“A Gentleman Is One Who Never Hurts Anyone’s Feelings Unintentionally” – Oscar Wilde
“One Concurs” – Luke Bell
Welcome to Personal Extracts- scripted manifestations of what I was thinking at complicated times of my life. Enjoy.
“The whole world is a stage- all the men and women; merely players.”
I suppose Mr. Shakespeare was right in saying that to some degree, in a sense that we, the mere players, act our way through this world, ﬁnding ourselves along the journey. As I was writing that last sentence, I noticed my holographic portrait of William capture the light of the distant street lamps over the road. It was quite an odd, ironic occurrence. Even odder considering I happen to have a hologram of William Shakespeare and I’m not a virgin!
One of the oldest questions in the history of the human civilisation has to be, “What is the meaning of life?, why are we here?”, etc. Even the most sought after answers to these conundrums have yet to be found, perhaps the reason we are here is simply to try to seek such answers, but never quite make sense of them. How frustratingly intriguing.
I ﬁnd writing in continuous prose and labouring points rather tedious, hence such a diversion in conversation, but I have always been one of those people who marvel at myths and legends/Gods and monsters, in all their enigmatic glory and try my utmost to attempt to ﬁnd a logical explanation for their existence: for example, were the mythical creatures, Giants, just some poor bastards with messed up pituitary glands? Most likely. But one cannot help but exaggerate such a beings existence by proclaiming they were 15ft tall, had biceps the size of a Neanderthal’s brow and wielded clubs the length of a stallion’s penis. It’s human nature I guess, as we weren’t there at the time and it satisﬁes our desire to acquire inﬁnite knowledge.
Okay, sticking with the philosophical side of life, (and stay with me here) it is physically impossible for a box with a volume of 1 metre cubed to have larger dimensions on the inside. Not unless it’s Doctor Who’s TARDIS. That would be utterly amazing. No. It is against all the laws of physics, however philosophically speaking, the human imagination deﬁes all of said laws as that most deﬁnitely is bigger on the inside.
Within the vastness of the imagination, lies the most extraordinary companion- words. Where would we be without our words? Well, we’d still be here. It would simply make for a duller existence, which may suit some folk, sometimes myself.
Another wondrous trait of we the people, is the ability to create beautiful sounds with things we made from such things as an ageing oak tree and the shiniest bit of metal, horse hair and other things we could ﬁnd at the time. From Vivaldi and Bach, to Jedward and a painful set of songs from Lady GaGa. Regardless of my opinions, we’ve achieved many
ﬁne sounds through the decades. Except Jedward, they’re Ireland’s tragic folly and deserve little attention and a dose of mustard gas.
All ‘Hippy Philosophy’ aside, it has been said that life is what you make of it and if you make a bloody meal of it, don’t be surprised if you end up tipping the waiter to try and resolve you. I believe that there are two types of people in this world; Voles and ‘Gofers’.
Voles: The humble yet strong willed and opinionated people, not afraid to grab life by its hefty bollocks and say “Fuck it, why not?”
Gofers: Basically, the arse kissers of the world who would go out of their way to ‘Go-fer this’ and ‘Go-fer that’ simply to try and impress those who seemingly appear
superior, when in reality they’re a bunch of C U next Tuesday’s
And it is with great pleasure I associate the unimpressive ‘Gofer’, with the common ‘Sheep’-not the woolly, cloud like, creatures, but those who have an unbelievably odd interpretation of a faux pas, who follow the norm like there’s no tomorrow, a direct message to you all from the masses: “Get a life!”.
You see, it is the work of Satan himself that brought you such unintellectual fecal matter as that droll ‘reality’ television programme “The Only Way Is Essex” – if i ever come to power I shall have the M25 and M11 brutally destroyed so that ‘The Only Way Is’… To make an illegal U-Turn and fuck off back home.
So, here’s the ‘First Chapter Interval’, the part where I thoughtfully give you, the reader, a little time to reﬂect on what you’ve just read and also for you Spiderman fans, a small joke for you to enjoy:
Mr Jameson: “Hey Parker, do you know what my favourite brand of rice is?”.
Peter Parker: “Um, no Sir.”.
Mr Jameson: “Uncle Bens!.”
*Insert cruel, but justiﬁed laugh here*
But I digress. One of the most frustrating feelings in life is not knowing where ones place is in the world, conversely, trying to truly imagine yourself in as little as 5, 10, or even 15 years time, is equally as annoying. If you’re anything like me, you’re probably one of those people who have always felt older than their years despite the odd childish moment which is usually the result of too much vodka, however no good story begins with “When I was eating a salad…”, even if that would make for a riveting conversation. But anyway, when you have the rapidly ageing young person’s disorder, or in layman’s terms; RAYPD, you’re often left feeling more stunned than a mental patient who has just tasted the wrong end of a taser, when it comes to responsible responsibility (not the kind where you’ve been responsible for looking after the neighbour’s kids and tried ﬁnding a logical explanation as to why they’re passed out and lodged in the hedgerow with an empty bottle of single malt in hand when the neighbour returns), but perhaps in the workplace or in the family unit. I suppose it’s one of those things you pick up along the way- much like the bottle of whiskey you purchased from a shady petrol station and left open on the side.
One of my pet hates is feeling awkward, regardless of what the situation may be. I once found myself clamming up and almost hyperventilating attempting to order take out food, much to my friends’ despair, so they took it upon themselves to boot me out of the room whilst they ordered instead. Never did get me anything either. That’s not the half of it. One time (not at band camp), I was particularly close to tombstoning my English tutor upon her requesting that I speak aloud during a text based presentation. It’s her job to read, the ginger bint. So that’s exactly what she did when I, not so politely declined. Harlot.
Hopefully by now you’ve related to at least one or more pieces of tosh mentioned above, if not you are or at some point have been, privately educated and your parents are or at
some point have been neo-nazis and involved in a cult dedicated to Tuesday night dogging. Abrupt? Perhaps. Necessary? Perhaps not.
I’ve somewhat lost my train of thought, you could say the track has completely disappeared, almost like Mr Biggs has been up to no good, but when you’re writing the ﬁrst things that spring to mind, what does it matter?