the powerful allure of adventure, and in this enthralling book he chronicles a generous selection of the most remarkable and daring exploits of the past half-century. A record-setting mountaineer, he’s the perfect guide to some, of the world’s most remote, forbidding, and dangerous places, from the blazing sands of the Sahara to the frigid Antarctic ice cap, from the blinding white of a Himalayan blizzard to the pitch-black depths of an underground river. Along with the first-person story of his own pioneering ascent of Annupurna’s treacherous South Face, Bonington presents vivid accounts of 16 other epics — on land, on water, and in the air.

We voyage across the Pacific with Thor Heyerdahl’s crew on the primitive balsa raft called Kon-Tiki and ride the jet stream around the world in the gondola of the ultra-modern Breitling Orbiter 3 balloon. We free-climb the vertiginous face of El Capitan and follow the footsteps of solo climbers into the Death Zone of Karakoram peaks. We cling alone and desperate to a tiny, dismasted sailboat in an Antarctic ocean gale, fight gun battles with murderous bandits during the first boat descent of the rapid-strewn Blue Nile, cave-dive hundreds of feet beneath the English hills, and much more.

This book isn’t just a lively narrative of 17 great adventures; its also an expert overview of the history, lore, and techniques of aeronautics, ocean sailing, mountaineering, and polar trekking, to name just four, as well as a wonderful portrait gallery of scores of colorful figures, familiar names, and unsung heroes alike. Finally, it’s a fascinating analysis of the wide variety of styles and personalities drawn to adventuring, observed with the keen eye of an experienced insider.

Highlighted by more than 125 photographs, illustrations, and maps, these truly suspenseful tales of triumph — and often tragedy — offer a wonderful panorama of adventuring and its all-or-nothing champions, the extraordinary men and women who feel most alive when they are on the very edge of a perilous unknown.’

Also reading some other books, but going slowly on them because they are what I call ‘food books’ rather than ‘reading books’. So some digestion is required and notes are taken to tear the things into smaller ‘bite-size’ pieces.

songs about me

So I’m still not feeling fulfilled.

I have a great life. No need to work. No deadlines. No stress. But I still don’t feel like I actually can be bothered breathing.

That isn’t anyone’s fault. I’m very happy at a lot of things in my life. Great relationships with people, great deal of success already with my projects.

I’ve taken to making jewellery and that is going really well.

I can now juggle. I can make my funky art. I can write (i’m really producing some amazing work). I can make clothes. Upholster chairs. Sail the family boat. Travel when i like.

I have a 32inch hd tv in my room. Surround sound. Dvd player. Laptop. Camera. Camcorder. Guitar. Typewriter. Sewing Machine. Mountains of books and dvds. I have material things to make one tear your own material to pieces in lamentation.

I’ve taken up photography and that is going really really well – as i’ve been offered a fair few opportunities of late to take photos of all sorts of events etc.

Just to touch on writing again. I’ve written the most exciting pieces of fiction ever recently!

I’ve not gotten drunk in weeks and weeks and weeks. So i know i’m not an alcoholic. I’m just a bit of twat when it comes to knowing my limit. So i learnt that lesson! lol – (On the flip side, due to not drinking i’ve picked up on inherent social anxiety, so i think that is why i drank a lot – to lubricate the old personality and push away the fact i get scared in big groups. I draw a lot of energy from people, but crowds really upset me and get me timid. Hence many times leaving parties and street festivals and declining to go on trips off to outdoor festivals too..  when i then lied and came up with some lame excuse. Least now i’m honest enough to admit i’m just a pussy when it comes to large groups.)

But it all amounts to a hill of beans when even on these bloody pills I still can’t seem the conjure up a will to live.

I had a song written about me a while back and the idea of it was – that Much came “to realise that it is life that you (I) despise.“

I’m sure that isn’t true, as much as it is too strong a thing for me to feel toward life. I’m not crying out for help, nor even really making much of an assertion past the simple honest truth.

I don’t care.

I really couldn’t care less.

With that is freedom and oblivion – but i really have no opinion on the matter of life and its vice and virtue.

The last relationship fell on a sword of my uncaring. I’d given up hiding behind a mask made of smiles. Showed a little too much of what it means to live near me. That there is very little that can stir up a case of genuine joy.

Maybe pills are making me apathetic and i’m looking back on life through these eyes, but i think i’ve pretty much always had this outlook.

She goes on to ask why I “must be so blue.” – It used to be up on last.fm, but it has been taken off now – but it is still a damn good song, despite the personal nature of it.

I really don’t try to be. I’m the life and soul. I’m happy and moving like a blur and i still can’t seem to shake this apathy.

Perhaps it is to give me a little wall between my mind and the worry of death? I used to worry about that a lot as a kid. Death became a sort of monster to me, stalking the land, killing indiscriminately, no proof of hereafter, of continuation. I feared a lack of a thereafter more than anything else. Here i am, several years later – not caring.

Perhaps i got bored of the question.

Unsolved questions will drive you mad – unless you temper it with some disinterest.

I’m quite able to hold myself out of the top floor window in my house and not fear the fall. Is that scary? Should i have vertigo to prove i mean to continue?

I’m not sure. I just get the sense that all these wonderful opportunities and skills and talents etc… are just wasted on me. I’m too ambivalent about them all.

Or maybe that isn’t true, maybe what i mean to say is that i can’t hold on to the joy of it for long? I have short bursts of intense happiness and then bam, nothing.

I don’t know, fuck it. At the end of the day it isn’t important. Except i do ache for a little purpose. I’m considering making up a god and just following that blindly. I’ve already taken up Buddhist meditation. That is too much the absence of God, but it meets with the fact i don’t care a stitch for all this junk in my room.

p.s. I’m still pretty lonely and need to meet more people to keep me entertained and motivated.

been away a day or two

so where do i begin? after near on a month how have i done?

okay. really!

got loads of great photography done. made loads of new friends.

been working on taking apart a Furby and other electronic related geekery.

read and written a lot of really great stuff.

currently working on 101 things to do before i die. also 101 things to do in the next few years.

i find that i’ve got so many opportunities opening up for me. my parents have bought a boat that i can sail away on. loads more things. things, things, things. (even the option of following my dad on his business trips to European cities – he’ll work, i’ll take photos and drink coffee)

i’m really really happy, even without working (because i’m not spending a lot)

just being positive that there is life after a life lost. been a bit regretful – but then, when aren’t i?

anyway.

more will follow as i detail more about my movings.

as ever. follow me on twitter. @jensenwilder

deadlines

I haven’t blogged in so long and it is beginning to effect my mood. I’m sitting here working on the first chapter of another new novel – only this one is my deadline novel that must be written by August 1st.

I’ve chosen the deadline because it gives me a focus – it isn’t even that good a story, but I think you kinda have to chose a shit idea for your first novel and do as well as you can just writing the damn thing.

Another step to becoming a writer.

So now, glass of red wine in one hand and the other typing slowly these very words you are reading. I’m getting back to the plan of getting better. Working out which direction I want to head in.

There will be more, but until then I’ll leave you with the idea for my novel.

-=- (Subject to change at any moment)

‘The Travels of Amos Wright: A Man Washed To Sea As A Boy’ is told from the third person perspective. It charts the life of Amos Wright, a man born in the coastal town of Cornhill. Deciding that he has no excuse left as to why he cannot leave the place he has come to hate – Amos sets out.

After many, many contemplative trains of thought and a bottle of rum, Amos decides to leave. In a moment of madness – that one can only reach once one is drunk out of one’s mind – he steals a rowboat and rows out into the bay and away.

Waking in a boat without oars and with only a thumping headache for company, Amos realizes that his life will now drift on, largely out of his control.

It is a novel that holds no value of any kind, is free to be its obscure and surreal self, to be read only by those who are recovering from depression. The overall message is not a secret. Sometimes breathing is all you need to do to be worthy of the life you have.