Swings and roundabouts.
July 19, 2011 § 2 Comments
“Maybe he lost control fucking with the radio but I bet the stars seemed so close, at the end.” – Light Pollution – Bright Eyes.
The cars pulling a little over to the left on a long stretch of quiet empty motorway near Manchester. I love the road when it’s like this. Puts me in mind of the good times. The French back roads, the Rome inter-changes, that long winding section in Minnesota that I make an effort to visit whenever I’m driving in the state. It’s quiet, it’s dry, it’s how I like it. It’s a long away back down south from here but the roads are clean and my foots feeling heavy. Journalists are resigning and being arrested all over the place, the heads of the Met Police have resigned, the FBI are investigating the hacking of 9/11 victims phones and the former Showbiz editor of the News of the World is dead. It’s an extraordinary situation and there’s so much more to come. The cards are up in the air and let’s just see where they fall. It’s going to change everything, of that I am sure. The relationship between the media and the public will never be the same, neither will the law. I have grown, I think, until the next set back, yet they are starting to become few and far between. I’ve stopped. Calmed down. I’m not so drunk, mad, erratic. I miss it, I think. I think it will come back. I haven’t been this calm for years and years, before being a teenager. It makes for worse reading. Jim Morrison never slowed down. Hunter Thompson never slowed down. Hendrix, Cobain, Joplin and Moon never slowed down. My hero’s never slowed down. Maybe this is the calm before the storm. There’s just as much mystery but I just don’t seem to care. Am I happy? No, but I’m not sad. I think I might have become everything I hate and the fact that that doesn’t bother me should bother me even more. Still no relapse in being self indulgent. Maybe this is just some shit excuse for soul searching. Maybe I should have gone on a stupid fucking gap year fucking about getting drunk in other countries trying to “find myself” instead of working. Getting drunk on my daddy’s money with private school boys and double-barreled names who looked down their noses at people who live life slightly differently and have no money. Ask Connor Rooney, those people are nothing without their fathers. Writing is like sex but only in some ways. Not all, but some. The first time you do it’s awkward and not quiet right, it takes time to get better, some are more natural than others but the key is to persist. Outside factors will effect you. Sometimes you will feel you wrote a shitty article and your a no good writer. Sometimes you will write that article you know had an extraordinary effect on the reader. There are parraells in the satisfaction. There’s a saying where I come from, they say it’s all swings and roundabouts. It’s one of my favorite pieces of language. It’s like you have to take the rough with the smooth, or every cloud has a silver lining, but so much more subtle. Subtle is important in writing and in sex for that matter. But who cares? It’s all swings and roundabouts.