a bus just leaving Cadiz to Granada.
wish I’d written things down more often when I’d travelled, I mean
more thoroughly. I have lots of scrappy old notebooks and bits of
paper here and there which occasionally I have unpacked and flicked
through, but it’s all so sprawling and indecipherable, it takes a lot
of work just to filter out the shit. I’m interested to see what kind
of voice I wrote with then as a pose to now.
I’d originally started out this morning wanting to explore my own
brain, to unpack and try and understand what kind of I writer I
am/want to be, to muse on some of the things I’ve been reading and
listening to and to extract what I can from them upon reflection.
But. Some dickless cunt behind me is slurping something, I don’t know
what, he’s sat with his girlfriend who is quietly eating a sandwich,
but he’s been slurping what sounds like the stone of a mango and it
must be the best fucking mango there has been because he’s working it
like (do I make some kind of reference to a debutant at prom or an
eager porn star or any of the other easy jokes, or try and be more
creative?) an actual human cock. Seriously, I hope this fucktard has
some wet wipes and a towel. And I don’t want to put headphones in
because I don’t want to just be in my own world, I want to be
‘present’- to use a dirty word hijacked by the bogus yogi community.
Let’s say ‘available.’ I want to be available to whatever may happen
on this bus and I suppose one of those things is listening to some
cock slurping his juicy breakfast.
one of the things that I simply cannot handle- loud eating- it’s
obviously something I’ve inherited from my Dad who no doubt got it
from his parents who, from what I understand made mealtimes the most
strictly regimented and unenjoyable of thrice daily rituals. So.
Great. Now I carry the torch of embitterment. Shouldn’t the sounds of
someone enjoying food be pleasant to us all? Certainly I enjoy the
sound of other peoples laughter or a crowd cheering someone/thing on,
but if someone is eating on a bus or train near me- slurping,
crunching, munching, lip-smacking, gnawing- then the red-mist
descends and I start to seethe, to stew- not a gentle reduction or
slow braise, but a clumsy, bubbling mess. And of course I never say
or do anything, I just add it to the cumulative heaping mass of shit
that I’m holding onto just in case I need to take someone to task for
something. It’s important to have a ball of anger you hold onto just
in case someone tries to mug you or invade your home or otherwise to
harm to you and your loved ones, that way you have this storm of shit
to unleash, shit that the enemy didn’t even know was in the locker.
If I was contented and at peace then I could be rolled over like a
labrador puppy- actually that sounds kind’ve enjoyable.
got the bus just in time, breakfast took longer than I thought and
then I decided that since I’m on a bus for the next five hours and
they never have toilets on these fuckers I should at least attempt a
movement. One of my only concerns when travelling is when and where I
will poop. It’s not something that has really guided my decision
making in the past, but it’s definitely worth structuring the day
around when you’re unsure of your environment and circumstances. In
Toronto there’s always somewhere to go, always a reliable, available
spot, but out here it’s bandit country- you don’t wait for a
potential better option or more conducive surroundings, you go
whenever you think you might be able to go because you don’t know
when the next opportunity will arise.
a bit concerned about this walking business. I think it’s going to
hurt a lot. I’ve been walking between 15 and 30km a day for the past
three weeks (with only two days off), stretching a lot and I feel
good, I feel strong, my feet are toughening up, I’m ready. But then
there’s my backpack. I’d read that ideally you don’t want to carry
any more than 10% of your body weight. My pack is 18-20lbs so that’s
okay, I suppose, but I’m gonna have this fucker on my back for the
next 30-35 days starting on (probably) Monday or Tuesday. I just
walked to the bus station with it. That was 2km. It was fine. But, I
have reservations. I think I’m going to hate it. This 5-6lb laptop
might be the death of me. We shall see. And also, fuck it, it’s going
to hurt, if it was easy every cunt would be doing it. It should be
difficult, it should be horrible and painful with moments of elation
culminating in a tremendous sense of accomplishment. My friends Nan
did it for fuck sake- okay she did a shorter version and she didn’t
carry any gear, but seriously, someones fucking Nan.
realised that in one of my next shows I should sing. Not because I
think I’m any good at it and not because I think the audience will
love it and it’ll garner me favourable reviews but because it’s one
of the last things I’m scared of doing performance-wise. I mean, I
think I’d find it difficult to fuck on camera, but it’s unlikely that
I’ll have to do that and it’s not something that I feel I need to do
as an artist. If times get really hard and I’m especially down on my
luck I could probably give some a quick wank- as long as I didn’t
have to look at them and as long as my parents didn’t find out. See?
This is why I don’t drink coffee, the avenues of my mind that get
explored all lead to some fetid cul-de-sac, they should knock it all
down and build a dog park.
the rest of yesterday was spent walking up and down the beach, doing
some press-ups, stretching, paddling in the sea, reading- I sat in
the same cafe as the day before and had a couple of lovely cold beers
and then went back to the hostel to change for the evening. I popped
out and went to an old man bar to watch Villareal versus Barcelona,
had the occasional exchange with a few of the local fellas, all very
natural and in Spanish. I ate some octopus salad, a little braised
fish and some kind of meat cooked with smoked paprika and sherry. I
turned away each offer of bread which weirded everyone out.
Seriously, I mean, I knew this, I think I knew this, but these
fuckers eat so much bread- and it’s not even good bread for the most
part, it’s some shitty white bread. And i’m not anti-bread, I fucking
love it, I eat it almost everyday, I never think, “Hey, do you know
what, I think I’ve had enough bread for today, maybe I’ll skip the
bread this time around.” But these people have no restraint, they
smash it into their chops at every opportunity, it’s as thought their
life depends on it. So, yeah, I turned away the bread and had some
delicious dry oloroso with my food and then wandered around the
corner to a bar that I’d heard might have music. It was deserted and
so I went back to the hostel and had an early night. That seems to be
my vibe. Early nights. Tucking myself right into bed and sleeping
like a champion. I think the years of staying up late and drinking
are over, it’s all about the snoozing now- maybe I’ll stay up until
one or two if there’s something really excellent happening, but
otherwise I’m wrapping myself up in a blanket and going off into The
Land of Nod.