The Three Meds

August 23, 2017 2:00am Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 11 Comments

Writer logic

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I’ve come to the conclusion over the last few weeks that I’m insane. Not that this has come as a surprise to me; people have been calling me that for years. In a nice way, ya know. They gravitate towards my insanity rather than find themselves repelled by it. OK, maybe the occasional few have been afraid but I wouldn’t want to hang around with those vacuous, snowflake fun sponges anyway. Not that I’m judgmental or anything.

So, I came up with an instant remedy as you can see in my title – The Three Meds:

Medication: So, I’ve had all manner of that going on of late: Margaritas, antibiotics, vitamin C, vitamin D (because there is a woeful lack of sunshine going on around here) vitamin B and the pièce de résistance- Manuka honey. Sold to me by a cunning witch doctor at the health shop for the price of a two-bed townhouse in Wales. Allegedly this stuff can cure everything. Everything bar whatever I have, apparently. Snake oil….I’ve been duped.

Meditation: You’ve read my blog – how many times have I tried this? Endless. I either fall to sleep, hyperventilate, become more monkey brained or get pissed off with the person trying to narrate me to Zen. I’ve tried philosophy, medieval marginalia, cryptic, soulful books and I even ate a naked burrito in case it was a gluten thing that was making me edgy. You can’t say I haven’t tried.

So, there was only one more M left to complete the trio.

Mediterranean: Blue skies, warm seas, white sands, sailing boats and mountains.

 

How's work?

 

You might not know this but I’m quite an impulsive person and don’t beat around the bush. I have a professional waxing salon that does that for me.

I proceeded directly to the travel agent. Not been to one of those in years.

Her name was Juliet – Hows that for a sign?

“My name’s Juliette too,” I said. “Except I spell it properly.” See how I endear myself to people?

“This is the English way,” she said.

“Mine’s the romantic French way. But I don’t want to go to France. I went there far too much a few years ago.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Dunno. That’s why I’ve come to you. If I go on the internet I will get sidetracked by adventure and end up in Tibet. Something simple: Mediterranean, not many people, hardly any in fact. Quiet but not so quiet they don’t know how to knock up a decent cocktail or suchlike. I want to be in close proximity to the ocean so I can fall onto the beach in a few paces from my bed. That kind of deal.”

“When?”

“In a minute. Time is of the essence.”

“Why so quickly?”

“Someone asked me if I was sad because I didn’t get to see the eclipse that darkened America recently. Err…no. Correction. I have SAD because there’s a permanent effing eclipse in summertime Britain. Sun? I need to see it and burn. Ya get me, travel bird?”

“I do. All booked. Off you go.“

Going Under The Radar

 

 

I’m taking this seriously. I’m going completely off grid – ish. No screens, no social media, no blogging, no tormenting myself with news, nuffin’. I’m not taking anything with me (that can thwart my resolve) except a camera and books. I plan to return with superhero prowess.

 

Beach life

I won’t be here to be whimsical next week so play nicely amongst yourselves and don’t do anything I wouldn’t. I’ll think about you all as I lay naked on a yacht, somewhere in the Med with a Pina Colada,  obviously.

Laters, taters.

 

I’m Getting Medieval On Your Ass

August 16, 2017 1:45pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 26 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

I very nearly let you talk amongst yourselves because I’m way too busy to be whimsical, but, as luck would have it, I listened to a piece on the radio about medieval marginalia.  My interest piqued and just for you lot I went and did a bit of research.

Living in a medieval town, I wanted to know what people got up to as a form of art philosophy back in the Middle Ages.  Blimey, that mead must have been good stuff.

Dirty Doodles

Medieval marginalia is basically doodles (very explicit and expressive I might add) in the margins of a written page.  These were usually put there as an aid to understand the text for those who probably couldn’t read or didn’t get the gist.  Dear Lord knows what some of these rapscallions were writing about because just going from the pictures, it looks pretty debaucherous to me.  I must confess to slight envy as I thought I held the torch on dark, twisted comedic tradgedy, but apparently not.

Don’t Get Arsey

Is not something that would have been said way back then because they clearly had a penchant for anal hoopla.  Toilet humour seems to have followed mankind from dot to now and is something we have never grown tired of.  I don’t really know what that says about the human race but I’m not sure it’s a good thing.  I’d be interested in the psychology on that one if anyone has an inkling.

I think it’s time that marginalia made a comeback in paperback novels although I’m not sure it would lend itself well to Kindle.  I’ve chosen a few choice images below as I thought it would be fun to play “Give the picture a caption.”

There’s a prize for the winner.

Picture 1: Why the backstop became popular.

Medieval Marginalia

“If I were you I’d keep those legs crossed, swinger.”

 

Picture 2: Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.

“I’m sure it didn’t look like that in the Kamasutra, darling…”

 

Picture 3: The Ball and Chain.

“Can you hear me now, numb nutts?!”

 

Picture 4: Ascot Special. (Dragons Day)

“Dickhead.”

 

Picture 5: You Don’t Bring Me Flowers Anymore…

You told me it was 12 inches!”

 

Picture 6: He -morrhoids

“Smuggle your own effing cheese next time!”

 

Picture 7: Not My Circus, Not My Monkeys.

“Join the band, they said.  Be part of the team, they said…”

 

Picture 8: Penelope Piper Picks a Pecker.

“Errrr…. Adam…”

 

Picture 9: Enema of Men.

“Look, stop being so miserable.  This is all the rage.  You’ll lose a stone in a day!”

 

Picture 10: Not His First Rodeo.

With the absence of the internal combustion engine, increasing horse power took on new skills.

 

Picture 11: Medieval Intruder Deterrent.

Smells like mean spirit.

 

Picture 12: Don’t Tell William.

“Brings a whole new meaning to cockswain,” said the archer…

 

As you can see, I’ve swiftly moved on from the wisdom of the Stoics.  But I will leave you with this:

The Saga of Grettir the Strong:  “A tale is but half told when only one person tells it.”

Let’s hear your version! 🙂

 

 

Temporary Ego Suspension

August 9, 2017 1:41pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 36 Comments

Socrates

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PFFFFFFT – I’ll give you bloody whimsy. Yeah, this is going to be one of those posts.

What a crap week. I’m still infected. Those antibiotics were total rubbish – most likely filled with Talcum Powder. Add to that I’ve not slept properly for weeks and have turned into an insomniac, you can imagine what a bundle of joy I am.

Drone, Drone, Drone

And then I broke somebody’s drone which is another story I’ll regale you with later. That ended up with me falling out with a ton of people because the last thing I need right now is unnecessary drama over a bloody toy. Recognising my intolerance to pretty much everything around me I decided that it was time for some much needed reflection and analysis. As a world renowned Art Philosopher, practising mentalist and long time study of Homo sapiens, it’s important to keep oneself in tune with nature and your place in it; particularly since I just told someone to shove their drone up their arse.

Virtue and Vice

How has someone not made a cocktail called Virtue and Vice? I’d drink that in a heartbeat. However, since I’ve been on medication I have remained alcohol free for a week and locked myself inside the house like a hermit. I decided to brush up on some philosophy, particularly ethics, and see if I couldn’t philosophise myself into harmony. Every night I have tucked myself up in bed and read about normative and applied ethics.

Don’t anyone tell me I don’t know how to rack it up on a Saturday night.

 

Truth philosophy

 

Truth is The Way

Apparently. I find this a debatable subject, as is the philosophical way, but on the whole being honest about ourselves is a crucial first step. A (THE) foundation on which to grow.

So, instead of writing some dark and ambiguous piece which is my normal MO when out of sorts, I’ve decided to spread my truth on the table like a vulnerable banquet. Writing is my emotional outlet and the way I get rid of pain.

A couple of years ago my father committed suicide. (Wince) Wow! Inject the post with some cheery banter, Jules! Way to go, girl! Heh. Hey, this is about truth! There’s no real easy way to say that in a good way, if you know what I mean. But it is what it is. Obviously, at the time it absolutely floored me as it was most unexpected. Rather than dealing with this head on, I skirted round it by busying myself with his affairs, taking on loads of other stuff and going on endless adventures (not necessarily a bad thing) in order to live life to the full. What I have noticed is that just because you ignore something, it doesn’t go away. The effects of that have given me an irrationality about death. So much so that if anyone is ill or depressed I think they’re going to die and try and find every which way to stop that happening. But they still do. And they have since. I’m not a fan. Fairly recently somebody died with whom I had a connection and for some reason known only to ‘The gods’ it has completely screwed me up. So much so it is debilitating and I am having to force myself to do things in-between my severe melancholy and inertia.

 

Philosophy on death

 

Schadenfreude and Death of a Salesman

I’m in such emotional turmoil that I even considered therapy. Seriously, I’ve had my finger over the number many times. But this is not my bag for numerous reasons:

*I can’t sit in front of someone,one-to-one, and take it seriously when they ask me how I feel. I am the class clown – the ultimate salesperson – the bad-ass friend you call when you need a fun overdose. In this situation, I would feel highly uncomfortable and resort to taking the piss.
*I can’t go to group therapy like ‘suicide club’ <~~ great title for a book ~~ because I will turn it into a comedy sketch and well, that’s just not on.
*I’m a strong person, ipso facto I’m revealing all this with a strong cup of tea and determination.

I even tried some online tests on sociopathy & narcissism (fully nailed those) and being Bipolar. I got a hundred percent in that one which for a moment there I was quite proud of because I’ve never got a hundred percent in anything except for that and A plus as a blood group. However, they’re wrong. I’m actually Tri-polar.

 

 

Back to Phil ’n’ Sophia

So, now you can see why I took it upon myself to turn to that old faithful, philosophy.

First off, you have to recognise that you’re actually nothing. That’s right.

“No human thing is of serious importance”

You can’t be vain: Hmmm. As a shameless narcissist, this is going to cause problems. Admittedly, I’m more of a vulnerable narcissist rather than a grandiose narcissist which is somewhat more acceptable but not nearly as cool. Personally, I find everyone has varying degrees of narcissism so I don’t really know where the cut off point is here. For starters, writing a blog is narcissistic otherwise we’d just write a personal journal. Looking at the world today, I find that being a Snapchat or Instagram whore, having numerous body implants and becoming a reality TV star seems to be the way forward so I can only see vanity becoming more predominant.

You can’t show off: Great. So, in completing the major ordeal of writing a book, I have to keep this to myself and feel satisfied in achieving my goal without bragging. Cos that’s gonna get sales, Mr Ethical Philosopher. I can’t promote it on FB or any other means of social media either because that would be out and out boasting. And it’s alright you saying that Mr Greek Philosopher, he who is forever immortalised on Wikipedia and in every library on the planet. Hypokrisis!

I must see everyone as an extension of myself: I can’t even hold my shit together in Sainsbury’s car park when some numpty can’t park. I find myself surrounded by all manner of fuckwittery and now you’re telling me I must be at one  with all other souls: howling slags, stupid drivers, silicone pumped up prima donnas and droners. I. AM. STRUGGLING. Not gonna lie.

Do not indulge in physical gratification: The one avenue of pleasure and you close it down like a Baptist on Bar Lane. I am now in stalemate position and cannot see a way out of my conundrum. How’s that for moral luck?

What a bunch of miserable bastards philosophers are.

 

 

Philosophy

 

Blogatherapy

They say that hard times reveal true friends. I’m going to put that to the test. Call it psychological trickery if you want to.  I see a niche in the market for blogatherapy. Where best to find your answers than the place you frequent the most?  The place you feel most comfortable?
Ergo, I am now appointing YOU, my readers of this long time writerly paradise, my counsellors. No pressure, but I’d like it if you could help me back to whimsy with your wisdomous advice: Maybe you could recommend a book, a philosophical one liner (though TBH I’ve about had my fill of those) a challenge, a light in the darkness. Something.
I’ve never asked to be saved before but right now I am. Is that narcissistic? Who frikkin’ cares…

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