Telly addict

A quick glance at the telly pages and it seems there’s nothing on. But it was lazy looking. Not seeing something familiar, the lax mind falters. No easy-to-swallow mush. A closer look and there is much to chew on, something different, something to challenge, something new to get your head round. How true is this in day to day living? Do we simply seek out the same old, same old for an easy life? Trudging on, choosing the escalator again and again. How very depressing. Time we switched off and did something less boring instead.

Body talk

This wonderful interview got me thinking that there’s something incredibly liberating about giving voice to the bodily taboos and hang ups we all share. I mean, for goodness sake, we all have bodies and yet we waft through life – noses in the air – denying the very flesh that envelopes us. We devote time, energy and resources to taming our wild bodies – covering, shaving, colouring and even slicing away at our nakedness. It’s a constant battle we’re never going to win. So why do we do it? Our bodies are a grimy everyday reminder of our mortality. By trimming, tweaking and trussing we twist the truth for a little while, creating a moment of self-perceived polished perfection. But soon the stubble breaks the porcelain surface and we’re back down to reality, staring our future in the bloodshot eye. 

Flip the coin though, and we could start having fun. We’re not artefacts that must be preserved. No, we don’t live forever so we should celebrate that which gives us the freedom to feel and taste and smell and touch and hear: our body.

Maddening

 Urgh. Now we all know that greedy magpie ad agencies do so enjoy snaffling up the work of underground artists in an attempt to massage their clients’ brands with a little credibility. But this has to take the biscuit. Not sure which grubby hands are responsible, but the latest ad for slimy, celeb-filled, hate-spewing rag, the Daily Mail, includes a clip of Joshua Allen Harris’ quite beautiful Air Bear. Quite how very dare they.

Bus ride

Buses are emotional places. Unlike the Tube, where the close proximity of human flesh leaves no room for flighty feelings, only base disgust at the bodily: sweat, snot and spittle. 
Buses have a sense of purpose, a gentle tumble of transition, a knowing sense of time and place. Travel in real time, no same-same-same delay of tunnels and signal failure. 
Last month on the bus, I sat next to someone and it felt like you next to me. Your thigh against mine, a pressure, a comfort, a knowing-you-were-there, a safeness in the shared space. And then they got up and I ached. Ached for you.

Love

The hardest thing in the world is watching someone you love struggle. Not being able to make it all better leaves you short of breath, the pressure on your heart creating bubbles of panic. Frustration cuts and helplessness burns. All you can do is leave hands and ears open. But is it enough?

NYC electricity

I finally understand why people walk around in t-shirts with ‘I heart New York’ on them. I went, I saw and I heart New York, too. The scale, the heat, the napkins with everything. Such a mad old mish-mash of people. In the most exciting and invigorating sense. It was thrilling simply walking around. I loved the art on the subway, the iced coffee, the smiley old man at the bar playing bingo (‘Oh him? That’s Taylor Mead’), the top dollar sushi at bargain basement prices, the brown stones in Brooklyn. And discovering that Americans call clubbing ‘dance parties’. Or is that just New Yorkers? Or just hip young New Yorkers with their tongues firmly in cheek? Either way, I heart it.

Going to extremes

Extreme is exciting, balanced is boring. Discuss.

It’s a lot easier to get enthusiastic about an exaggerated state than a placebo. That’s true for extremes at either end of the scale and it’s all to do with the pleasure principle. Take food for example – there’s pleasure in indulging in an extra slice of chocolate cake but there’s also pleasure to be derived from depriving yourself. A different kind of pleasure admittedly but pleasure all the same. Excess it all it’s forms – be it sexual, chemical, whatever – casts a pleasure spell. But pleasure, as we know, is fleeting. Denial, on the other hand, breeds that perverse brand of pleasure that springs from (whisper it) smug self-righteousness. Excess/denial, denial/excess – two sides of the same coin to yo-yo between. There hanging between them is the middle ground. No flirty frills decorating the wide, grey expanse that is moderation. Instead just a never-ending sea of calm, eerily free of dips and swells. Of course, with moderation comes depth and layers – a chance to observe and absorb, free from the magnetic, destructive pull of living in extremes. Pleasure is superseded by satisfaction in the world of balance and moderation. All well and good. Just not quite as exciting…

Lip service

Kissing, kissing, kissing. Even the word is appealing. It trips off the tongue, so to speak. A kiss can change everything – wake you up, get you lost, send you loopy. I love everything about it – the taste, the warmth, the bruised lips, the head-rush, the stubble rash. More intimate than sex, more telling than words – the importance of kissing should never be underestimated. And dammit, it just feels good. 

Thought for the day

I’m ready to be in control again. On the ball instead of under the table; in the driving seat, not out on a limb. The freedom to choose is all well and good but faced with a thousand possibilities the act of choosing offers up a sea of trapdoors through which to fall. Limiting choices can actually free you up. Less decision-making, more living. Going wild is fun for a while but not forever. There’s a satisfaction in declining, in choosing tomorrow over today, that can’t be found in more-more-more. I don’t need to consume to feel good, to spend to be successful, to buy stuff to be a better person. There’s no such thing as a quick-fix. Changing, growing, evolving and, yes, mending takes time. But you can start saying no when you used to say yes, and yes when you used to say no. It can be as simple as that. Hell yes, I’m ready for that.

The highs and lows of a sugar hit

Sugar blunts, anesthetises the spirit, coats the tongue, renders the mind fuzzy. It’s a quick fix, a diversion, an I-need-some-of-that-right-now. It tricks, it coerces, it winks and licks its lips. Creeping up to cheer up, settling in to drop out. I want my senses sharp, I want what’s beyond the right-now, I want to fill my mind not my stomach.