They were right about you
I've been thinking about us recently. Us humans.
This has probably come from the time overload i've had, having not bothered incredibly hard to look for work yet this summer. I will do, yes. Yes I will. Having this time, this endless strucureless mass of nothing, has led to some annoyingly deep over-analysing and self-reflection. We all know this is bad. You are left alone with your head for too long and end up tearing everything apart searching for some kind of point to it all. I've been living (as usual) by the day, the hour even. This has perhaps been my way for the past few months, maybe longer. As such, now I have come to pause, to stop almost completely and be away from what has come to be life - Lancaster, I suppose. More than that. I'ts been a bit since i've tried to write to anyone but myself. I'm still writing to myself here I guess.
Anyway, where the fuck was that going?
Humans. Yeah. Let's start with Bolton. It's par for the course that everytime I go back there I feel like a part of my soul gets torn out of me. It's been much better this summer but then again I haven't ventured into town more than a couple times and not had a 'night out' yet. I walked through yesterday after lunch, I was already feeling a mix of things, mostly uncertainty, but when you chose not to make plans and float around all the time you're going to find that uncertainty is just always a part of you. I walked past an ambulance, didn't see what was going on infront of it but a harrassed looking paramedic was putting on some of those disturbing latex gloves and looking very pale. I had walked past this man earlier, shabby clothes, grey hair, i'm assuming homeless. When I saw him first he was scrabbling for a bottle of whiskey between two benches. I remember thinking how very Bolton. That whole section where he was sat - outside Varsity and the Man and Sythe, has recently had a bit of a makeover, it's become mostly pedestrianised and looks bright and new, an odd mixure of sandy looking stone and chrome bins and benches. Maybe it's an annoying hangover from being an art student but the difference in appearances and textures and stuff struck me more than the sadness of it, of him. I felt bad for him, but I felt worse about Bolton and how it just constantly contradicts itself. I admit now, rather guiltily that my first thoughts weren't compassionate ones. I thought "How can you let yourself get in that state?" This was only fleeting until I remembered how wanky and unfair and generally shit life is. Anyway although I have just talked alot about that I really didn't think loads about it at the time. Was away for 2 or a bit more hours, walked past again and he was dead.
And the people sat outside the brass cat were smoking and drinking and laughing.
Some other stuff happened on my walk through to the train station, I can't remember exactly. Some guy shouted some stuff at me, some goth-girl got abuse a bit further down the road.
I give up.
This has probably come from the time overload i've had, having not bothered incredibly hard to look for work yet this summer. I will do, yes. Yes I will. Having this time, this endless strucureless mass of nothing, has led to some annoyingly deep over-analysing and self-reflection. We all know this is bad. You are left alone with your head for too long and end up tearing everything apart searching for some kind of point to it all. I've been living (as usual) by the day, the hour even. This has perhaps been my way for the past few months, maybe longer. As such, now I have come to pause, to stop almost completely and be away from what has come to be life - Lancaster, I suppose. More than that. I'ts been a bit since i've tried to write to anyone but myself. I'm still writing to myself here I guess.
Anyway, where the fuck was that going?
Humans. Yeah. Let's start with Bolton. It's par for the course that everytime I go back there I feel like a part of my soul gets torn out of me. It's been much better this summer but then again I haven't ventured into town more than a couple times and not had a 'night out' yet. I walked through yesterday after lunch, I was already feeling a mix of things, mostly uncertainty, but when you chose not to make plans and float around all the time you're going to find that uncertainty is just always a part of you. I walked past an ambulance, didn't see what was going on infront of it but a harrassed looking paramedic was putting on some of those disturbing latex gloves and looking very pale. I had walked past this man earlier, shabby clothes, grey hair, i'm assuming homeless. When I saw him first he was scrabbling for a bottle of whiskey between two benches. I remember thinking how very Bolton. That whole section where he was sat - outside Varsity and the Man and Sythe, has recently had a bit of a makeover, it's become mostly pedestrianised and looks bright and new, an odd mixure of sandy looking stone and chrome bins and benches. Maybe it's an annoying hangover from being an art student but the difference in appearances and textures and stuff struck me more than the sadness of it, of him. I felt bad for him, but I felt worse about Bolton and how it just constantly contradicts itself. I admit now, rather guiltily that my first thoughts weren't compassionate ones. I thought "How can you let yourself get in that state?" This was only fleeting until I remembered how wanky and unfair and generally shit life is. Anyway although I have just talked alot about that I really didn't think loads about it at the time. Was away for 2 or a bit more hours, walked past again and he was dead.
And the people sat outside the brass cat were smoking and drinking and laughing.
Some other stuff happened on my walk through to the train station, I can't remember exactly. Some guy shouted some stuff at me, some goth-girl got abuse a bit further down the road.
I give up.