Smoking reefers with ghosts

DEAR DIARY | THE WRITER’S LIFE

Last night, I sat up talking to a dead person. It would be a good opening line for a story, but it’s fact. I don’t know if my friend heard me, but I like to think she did. I may be branded a loony (I’m pretty much medically diagnosed as one anyway) but I got something from that meeting, as though I’d heard something. This is not a religious epiphany.

Carl Sagan

I’ll confess that I’d been smoking a bit of weed, but no-one should judge that until they’ve tried it themselves. My friend smoked too. For her, it was pain relief from sickle cell disease, which took her from us last year. It’s her birthday today, so we kind of sat up, passing a reefer between us. For me, cannabis relieves my anxiety, relaxes me and opens my mind. It’s a very agreeable self-prescribed therapy. But just because I was a bit stoned, doesn’t mean I was tripping, or out of it. Like pretty much all weed smokers, I’m compos mentis (despite the medical diagnoses) when I’m on it, more chatty, articulate and enquiring. I get clarity of deeper thought, and I’m able to interrogate my own brain, which has allowed us to become good friends.

As an atheist, I deny God in man’s image. I don’t deny that there could be superior or technically advanced beings in the universe. I believe it may be possible that our planet was visited by ancient aliens, and that these events were recorded by scribes in the terms which they understood. My objection is to the white-haired man created by Christianity, in its own image, and religion based on worshipping an idol. But I accept that for some, it’s a belief system and a comfort.

I have my own set of beliefs. Having got my head around quantum mechanics a couple of years ago, I believe that life as we know it is merely one part of an ongoing existence, the greatness of which we don’t yet understand. And of course, like Christianity, my belief has to be based on a faith that I’m right. But my beliefs do at least have a grounding in science. Put simply, I believe that the soul continues to live, after the physical body has broken. Then, we take on a different physical form, which gives us freedom from the restraints of the living human body. Some may think of ghosts or spirits, and that’s perhaps what those phenomena are.

My short story, Cardboard Sky, explains the various kinds of ghosts:

The ‘Crisis Apparition’ is normally a one-time event for those experiencing it. It’s when a ghost is seen at the time of it’s predecessor’s passing, as a way of saying farewell to family and friends. It would be like going about your daily business, then suddenly seeing your mum outside of normal contexts. Minutes later, you receive a call to tell you that she’s passed away. With practice, the deceased may be able to visit you more than once, to reassure you. If they do that, you might have a guardian angel. In my case, a fallen one with broken wings.

‘The reluctant dead’ are ghosts who are unaware they’re deceased. They go about their lives as if they were still living, oblivious to their passing. This innocence (or denial), can be so severe that the ghost can’t see the living but can nonetheless feel their presence: A kind of role reversal. This can be stressful, for both the haunter and the haunted. In films, it’s usually someone moving into the home of a recently deceased person. Perhaps they lived and died alone in their twilight years. To them, the living might be invaders. These are not ghosts which need to be exorcised: Simply talking to them about their death can help them to cross over and leave your home.

Then there are ghosts who are trapped or lost: They know they’re dead but for one reason or another, they can’t cross over yet. Cross over into what? Some may fear moving on because of the person they were in life, or they might fear leaving what’s familiar to them.

There are ghosts with ‘unfinished business”’broadly split into two categories: A parent might return to make sure their children are okay. Or a lover might hang around, making sure their partner finds happiness and moves on. But there’s also the ‘vengeful ghost’; perhaps a murder victim, back to haunt their killer.

‘Residual ghosts’ usually live out their final hours over and over again. They often show no intelligence or self-awareness, and will walk straight by (or through) you. Many think that these types of ghosts left an imprint or a recording of themselves in our space time.

Finally, the ‘intelligent ghost’: Where the entity interacts with the living and shows a form of intelligence. I certainly wanted to communicate with George. In fact, to lesser and greater extents, I fitted parts of the descriptions of all types of ghosts. I’d not long been dead and already I had a multiple personality disorder…”

That was fiction. But in fact, I do believe in ghosts I suppose.

By extension to all of this, I can see how heaven and hell might exist, in a personal sense. When the time comes for my calling, I imagine I’ll be faced with an entire universe to explore, perhaps for eternity. To my mind, that would be a personal utopia: All the answers I’ve always sought. ‘Knowledge comes with death’s release’ (David Bowie). But to others, knowledge represents fear. So faced with a universal knowledge of all things, some people may be terrified, and find themselves in a personal hell. Intelligence and ignorance may experience an eternal karma on the other side.

I believe that as we continue to exist and move freely after our physical death, we can visit the living. It may be that they don’t know we’re there, but I’m comforted by a belief that the dead still walk among us. In death, the world is without borders. I have written and I believe, that if we speak to the dead, if they’re listening, sometimes they may hear us. I imagine a sleeping soul being stirred from slumber, because someone is thinking of them. I believe that our thoughts can be heard: An ethereal, telepathic connection, with an afterlife without physical form, replaces the audible speech we’d have had with them in this life.

It wasn’t a long conversation. I told my friend that everyone said hi, including my kids, who went to school with her son. I asked her how it was out there, and how I imagine it was nice to escape the pain of her illness. But of course, she had to leave a family behind. I shared with her, my belief that she can hear me, and others who think of her. I wished there was a way she could have told me everything’s okay, and that she could hear us. Even though that’s down to my own atheist scientific faith, I felt at ease. I was relaxed, of course: we were smoking a joint. But it was a comforting feeling I had. The kind I get when I’ve just finished a story I’ve written while I’ve been a bit mind-expanded, and knowing it’s good. I read her the poem I wrote for her after she’d left us. To Catford’s sleeping Queenie:

A wave from a plane

If you’re ever stuck;
If you ever wonder;
It’s the simple things,
that make a life:

Sunday roast: Jerk chicken
Sandy coast: Jamaica
Bonfire nights, Christmas lights
All these things

Birthday gifts, healing rifts
Friendly smile, extra mile
All these things
remind me

City walks; Kids’ school
Family talks; Black and white
London years, happy tears
All these things

Moonlit night; Security lights
Morning haze; Happy days
All these things
remind me

Dogs and rats; Welcome mats
Catford: Life rhymes with that
Dancing queen, evergreen
All these things

All these things are true

50 Cent makes music
while Dana sings:
“All kinds of everything
remind me of you.”

It’s good to talk. Talk to the dead, if you believe they can hear you. I believe that it’s nice for someone out there to know that they’re being remembered.

I hope people still talk to me when I’m gone.

valdin

Valdin Millette (1983 – 2016)

I predict a period of civil disobedience

POLITICS | OPINION

I like to think that my liberal and social mindset transcends politics, certainly insofar as no UK political party represents all of my views, which is pretty much social liberal anarchism (as opposed to communism): I think a lot. But even someone with a polar position to mine (at least one who was prepared to listen and debate), would see the truths in the post below, and maybe begin to question as much as I always do.Henry David Thoreau

While I’m stuck with contemporary liberal socialism, the Labour Party is the one I support in UK politics. Having said that I wouldn’t politicise this blog, it is my blog nonetheless and it represents me. And while the UK parliament has been on Summer recess, and most people have put everything which went before to the backs of their minds, I’ve still been ferreting around, reading and thinking.

I’m a member of The Labour Party and as such, I get emails about campaigns: I know that the party hasn’t rested during the Summer break. Meanwhile, the Tories will continue the path of destruction they started before they all went on holiday and many of us didn’t. But even putting my hard left stance aside, a recent post on Facebook by Chris Renwick, before the last general election – even though he’s a Labour supporter – ought to strike a note with left and right alike, seeing is it is essentially the truth. Here’s the post in full:

Here’s what I’m really struggling to understand. All I’ve ever heard from people, for years, is:

“Bloody bankers and their bonuses”
“Bloody rich and their offshore tax havens “
“Bloody politicians with their lying and second homes”
“Bloody corporations paying less tax than me”
“Bloody Establishment, they’re all in it together”
“It’ll never change, there’s no point in voting”

And quite rightly so, I said all the same things. But then someone comes along that’s different. He upsets the bankers and the rich. The Tory politicians hate him along with most of the labour politicians. The corporations throw more money at the politicians to keep him quiet. And the Establishment is visibly shaken. I’ve never seen the Establishment so genuinely scared of a single person.

So the media arm of the establishment gets involved. Theresa phones Rupert asking what he can do, and he tells her to keep her mouth shut, don’t do the live debate, he’ll sort this out. So the media goes into overdrive with:

“She’s strong and stable”
“He’s a clown”
“He’s not a leader”
“Look he can’t even control his own party”
“He’ll ruin the economy”
“How’s he gonna pay for it all?!”
“He’s a terrorist sympathiser, burn him, burn the terrorist sympathiser”

And what do we do? We’ve waited forever for an honest politician to come along but instead of getting behind him we bow to the establishment like good little workers. They whistle and we do a little dance for them. We run around like hypnotised robots repeating headlines we’ve read, all nodding and agreeing. Feeling really proud of ourselves because we think we’ve come up with our very own first political opinion. But we haven’t, we haven’t come up with anything. This is how you tell. No matter where someone lives in the country, they’re repeating the same headlines, word for word. From Cornwall to Newcastle people are saying:

“He’s a clown”
“He’s a threat to the country”
“She’s strong and stable”
“He’ll take us back to the 70s”

And there’s nothing else, there’s no further opinion. There’s no evidence apart from one radio 5 interview that isn’t even concrete evidence, he actually condemns the violence of both sides in the interview. There’s no data or studies or official reports to back anything up. Try and think really hard why you think he’s a clown, other than the fact he looks like a geography teacher (no offence geography teachers) because he hasn’t done anything clownish from what I’ve seen.

And you’re not on this planet if you think the establishment and the media aren’t all in it together.

You think Richard Branson, who’s quietly winning NHS contracts, wants Corbyn in?
You think Rupert Murdoch, who’s currently trying to widen his media monopoly by buying sky outright, wants Jeremy in?
You think the Barclay brothers, with their offshore residencies, want him in?
You think Philip Green, who stole all the pensions from BHS workers and claims his wife owns Top Shop because she lives in Monaco, wants Corbyn in?
You think the politicians, both Labour and Tory, with their second homes and alcohol paid for by us, want him in?
You think Starbucks, paying near zero tax, wants him in?
You think bankers, with their multi million pound bonuses, want him in?

And do you think they don’t have contact with May? Or with the media? You honestly think that these millionaires and billionaires are the sort of people that go “ah well, easy come easy go, it was nice while it lasted”?? I wouldn’t be if my personal fortune was at risk, I’d be straight on the phone to Theresa May or Rupert Murdoch demanding this gets sorted immediately.

Because here’s a man, a politician that doesn’t lie and can’t lie. He could have said whatever would get him votes anytime he wanted but he hasn’t. He lives in a normal house like us and uses the bus just like us. He’s fought for justice and peace for nearly 40 years. He has no career ambitions. And his seat is untouchable. That’s one of the greatest testimonies. No one comes close to removing him from his constituency, election after election.

His Manifesto is fully costed. It all adds up, yes there’s some borrowing but that’s just to renationalise the railway, you know we already subsidise them and they make profit yeah? One more time… WE subsidise the railway companies and they walk away with a profit, just try and grasp the level of piss taking going on there.

Unlike the Tory manifesto with a £9 billion hole, their figures don’t even add up. And it benefits all of us, young, old, working, disabled, everyone. The only people it hurts are the establishment, the rich, the bankers, the top 5% highest earners.

Good, screw them, it’s long overdue. #VoteLabour #ForTheManyNotTheFew!

Couldn’t have put it much differently myself. I read The Guardian, the only truly independent UK newspaper. I’ve said before that at first, I didn’t trust Corbyn: Because I didn’t see him as a politician. But then I realised I’d been conditioned to what a politician was and that Corbyn was just different. I can relate to that. He’s a long-game thinker, like me; he sees a bigger picture, a future vision.

When parliament returns from Summer recess, I predict the further meltdown of the Tory party in its own cauldron. I see Kim-Jong May walking away from the EU with no deal. I hope I continue to see the lifting of the national veil I saw a couple of months ago, where the public realise they’ve been lied to. And then, if there isn’t a leadership challenge or some other trigger for a general election, I predict civil unrest: We’ve already seen it, as this country has begun to sunk.

And the only way I see to make things better, is to vote Corbyn into No10. To get there, I hope Chris Renwick’s Facebook rant resonates with as big an audience as possible. Then we might see the disruption this country needs before it sinks.

(I also predict that in a second parliamentary term, a Labour government would legalise the recreational use of cannabis, correctly licensed and taxed).

If a plant cannot live according to its nature, it dies; and so a man.”
Henry David Thoreau, Civil Disobedience and Other Essays

A book, a ninja and some smoking joints

THE WRITER’S LIFE

CyrusSongFrontCoverPreview.do
Cyrus Song (the novel): due early 2018

My recent depressive episode ended as unexpectedly as it had started, such is the nature of those things. It was a relatively short one, lasting barely a week. As usual, my coping mechanism has been writing. Smoking weed and having a dear friend along for the ride helped too (thanks).

I despair of the world around me at the moment; The wider world, not my personal planet. While I can talk and write about the former, hoping to make some sense of it, sometimes it’s easier to escape to the latter. And so it’s been this week.

Encouraged by a test reader (my own, personal ninja), I’ve committed myself to Cyrus Song, the novel. This was originally planned for publication after Infana Kolonia, my sci-fi epic, but such is the scale of that book that it’s a long way off. So Cyrus Song (the book) is scheduled for release sometime early next year. The original short story which spawned the new book is in The Perpetuity of Memory, along with the sequel, The Cyrus Choir. For the financially challenged, original versions of both stories are still on this blog. The third in that series of shorts, The Babel Fish, will be online this weekend. Meanwhile, I’m adapting them to become chapters in the novel. Here’s a synopsis:

For millions of years, mankind lived just like the animals. Then something happened which unleashed the power of our imagination. We learned to talk…

Simon Fry is convinced that the answer to life, the universe and everything, is in the earth itself. Specifically, he believes that if he could talk with the animals, he’d find the answers. Or at least, the questions which need to be asked for the answer to make any kind of sense. Doctor Hannah Jones, a veterinary surgeon, has a quantum computer, running a program called The Babel Fish: Like its fictitious namesake, the Babel Fish can translate any language to and from any other. Elsewhere, Mr Fry considers what might be possible if historical scientists were able to make use of all that would be new to them in the 21st century. Having watched Jurassic Park, he is fairly sure he can make this a reality. So begins one man’s quest to find answers to questions he doesn’t know yet.

Cyrus Song is the story of Mr Fry’s voyage to find answers and love in the world. What could possibly go wrong?

It’s pretty obvious that it’s in part a tribute to Douglas Adams and the first stories have been praised as such. Like all fiction, there’s a part of the writer in it and it was during conversations with my test reader this week that I finalised the overall plot in my mind. If I’d been talking to a different reader, the book might have taken an alternative route, but others were unavailable and wrapped up in personal affairs. It was handy to have my Ninja one as she provides a personal as well as a creative kick, and that’s what I needed this week. Every writer should have a personal ninja, especially one who humours one when one has been on the weed. Cyrus Song has its own Facebook page, where it’ll post updates on itself.

I’m churning out more short stories for publication online and elsewhere, some of which will end up in my second anthology, due out later next year. With my short stories now tending toward the longer end of the spectrum, there will be fewer, more in-depth stories in the second volume, provisionally entitled Reflections of Tomorrow. By happy coincidence, it looks like there’ll be 17 stories in the next collection: There are 25 in The Perpetuity of Memory, so that’s 42 in total, which is nice.

It took me three years to write and publish my first three books and it will be a similar timescale before these next three are out. If I manage it, I’ll have six books to my name, when (or if) I turn 50.

Just so long as I can make it to 49, then I’ll have reached the same age as Douglas.

Not small and not far away

THE WRITER’S LIFE

far-away-cow
A cow, quite far away

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away (January, on this blog), I posted some insights into a possible future, 100 years from now. It was based on predictions made by the American civil engineer, John Elfreth Watkins in 1900, with others submitted to a BBC poll which asked what the world might be like 100 years from now and judged by an expert panel to be likely.

As a science fiction writer, I read a lot of science fact, theories and research. As such, like most sci-fi writers, I have ideas about what could happen in the future worlds I write about. Anyone with the time and resources to do their own research would conclude that sci-fi writers are pretty good at predicting the future.

It was about ten years ago (before I was a writer) that I predicted that some gadgets would most likely be consolidated to some extent: Mobile phones, computers, music listening devices, TV, the internet… And of course, we not only have smart TVs but all kinds of other smart devices as well. As a sci-fi horror writer, I see the many potential dangers of the latter: devices which are connected to the internet but not secure in the same way that our computers and smart phones are; Smart devices which are prone to hacking attacks, which the owner may be oblivious to. Because these attacks won’t be against an individual device, but rather, using it and millions of others as slaves for many dark cyber scenarios.

As I write stories for my second collection (I may have mentioned that the first is available from all good book stores), I’m looking more at the very near future, especially as the world is changing so rapidly at present. We may well be witnessing the beginning of World War 3, a conflict which would always be fought differently to our conventional understanding of such things. It doesn’t take a sci-fi writer to see that: Anyone even vaguely aware of the stories behind the headlines, and with an interest in geopolitics, can see that the current uneasy state of the world could collapse towards an extinction event alarmingly quickly. But before that happens (or while it’s going on), there are positive things within our grasp.

I and many others have said before that if as much had been spent on science and exploration, as has on religion and war, the human race could be an exciting one to be a member of. Unless something changes, we could all be fucked. There is already a growing groundswell of previously silent voices. The current state of the world has at least made us think: We let this happen. We can change it, if we think differently. (Incidentally, it’s a fact that every article on Wikipedia eventually links back to philosophy, if one clicks on the first hyperlink in any Wiki entry. It’s a degrees of separation thing, a little like Kevin Bacon. The article with the most clicks required to eventually get to that philosophy segment, is 42 clicks away. I don’t need to explain the significance of 42).

These little (very) near future predictions came about during a conversation with some friends and some good weed:

Living where I do, some of my friends have to undertake a two- or three-legged journey to visit and return home. Wouldn’t it be cool if all they had to do was use an app on their smart phone to have an electric, driver-less cab pick them up on-demand? I predict that this will be the norm in 5-10 years from now.

To qualify this, I’d refer to recent advances in both electric and driver-less vehicles. Through my research, I know that Uber are investing millions in research into exactly this. Of course, humans will become redundant, which is exactly what Uber and other technology companies want. Gradually, humans are being made redundant by technology, just as the industrial age replaced many humans with machines. Eventually, we will need to look at quite radical new ways of running economies, as there are gradually becoming fewer jobs which only a human possesses the ability to be more efficient in than an AI. When we reach a point where a government benefit like JSA becomes redundant, because there are no jobs for job seekers to seek, we will have to look at models like a Universal, or Basic Income scheme, and all the advantages it could represent, if properly managed: With everyone paid a living wage, they will be free of the main challenge in life: Food and shelter. Thereafter, they can better concentrate on improvement, with a view to employment in the remaining professions, or simply to be creative; to be thinkers. The argument for legalising cannabis for recreational use then slots into this beautifully.

In the same time frame, we will be able to order pretty much any goods, on-demand. Most online orders are already delivered on the same or next day, and drone deliveries are being tested. If we look at the air transport industry and familiarise ourselves with current airship technology, we can see that it’s not too much stretching of the imagination to see that we’ll have floating warehouses in strategic locations (something Amazon has already patented). From these, drones would collect goods and deliver them to us within minutes.

Around 20 years from now, we’ll quite probably have built a space elevator, providing a cheap, sustainable means of staging space exploration projects. In space itself, the ongoing development of the RF resonant cavity thruster (EMDrive) will vastly reduce transit times in outer space. Mars would be a mere 60-70 days away, and our nearest stellar neighbour, just a generation.

So, in a few years, based on progress in existing technologies, we will live in a largely driver-less society, and “Car bots” will ferry us around. Transport, leisure and shopping will evolve, saving us time, making us more efficient and allowing us to have more quality time as humans with our fellow human folk. We will have evolved, become more intelligent, and better off. Mark my words, for I am a sci-fi writer and I have seen this future world.

I’m not a conservative, in politics, nor in a wish to conserve things, as some thought Brexit would return the “United Kingdom” to some glorious bygone age. So the thing to consider is, all this technology is available but at a hidden cost. It’s going to rely on smart people and the erosion of ignorance.

Finding a place called belonging

THE WRITER’S LIFE

gay-marijuana

When I look at the world around me, and when I consider the world in which I live, I realise I am incredibly fortunate. It came at a price and it costs me daily in pain but the spiritual awakening which my breakdown has led to is something which isn’t ceasing to cause me wonder.

The current state of the world is somewhat depressing, the UK in particular. But we might be seeing the start of something new, by sheer virtue of the fuck up we recently made. It was a prediction I made in a recent post, or rather, I laid down a hope. That hope was for warring factions to unite against a common foe. Well, the Richmond Park by-election wasn’t quite so dramatic but it’s a longed-for tremor in British politics. In that other blog post, I said that we needed a new, centrist political movement: A progressive, inclusive coalition. My fellow learned atheist Richard Dawkins wrote eloquently of what’s needed next, in a letter in this Saturday’s Guardian:

Following its victory in the Richmond byelection (Report, theguardian.com), I write to suggest that the Liberal Democratic party should change its name to The European Party. We of the forgotten 48% are surely more numerous today, now that Brexit’s rudderless fiasco is becoming as obvious as the shameless lies earlier told by its advocates. Even the lead rat of the leavers has signalled his inclination to leave the sinking ship and become a migrant to America.

Today, we of the swelling 48% are cheering the Lib Dem victory in the byelection. This was a genuinely democratic, constitutional victory (Britain is a parliamentary democracy not the mob-rule “democracy” conjured up by David Cameron for the purposes of internal Tory politics). And it is widely agreed that the byelection was fought mainly on the issue of Brexit.

The Lib Dems, along with the SNP, are the only major party with the courage to stand, unequivocally, against Brexit. Unfortunately, as anyone in marketing will attest, their brand is tarnished by association with the first Cameron government. The Lib Dems need to change their name. And the obvious name is The European Party. No need to change policies. Just the name. And no long-winded “Liberal Democratic and European Party” stuff. Just “The European Party”, plain and simple.

I venture that huge numbers of the growing 48 percenters would flock to join, in a great revival of party fortunes. Probably some Labour MPs threatened with deselection, too. Maybe even some principled Tories. And I’m sure I’m not the only former supporter of the Liberal Democrats who would gladly make a generous donation to help the newly named European Party on its way.

Richard Dawkins
Oxford

So, there’s a glimmer of hope. If we get it right, I envy the next generation. With so much technological advancement in my lifetime, my kids could see some really exciting things, in all fields: Science, space exploration, entertainment, gaming and communication. If we get it wrong, there are some truly terrifying scenarios which we can’t begin to imagine. The trouble is, I can. And that’s why it helps to be a writer.

There simply isn’t time in this life to write it all but I’m confident that there’ll be a way of writing from the next life, made possible by some future technology. That world will be one in which one never loses one’s deceased relatives. They continue to send mail. There’s at least a long short story in that idea and possibly a book but I don’t know if I’ll have time to write the latter, with everything else which is bursting to escape me.

Yet I’m creating worlds around me: Declaring an independent state (pending with the UN), just so that I have somewhere I can always call my own and have a place to think. I’ve come to accept that in my position, any home is unlikely to be permanent. The Studio is perfect and I wish it were forever but there are no guarantees. But I also have another world which travels around with me: The typewriter (my pimped laptop), my Filofax and pens. And wherever I am, I’m a citizen of my own non-nation state. Just as I’ve created a private page for my old Pink Hearts family on Facebook, I may create another for my province. It’s another place to belong.

The way I order my brain is really no different to one of my other passions: computer gaming (albeit I’m a retro-gamer). But in the Second Life universe, in online RPGs, in No Man’s Sky and any other game, we are creating a place for ourselves in another universe. My way of living life (of coping) is just an extension of VR into my own world; a kind of imaginary reverse engineering. Somewhere to belong. I write it all around me.

VR is going to be huge. 3D TV was a failed venture but the two will combine soon. As a sci-fi writer and futurologist, I’m really looking forward to AV entertainment five years from now. The great thing about my life is that I can imagine it and create it in the present. Of course, there is a theory that everything we see is merely an illusion and that we’re part of a computer simulation. It’s more fuel for the writer, the fans flamed by the cannabis I smoke to deal with anxiety.

And then there’s the fuel from my Savage Cinema. My slightly idiosyncratic movie collection grows and evolves as I happen upon new titles. I’m approaching 1000 DVDs: A mixture of the extreme, affecting, cult and downright WTF. Feature films, TV series, documentaries…It’s quite a mix. Rarely does an acquisition for the collection call for it’s own announcement, but Sharktopus Vs. Pteracuda is one such title.

My selection criteria when acquiring titles: Roughly speaking, above 7.0 or below 3.0 on IMDB will qualify. There’ll never be time to watch them all, as the collection keeps growing. But there is a place: I wrote about it in The Paradoxicon, when I was recovering from my breakdown and I realised what life is really about.

Not long ago, I found myself in a situation. It was around about then that I realised something: Like most writers, I struggle. Many writers have mental health issues. More people with mental health issues should be writers. It helps.

Right now, I’m a pot-smoking, liberal anarchist who subscribes to democracy as being the best way for now. I’m an atheist, in that I don’t believe in God as a human construct. I believe that the soul continues to exist, long after the human body breaks down. I’ve got a load of holes in my face, including a safety pin through my ear: a symbol of safety, welcome and inclusion, and a nod to punk. I’m a rude boy with ska and reggae in my blood. I’m a spaceman, with David Bowie as the soundtrack to my life. This is me, and I quite like it.

I bucked the system and fucked people up, including myself. I live with regrets like the life sentences they are. I’m alcohol dependent. I have depression, anxiety and PTSD many times over.

And I’ve learned to love that too. It feeds my writing.

Home is where the Pink Hearts are

THE WRITER’S LIFE

pink-heart-hands

It’s all come flooding back this week; Everything’s come home to roost. My studio might as well have been the old squat on a couple of occasions: Not because it was untidy; I’m so house proud and OCD that I even kept the squat clean and tidy when I was living there.

The police were round, a bit like they used to visit the squat. Back then, when it was a gathering ground for teenagers, the police would occasionally pop in to see who was there. If anyone had gone AWOL from school, the police would go to the squat. On the occasions when one of the young adults was reported missing, the police would check at the squat and ask me to keep my ears open. There were no drugs or underage sex at the squat and we enjoyed a community spirit with the law. The nick was quite literally next door.

This time, one of the Pink Hearts – the family which formed in that squat, mostly teenagers to whom I owe my life – had got into a spot of bother and needed somewhere to stay the night. For whatever reason, I’m the person this young lady felt safe with, so she asked the police to bring her to my place. So at three o’clock on Thursday morning, I had a Battenberg cake drop off a passenger in the mill yard outside my studio. One of the other Pink Hearts had to crash the night when her lift home forgot her.

And what do I get up to when these teenage girls stay for the night? Sit with them, talk, smoke weed and binge on DVDs. I don’t see them like others might. I see suffragettes. I see friends. I see family. Those “kids” who used to congregate at the squat, saved my life. They made me realise that life’s worth living, even when you have fuck all. My role there became an advisory one and a few of those young adults came under my wing. We remain close and the ethos of the Pink Hearts family lives on always.

There’s another Pink Heart adult: The mum of one of the girls and now my right-hand. When you’re left-handed, it’s handy (sorry) to have a right-hand and a same-age sounding board as we deal with some of the younger ones in the family.

All the signs are that this week will be similar to last. But where once I resisted company, any company is improved if there’s a supply of weed. And so has my life been by cannabis, helping me to overcome the worst of my anxiety.

It should be no surprise that I smoke weed. After all, Bob Marley’s son is named Ziggy, after Ziggy Stardust. I’m a Bowie fan with my musical roots in the birthplace of Ska: Kingston, Jamaica. I like reggae. This is what I am, but I’m only now putting the whole puzzle together. Part of me simply refused to grow up.

I’ve been less than prolific on the writing front. I’ve fitted freelance work around everything else and my personal output is concentrated on pre-publication projects: The Perpetuity of Memory mainly, as it’s still due out next month. It’s difficult to work when there are two teenage girls around. Not because I might be expected to be distracted by such a presence; I’m not like that. No, because at least one of them talks a lot and they’re both pleasant company. Although there were times when I might once have screamed, now I just look at them and I have to smile. Because in those young people, I see myself at that age; Because those girls and their friends gave me a reason to live; and because when they’re around, I don’t want to stop the world and get off any more.

I spent a long time finding out what I wanted to do with my life. An autobiography-ette; Born 1970, not dead yet:

I “grew up”, got married, had kids. I was sales director for a group of companies. I earned £75k a year and I had a decent car. Then I ran my own company, banked about £10k a month and got drunk. Then my marriage failed and I lost my home and family. I got a flat in Bexley. I had a swimming pool. I’d got into poker when I was still married. There was a massive live poker scene around Bexley. Eventually, I was running the company in the morning, then going to The Empire on Leicester Square to play poker through the night. The whole thing was fuelled by Coke up my nose. Cocaine and drink took over. I gradually lost everything and had to hand over my poker bankroll (£6000) to save my legs.

The rest was a downward spiral into the gutter. And that’s where all those young adults met me.

And now I’m poor but I’m doing what I love: I’m a writer.

But just as I can’t forget how my life fell apart, neither can I forget those kids; the Pink Hearts: Never a gang, always family.

Those kids were born between AIDS and 9/11: That’s quite a thought to take on board. Many of them have had troubled lives and some have mental health issues: That’s the other tie which binds us as a family. Like me, some have made attempts to take their own lives. Now that I know them, I’m glad I failed. And hopefully, I might have played some small part in getting them through some issues.

There are times when I remember life on the streets quite fondly: I’m perhaps part-tramp. Because yes, I was a “tramp” once. But just as blacks and gays reclaimed words, so tramps can be proud. Call me a tramp as an insult and I’ll wish I could show you how it’s a term which makes me proud to be a part of a humanist crowd. Most wouldn’t make it through.

I’ve come to terms with my mental illness(es). And I wonder, which was it? Did the entire world change, or did I realise I had a psychological condition? This is my internal dialogue as I come to terms with things and try to finally relax in amongst everything that’s grown around me.

“I understood myself only after I destroyed myself. And only in the process of fixing myself, did I know who I really was.”

Sade Andria Zabala

The politics of feeling good

THE WRITER’S LIFE

marijuana

Thought provoking quotes about medical marijuana from Potbotics.com

By unfortunate coincidence, my work and real lives clashed again this week, even though I’ve got all my internal personalities working well together. The unfortunate thing was that a very dear friend of mine has been diagnosed with an incurable, degenerative illness. By coincidence, I was writing some articles for a client about cannabis.

As well as writing about marijuana, I smoke it: I’m a recreational user, and I use cannabis to deal with my anxiety. My friend confided that she also uses the drug to help with her condition. For me, the answer to the cannabis “problem” is one of legality: Legalise, regulate, medicate, educate.

The subjects I write about for clients are varied and interesting. The pay is poor but the satisfaction is in learning through research and putting that knowledge into an entertaining and informative piece. Because the articles were written for a paying client, I do not retain copyright but I can publish excerpts.

In the course of my research into all things weed, I naturally had to familiarise myself with some history, to place the law into a certain context within an article which was very much pro-consumption. What I found out was quite shocking and I had to tone down the language of a US politician to make my piece suitable for the intended audience:

..Cannabis was outlawed with the introduction of The Marijuana Tax Act of 1937. Some of the reasons given by Harry J. Anslinger (Commissioner of the Federal Bureau of Narcotics) for the banning of cannabis, speak volumes about some of the ignorance and attitudes of the time:

Anslinger believed that cannabis was an ethnic minority problem and described non-whites and “entertainers” as diseases infecting the white population. Their “Satanic” music resulted from marijuana use, which caused insanity, criminality and death. Cannabis was “the most violence-causing drug in the history of mankind”, he said. He further stated that smoking cannabis made ethnic minorities “think they’re as good as white men.”

Despite Aslinger’s naive and narrow-minded views, in less enlightened times, his bill was passed and the recreational use of marijuana became illegal. At the time, cannabis was prescribed by doctors for pain relief, and was an accepted part of American life. Although cannabis was the common name for the drug at the time, the Spanish word – marijuana – was used in the name of the act to further encourage racist sympathies…

It took a lot of editing to remove words which were offensive, even to me, whilst still making it a legible section. Then I continued:

…Thankfully, attitudes have changed. Medicinal and recreational use of cannabis is legal in certain states and being debated in others. Medical research and progressive politics have combined to realise the benefits of cannabis, both socially and economically. Regulation and taxation are made possible with legalization…

The article (and the writer) is not pro-legalisation (I used the American in the article itself, as it’s for a US client) just because of the benefits of decriminalisation (not getting locked up). The pro-legalisation argument is for cannabis to be regulated, taxed and sold for recreational and medicinal use. I went on:

…[Users] will experience a range of feelings, sensations and personal benefits, including a general feeling of wellbeing, hightened awareness, uplifting and cerebral thoughts. Recreational cannabis is therefore unsurprisingly referred to as a “mind expanding drug”.

For some people, marijuana is an occupational drug. Many people working in the creative arts cite recreational cannabis use as an aid to their craft. Writers and artists especially take advantage of the creative effects of the drug…

I then researched the two main types of cannabis which are cultivated for recreational and medicinal use: Indica and Sativa.

…Indica dominant marijuana strains provide a very relaxing and strong body high that is helpful in treating general anxiety, body pain and sleeping disorders. Indica is most commonly smoked by medical marijuana patients in the late evening or even just before bed. Sativa dominant marijuana strains provide an uplifting, energetic and cerebral high that is best suited for daytime smoking…

…In summary, Indica effects and benefits are relief from body pain, headaches and migraines; muscle relaxation, relieving spasms and reducing seizures; and relief from anxiety and stress.

Sativa effects and benefits include feelings of well-being and of being at ease; uplifting and cerebral thoughts; stimulation and increased energy; increased focus and creativity; and relief from depression.

Cannabis (marijuana) has many beneficial effects for the casual and medicinal user. Sativa and Indica effects are different and can be combined for the most effective tailored benefits…

At my recent (successful) tribunal appeal to prove that I was entitled to Personal Independence Payment (PIP), I mentioned to the residing judge that I smoke weed. She nodded. As a poker player, I’m pretty good at reading people and I’d bet on her nod not being a despairing one, nor one of resignation. Rather, it was a nod of understanding. I shouldn’t be surprised nor judgemental if the judge herself liked a bit of a toke on the reefer.

I’ve completed dozens of freelance assignments over the last couple of weeks and submitted my invoices for payment from the clients. All were interesting, even when they were about things which would normally hold no interest for me. Writing about a cause which is close to me though was the most satisfying. Because as a writer, I can get points across effectively and in an engaging manner. I may prompt debate but that’s part of my job.

In the other part of my job, as a fiction writer, I can use my writing to raise awareness of many things. With my friend I mentioned at the top in mind, I’m working on a short story. My stories have helped a family dealing with the loss of a pet; a friend’s daughter coping with growing up; and a teenage friend who self-harmed. I’m hoping I can help a friend who’s just been diagnosed with MS:

“…The curious thing was, it was the diagnosis which hastened the condition. It had lain dormant, without troubling me. Then as soon as I heard its name, it made itself known. What a cunt.

I wouldn’t be had. I decided to wager with the thing. All my life had been one long gamble anyway, most of it working out for the best. So I bet my life with the thing.

I bet this thing that I wouldn’t beat it on my own: That confused it. I was betting that my opponent would win. But I continued: I bet, that although I knew it could win, I would put up such a long fight that it would lose. Because I would fight for so long, through times of medical research, personal resolve and those around me, that I would live to see the day when a treatment was found.

At first, the thing taunted me. But gradually, as I learned to live with it, it was as though I were growing all over my own parasite. It was far from its kin but I had my team around me. The bet couldn’t be annulled, because I’d told the thing that I couldn’t beat it alone.

That was a pretty big bet: I was playing the long game. I’m still playing my opponent, so I may yet win the wager…”

(To be continued)

Even though writing doesn’t pay much, the rewards are far greater than financial. And the pain of depression and anxiety is made bearable by writing and by smoking weed for my recreation and occupation.

The politics of feeling good are simple: Legalise, regulate, medicate, educate.