Tuesday, 3 May 2016

Sometimes You Get So Lonely







I am the son and the heir

Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar,

I am the son and heir

Of nothing in particular



You shut your mouth

How can you say

I go about things the wrong way?

I am human and I need to be loved

Just like everybody else does


Words by Morrisey



This is a house of memories. They are such that it is hard not to recall them. I sold the furniture recently in an attempt to get cash to pay for a trip to Amsterdam. Doriandra was exhibiting at the NDSM and I wanted to see her and her work. It sounds a remarkable place. Sadly, the flight and hotel costs were prohibitive. I would have liked to have gone there, though. I can't remember when I last had a holiday let alone a break. Greece five years ago rings a bell.

I now live in what I call 'a gentleman's squat.' I have no sofa. I have no bedstead. The only furniture left to sit on is the cane sofa and two chairs from the conservatory. Not that I'm complaining, a part of me finds the whole business, fun. Sort of. The mattress lies on the carpet unmade with the duvet, pillows, and sheets a crumpled work of art. Ask Tracey Emin.

Funny the way that the building that offers sanctuary becomes the prison by which you are trapped. At least the property is sold.  The survey was taken on the 24th March. Only a month and six days ago. Somehow it seems so much longer than that. It is just a question now of signing the contracts. I pray that happens soon. I need to move on now. My stoicism is cracking along with my failed attempts at poaching eggs.

The one thing the long hours supply is plenty or reading time. I have been catching up on a range of books that have sat gathering dust having stood unread. Confucious' The Analects is my current read. Funnily, the great Chinese philosopher was not particularly interested in moral acts but in moral character. Obviously, his version of the Golden Rule sort of disproves that but still his words, possibly of those he taught, are largely concerned with being at all times good mannered, observing societal rules and, no matter your position in life, being benevolent to all. The books simply fill the gaps before another stretch, lengthy and dull, of time passing, erodes my day.

Mum's death was a release. Not for me but for her. No one should have to suffer as she did. Had it been me I would have wanted to have injected myself with a fatal dose of morphine. Of course, I loved her but her death was as much a result of having lived a long life as it was to do with the disease that reduced her living to being carried from bed to chair and back again. The final months were not living at all. Her passing was natural, or at least as natural as nature can be with its cold logic, its randomness.

Cookie's death hurts me more. Not because I love a canine more than my own mother, I don't but her death was expected. She was one month off her ninety-second birthday. She had lived a full life. Cookie hadn't. He was only eight which is no age for a dog to die. When my son saw the pain and suffering his pet was having to endure, having spent five thousand pounds on a succession of medical procedures, he made the conscious decision to have his best friend put to sleep. Just the writing of those words makes we fill-up. Cookie's eyes were always lit by love and trust. They shone at you. His death was the same as losing a family member. I still miss him.

One animal is put out of its misery as another is left to suffer. It really is a curious world isn't it?

I have found a food I like. Not really a food in the singular but a combination of foods. Take two slices of wholemeal bread, butter them and then spread marmite on one slice. Break two eggs into a pyrex jug, pour oil in a frying pan and make an omelette. Once cooked place omelette onto marmite coated slice, cover with ketchup before placing top slice back onto the whole creating a sandwich. Delicious. The tang of the marmite, the sweetness of the ketchup, the silky texture of the omelette with the roughness of the bread is superb. Try it.

As I read, Confucious, Tao Te Ching, The Pagan Christ, The Authentic Gospel of Christ or as I listen to Noam Chomsky, Slavoj Zizek and Jiddu Krishnamurti I learn but one thing - To change the world I must first change myself.


"Without going out of my door.
I can know the ways of heaven." 


As great and wise as that quote is I'd rather not be practising it quite the way I currently do.In fact, I'd rather open that bloody door and run right through it leaving the keys behind.




.
.
.
Russell Cuts the Corn From The Brewers Whiskers.

4 comments:

LeeKwo said...

Great read Russell very sad and at other times full of enlightenment/the whole event of being alone sucks/After my first marriage I was left with a mattress and a table/eventually you land on yr feet/Regards Lee Kwo

doriandra said...

Oh dear... my friend, I so wish you could have come over to visit me. Your writing here exactly sums up what I feel when in my mountain isolated home in the states.. I'm in a stupor back home now, remembering the duck song on the water in Amsterdam and my creaky old bike and the silhouette I cast while riding it through the old city parts. Despair is a creeper, slinky and cunning.. These very walls that are to home feel like a cage that I have lost the key to..

Russell Duffy said...

You're right Lee. I will land back on my feet.

Russell Duffy said...

Meditation seems to the key. I kinda sets my mind free if not my body.