Wednesday 20 May 2009

Me got worry.

It is with a scary feeling/sense of concern that I awaken this morning, an extreme panic attack about the long term future and how I feel incapable of doing anything about it in the short term. Mistakes keep being repeated and as a result I never appear to progress beyond START or GO. Its like my life is a huge game of snakes and ladders that is dominated by snakes and sliding back down to ground level.

I should probably be ashamed of my thoughts this morning as they are purely selfish but the pure reality of this situation is that it is not looking rosy. Coming from such a small family what is going to happen to me when my parents pass away? In my sixties on my own will I be able to cope? By the age will I have succumbed to mental illness? With my inability to secure relationships or even friendships I truly fear this could happen as I end having nobody to help me or to rely on. Its not like I am some kind of helpless and useless lost cause but people need people in order to get through, even if it is to just pull them out of ignorance or to lift morale. I hate where this thought process takes me, how it makes me feel. In the light of feeling so hopeless I truly fear becoming homeless in the latter years of my life. This is such a ridiculous thought and fear to be having, I know that but likewise I cannot deny experiencing it.

Away from this I wake up early again today, the sunny mornings are fucking with me (which might explain the previous paragraphs content). I awaken with a headache and I feel like I am made of paper. In a dozy state I dream that my alarm clock sounds off one minute before it actually buzzes and rudely awakens me. Faced with such things my life can only ever feel like an extract from a Charlie Kaufman movie or the latest episode of Groundhog Day.

The day begins; I leave on target, blah blah blah.

On the train my OCD does not kick as I get my usual place/seat on the train, so no need for Rain Man today then.

Unfortunately at Colchester some little Afro decides to sit next to me and this kid just does not have the concept of sitting properly down. Is it because he is laidback or just thick? I know which one I think it is.

Unlike myself (I am worryingly/sadly self conscious about volumes these days) he plays his iPod really fucking loud. The sound emitting from his player sounds like Motown but rubbish, some weak fake bullshit apeing something that it is nowhere close to being in the same league as. Much like the boy.

Eventually when the train gets to Stratford and other seating options begin to open up he moves seat to the one opposite to reveal that he is wearing a big birthday badge that actually reads/says “I’m a champion in Christ.” Maybe that IS the answer – take an emotional and personality bypass. Has my American friend just Quantum Leapt into the body of some black kid just to annoy me? Regardless without doubt this guy is definitely one of the cool kids.

As his music remains loud (excessive) with this revelation I would now suspect (bank) that the tunes are of some happy clappy gospel hybrid. Really, what would Jason do?

Seemingly now guided by God the train pulls into Liverpool Street at 8.04. As I get off though it is to the sight of an optimistic reflection in the window of the carriage, one where I do not look as bad as I fear I do.

At Liverpool Street they are giving out free stuff once more. It has been a while since anyone has done so in the name of promotion and these have been barren times. I get my fill and it just turns out to be some kind of roll on deodorant. This reminds me of Chris’ old man telling me once how if Al-Qaeda really wanted to spread some kind of Anthrax-esqe substance then handing out freebies to greedy commuters at a train station is the way. Even worse though I was hoping it would be food.

As I board the tube I take up one of those hidden seats at the back where I swear alcoholics sneak in booze and perverts play with themselves. These seats aren’t big and as I look up I see a Kenan Thompson lookalike in posh school uniform ram his way through a practically closed door. How he manages this pure brute teenage pubic strength rage. He powers through and decides to sit next to me on the hidden seat. What’s the deal with my being a black person magnet today? He has some kind of prefect badge on him – fucking cunting narc.

At Kings Cross I see a young John Peel lookalike. It doesn’t fill any gap/void.

Bopping into work today The Girl also returns with some kind of skip in her step. I ask her about the description of her illness in her text yesterday (“I’ve been to the doctor and there is nothing he can do”) and I ask her if she has AIDS. She doesn’t bite my snipe but there is a pregnant pause and awkward moment.

On my phone the Beaumont Seymour number keeps coming up. Wisely I ignore it again.

Then I notice RDPR against our accountant consultant guy’s cheque. Perhaps this is why we haven’t seen him lately.

After a so so day I head out to meet up with Racton for the Akron Family. When I board the tube at Baker Street I see the Baker Street Midget and tonight he is aggro mode almost pushing people out of the way.

I get off at Bond Street only to be confronted by an Oxford Street full of annoying God fearing fat American tourists - business as usual for London then.

As I head towards Argyle Street to meet up I pass a London Lite person who is insistent that I take a copy from him. I always pick up a copy of both London Lite and The London Paper, usually rolling them so that I have something to hit people getting in my way with. When I gesture to the guy that I already have a couple of his tatty free newspaper it doesn’t gesture with him, I don’t think he speaks English, and as he repeatedly shoves his copy in my face he pushes me to snapping “fuck off” at him. Wow, very rarely am I pushed to the point of acting upon my aggression towards strangers. I don’t feel any remorse.

Not long after this Racton texts and tells me that he is in Gap so I head there. We muse over the idea of where to eat this evening and I mention that I am in the mood for pizza so he suggests we head to Fire & Stone. Those pizzas there are amazing and I haven’t been back to the place since I went there with Mindy last summer for the first time which was also the time/night that my boss told me they were losing the existing FC and keeping me aboard.

Tonight Fire & Stone is heaving and it takes us forever to get seated, much to the annoyance of a hungry Racton it seems. We get added to a waiting list which exceeds their fifteen minute wait promise. When we finally get sat down I plump for the Acapulco pizza in search of something spicy. In pretty high spirits we decide to have some pudding (chocolate and waffle) as well but the order takes forever to deliver as it becomes apparent that the thick waiter dealing with us has indeed forgotten about us. When we finally get his attention we actually pay before pudding is served, such is now the late time and rush/urgency to get over to the ICA.

Strolling down The Mall after passing Trafalgar Square on a warm, sunny London summer night is a true treat of life, seldom does the capital look more beautiful.

When we arrive at the ICA it is getting pretty close to the AKRON FAMILY stage time. In the lobby of the venue I see the old promoter in Colchester that used to give us a bit of shit and who I uncharitably referred to as “Johnny Deformed”. I wonder if anyone ever got that this was a reference to the Simpsons and something Bart once said. Regardless I avoid the guy like the plague, not least for the shitty farmer cum gangster quilt/padded coat he is wearing. A packing bumpkin ain’t a good look by any stretch of the imagination.

We get into the venue part of the building and get a good spot just as the lights go down and the sound of pelting rain comes pillaring out of the PA as a dark tone/scene is set. When the AKRON FAMILY eventually takes to the stage it is the sight of three beards that look as if they have come direct from the mountains.

In acapela fashion/style the three of them proceed to open the set like the weirdest barbershop trio in history. This truly is vocal sampling.

Once happy with their pitch and vocal stylings the AKRON FAMILY proceed to board their instruments and howl at the moon with their strangest of voices as they tear into a set full of goodies from their new record “Set ‘Em Wild, Set ‘Em Free.” As musicians they are stunning, equipped with the most colourful of array of instruments, extremely focused on the beat and rhythm that sounds so primal, which is an odd thing for an act seemingly so rural. I know it is a strange thing to pick up on (and something of a backhanded compliment) but the bass playing this evening is truly enlightening.

As the tundra continues to call at one stage of proceedings the entire playing field fills with frenzy as a number of additional hands hop aboard to pound anything available that will make a noise and represent the beat and act as a drum.

With all signs pointing towards accusations that “Everyone Is Guilty” when the song finally arrives, off the back of a seemingly never-ending mantra of “everyone” a collective occurrence rocks the venue and touches every soul inside.

Tonight the AKRON FAMILY play for 90 minutes, which is value for money in this credit crunch climate but also serves as something of a real act of dedication of the listener especially when taking into consideration all the extended jams and meandering that keep the set pulsing in the process. As things head to a close Racton gives me the nod/sign and we head out early in front of the hoards still whooping and indulging in the band’s pre-encore playfulness. As we storm out of the building we are met with evils and looks of disgust caked with unspoken reactions of “where are you going?” What happened to the collective vibe?

As we fall out of the venue we are laughing like Raoul and his attorney exiting Debbie Reynolds in Las Vegas. Further looks ensue as we make a quick beat to Charing Cross station in something of a rush to get home, the time being just after 10.45.

At the station we stock up liquids, it has been a barren and dry night.

The late train home tonight is a miserable experience. These days I cannot do many of these late nights in a week whereas when I first started out in London it was all about the “bring it on.”

Riding home I look up The Apprentice result and it would appear that Ben has been shitcanned this week. Wow, he was one of my sure bet picks, a potential captain of industry in wait (and weight). I wonder what must have happened but obviously don’t care enough to actually investigate.

Sleep tonight is minimal.