i talk about toblerones a lot. i was eating them a lot during lockdown. a funny habit to get into. currently trying to quit squashies. i don’t think i can be happy in a day if i don’t do something that is just unhealthy and doesn’t further any amibition other than to be enjoyed for its own sake. like, a sacrifice of health for short term pleasure. it’s a reasonable sacrifice to make on a daily basis. we’re here for a weird time, not a healthy one.
i’m so sleepy today. i had a busy few days. i did a big cycle. i climbed a mountain. i saw old friends, drank negroni and was merry.
i often have ‘low power’ days. if i don’t schedule some quiet time, my body enforces it. is it autism? a delayed hangover? is my immune system battling an infection? who knows. i’m gonna take it easy anyway. read a good book. make a loaf of bread. try to avoid talking.
are some things unforgivable though? i want to say no, that there is always the possibility of redemption. but i fear it may not be true. some crimes are so great that it’s hard to believer the perpetrators could have souls. and i’m too tired to want to think about this today.
but considering the crimes and trespasses that have been committed against me – no, there is nothing i can’t or won’t forgive.
i try and fit the world into schemes of universal truth. the simpler the principle, the more beautiful, and hence better. but as soon as you take philosophy into the world, it is battered by complication and complexity. the universe is chaotic.
for this reason, i have a general fear of the future. planning makes me overwhelmed. there is too much of everything. too many books to read. songs to write. sunny days to bathe under. routes to cycle. dinners to eat. so many millions of choices, so many infinities of experience that i necessarily will miss out on.
and that’s before we come to thoughts. for we live in two worlds – the external world, which exists perfectly well without us and of which we know almost nothing – and the internal world – of which ONLY we know, and yet we still can’t remember everything. we can’t remember our every action in the external world. but we can’t even remember the events of the internal world: the ideas that drifted away before we could commit them to paper. the emotions we felt. the dreams we had. all gone. as if they never even existed.
the love epochal is meant to be both earnest and ironic. on the one hand, i really am making a conscious effort to love my fellow creatures, whether they deserve it or not. but you know, its hard, i’m not jesus, i’m prone to moderate instances of rage.
i shout at drivers who cut me up on my bike, or who almost knock me down when i’m being a pedestrian. i believe this helps me balance my tempers. we all shout and gesture a bit then go on with our days. i don’t dwell on it too much.
but i know that its not really the driver’s fault entirely. why have we designed this world like this? why do we let people operate heavy machinery in residential areas? why don’t we enforce the rules of the road? these are all systemic problems. so when i call the man who almost knocked me over, ‘a fat bald prick,’ what i really mean is: ‘if only we could find a way to cooperate rather than compete, the bond of love between us would glow warm with mutual respect.’
i was taking some time off work to recover from burnout. getting some perspective. the sun was out. i was trying to enjoy the sensations of living.
i was thinking a lot about stoicism. focussing on those things i can control: my actions, my character, my reactions.
a betrayed reaction: as an autistic person, i don’t always process things as they happen. understanding sometimes doesn’t come until too late. the reaction has already been.
can i modify my reaction after the fact? could i reach out, apologise, explain? could i make that effort, to understand and empathise? i think so. with a bit of humility, i could rely on the generosity of good souls.
i wonder how we will commemorate the 1000th anniversary of the norman conquest in 2066. if i live to see it, i’ll be an old man. will it lead to an examination of viking influence on british life? i’m pretty certain i’m of viking blood. i identify as blonde, despite what that spotty french teacher said when i was 13 (she said, in french, first, ‘sit down if you have brown hair,’ and second, ’n.n. benn, sit down, you have brown hair.’
‘no,’ i said, ‘it merely looks brown. i can assure you that deep down, invisibly to the naked eye, my hair is blonde.’
anyway, most countries have been subject to multiple instances of conquest and revolution. the french seem to guillotine their ruling class every couple of hundred years. whereas our fossil landlords in britain seem to have been landed and gented since time immemorial. our systems are dysfunctional and eccentric. whereas germany, france and italy and, who all lost wars or were occupied in the last century, have benefitted from at least attempting to come up with rational systems of government.
i was in paris recently – everywhere you look you see the slogan ‘liberté, égalité, fraternité.’ much preferable to betty two regina and chuck three rex.
i was just walking down my street. the sun was blaring from the sky. and there was vinegar in the air from the chippy. the sensation gave me a sort of jolt through time and space, as scents are wont to do, and took me to the british seaside holidays of my childhood.
sticky hands, blackpool rock, the hot sun and the cold breeze. chips and salt, the squeak of plastic cutlery on polystyrene.
do you know what is a great cure for the blues? cycling a pass through the foothills and seeing the range reveal itself as you reach the crest. after going so hard you tasted blood on the ascent.
and of course, hazy jane is a reference to nick drake. who was introduced to me sort of in tandem by ms. j, my high school english teacher, and graham coxon, who had an album out, the sky is too high at the same time. ‘i wish i could bring nick drake back to life’. it’s been a long time since i heard that. adds to playlist
i was a bit down in the dumps. so much was going on in my life. i was depressed, lonely, anxious. i was in autistic burnout, but didn’t know i was autistic.
i spoke to a friend on the telephone and felt a lot better. i didn’t solve any of my problems. but they didn’t seem quite as big.
lo siento is spanish for sorry. but it literally means something more like, ‘i feel it.’ of course, most of the time i say it after accidentally stepping on someone’s toe in the supermarket, or after smashing something in the supermarket. but in a poetic context, it feels to me like a generous state of mind. a beautiful feat of empathy. i hear your concern, and i feel your agony like my own.
second place – again. another job i didn’t get. and do you know what. it was probably for the best. i was gutted at the time but i’m basically glad about it now. i’m starting a new job in the next week actually. an opportunity i would otherwise have missed.
the love epochal. n.n. benn 