Chance your arm if it’s what you’re good at.

November 6, 2010 § Leave a comment


“Everyone’s unhappy, everyone’s ashamed, well we all just caught looking at somebody elses page, well nothing ever went quite exactly as we planned, our ideas held no water but we used them like a dam.”

-Missed the boat – Modest Mouse.  

I haven’t written for awhile about my current location or mental standing and for that I apologise. I often think in a very self-involved way about if my work made it and people actually read it. I think about the school boy who has been asked to read my book by a teacher. I think about the way the teacher will ask him “Now, the writer has put a pause in his diary entries here, where he only talks about thoughts and not about what is happening in his life. Why do you think this is little Timmy?.” At which point little Timmy should start looking worried because the answer is in fact that I didn’t write because thats how it happened. So if your reading this little Timmy, your welcome, thanks for reading the book even if they made you and go outside and play.

I have been melancholy since Maxi’s death. Glad that he’d made it into the hall of fame. In my eyes he would stay young forever, I was kinda pissed that it wasn’t me, but only temporarily, just while I wasn’t thinking straight. But today I got a very strange ray of hope. Sometimes in my life I attach a large amounts of feelings of thought to, people I barley know. I see them as my way out I suppose. The fact that I know so little about them means that I know very little bad. This aspect of my personality I have always kept very quiet as I do not like people to know who I like, usually because I do not trust them, usually because I fear being undermined or embarrassed. They’re the people in your brain who stay in the area labled “unfinished business” and one of these people was “Paris Girl.”

She had been so utterly charming and my scattered memories of her was so perfect that I have to way up how I feel about going back and risking it all but love stories are so predictable. I suppose that at some points you have to ask yourself the question what kind of story do I want my life to be? Cos at the moment it’s pretty unstructured, very unstructured, like the writer could and should have said with so few words what he has said with so many. I’m sorry I ask you too many questions. Fuck it, I’m going back for her. Chance your arm if it’s what you’re good at.

“What does it matter if y’are killed? You’ve got to die some day. You’ve got to chance your arm in this life, an’ a dam’ sight more ’n your arm too sometimes”.

-The Middle Parts of Fortune of 1916 Frederic Manning

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