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Quitting Smoking
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Rants
- Hits: 2690
5 AM and I can't sleep. I'm quitting smoking.
Not the "My lungs are blacker than a coal miners, mouth stinks, teeth are falling out and I can't catch my breath getting out of my chair" sort of quitting smoking, although I'm sure that will come, rather a "I don't have 2 fucking cents to rub together because the damned cheques are fucking freaking late and in part again" sort of quitting smoking. The involuntary quitting smoking.
And I pace and I occasionally cry and there are moments of brief lucidity wherein I sit down to do some work but I can't focus, not even a little bit, and so I stand and pace some more and maybe weep and the cat stares at me, perplexed, l bark in return. . .
There's always the crime spree, but I'm saved from myself by my newfound inability to focus on anything, and no sooner have I Googled "Oceans Eleven" then I have forgotten what I am searching for and why I am even searching. . .
Oh yes, the crime spree . . .
So I dig out the patches, NicoDerm, step 2, a well intended gift for someone with no intentions of quitting smoking, cut them in half because I don't really consider myself to be a heavy smoker and slap one on my arm.
And in an hour I can feel the symptoms palpably, well, alleviated. Slightly. I can sit longer. Only a bit. The urges to cry, throttle, scream, bark, they still come, but they pass quicker. I toy with the idea of making this a permanent state of affairs. But the patches, after a while they burn on the skin, ache, like I've had a flu shot, the whole arm weakens, I can feel it, a peculiar bruising up it's entire length. And I wake in the middle of the night, wide awake, fully awake, my big toe pulsing...
Man Facing North West
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Conversations
- Hits: 1697
He's waiting for me in front of the cafe, his coffee resting on the hood of his car.
There's been a chinook, it's warm outside, the clouds have been blown ragged by the westerly winds. He's shielding his eyes from the sun and looking into the sky.
"They're spraying again...." he begins.
I look up into the sky, the contrails, like the clouds, have been blown ragged by the chinook winds.
"Chemtrails" he offers by way of explanation, but I didn't need one. "They're spraying. Look at it. Barium, Aluminum, microscopic bits of plastic, dessicated red blood cells...".
I don't want to encourage him, but the plastic, the red blood cells, that's got me curious....
"Shall we have a cigarette?" He's got my coffee already and we go around the side of the cafe to smoke.
He's looking at the sky. Shielding his eyes, explaining to me how you can tell a chemtrail from a contrail. I try to draw the line, the perfect balance between a polite level of interest and changing the topic...
An older couple approach, they want to tie their dog to the trash where we're smoking, we stand back, he points to the sky, they turn to look...
"They're spraying again. Chemtrails. Poisonous chemicals. Barium, Aluminum. Plastic. Dessicated red blood cells...."
They look back at him, quizically.
"It's all online. They're trying to poison us. Weaken our immune system. It's part of a trillion dollar top secret military project based out of Dayton, Ohio."
The woman interrupts. "You're joking, aren't you?"
I'm standing back, beside him, trying to signal her with my eyes, my face, don't want to give anything away, hoping he doesn't see....
Her partner sees my face and touches her on the elbow.
"You can look it up online. You should know this stuff. Don't get the H1N1 vaccine. They're trying to kill us. Part of the plan, kill all the people, then make a one world government."
Her companion has caught my eye, squeezes her elbow, she catches my eye, I'm limited in what I can do here, don't want to be too obvious, don't want him to see, so while he explains I stand to the side smiling and rolling my eyes like a madman. She thanks him for the information, he gives her his card with some websites listed on it. They leave their dog, perhaps a bit reluctantly, with us, then go inside for their coffee.
He explains to me when they've gone inside.
"Maybe they think I'm crazy....."
I understand.
Nicola Barker - Darkmans
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Books
- Hits: 2077
"Shortlisted for the 2007 Man BOOKER PRIZE" it said on the cover, a thick book, paperback, recycled newsprint pages.
I picked it up from a friends and began reading. I don't read enough current literature, prefer the guaranteed pleasure of a weathered classic, but it's important now and then to get a glimpse of what's current in the literary scene. Not that 2007 is current, but it's about 150 years more current than my average reading choice.
It's curious. Not great, but inspiring in a sort of "I could have written this but not this, something else like this but better" sort of way. I suspect I'm missing the point, that I'm lacking the requisite body of knowledge, after all, the reviews (on the jacket) are entirely favourable, and it was Shortlisted for the 2007 Man Booker Prize. And we all say that, that it's easy enough to do better, but until one tries it, does it, it's just an easy phrase....
I'm almost done, but the finishing of it won't change my opinion of it any. Long, but not really, lots of white space and half pages, a curious but unengaging cast of characters, a slight hint of the human condition, an irrelevant detour on the way to Chesterfield...
The Life of a Freelancer
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Link of the day
- Hits: 8220
The unwary write David Thorne. The author of the 27b/6 weblog, which you can view here: http://www.27bslash6.com/, search for the hidden link, or follow the links below.
What is tragic, really tragic, is that many of his victims have visited his website, or know him, and really, really oughta know better.
Really.
Still, that said, he frequently nails it on the head:
Like here, wherein an unwitting Mr. Simon Edhouse writes David with a hot opportunity to showcase his pie chart and logo skills...which David shows off to remarkable effect. Truly Mr. Simon Edhouse overestimates their friendship, but David manages to persuade him with pie charts and logo where it really stands.
He should have known better. I don't buy his story of David having made up the emails for a second, and as anyone who's freelanced can attest, getting payment can be like pulling teeth. And if that weren't enough, there's a long list of his other victims....
Like Mr Carganovsky (Not Skye Cargan). Or poor Lucius. (one wonders what his offense was, apart from perhaps being a little too short or vain...). Or the manly and very politically correct Les Copeland. The erudite Richard Matthews. The fit and friendly Jeff Peters. Or the wealthy socialite, Roz Knorr.
Somehow it's tough feeling sorry for them. Well, maybe a bit for Scott Mintred, because his only crime seems to be that he's trying too hard to be funny and just not succeeding, but the rest, well... make up your own mind.
**Note: Couldn't sleep last night and it dawned on me where Mr. Thorne got the title of his weblog. 27B/6 is the form required by Sam Lowry to have his apartment repaired in Terry Gilliam's masterpiece 'Brazil'. It's also the number of an apartment occupied by George Orwell. The Wiki here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brazil_(film).
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