New blogspace

Dunnno why, but I've moved blogging over to Tumblr. http://borisbelony.tumblr.com/ to be precise.

Not a story

Sorry I haven't posted a story in a while, I'm also sorry for many other things. I could rap on about how many intentions I have regarding new stories, thousands of them perhaps, but as it's said 'roads cannot be paved with intentions; intentions exist, but only the same way that mathematics does or perception. Intentions aren't the same thing as their material outcome.' I believe that, I have to. Instead of a new story so, I've decided to publish some words of wisdom that help me through various times. A percentage of these observations and wise-bitz come from Buddha and stuff, others from philosophy and yet others from my own temporary musings. Read on and transcend...


1) Everything and nothing may or may not be.

2) To hold onto anger is like throwing a hot rock at someone.

3) Don't spend too long on the internet, you don't get as many things done as you want to. Only check your emails and facebook updates but don't get bogged down chatting to people or refreshing the page.

4) Make sure to eat fruit and vegetables even when you don't want to. Just stuff them into your mouth and imagine they taste like sweets.

5) Do what you can to hold onto relationships that matter such as long-term friends and family. The rope which holds these together is stronger than the Tesco Value twine that binds you to prostitutes or funny people.

6) When you're having sex, do your best.

7) Excitement is made of a more brilliant element than happiness, but is nevertheless a cheaper and less valuable one. Imagine excitement as made from foiled tin and happiness from titanium silk-gold.

8) Don't drink or do drugs and then drive.

9) If you feel depressed be open minded about cures. Remember that time operates in such a way that there will be a present which isn't this one and in that present you won't feel terrible.

10) Pick the right choice.

11) If you're talking to a boy or girl you're attracted to; don't fart audibly; don't lick your teeth; don't ask or tell them about the weather; discuss music in terms of genres rather than groups; try remain elusive and mysterious yet friendly; if a child is near be good with it; don't discuss medications your on; highlight any good facial features you have, i.e., stare if your eyes are nice, aim your ear at them if that's nice, hide spots etc.; smile - but don't force it!

12) Open your post slowly.

13) Read more than you poo and wee.

14) Accept that sometimes the light is red.

15) Don't buy a Bluray player just yet.

16) Remember that fame is merely loads of people knowing who you are, while being cool is some people thinking your good.

17) Say hello and chat to people you really don't want to. But don't do it to people who are dangerous.

18) Buy yourself the odd gift to remind yourself that you deserve plenty of love.

19) In fact, love as many people as you can as much as you can. Except dangerous people, give them a summons (if you're a guard).

20) Make your dream a not-dream. Imagine what you want to be doing and do that instead of the things you don't want to do.

21) Watch your lying, if it takes up over 10% of your discourse with others plan a reduction.

22) In an argument with someone else remember that there is no such thing as truth and you are both merely swapping guesses.

23) Don't try and imagine what's outside the universe for too long.

24) Help other people more than you actually want to. But not for yourself, do it consciously because you want to beat the paradox of altruism.

25) Avoid pain, but only to the extent that your not chasing pleasure.



Oh I hope these suggestions have an impact in my conception of a good way.

Metween

There were some people ahead of me in the queue who didn't look like they should have been there.
'Sorry, do you mind if I move up closer to the front? I'm doing this for my blog,' I explained to them. However, not only did they not move, one of them even looked away! Fuck this, I thought and started to push forward. This seemed to be a little more successful; people frowned and said 'HEY!' but no one pulled me back. At this point I was only three people from the front. I kept my muscles tensed in case someone wanted to take my newly obtained place. No one tried it. After another ten minutes or so I was at the very top, anticipation manifesting itself in tiny beads of sweat on my upper lip and either side of my nose.
'Next!'
I raced over to the vacant booth and sat down. A woman sat behind the sheet of glass with a blonde wig on, it must have been a wig because it was white-blonde.
'Blow into that tube,' she ordered.
I looked to my side and became aware of a small rubber tube dangling from the wall.
'Into this?'
'Yes, blow into it hard.'
I let out a great puff of wheeze through a small o in my mouth, most of it entering the tube. The woman looked down at a small box on her side of the glass.
'Ok, you're going to have to go to suite 4,' she said.
'Where's that?' I asked, genuinely unsure.
'Malcolm is going to escort you,' she replied and sure enough, Malcolm appeared behind me.
'This way sir,' he said.
I got up and followed him out a different door than the one I come in. We travelled down a bare concrete corridor which smelled of stale ciggarettes. At the end of it a few plastic chairs stood in front of a double doored exit. Malcolm took a small black pistol from his armpit and aimed it at my head.
'Suite 4!' I said, before being shot through the temporal lobe. I no longer know what time it is.

Junction 7 Lucan

The sun reflected off the top of my newly shaven head and the wind blasted my face cold. I was sitting in a convertible car, cruising the M50 at top speed. It was Christmas day and fuck all people were on the road. I had no idea who I had stolen the vehicle from, but I laughed at the irony of taking something away from someone on such a gift-driven morning.
"A fine gift to me!" I shouted, pressing down on the accelerator. I remembered back to my days in work when this stretch of motorway was packed with cars in the morning. I'd waited so long for this moment. Fantasised about it daily; dreaming of tearing along this very lane in a convertible.
I turned on the radio which blasted "Santa Claus is Coming To Town" from the speakers. The power I felt was incredible. The slightest movement of the steering wheel made the car glide sideways across the lanes. It was exhilarating. Keeping one hand firmly on the wheel and screaming along with lyrics of the song I bent down to pick up a bottle of West Coast Cooler. I chewed open the lid and slugged down a decent quantity of the drink. This is the life, I thought and called out with all my voice.
"Wahey!!!! Merry fucking Christmas you fucking witless apes!! Enjoy your puddings and turkeys you morons!! You're missing out on a continent of fun!!" In my excitement I threw the half empty bottle over the windshield, not expecting it to come straight back and crack off the top of my head. My vision went for a split second, followed closely by searing pain. Instinctively, I reached up and put my hand to point of injury.
Mistake, mistake, mistake.
The next thing I know, the car is heading straight for a sandy ramp in some roadworks off to the side. I tried to spin the wheel, but it was no use. The car hit the ramp at an incredible speed and launched into the air.
From my soaring vantage point I could see I was heading straight for a cottage. I put my hands in front of my face and waited for the inevitable crash. Time seemed to stop and I felt an urge to turn off the radio, as the song was too loud now. In a moment the car sailed straight through the roof of the little building and my consciousness went for a lengthy stroll.
Luckily I was completely uninjured and the elderly couple who lived there both suffered from arthritis. If it wasn't for me, they would still be alive and suffering from that painful and stressful disease.

Paths of Eden

Today it is sunny. The sky is laughing blue and the sounds of summer mingle upon the air. A bird sweeps past above my head maybe foraging for food? Or perhaps it is bringing a worm to its young? Or maybe it is in the grip of a fever? I love this sunlit day. The path; the glorious path is awash with mystery, inviting me down for a closer look. I'm outside the front of my house at the moment, but I know there are more choice cuts of path on offer around the corner outside the houses where old people live. I make my way across the hot road. The path just here is ugly, but I know it won't be long before I find what I'm looking for.
As I walk, a small white Opel Corsa from 1989 passes me slowly by, driven by a some wrinkles sitting under a curly white mass. I salute silently, wondering if she is looking forward to some biscuits sitting in the press at home. I'll call into her later to see how she's doing. After all, there is responsibility in being a citizen of this housing estate.
I spot a sandy coloured dog ahead of me on the grass which separates the path from the curb. It is busy sniffing out an old ice lolly wrapper.
'No lolly left!' I laugh and pass the hound by.
The path now is beginning to improve; the cement a beautiful grey with flecks of mysterious sparkling gem stones. Just a little further and I shall be entering Eden. Nobody else is around, they must be having their noon lunch. The sun feels so good; heating my shoulders and evaporating the sweat from my face.
An ice cream van jingles a merry tune off in the distance. Sounds like it might be in Riverside.
Just then, I stop. The path here is just right. I get down on my hands and knees and inspect it up close. Yes, this is what I've been waiting for. The path is completely dry and warmed by the sun. The colour is neither too light a grey or too dark and contains just the right amount of minute pebbles and gem stones. I've often contemplated picking these jewels out and making a handsome bracelet or brooch out of them but I know that wouldn't be fair to my neighbours - these paths are owned by all. Whatever people say about the state of the world right now I always take solace in the fact that no one has ever robbed these paths of their gems - everyone has a line I suppose. Soon I'm lying with my face against the path, cradled comfortably in the domestic bliss of my estate. It's not long before I'm asleep and I end up resting there for over an hour.

The Wakening

Kayleigh sat in her van and stared out at the junction in front of her. It was half eight on a gorgeous sunny morning in city centre Dublin and the streets were clogged with traffic. Kayleigh's van belonged to the business she delivered children for, a small company named Cloud Logistics; named after the boss's cat Cloud. Kayleigh had been working for this company just over ten years now, delivering children all over the city. The job was highly repetitive, following an identical route day after day. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happened, children were delivered, dockets signed and lunch took place in the same Superquinn car park every day at half one. Kayleigh never thought about how repetitive and monotonal her days were, she just drifted through them in a type of autopilot mode just below consciousness.
But this morning was different. This morning Kayleigh felt her head rise above the tide of disconscious drone. As she sat at the junction waiting for the light to turn green Kayleigh became aware that she was actively thinking. The experience was strange, normality was the ab for her. She tried to keep up with the thoughts as they passed through her mind, wondering at the level of their alien presence. Each one of her senses seemed to click on one by one. Her nose was suddenly inspecting the warm plastic of the van, the mild mould of the seats, the stale crunch of her clothes. Her eyes greedily peered at the sun lying across the road in between the tall buildings of O'Connell street. Her ears piqued at the the sounds of traffic drifting in through the half open window. Voices; human voices; all spun together in an indecipherable spool chattered in to her brain, charging it with a primitive excitement. She made a choice to move her head and actively look at something. Her eyes moved in on the car next to her, below the van's wing mirror. Through its window she could see friendly male hands gripping the steering wheel. She imagined the driver to look like Rob Lowe in Wayne's World. She could see the cuffs of a suit and pictured him smiling to himself in NLP-powered happiness. She tried to burrow into his thoughts as she gazed at the manly fingers clutching the firm leather wheel. He's probably anticipating how warm and rewarding work is going to be, perhaps considering the roll he's going to get in Centra on his lunch. I bet he gets olives and sun-dried tomatoes on a seed roll she thought. She imagined him imagining how happy his wife will be to see him later. Sitting on a poof in the sitting room all day, watching Sky Home and Leisure, leaving only to pee and look up men on dating sites. Kayleigh thought about how sad and lonely this wife was during the day; polishing the wooden DVD player cabinet religiously, at least twenty times each day, never able to make it fully smear-free. Oh how happy she'll be when Rob Lowe comes to her from his Docklands 'scraper, arms open and penis erect. Erect because he loves her, not because she's Loreal sexy hair tits and butt-ass-gee. Kayleigh looked at the hands on the steering wheel and curdled. Utterly curdled. A tear emerged from her lower eyelid as she realised that she was actually empathising with another being. That solitary tear was the first fruit of a spring which had been postponed for over thirty eight years. Kayleigh's consciousness trembled as she experienced a full and completely real emotion. Its immediacy was exhilarating. Her thoughts began to race.

What am I doing here?
What am I doing in this van?!
I want to live my life, not sonambulate it like some sort of sonambulator!
I want to experience this thing called 'a morning'!
I want what I've been denied my whole "life"!

Kayleigh opened the van door and stepped out into the crisp fresh air. It felt incredible. Freedom tasted like a sunny morning in Dublin city. Almost as soon as she had stepped out of the van and orchestra of beeps and barps erupted from behind it.
Oh I'm not going anywhere, she thought, smiling.
After striding four or five steps towards Eason's, Kayleigh jogged back to the van with embarrassment and drove on through the junction to continue her rounds.

Burt Bacharach is the Zenith

When Burt Bacharach first asked me to play the drums for him I was unable to answer for a few moments, being so shocked at the proposal. I stood in the phone box with the receiver resting against my cheek staring out at the field in disbelief.
'Eh, hello? Drums?' asked a small electronic copy of Bacharach's voice.
Still I couldn't respond. You have to understand what a long-awaited call this was, in order to deal with the situation my mind first had to go on a little journey. It wandered out into the field beyond the hedge. I could see myself lilting around the meadow to the sounds of Bacharach's most indelible tune - '(They Long to Be) Close to You'. I looked angelic, beautiful, larger than life. I picked up a snare and stick previously hidden by the tall grass and started to tap out a rhythm. As soon as the stick hit the snare skin a panorama of Alpine mountains erupted all around the field transforming it to the floor of an immense valley. Huge snow capped peaks now towered all around me as I lilted around the grass, tapping out the rhythm of Bacharach. The melody lurched and then burst into the blasting passion of 'Make it Easy on Yourself'. I could see myself screaming the lyrics up into the chilly mountain air, bliss surging through every nerve, capillary and vessel in my body. The notes thundered around the valley, calling animals from every direction. They raced down towards me and within moments I was surrounded by mountain cats, arctic foxes, hare, eagles, hedgehogs and many more hilly beings. The scene was ecstatic, ecstatic, ecstatic and I was utterly lost within it.
And then I heard the voice of God.
Calling from the rock itself.

'Will you play the drums or no?'

'Yes! Oh yes I will!' I screamed and felt myself rushing back into the reality of the phone box.
'That's great to hear,' replied Bacharach. 'We start rehearsing in May.'
'I'm already rehearsing!' I shouted into the wrong end of the phone.
'See you soon,' said God and hung up.
I held the receiver close to my bosom for about an hour, staring out at the meadow which had just been the stage for my most treasured dream. I left the phone box with the biggest smile one could possibly imagine. To find out later that day it had been a hoax conducted by some old school colleagues sent me into the deepest pit of despair out of which to this day I am attempting to escape.


Trains and bloats and planes are passing by
They mean a trip to Paris or Rome
For someone else but not for me
The trains and the boats and planes
Took you away, away from me