“Yeah my girlfriend has just signed up to her first course,” I said at the lunch table in the meditation centre. “But she hasn’t experienced it yet so obviously if anything comes up at uni that’s more important. I can only wait and see what nature wants to do I guess. I’m not going to pressure her, as with anyone, I like to try and be the best person I can and set an example.”
“It’s the best way,” said Udo, a very tall German Pierce Brosnan. He is a teacher so who knows how long he’s been practicing.
“People are always watching,” he said “and when you think they’re not watching that’s when they’re watching you the most. When you first start meditating your trying to act like a good boy and set and example but your tense, soon though you keep practicing and it becomes natural, because Dhamma works you know. Then they see, this guys serious, he’s calm, happy and he hasn’t drunk in two years. Then some time later they watch a movie or get some signal and consider it more seriously.”
There was one question I wanted desperately to ask Udo. “Could you be in a relationship with somebody that does drugs?” That is also the same question I’ll ask Russell Brand when I meet him.
My girlfriend came in dopey after a night out recently and I ignored her. It pissed her off but I was pissed off too. It’s a tough one but she’s important and has demonstrated a profound commitment to me which has been covered before. So I accept the intoxication in our life, for now.
Initially I told my 7 housemates I wouldn’t be there for the joint birthday this weekend, basically because I’ve never felt that comfortable at parties and used to deal with it by numbing myself. But I don’t do that anymore so I just stand there uncomfortable having synthetic conversations. I’ve changed my mind though, this is where I am and soon it will change with only nostalgia to remain, so I’ll make the most of this young boho world I’ve been invited into, and not just invited, nurtured. I can’t work in England yet and they haven’t asked me for a cent.
We were all in the kitchen lastnight. Everyone making an individual effort for Finn’s birthday. The Queen was making desert.
She realised that George had put too much of something in the mixture. “I don’t want to be involved in these brownies anymore.” George quickly tried to reassure her they would be fine but she whined in a long high pitch, “No they wont they are going to be bitter as fuck.” She started growling and repeatedly smashing a measuring cup against the bench inside a plume of flour. I looked at Jack and smiled, these are my favourite parts. The housemates intervened and after a short time out The Queen returned with renewed enthusiasm. I hate for her to suffer but it’s way better than television.
Here’s a poem I wrote for Finch’s 21st birthday.
ambitious eagles and their cloud politics
wondering queen in lollipop glass
seven angels painting
a flower staircase and it’s miracles
raining spells gather sounds
teddy bear’s invisible hopes
baskets of cherries
special apple summer comes
drinking cups of moonlight
canal boat reflections
friendly violet spiders
sometimes you could hear the cats dancing
climbed up into her bed in the stars
the colour of tears
fairy bread smiles
They all sit around and critique my pictures after development, I almost enjoy it more when they tell me they don’t like something.
They get me into Uni every few weeks and I go round looking at their work and reading in the library. I got access to the computer room yesterday. Cagey. Sat in there all day scanning my negatives. Loads of my girlfriend’s mates kept coming up for chats. I was just waiting for the tap on the shoulder from security. Then I saw Oskar and he’s across the room like, “How did you get in here?”
I think the cortisol was still in me from earlier on. On the way to uni we were walking past the Pelican and an argument broke out between a driver and a pedestrian. The pedestrian accused the driver of trying to run him over because he was white. Another passer by got involved and so he turned on him. Face bright red and dangerous. Zipped up jackets and trainers beating on the car window threatening the passer by with “You fucking racist black cunt!”
It broke up and they went opposite ways but the passer by looked very agitated walking in the middle of the street. I called after him and asked him if he was alright. “Are you fucking alright?” he shouted. I repeated the question, a little puzzled. I wanted to tell him the pedestrian’s vilifications were not the general sentiment.
“Who the fuck are you!? FUCK OFF!” I felt nothing and stood there looking at him. “Are you fucking off?” he asked. I don’t know why I didn’t, maybe I thought love would conquer all or maybe it was pride, but he took a reluctant glance at the floor before running towards me, he had a hood on and brown spots on his cheeks, round glasses, “he won’t hit me I thought, he’s bluffing.” I saw his brown fist slam into my mouth and my head jerked in the other direction but my torso remained. My gf was on the corner watching. He jogged off, shoulders relaxed, the tension had been released.
Growing up you had to be ready to fight, not just ready but prepared, that’s why I did kickboxing, but there became a fine line between defense and offense.
I considered running after him and fighting him, it burned in my gut, but I know better now. Whether he realizes it or not he will suffer for that.
I felt embarrassed for caring. Like a stupid missionary.