Where There Were No Doors

Follow your bliss and doors will open where there were no doors before - Joseph Campbell

Saturday, January 01, 2005

Why a blog?

I decided to start writing a blog as part of a new years resolution.

But to understand where the idea first came from; to truly answer the question: "Why a blog?" you have to let me to take you a short distance back in time. We have to travel back about a month in fact. That's when this particular journey began. I was sitting at home and staring in terrified disbelief at the television. "So what's special about that?" you may well ask without a hint of a joke, and in truth I do indeed find myself - more and more often these days - doing just that: staring in terrified disbelief at the television. Perhaps it's a sign of advancing age, or perhaps just a sign of the times. On this particular occasion, unusually, the television was switched on. The dial was tuned to the BBC. And Question Time was being screened.

In fact, "terrified disbelief" is rather understating things. I watched aghast as a dangerous psychopath called Robert Kilroy-Silk; somehow let loose from the Flemish dungeon into which we'd banished him; was treated like a sane part of the political process by an entire studioful of people. It would have been enough to make me throw up (had I not wanted to hide from my flat-mate the fact that I was - just then - working as a drugs mule, and carrying 30 condoms full of crack cocaine in my stomach).

It would do well to remember folks, that this self-styled "Mr." Kilroy-Silk is renowned for his fondness for smearing himself with his own faeces and setting off around unsuspecting towns and villages to scandalise children and the elderly. Yet this froth-at-the-mouthpiece for shallow unexamined opinion has been sent by thousands of people to represent them at their seat of government. The mind does not merely Boggle, it damn near Ker-Plunks! This writer of badly written tabloid column inches... this hate-mongering dipshit... is the voice of many. Not yet a majority, thank your God. Not yet even a significant minority one fervently hopes. But still way too many for my liking.

Robert Kilroy-Shit on his way out to scandalise the unwary

Smeared in shit and loving it.
Again!


So. Apoplectic with fury at the thought of thousands of BBC viewers nodding along sagely to the offensive ignorant bullshit erupting from Silk's mouth, I leapt to my feet and dashed to the nearest newsagents I could find. The solution was obvious. And I pictured thousands just like me. Even, perhaps, tens of thousands? In late-night newsagents up and down the nation. In 24 hour garages and in supermarkets. And there I stood in wait. Loitering next to the music magazines. Normally in that situation I'd be wondering whether or not to nick the Mojo cover-CD for what may or may not turn out to be an interesting cover of Walk Right Up To The Sun by The Polyphonic Spree. Or perhaps end up flicking through the FHM 6-page interview / photoshoot with Alyson Hannigan. To discover tidbits of information about her upcoming projects of course. Ogling would be kept to a strict minimum, and only where absolutely necessary to the role.

But not on that fateful night. Oh no. That night I had purpose. That night I had the light of epiphany shining in my eyes. Fuelled by the realisation that the Kilroy-Silks of this world cannot... must not... remain unopposed, I waited for the first person to pick up a copy of The Daily Mail and then - calmly, deliberately - I shot him three times in the head. He was dead before the third bullet hit his skull.

During my trial it quickly became apparent that the Judge, the prosecuting team and every single member of the jury had also been watching Question Time that night.

After the acquittal we all headed back to The Judge's place for a smoke and an orgy. "A word to the wise; young Mr. Bliss", whispered The Judge as he took a break from his frantic onanism. "You were very fortunate. Very fortunate indeed. Another judge... ... ..? Another jury... ... ..?" He left the thoughts unfinished. "Oh, and throw me over that bottle of lotion there", he continued. But he was right of course. And I hardly needed him to tell it to me. My fate had rested on a freak of demographics, an accident of jury selection, and the (to this day) unexplained presence of ketamine in the soup consumed by the court stenographer. So I made a decision then and there. I passed the bottle of Vaseline Intensive Care Hand & Body Lotion to the Judge, already returned in earnest to his world of mastubatory voyeurism (the fetish of choice for a culture obsessed with perfectly sculpted youth. The less-than-perfect remove themselves from their own deepest fantasies - aware that they can't meet the strict entrance requirements).

I made a decision to start a blog. So that the next time Kilroy, or some other megaphone for the moronic, fills me with murderous despair I can vent it harmlessly here into cyberspace and so avoid the risk of a lengthy incarceration and another extortionate dry-cleaning bill.

Alternatively of course, I could still succumb to the bloodlust and then use this blog to inspire copycats... I walk hesitantly towards an unwritten future.

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