Slippers

What an awfully long time its been. almost 3 years. Now in the summer of 2009 there is the possibility that I shall resume scribbling a few things.

All the best, Sli
sli 9:44 PM

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For reasons that aren't interesting, this blog has been updated for what seems like years. This shouldn't be the case forever and there is a reasonabe chance that there'll be more activity around here soon.

sli 3:36 PM

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"Why does this world have to be like this?" came the plaintive cry of some poor chap that I met the other day.

Well son, let's look at the way things have turned out so far. So far, the human race has gradually, yet continually, evolved into something that - in nature's relative terms - just happens to be rather special. We are what we are today as a result of millions of years of this so-called evolving. Thus, instead try asking "Why has this world always been like this?"
sli 9:15 PM

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Regurgiated testing.
sli 7:00 PM

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The web counter no longer counts hits on this page. In fact, I'm not sure if it ever counted hits on this site - I haven't been able to check it for months, what with not knowing the password and all.
sli 3:38 PM

It's been a very long time since the last time that this blog was updated. Indeed, should any of the sites that I reguarly visit have been 'down' for so long, I would have been screaming blue murder and firing guns and stuff. Fortunately, the same does not apply to this here blog, as - and in line with the fickle ways that popular blogs come and go - I consider it to be a positive asset that there have been no entries for the last couple - nay half a dozen - months. The reason for such slack is that the regular (and, you'll be glad to hear only) author of said entries has been persuing an entirely different form of written media. It is in my interests as well as yours that I do not go into details around here; but thinking cleverly, there are only a few forms of written media that one has left, once one discounts anything remotely connected to Blogs. I shall allow the reader to guess as to the point of this all.

In other news, there is very little to be said. Britain goes on the same that is has always been doing. I try not to get myself mixed up in politics - not because I can't be bothered, not because I think that I'm superior to all that ballsing, but for the simple reason that some people know what their doing in said academic field, and most (and I humbly put myself in this bracket) don't. So it was with considerable surprise that a few months ago, I found the local students to be taking part in a National march against the wrongs of - wait for it - the war in Iraq. I had cause to wander why they weren't smacking people up and complaining about top-up fees; the publicised reason as to why Students these days aren't happy with their lot. At this stage I must point out that there appears to be a minutely small percentage that some students these days are quite content with the way life treats them. Well, I'm sure they are (in medical terms) responding well to their treatment, and will be back on the streets in no time.

From all this one might surmise that the beloved (I use such words sparingly, and feel guilty whenever I do) author does not like students - nothing of course could be further from the truth. I love 'em.

More to follow.

sli 12:40 AM

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The other week I found the following etched onto one of the stones of a graveyard. What, you may well ask, was I doing in a grave yard. I'll come to that. These were the words.

"Why do I return to this, my mortal world?
Is it no a lonely kiss, of desperation?"

There were no names and no dates or anything else the could possible explain it.
sli 3:45 PM

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Creative thinking is an entity of self endurance - that is to say a marathon struggle against the incorrect and badly achieving calculator mind workings of everyone else in this world. Extremities apart, if your situation is that of exterior belief and yet centralising on even a pin point of degregation, it is impossblie to reach a fathom of the potential that you yourself have. For most people, this is almost always the case, except for that happy once-or-twice a lifetime experience where strangers in their multitudes look up to you with a certain respect.

Consider the following case study. A man lives his life working in an unexceptional job, happy with his social status and whilst probably not content with his lot, at least has no reason to slash his wrists every other day. One day as he walks to work, he see's the victim of a hit-and-run accident lying on the road - barely alive. Producing his mobile phone he dials for the emergency services, and runs over to the victim; making sure that they are in a position to stay alive for as long as the ambulence takes to turn up.

That man has saved a life. In addition to feeling jolly pleased with himself, he can expect to have a lot of people buying him drinks, possibly his name in the local paper, and be able to enjoy with genuine pride the after glow of the incident. A week of that and he'll be back to normal, but until the day he dies, he'll not forget that moment, that one instance of his life in which he was able to do something noteworthy.

Such incidents may not happen often, or of such a large scale. Indeed, maybe even directing a lost tourist to their desired destination would give the happiness, that someone, somewhere out there is grateful for your existance.

What, may you ask has this got to do with creative thinking? Allow me to explain. Creative thinkers are the world's most helpful people. Without them, the dexerity and survival of the human race would have long been in jepoardy. These days, with the internet discussions, shoddy journalism and heinously large amounts of bad literature anyone can be labelled as a creative thinker. That means anyone can be on a continuous high of vainly believeing that they are respected by thousands of unknowns. Instead of your few times in life of being immensly proud of yourself, there's lots and lots of individuals out there who don't know what it is to not be smug - individuals I might add, who are less than qualified to the task of a lifetime in cloudland.

Why, you will say, is that a bad thing? Is it not everyone's right to maintain an ideal of themselves? Indeed it is. But it is the creative thinkers who should be stealing the show. Think about it.
sli 8:25 PM

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The mind is an involving and exciting prospect to dreamers and theoretical thinkers. But why do they make such a mess out of it? Is not the power of thought enough? Seriously, does anyone know the answer?

In other news the Edi Fringe Festival has started! Whoooppee!
sli 9:11 AM

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Station master didn't ask the Doctor.
Doctor didn't talk to the Milkman.
Milkman didn't regret.

What does that mean? - you may well ask.

Analytically it isn't much of a question; What, one may ask, does anything mean in this kind of age.

An age of capitalism and service based economy.

An age where contacts and money mean everything, where personallity and wit count for bugger all.

An age where anything should be possible.. but where nothing is.

And that's why Jo Jo looked out on the misty morning's rose.
sli 3:26 PM

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- Take me home.
sli 7:03 PM

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I heared a brilliant poem on the radio yesterday. Seriously.

I'd just returned early from .. well what was quite frankly a miserable night out and was sleepily listening to radio five. That's unusual, but presumably someone had tuned it from radio1 during the day. It had Edwina Curry (sp?) on. I often forget she has a show on Sat/Sun late evenings. You can say a lot of things about Edwina - slag, trollope, slut. And I'd have to disagree. Basically, she's is the enbodyment of all that lovely old British Ladies stand for. And if you've never met a single lovely old British Lady, then you haven't lived.

They had a poetry thingy on. It was pretty shit. I was thinking 'I'll just listen to the halfhour news, then I'll phone someone' - in the way that we early-slinkers-home-on-a-saturday-night do. Suddenly, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rising; I found myself listening to the poem being read out on the radio. Blimey.. the words this guy was using were incredible, the staccato rythem was spine chilling. I was suddenly in a trance of poetical satisfaction. I don't remember what the poem was about.

Finally, at the end of it - even Edwina was moved. She asked "And how old are you -name that i can't remember-?" The reply was "16".

Fuck.
sli 6:06 PM

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I listen to Don McLean virtually everyday. No it never ever gets dull. And yes, you can probably guess the song.

For those of you who don't know, American Pie is a mourning dirge kind of song reminiscing for the music of the past. It has many interpretations, mainly centralised on the that Buddy Holly plane crash. As a direct opposite, there is no music that is more likely to piss me off than one of Buddy Holly’s old numbers.

“Everyday’s a getting’ closer, Faster than a roller coaster…”

That kind of lyric, set to that kind of music, has a real grating potential on my skull. Why then, do you ask; am I sitting in on a Friday night extolling the virtues of a Don McLean song that was written in memory of such a genre? Allow me to explain.

Donnie never really confirmed what the imagery - the musical pictures, or anything else that he included in the song - were meant to be; despite one hell of a lot of people asking him. In truth, I don’t think he knows himself; oh sure, he put together a whole set of events that lead to the downfall of rock n’ roll. The Beatles surging to the top. The plane crash. But to translate the song line by line – it would be impossible.

The song isn't written in a way that every line carries a significant something . The bulk of the song is utter melancholy. And that’s why I listen to it.

To remember the things I could lose in life.
sli 8:45 PM

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- Maybe there isn't much point in describing my feelings concerning the eventual and clinical finish that will awaiting us at the end of life. Let's face it, there's enough discussion, argument, theory and miserable fear/yearning to be related to it already.
sli 9:51 AM

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- Having been busy all of yesterday, and only having a small amount of time spare today, I'll save my Harry Potter rant for another day. I'd just hoped you'd be interested to know that my spare Harry Potter books are selling on like hot cakes. I've only four left (all childrens covers). I wouldn't want to attempt to make a living from selling on books, but I have high hopes that I might be able to make even.

In other news, we have a new cat.
sli 5:31 PM

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- What with Harry Potter sweeping the world and the sewers, it became a requirement to discuss it here. I must admit to being an avid fan of Wizard School Boy. I watched the movie first, then got drawn into the books; one by one, until there was nothing left to read. In terror at having lost the magic of the first read (and believe me there is magic in the first read) I dabbled in the fanfiction side of things.

Fanfiction is a dirty, dirty art - especially when involving a continual story like Harry Potter. People make a big thing about the continuing thing, presumably hoping that one day that the ever growing up Harry will get dirty with some trampy sloe eyed whitch from the village. Fair enough, it worked for the first four books, but the fifth? Well, by the time fanfictionists have toed through the waters of all the possible things that could happen next, it seemed impossible that JKR could come up with anything original. Which is a bit of a piss take isn't it?

So there I was at the bookshop, towering over a bunch of eager school kids, on the Saturday morning. I'd spent all Friday afternoon at the pub, and had come home too plastered to be capable of driving to the local supermarket where they were holding one of the midnight openings. I was woken at four in the morning by the telephone from a friend who said that the superstore was sold out, but he'd sourced a bookshop that was opening at six with five hundred copies going. I told him great and I'd be over there in an hour. He said he was going to crash - having been up all night - and could I possible buy a copy for him, and six other copies for various friends and relations who he'd promised to deliver books to.

Anyway, the shop assistant comes to the door wearing a bright smile, and starts to go through the routine of unlocking it. The kids around me start getting wildly excited, chanting "HARRY POTTER! HARRY POTTER!" over and over again, pushing and shoving their way to the front. Being the only adult, and fortunately not knowing any of the kids personally, I felt duty bound to join in both activites. "HARRY POTTER! HARRY POTTER!", and shoving the little shits out of the way so I could get to the books first. I could see through the glass door a big table in the middle of the shop, loaded with the Harry Potter books. I haven't been this excited since England last won at the rugby.

The door was pulled open, and we crowded in. I dashed for the books - the manic desperation to get to them before any of the snotty kids was overwhelming. But there was a problem! There were two sorts - Adult covers and Children covers. Which to buy? Oh - which to buy? (Remember I had to buy eight of them and my mate hadn't stated a preference for covers.) My mind was made up quickly. The kids were pulling them off the table in a frenzy and if I wasn't careful they'd all be gone. Taking a stack of the children cover ones, and a stack of the adult cover ones in my arms. I hotfooted it to the single line for the till.

It wasn't moving fast enough for my liking, so I shouted, "Chop Chop! Some of us are waiting!" But still I wasn't going forwards. Now, with a stack of books under each of my arms, in addition to the early nature of the time of day, I was beginnning to get slightly tired. I pushed my way to the front, and demanded to know what was up. The poor shop owner was distraught. There was an eight year old, who'd clearly been saving himself for the big day for so long, and had only been given a five pound note by his parents to buy the book with. It clearly wasn't going to be enough enough, and the shopkeeper didn't know how she could break it to the poor kid without upsetting him. Obviously action was called for! Setting my books down on the counter, I picked up the kid's one and put it on top of one of the piles. "I'll buy it for him." I said and winked at the kid, "Christmas comes early eh?"

The shopkeeper smiled happily. It was obviously a perfect solution to the problem.

The kid, who'd been on the verge of tears, looked really happy - making me proud to think that I had done a good and charitable act.

I was happiest. I'd cunningly skipped the rest of the line waiting for the till.

I bought 23 copies of the book this morning. They cost me twelve pounds each, so that's quite a bit of money. I confess I didn't look at the reciept, and put it on the plastic. I'm hoping I'll be able to sell most of them on. My mate came round this afternoon and chose the ones he wanted, and paid me - without commision I might add. And of course there's the one I bought for the kid as well. So that leaves only 14 or 15. I hope someone will buy them....

After all that, I've still got to tell you whether or not I enjoyed the book. I will say more tomorrow, because right now I have more important things to do - eating as a primary concern.
sli 9:17 PM

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- Maybe being a slipper salesman leads to the having of interesting insites. Maybe it doesn't. Here's what may or may not be an interesting insite.

Fire is hot.

There it is.
sli 6:13 PM

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- I had meant to write something here yesterday, but I had problems. A lot of people either use their blog as a massive set of links - the "look at me! I can tell people where the grooviest things on the interenet are!" phenonemon - or they do a load of copy/pasting. I couldn't do that, because it would be dishonest. Hence, it takes a lot of effort to write anything meaningful here.

There are some utter dickheads around the internet, as if that isn't new. I run into them all the time. Some primly little twat will raise there hand and say "But YOU must be a dickhead if you call everyone dickheads!" Get this nobsack, I only call people who should be called dickheads, dickheads. I have respect for a lot more people, and I don't even know most of the world's population. So take that 'everyone' outside and shaft yourself with it.

sli 5:38 PM

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- Let's be frank with ourselves. The internet is about people.

People.

People meeting, people talking, people e-mailing, people flocking to the latest crazes, people creating their own crazes, people making love and people being sad gits in chat rooms.

People will cluster around the most obscure and obscene parts of the internet; where they will either stay for the rest of their lives, or move on to the latest fad - the latest hip place to be seen online. I believe the expression is 'Surfing the Shit' - riding the tide of internet crap continually looking for cheap and heartless laughs.

And which, you may ask yourself, is more human? Are the people who move on constantly elite in comparison to those who gamble around message boards and IRC channels for hours on end?

The answer is in your soul.
sli 9:01 PM

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- Friviously wasting time. But time isn't really real. An old friend of mine came up with an explanation as to why time travel isn't going to ever work. Time is, like slippers, a man made (or man assumed) continuality. It can't be mixed up.

I disagree. Lots of things are assumed by humans, and only a few of them can't be mixed up. Consider time as being the fourth dimension, something that science boffs will go apeshit about. Now, we've managed to find ways of moving in the first three, otherwise we would be unable to walk, talk, or buy slippers. It's only a matter of time (excuse the pun) before something sorts itself out for messing about with the next one.

So what will happen when we do? Will you be able to kill your own grandmother. In my view there are three possibilities as to why we haven't yet heared from people in the future about how great it is and how much fun they're having.

1: There are alternative realities. Parallel universes. Every single decision you make leads you into a different place, where presumably, there is a chance of everyone elses decesions reflecting, affecting and causing things to happen in you're own self appointed bubble of shame. This theory has had a lot of time and money wasted upon it. It isn't the answer, simply because it would be the stupidest thing ever.

2: Upon making timetravel, the guy who patents it does two things. Firstly he goes forwards to the end of time and patents it until he's got exclusive right to it for the rest of human living (is that even possible? it would be rather neat) then he would lay down a law stating that no one is allowed to go back in time before, because by doing so, the entire science of it would vanish due to quantum principles.

3: Something else, much more exciting and much more interesting will happen. This is the best of the three, because if truth be told, we don't have a clue what is going to take place when the light barrier and thus the time barrier is broken.

Whatever, slippers will be needed until the end.
sli 11:41 AM

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- Well.. blog. Long time not seen, 'Ave Ave Aladr' and all that contempory Latin rubbish. Oh wait a minute.

Back again, having just failed in my attempt at smacking the living daylights out of a bluebottle. Bluebottles are extraoirdinary little things. Full of vigarous spirit and Buzzing energy. Half a tick, I can see him now, and he's not doing anything.

Got the little runt. He was hemmed in on both sides by the window frame, and I slapped a book into his face before he could blink. Laugh? I nearly cried. It left a hell of a mess on the window, but nothing a damp cloth won't sort out. Incidentally, the tome with which I ended his unhappy existance contains a frankly marvellous collection of short stories, written by a Mr K O Raymond. I haven't a clue who he is, or indeed, where the book came from. Maybe his middle name is Oliver.

In the time between the last entry and this one, I've enjoyed the luxury of shifting a reasonable amount of slipper stock, along with following some interesting persuits that I certainly wouldn't bring myself to mention here. No matter anyway, as they are of little importance in relation to what I have to say next.

You see, it's the proverbial part of doing something that means you don't. Every piece of matter has an anti-matter, and thus every doing has an anti-doing. This is complicated, as instead of having just one factor to oppposite out, there are suddenly hundreds. Imagine a simple task - Cleaning the Car for example. Now, aside from the water going off the car into the hose (the inverse to it coming out) you also wouldn't have a hose but instead whatver the 'anti' to a hose might be. This is why the universe as it is is so bloody confusing.

Until next time.
sli 2:29 PM

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- Honesty is a curse. Looking down the list of weblogs;

I see people who are honest to their readers. They say how they are coping with life's endless challenges and problems. These blogs are about as enjoyable to read as a someone else's diary. Oh yes they're interesting alright, but they make you feel uncomfortable. No one wants to be lumbered with someone else's troubles or problems.

I see people who aren't honest to their readers. They try to be witty, or maybe they claim to have numerous run-ins with the law alongside their 'wacky' mates on the saturday night. Once a week, and you may have short-term entertaining reading, although presumably not in the same way as the good author intended.

I see people who come up with ideas along the lines of the one above (the Honesty is a curse). They are marked with the pleading of a chained soul. An individual who feels that they can set the world to rights, and that by publishing their thoughts in a Weblog is as good a way as any in starting it. The fact is, if they have to stoop so low to the internet, they wouldn't stand a chance when the big bad world caught up with them.

I see people who can write well. In one sense these are my favourites. The people who use their jolly blog space to entertain people in refreshing and non-commital way. In another sense they upset me. Why do they waste their time writing blogs?

Honesty doesn't pay.
sli 6:51 PM

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- Responsibility (as mentioned previously) is the driving force behind any slipper salesman due to it's eventual leading to customer gratification. Particuarly in recent times, when slipper sales have fallen on a low patch, the slipper man's job is a tough one.

This turbulance in gross national slipper retail has been mainly cuased by the overpricing and overstocking, a common enough set of business errors, but this time added by the very fact that slippers are themselves a product halfway between perishable and not perishable goods. As in; slippers may fall apart in transit or in bad hands (perishable) or they may be kept lovingly together by a good owner (non-perishable).

Obviously the former case is the preference of slipper salesmen, as the more slippers a man (or woman) will get through relates directly to how much they're likely to be able to add to the retirement fund.

Slipper sales are a slippery business.
sli 3:03 PM

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- You don't really understand what's happening to you. Carpets are made for times like this - a time where you lie back against the softeness of the floor and dream of happy times. I think the feeling of joy that condescends from doing this can be surmised with the following words.

"Inching slowly through clawed hands of ice
Clinging to the name of the three blind mice"

A poem written and often performed by the Hon J J R Watson, established poet of these Isles. I think the vivid imagery used is so representating of our modern squeaky clean lives in this day and age. The mixture of the chill of fear, and the established children's referencing leads the reader (or listener) to a remenise of the mood that encapsulates happiness.

Watson's full works are available in hardback - I highly recommend checking Amazon for a copy.
sli 10:00 AM

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- With responsibility comes expectation, as Yoda might say. That's emphasizing the 'might' with all there is and possibly stretching the noble word a shade or four too far.

With expectation comes risk assesment. Think along the lines of "I am expected to jump thirty feet across this raging river, but will I die?"

With risk assesment comes business marketing. An illogical unatural and probably unhealthy step, but I'm stepping it because I can.

And finally, with business marketing comes the customer gratification. Bloody brilliant eh?
sli 5:21 PM

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