Good
morning, afternoon, evening, or whatever time it is at your end. Maybe you are
cocooned within the dark recesses of the night, and you are taking a peek while
snacking at the fridge. What are you eating, chilled chicken skewers or Babybels
or something? Maybe you are on the bus or train. Maybe just monged out on the
sofa. I’m hopeless at guessing what you’re doing. Maybe you are watching
Gothika (2003), immersed in the bit
when the guy from Alien 3 (1992),
throws water over Halle Berry’s reflection, and then asks her what she sees in
the distorted mirror image. That’s a giant moment in all of movie history for
me. Robert Downey Junior was in it, before he became known as Iron Man. In
Gothika, while escaping from a padded cell after having worked there previously
as a psychiatrist, Halle takes a burly security guard off his feet with a
shoulder barge. That scene reminds me of pregnant women lifting cars off their
children and stuff. Mothers have insane
strength at times, don’t they? What is it with the bamboozling strength of
mothers!?
Just been
for a couple of pints with whiskey chasers, to warm myself up for this. Sometimes
I like the booze after I’ve blogged, other times before, to galvanise those
creative juices. Twenty or so hits overnight is a good result these days. I was
getting thousands of hits over the summer, and that has really motivated me. I
felt up there chumming around with the big writers who have readerships,
although it can’t compete with Facebook, in a way. If you have 5000 friends on
Facebook (the limit), and you post a status, then you have just published some
writing to 5000 people in the click of a button. That’s radical. I miss Facebook.
I’m hoping
that blogging is more personal. I don’t care about the five thousand that Jesus
didn’t feed, I care about The One,
about you. You know who you are. Keep reading, and I’ll keep you. I’ll big you
up, tell you how wonderful you are, plus I’ll awfully mean it as well. You can’t
get this anywhere else.
You. Are. Awesome. And so am I. Just
saying. “Am I right or am I right?” as my mentor used to say. Come on, “Am I
right or am I right?”
Apologies
for being cheesy. It’s just the mood I’m in. I was going to write about a fight
with a giant slug on a bed, but I’ve almost run out of time. I got the idea
from church today. The Pastor said that there’s a Christian Retreat coming up
later in the year. I thought wow, excellent, I wish it was a lot sooner than
October. And then I remembered the last retreat I went on. It was at some kind
of hall far up north. If I wasn’t running out of time I’d tell you about what
happened there, late one evening. Maybe, if you inbox me politely, I’ll tell
you all about it next time, in confidence. A fight with a giant slug on a bed,
what can be more exciting than that?
Oh go on
then, you’ve twisted my arm, I can’t wait, I’ll spill the beans now. Basically,
a giant black slug materialised in my bed at night time and started to batter
me. Quickly, I had to keep from being decompressed by it. It was decompressing me! Contorting me, squeezing me, wrapping me
up. I was being suffocated and everything. It was so heavy, just spreading its
weight about over my body. I felt flattened by something semi-invisible. This thing is crushing me all over, I
thought. It had hold of my hands, my every nerve. In the end, I had to stab it
with its own pointed tail. But the effort required! Wow! There was something
scorpion-esque about the thing. It was about the same size as me, and when it
popped, as it did pop, popped with an anti-inflatable hiss, an explosive report,
like a sibilant catcall of death, I rolled onto the floor and off the bed in sweet
relief, as if I’d just been released from a torture chamber, away from Freddy
Kruegar with hot gloves on. I’d stabbed the basta*d! And with part of its own
anatomy! Have that, slug! That’s it, in essence, now why doesn’t Hollywood go
and make a movie of it? 100% true, no psychosis liberties taken.
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