Monday, 25 November 2013

Sunday 24/11/13

I haven't written anything for a while on here and there are two reasons for that.

First of all, I have been extremely busy with work and I haven't really had the time. And I mean that I've been busy with actual work, the work that pays me money and we don't talk about on here. That's a good thing on one level, of course, because, well, I need to eat and pay my rent and go on these trips that I go on that make people think that I don't actually work. 

It's also not such a good thing on another level; because it really doesn't allow me time to do what I actually want to do, which is to write. Every day I get so many ideas of what I want to write about. Every day when I sit at my desk or drive in my car or lift some weights in the gym, I'll get a flash of an idea about something that I need to write. These can be ideas for blog stories, for chapters in my next book, for dialogue between characters, or generally observations that I have and want to wrap some words around. 

Unfortunately then I get home, having finished everything that I had to do on that day, and it's suddenly 2230 at night and either I can't even face sitting down to type these ideas out because I'm so tired and have to go to bed and get up early to do the same, or, even worse, these ideas have already left my head for good.

This last part really upsets me. It upsets me because I'm at a stage in my life where I feel like I can be really creative, but unfortunately circumstances don't allow me to take advantage of this.

I'm not somebody who considers themselves to be terribly ambitious. I kinda think that I'm too damaged to pursue whatever might be classified as success and recognition and what have you. But, perhaps in a delusional way, this is one area where I think that I could contribute something to the world - through my writing. Again, maybe I'm misguided, but I think that if anything's going to be left behind, if there's anything that people might think back on and think 'oh, he was quite good at that' after I'm gone, it will probably be things that I wrote. And I feel this slipping away from me, because I don't have the time to sit down and do it. 

Yes, I'm thinking of legacy. I'm thinking of legacy and of dying and not fulfilling my potential and I'm only 33. Why I'm feeling like that at this age, I don't know. Like my life has nearly expired and I'm lying there on my death wallowing about all the things that I didn't get to do. At 33. Too late for a quarter life crisis, too early for a mid life crisis, perhaps my condition is just critical at all times.

I think I was spoilt with writing this blog, not just back in 2007, but also this summer when I found it cathartic to start writing again about what I was going through (those posts are now deleted...for reasons I'll explain later) because I came to realise how people were connecting to what I was saying pretty much immediately. Because this is a blog, and because I put myself out there, and because the whole process is a little bit interactive - with people commenting and emailing me privately and generally getting in touch - I always felt the impact of what I was saying directly. I was being made aware that a lot of people out there exist that think the way I do, and relate to the things that I write. This is the main thing that I'm good at. This is the main thing that I want to leave behind.

That's why it pisses me off that I can't do it right now. That's why it pisses me off that I have to spend my fleeting life doing other stuff that only serves a purpose of funding my existence here, instead of doing the one thing that I like, am good at, and could be remembered by. Is this ironic? I've lost track of what the word irony means because people use it differently in Greece, England and America - the three countries I've lived in. Completely differently though.

Anyway, I guess this is my Sunday night 2300 existentialist crisis. Which I had better wrap up and go to bed. I hope I find the time soon to write the second reason why I haven't written on here in a long time (which also links to why the posts from the summer have been removed) and I promise, the second reason is less solipsistic and therefore more interesting and relatable to you. Sorry for starting with this one. I clearly like the thoughts of my own brain too much.

Oh, what triggered all this was an email I received from somebody who’s read the blog for a long time. And this person, whom I don’t know anything about, has cared and been nice enough to email me a couple of times (as far as I remember) but this time they wanted to cheer me up and they thought a way to do this would be to send a list of ‘highlights’ from the blog. Things that I’d written about over the past six, seven years. Isn’t that fucking sweet? Now, if you used to read the blog back in the day, maybe you’ll remember these. (I remember most of them and I wrote them). I hope the writer won’t mind me sharing part of their email here.

For this next part, excuse me for bringing things up from long ago--because I think you might possibly dislike that--but off the top of my head and because I feel like compliments based on facts are better, here are a few of my very favorite LP posts you wrote that for me captured some real art.  

I vaguely recall that you like lists but I didn't put numbers on these because that would indicate a rank.  I can't be expected to choose favorite stories when I have so many.

The one where LP texts with a friend across the Atlantic while drinking champagne out of the fridge.  It ends quietly. 
Paper towels in toilet at gym. Truly inspired.
Surf narrative from Newquay.
Critiques of reading material chosen by riders on the tube.
Description of young girl (on Eurostar?) with thin lipped hardness (this might actually be my favorite bit).
Doing an impressive number of pull ups and staying in your hotel room instead of skiing in France.  Extra points for your choice of ski jacket and ambitious eyewear. 
Physical descriptions of greek men at an airport and your palpable relief when back in England.
Quotes only heard in LA which only could have been chosen by you.
Squeezy hands posts with the pictures from Richmond Park.  I faintly remember swans or geese.  I had been in that park only a week earlier, was home in the states and read that post.  I had just seen those birds and then found myself 4,000 miles removed and it made me very sad.

Hope this helps if you are needing help.  If you are fine, then I hope this made you smile.”

(As a note, it did cheer me up, and it also sent me down a very narrow, dimly lit spiral of melancholy. So two thumbs up).

9 comments:

Jake said...

Glad to see you're back. For some strange reason I had a dream last night/this morning where I checked your blog and you were posting again, but it was sexually explicit and featured a video clip of you and a male Real Doll (Google it if you dare). Anyway, I thought I'd check your blog to see if you'd posted again and you have, so of course this confirms my belief that I'm partially psychic.

Though I also had a dream that my cousin had their throat bitten out by a wild bear that broke into the house so it's hit and miss to be honest.

Looking forward to the part 2 of this post, I remembered much of what your other reader mentioned, out of all the blogs I've ever read yours is actually the only one I continue with, probably down to how much I relate and yet in many ways we're completely different. Oh and the fact I've seen you in 'real life' somewhat humanises you.

Hetero-Challenged said...

This was really different from your other posts, like, this post actually read like a digital diary as opposed to the other stuff I see on here. It's unnerving seeing this side of you.

TED said...

I think you're way too pessimistic: given the way you live, it very well may already be time for a mid-life crisis. So have to!

London Preppy said...

TED: The only real question here is: how do I live?

Oldyeller said...

Some of my fond remembrances of blog posts past-

Several posts describing your obsession with AussiePT/Jack prior to the crushingly disappointing actual training session.

Before traveling off to France for skiing, you mused as follows:

"Finally, I don’t know about skiing, socializing and all that, but my plan for this holiday is to spend considerable time in the chalet on my own, looking out the window, pretending that I’m an anguished tuberculosis patient trapped in an excusive sanatorium in Switzerland in 1917 with only my memories to keep me from losing my sanity. Like a tortured Sylvia Plath character, a resentful anti-hero with a grudge against the world, a former lover, a fallen soldier clutching my sole war medal in a bleeding fist."

Superchilled said...

I very much relate to the sense of being too busy with existential stuff to spend time on the things that you find most rewarding. Curiously with me though I do make a difference in people's life with my actual paid work, and while that can be intensely rewarding, right now it doesn't have the sense of achievement that creative expression does for me.

Drew Gallo said...

Wow, I'm 25 and you literally just (well late last year) wrote out everything about writing I've been struggling with. I have to say, you're one of the most interesting people I've become inspired by in a long time. And I never wanted to be, so that's an even greater accomplishment.

I became aware of you through the bane of app existence that is Instagram, and you quickly challenged my sensibilities with your many rock hard shirtless pictures and overall lavishly hetero-like gay life. It is a thing made for the dreams of boys lost within the confines of small towns with small gay populations all with small minds. I was at once feeling that hot steam that fills the blood with lust and envy. It seemed appalling to see someone like you as a writer, which through personal experience meant being consistently tied up within by the painful and twisting emotions that could lend a mind to create prose. But then I started reading, and that exterior posing in front of mirrors, following the best practices for the Hot Guys of Instagram ©, all that began to fade away and what was left was someone I truly relate to and admire.

And you're online persona has since become something of a great mystery to me, hints lying around that suggest it was the result you were going for. A sort of new age performance art piece about vanity and the anonymous life of a 'follower.' If that wasn't your intention, allow me the pleasure of continuing to think so. Because your honest expression through your words creates a fascinating juxtaposition to the carefree world portrayed on your Instie. It's almost as if it's an invitation to that nobody follower, that kid filled with lust and envy, wanting to be in your city, owning your physique, partying with this hot gay guy or that one, both of which they've seen before on that very same app in an ever-growing sea of selfies and tits and abs. Yet when they open the book, when they accept the invitation, they realize that happiness can't simply be Instagrammed. That a six pack and being accepted as a 'hottie' doesn't mean all of the angst and the pain and the real shit just goes away.

So I guess I'm just hoping you'll continue to find the time to write. I am trying my hardest to do that myself. You're ahead of me in the sense that you've at least learned how to finish a book. I can't even get through the 2nd chapter (or 10th page for a screenplay). But it's enlightening to hear the same thoughts from someone I initially assumed was far and beyond much different than me. Because I too have that delusional idea that my writing can be the one thing the world accepts as my contribution. And reading someone's frank take on life and love and writing and all the other bullshit truly is an inspiration not only to reflect on my own day-to-day in a more thoughtful way, but to also sit the fuck down and write!

So basically, thank you for this.

London Preppy said...

drew: This comment makes me happy on many, many levels. Thank you for writing it

Drew Gallo said...

ditto ;)