Who knows where this will go, if anywhere at all.
This is now just going to be the blog of a 48 year old GenX cishet fella from the North of Ireland/Northern Ireland/Ulster (I don’t care). I’l l keep the waving my fists at clouds to a bare minimum. There’ll be poems and playing cards, opinions and all sorts. Some of it will be an attempt to begin a conversation. I’m tolerant of opposing values and opinions to a point. I simply won’t countenance thoughtlessness, abuse, hate or edge lord trolling nonsense.
I am extending this little corner of t'internet to include other hobbies, passtimes etc. Mediocre poetry, opinionated essays and dreadful watercolours coming your way.
Jimmy Carr, self described “Edgy” comedian, although he does use bunny ears when he says “Edgy”.
I’ve never been the biggest fan of “Edgy”. I find it entirely contrived from a place that may not be that interested in being funny. I think Jimmy manages to do what other edgy comedians don’t manage. He makes it abundantly clear that what he’s doing is jokes. He also isn’t mean-spirited. “It’s a joke about the bad thing, its not the actual bad thing”. And he’s funny. Like I say I’m not a *huge* fan of the edgy stuff and Jimmy has crossed lines a few times but he does acknowledge it. He engages with his detractors and does so eloquently and with grace. Many of his edgy contemporaries do not. They will lean into their narcissism and accuse you of not having a sense of humour and ultimately fall back on the “Freedom of speech” thing. Freedom of speech is a whole other discussion but ultimately Freedom of Speech has never been threatened, at least not in the way some would have it. I’m more concerned with the crackdown on peaceful protest than I am with someone justifiably and with validity being called out for their prejudices.
You are free to say whatever you want, wherever you want. What you are not free from are the consequences of your actions when you are called out. Fewer and fewer people are prepared to be the punchline to low-rent, thoughtless comedians who only ever shoot for dead fish in a barrel.
I’m Irish and our love language is abuse. We can take it as much as we can dish it out but it needs to be clever and good. You’d get in more bother for shite banter than you would for being insulting. That said there is a time and a place and the second someone is clear that they are uncomfortable with it then back off. Back RIGHT off. Too many folk “Love winding people up”. If you are one of these people then know when enough is enough and have the good grace to back off. Otherwise you’re just a bully. Yes you are
I’ve never bought a ticket to go and see Jimmy Carr. It’s just not my bag. What I would never do would be to call for him to be cancelled, or anyone for that matter. I would encourage people to do a bit of due diligence before attending a comedy gig. Before you buy a ticket to someone you haven’t seen before check them out first. With few variations, comedians will have stuff up on YouTube or other platforms. Check them out, decide whether you would like them or not and base your decision on that. You do not, however, have the right to complain about being offended at a comedy gig. Even more so if you’re at an open mic night. There’s no way of checking so you get what you get for your tenner.
You always have the option of not going.
Make your decision for you but don’t expect others to make the same choices. That’s narcissistic, that is.
Ah, lads, we lost Mr. Cho, Professor Chobertington McBiteyface Furryfucktrousers McGonagall has crossed the Styx.
He simply would not have countenanced the Rainbow Bridge. He was a Goth and therefore was at all times THE NIGHT.
I’ve not planned anything here, it’s just gonna be a bit of stream-of-consciousness on grief when I should be working from home. I’m even using my works laptop to do this because I am a cheeky chappie.
Hang on, I’m going to grab another slice of coffee.
Still here? Glutton for it.
Anyway as you may or may not be aware, grief has been front and centre of my life for a couple of years. I lost my mother and father in November 2022 within five days of each other. That was rough as I’m sure you wouldn’t need telling. That’s a grief that you live with, it never diminishes. Grief is one of those things. The impact, the weight of it, all of these things never diminish but we get stronger, at least I think that’s what it is. Maybe my brain just broke in a way that looks like coping even to me? Either way, as overwhelmed as I was (and I was for a long time. I’m on my fifth job since they died because I couldn’t cope with the amount of grief I had to take on all at once) I became stronger with it, or learned to handle it but the amount hasn’t diminished one iota.
Every now and again, seemingly out of nowhere, I’ll be hit with a wave of it. A song will play on the Shopping Centres tannoy. Someone will post something on Facebook. A passage from a book. A lot of things hit differently and I don’t realise that they will until it happens. A previously unseen connection with a song or a poem will make itself known the first time you listen to or read it after the event and it’ll level you right there and then, no matter where you are.
Grief doesn’t come with an expectation of privacy.
During the early stages of my grief there were many, many sleepless nights. I’d wander down to the living room a bit lost amongst all the familiarity. I’d just sit on the sofa and stare at nothing, numb, shell-shocked and concussed with the weight of what I’d just been hit with. Mr Cho would be there.
Cats have a thing they do which is adorable. Once they have decided that you are worthy, and this is not a persistent state, they will come over and assess your worth as a cushion. They will sometimes start kneading your torso (a hangover from kittenhood, they are looking for a nipple) and then bury their heads. This is after using you as a climbing frame and making sure you get a good eyeful of bumhole.
And then he’d just lie on me. Purring away, making wee mlerms and slabbers in his sleep. And for that moment it was enough.
The world is, with growing speed and violence Going to hell in a square wheeled handcart. We keep on voting for the same old thing And wonder why nothing ever changes.
Do you know what would be nice, really nice? An honest and transparent politics. A politics which has the people at It’s heart instead of what we have just now.
But I’m not sure that can even happen When greed and selfishness comes before all. “I’m all right jack” politics is the norm. “There’s no such thing as society”, right?
I think creativity is a great form of therapy. My outlets are mainly improv and private poetry (not so private anymore).
I’ve always wanted to learn how to draw. Not for any particular reason. Stories are told through all kinds of medium, words, pictures, music and I wanted another mode to express myself with.
I’m very much at the beginning of this journey. I bought a bunch of arty crafty things over lock down and they have gathered a bit of dust so I’ve gotten them out.
I have a few books on learning to draw but I’m not sure if I should just join a class?
Original image Pencil sketch (hb)Coke tin.
So there’s my first efforts 🙂 I’ll update this much like the Poetry.
There is a different version of me In each and every one of your heads Friend, enemy, victim, hero, lover And I’ve stopped pandering to them all.
I’m nearly fifty, for goodness sake Yet still I feel the need to seek out your Approval, or at the very least the Absense of your snide, sneering derision.
And for what? I am nearly fifty for Goodness sake. I can approve of myself. Every single thing we do will either Cause amusement or cause resentment
So live your truth. Be unabashadly You. Be as authentically you as you Can be, for “your vibe will attract your tribe. Hammer home your truth as hard as you can.
I may come across as a philistine See I punctuate with profanity Although I am fucking erudite and Extraordinarily bastard wordy
Swearing doesn’t mean that I can’t at all Communicate with you effectively. It cannot be bad language if you can Understand correctly what I’m trying
To get across, it’s all good if you get Me. It doesn’t mean for one second that I lack an adequate vocabulary. Such mores only highlight ones snobbery.
Really you are just being a coward Hiding behind false sensibility. What really happened was I made a point That you weren’t ready for and can’t rejoin.
So you bob and weave and doge each attack But I’m on to you, it’s courage you lack If your beliefs are so easily shook Maybe its them that need another look.
Hello. It’s been a minute. That’s because I am all over the place mental health wise. I’ve tried everything, most recently self-sabotage. That doesn’t work you know.
Any old hoo one of the major reliefs/helps/outlets for mental health for me is creativity. I have a few outlets. I make no claim to be any good at any of them but, and I cannot stress this enough, that is not the point.
I perform comedy improv. I’m in two teams at the moment. Improvision and Purgatory.
Improvision takes the “Gogglebox” idea and uses it as a platform for Improv sketches. The Perfromance opens with two people sat in front of the “television” (Audience), perform a little skit and in the process takes suggestions from the audience about television proramme types and programm names.
Purgatory is a team of old hands (do excuse the word “old”, I mean experienced because obviously we’re all in our twenties) getting together and just giving it a bit of GOFI (Good Old Fashioned Improv). Someone floted the idea of “The Harold” recently. For some The Harold is peak improv, long form. This wiki entry does it more justice than I could
Another love of mine has been and is Poetry. This is one I struggled with confessing to. I’m a Gen X Northern Irish cishet man with all the attendant patriarchal problems and issues (It might not be my fault but it is very much my responsibility to sort out, that’s for another blog).
I recently went to a poetry reading for the forst time with my friend Elizabeth McGeown and, cheeky get that I am I got up and read one of mine. It was quite a rush and was received quite well.
Create something, it doesn’t have to be Shakespear, Rembrant, Robin Williams, Penn and Teller or anything like it but put a bit of yourself into something. Be vulnerable. Explore the vulnerability.
On 14th November 2022 my father dropped dead leaving the bins out. 5 days later my mother passed away, she had been suffering with alzheimers.
So it’s been a rough old go.
I am starting to come back to myself a little although obviously I have been affected by the loss. I’m still improvising away and I’m still obsessed with playing cards but I’m opening this up to be a fairly unspecific themeless blog thing where I discuss whatever I damn well please.
I will also be upsetting the pair of you with mediocre doggerel and rank amateur watercolours.
Munkus Bubbly 