By the time it gets dark

I'm listening to

Dead Can Dance. Yes, I'm a closet goff. I have always had a penchant for dark, rich music. It's not so much the sombre lyrics (and certainly not the black clothes: I'm more of a blue and green person, to be honest, although yes, I wore a fair bit of black as a yoof) as the deep, plangent voices. I adore Brendan Perry's stylings: the man is the Sinatra of postpunk. As DCD became more world musicky, I went off them. I like world music but when the world does it, not when it's a thread in a pretentious band's tapestry.

I've also been listening to Yo La Tengo. It's fine, off-kilter pop, so good that you scratch your head that kids would rather listen to Atomic Kitten. Their cover of Before it gets dark brings tears to my eyes. I like them because they remind me of me. I'd sound like that if I were a record.

At least I hope so. In darker moments, I fear I sound like Coldplay.

I'm reading

Pride and Prejudice. I have been avoiding fiction strenuously and I thought it was time to return to it. I read P&P as a young man. I suppose I'm curious whether I'm as starry-eyed about it with more experience. I'm not looking to dislike it, just to try to see where I am as a reader. And more importantly, I think I'll enjoy it. I haven't enjoyed reading in a long time.

Poker forums. I'm trying to learn poker so I read a lot of threads in the 2+2 forums. Why not? I'm trying to put my brains and card sense to good use. I'll tire of it long before I actually get any good of course but beginning on the learning curve always makes me happy.

My own self talking. Far too much. I have logorrhoea right now. But all to no good purpose. I'm heavily trolling a forum just for the joy of having my fingers on the keys. And the usual peacock emotions, of course. I know that it's wrong to point fingers and screech with laughter at the foolish, but when you are confronted with so many buffoons, it's hard to bite your tongue. I know, I could return some emails. I could write some uplifting prose. But all that involves thinking. Flaming fuckwits who don't know better than to ask for it involves nothing beyond access to a keyboard.

Management and financial copy. I am going fucking mental with it. I have far too much work. I know, it's not something to complain about, but here I am at 8.30 and I'm still working (well, I've been out and back in but still, here I am). Why bother? Well, I need to keep clients happy. The downside of freelancing is that it's hard to judge how much value you have to clients. I did a book for a woman before Xmas. I'd come to her highly recommended and I did a good job. I clashed a bit with the author but it was all him (no, really, I don't have flamefests with my authors) and she was cool with that. But she was highly critical. I put it down to a need to look as though she actually had a purpose and I said, yeah, yeah, no, no, like you do. But I've bust out with her. No further project. She's Asian and my experience is that they like more deference than Westerners. She was much ruder to the author than I would have considered reasonable, particularly as he was paying for the imprint (no, I'm not working for a vanity publisher; this is a type of trade publishing). I am quite pissed off because she's in Singapore and the work is portable. I'm looking to shift all my income to portable sources, which isn't easy. My main client, my bread and butter, is not portable, but I can't piss them off because without them, my family starves. My number two client is portable but doesn't supply regular work, except recently they have been pushing a lot my way, and I can't turn them down because I accepted a particular role, which I want them to formalise and make permanent. They are giving me 12 hours work a week. I need 30 for an income. I have a new client that I haven't worked for. It's portable but the work is not likely to be all that regular. I get something from them next month. Rapid turnaround; the whole project done in a month, maybe 40 hours of work all up. I want to keep them sweet. A book every two months from them would be sweet.

Why do I want portable work? I want to go home. It's as simple as that. And the way things are, I need not to be unemployed if and when I do. It's not easy to get work as an editor. The work's far too easy and far too many people want to do it.

I'm thinking about

A holiday. I am thinking about going to Malaysia for a few weeks. It was going to be China but I just couldn't get the money together. I bought furniture instead. I have a real yearning to travel around for a bit. Just a couple of weeks, three. I thought about going to England but really, it's too much money. I have the money to go to Malaysia and not hurt my family budget, but England is way more. Emotionally, I'd love to go to England. If money were no object... but money always is an object. Money and responsibility. I fear sometimes that I will never again eat a pasty from Philp's or walk on the seafront at Penzance; sometimes, when a show on TV features the streets of London, I have to look away. It deeply saddens me in a way I can't describe or explain because I can't understand it.

Footprints in the sand. Sometimes I hear an echo of laughter, fun, excitement. I wonder whether I just dreamed it or it was really there. Time passes, wind and tide shift the sand, and you are left wondering whether there really are footprints to be seen or are you just wanting there to be?

Hard girls. I don't understand them. I don't understand why they don't understand that the world is there for them if they are just themselves. The layer of bullshit just makes it harder for them. I would never turn away a soft girl. I wonder whether that's actually a good thing.

The point. I know, there isn't one. But what you know doesn't always fill you with glee, does it? I know it's pointless to care about how shit the world is, but that doesn't make it any less shit. It's just a matter of saying, I'll care, but I won't smash myself to pieces over it.

No, no, yes I will. I can't pretend to be cooler than I am. I'm at war within myself. There's a cool guy who has it *snap* sorted and there's this complete fucking idiot who is running around knowing nothing and screaming "I know nothing and I'm afraid". You try sorting them out. I've had no joy.

Cask wine. It's the best thing for a man who needs to get drunk. Five litres for 15 dollars. It's almost drinkable and easier on the throat than meths.

"Light up your face, baby, let's get going
Want to see a change in those weary eyes
We'll have some fun, take a boat out rowing
Why on earth should life be so serious?

And maybe, by the evening we'll be laughing
Just wait and see
All the changes there'll be
By the time it gets dark."

I'm still hoping.

posted by Dr Zen @ 8:14 pm