Misanthropic Guide to Autumn

As the nights start to stretch longer and summer slinks under the sunset, my social media is starting to sneak in posts about Autumn. People are eager for the ‘Fall’. The Americans are awaiting Thanksgiving and sickly Pumpkin spiced lattes. Their anticipation for the season is starting the clog my Instagram; their optimism is starting to grind my teeth. I am by no means immune to Autumn’s charms, I cannot scroll past a wooded scene with burning carpet of leaves without leaving a like. In truth, I believe that Autumn is the most picturesque of the earth’s cycles. I think that the focus on the ghastly holiday Halloween and what hot milk a shop is passing as coffee detract from some of the more subtle beauties of the season.

The Weather

For three months it has been either too hot or devastating thunderstorms. Every weekend somebody wanted to make “the most of the weather”. By the end of summer day drinking, obligatory barbecues and cramming yourself around overcrowded public places has become boring. Autumn saves us from these torments. Your weekends are your own again. There is always a cloud in the sky: potential rain. So, if you don’t want to be social you’ve got “it looks like it’s going to pour down” as a template text. The summer guilt of no longer effectively using your weekends can be washed away with the first Autumn rain.

Clothes

The weather is great again and so are the wardrobe. You can begin the slow drift into hibernation shape. No more beach wear or tight tees you have to skip meals to look appealing in. Under two or three layers you’re snug and secure. Am I chunky or is the jumper? They’ll never know because it’s the season to wrap up and it’s too cold to be taking off your clothes.

Bonfire/Guy Fawkes Night

Halloween is dreadful. Who agreed that strangers and their children can knock on your door, demanding you’ve spent money on candy? If you wanted to see eight Spidermans in one evening you’d probably book tickets for comic con. Even if you choose not to participate the horde doesn’t stop knocking. Yes, you’ve turned off all the lights but you didn’t go out on any other Tuesday this year and they can see your television glow through the curtains.

November the Fifth has nothing but social benefits: Firstly,  firework displays ensure people keep their dogs at home, so you can frequent the public park without the usual fear of having your genitals smelt by a stranger’s Alsatian. Secondly, there’s the huge bonfires, which provide warmth and a purpose for unwanted flammable waste. Occasionally, a homeless person makes camp within them, reducing a social problem. Finally, the holiday glorifies the destruction of government. It’s not about peace or Jesus but about scaring people in power. If a small group of men can conspire to blow up parliament then how much destruction can all these people do with their giant fire festivals do? Remember, Remember, you can end up in the embers.

School Has Started

It’s quiet. So much quiet. Mothers look peaceful. During the day the public places are nice and quiet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

30 Day Yoga Challenge

Anyone who has ever  joined a yoga class knows that it’s a fairly expensive exercise to start. To begin, you have to dedicate yourself to purchasing at least six weeks of classes. Then you need to buy a decent mat; an outfit that doesn’t fall down and expose your undeveloped middle during downward dog; and that’s before the instructor is spouting the necessity in buying yoga blocks and belts. During the  shavasana of week six you begin to wonder if it is worth dragging all this equipment to office for the twice weekly class. Wouldn’t it be cheaper and make you happier to spend the money on wine?  Getting up from the mat I agree with my thoughts. I quit, commit myself to my correct decision to choose alcohol, avoid the instructor’s “where are you” emails and never walk past the studio again.

Thankfully the internet has changed my usual exposure to yoga and allowed me to pursue an interest without leaving my bedroom. A plethora of instructors are now online producing introductions for beginners that are slowly developing my abilities. It’s a whole approach to exercise in which I don’t have to talk to anyone or worry that I can’t straighten my leg as well as the others.

The choice of instructors online is huge, so through a little trial and error you can find one producing content that appeals to you. Don’t like the grating tones of a thirty something Californian? Not a problem when there’s whole families of Indian yogis instructing in many styles. Is your instructor too attractive and it’s hard to bend without being aroused by the computer screen? Also not a problem because the internet is for everybody, including ugly people.

Currently, I’m on Day Ten of a thirty day challenge and I’m starting to feel more flexible. Taking the time out of my day to focus on breathing and slow movement is a great boost to my mood. The only downside to yoga at home is not being able to walk past people with your mat. Strangers no longer know how healthy I am or productive in my personal life. I’ve had to find new methods of communicating how fantastic my lifestyle is, such as being photographed in my most pretzel like posture or writing blog posts about yoga…

 

Reading List

Through the mystery, whim and mercy of our great universe I have been gifted with the rare three day weekend. I have no doubt that my fortunes will shortly run out. Tuesday will be rife with torrential rains, cancelled public transport and home invasions. In spite of the horrors next week has in store I shall whittle away my days of rest reading as much as possible and placing a book order. I thought I’d share my long weekend reads with you. Hopefully you’ll get one yourself or leave a suggestion.

Amélie Nothomb– Hygeine and the Assasain

My Canadian friend recommended this next book by the Japanese born, Flemish author. Written in French it was Nothomb’s first novel and for all the searching in the world I cannot find an English language version of the text apart from on Amazon. I’ve tried two e-readers, four book shops-I can’t even download it onto my Kindle. The plot is a mystery but I’m going to have to place an Amazon order just to get hold of it. I confess dear reader, I am only writing this blog post because I want more book suggestions to pad out my online basket.  Free shipping is essential.

Plato- The Symposium

I started my journey into philosophical texts in random places. Firstly, I dove into Simone de Beauvoir and Camus. Then I  stepped back into as much Nietzsche as possible. As much as I enjoyed and appreciated their lessons I had the feeling I started in the wrong place. To fix this I went to Youtube and found a series of lectures that intended to be a rough syllabus to a first year undergraduate course.

The videos sent me back to Plato and over the past year I’ve been making my way through many of his writings. I’d recommend Plato as an accessible introduction to Philosophy. His Socratic dialogues are easy to follow with their conversational structure but still contain fresh ideas to ease open your thinking. Finally, I have reached the symposium. I’ve saved it for last because it sounds the most entertaining: slightly liquored people making speeches about love- an ancient Greek gay wedding reception.

Agatha Christie- To Be Confirmed

There’s no need for panic my confused Agatha fan. To Be Confirmed is not the secret Christie title you never read. I just haven’t decided the exact book to settle down with yet. I’m open to suggestions except The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. Everyone knows the policeman was the killer all along and if you didn’t it has been spoil for you just as it was for me. But I can hear you dear reader querying through your screen, “Why Agatha Christie?” The reasons are numerous and complex: I’m English, she’s apparently pretty good and my favourite episode of Dr Who centers around her.

 

Two years of Goodreads

I first joined Goodreads in September 2015 and have been using it on & (mostly) off ever since. In the last eight or nine months my activity on the book review site has accelerated. Before opening the first page I immediately update my “book shelf” and after final sentence I award the author my stars. My visits to Goodreads have probably increased due to ‘Reading Challenge” function. This feature allows the user to set a reading goal for the end of the year, so that whenever you complete and update your latest favourite you’re also reaching a goal.

For this year’s reading challenge I set myself an attainable target of 45 books. Now we are roughly half way through the year and I’ve managed a respectable 27 titles (60% apparently). This pile of books has been bolstered this year by being able to update eBooks from my kindle devices. Opening up my Goodreads to electronic texts has been helpful in finding new books as well. Sometimes, one of the worst aspects of being a heavy reader is that you simply run out of books, or rather you can’t see the wood for the trees. Perhaps a more subtitle metaphor for this stage in the paper’s production would be ‘not seeing the pages for the books’? Whichever allusion you choose, it’s handy to have a community of people, across several platforms with varied reading interests that mirror and inspire your own.

The other function I’ve recently discovered (I shall exorbitantly name) is multi-platform reviewing. This allows me to share my recent Goodread reviews on my WordPress blog. Sharing the reviews onto my blog is something I am excited about because it enable me to join two areas of my writing experience together. Now that the reading challenge is slowly rolling downhill towards the goal I intend to focus more intently on the reviews and hope you enjoy them.

Happy Reading

Stockholm still surprises me

Today marks the anniversary of the first time I got on a plane and left the little island known as England. My first journey to another country was for a second date at the 2016 Eurovision Song Contest. Fast forward twelve months and I’ve flown to Sweden over a dozen times because the second date transfigured into relationship. As usual I step off the plane knowing exactly when the Flybussanar arrives; I’m aware the time it takes to grab a filter coffee from 7/11; how I jump from the coach, take the tube and always laugh at the stop called Aspudden. The routine is now scarily familiar but is the central reason why Stockholm feels like my second home.

On Saturday afternoon we wandered into central Stockholm for food supplies. On the way I detoured into the city library to get a smell of old books but was distracted by the road completely lined with people. There was a commentator with a crackled microphone whose every third word I understood. He was commentating the KTH Royal Institute of Technology’s student’s parade. I soon learned that every three years the scientific minds carnival the streets with a procession of floats. The whole city seemed to turn out for an exhibit of adapted cars and dancing. It lasted about an hour and when the last vehicle passed a trail of the public followed the music into the distance.

My last visit demonstrated an important lesson. It taught that cities are large with a plethora of people living within its boundaries. The lives of these people interact, collide and change. In each 24hour cycle a multitude of new events occur, making every day different. No matter how familiar you are with your roads there’s always another to wander or maybe a parade will stumble across yours. I’m excited for the new possibilites the city has to offer. I’ll sleuth our some more of your secrets Stockholm when I see you in three weeks.

The Legend of Zelda: A Link Between Worlds

If you’re among the two people who read my previous post you’ll know how nine-year-old me failed to become The Hero of Time. My inadequacy in completing my first Zelda game has haunted me ever since. At night my sleep is disturbed by my conceding of the Kingdom of Hyrule to Ganondorf. The failure repeated itself in several of the games and every incarnation of Link I played ultimately lost. In Majora’s Mask I couldn’t prevent the moon from plummeting into Clock Town and in a Link to the Past I gave up at the first dungeon. However, just as the Zelda games keep reincarnating the hero for fresh adversity, so I continued to pick up my sword and console to face the varying Avatars of Ganon. There’s an anecdote that stipulates that a room of monkeys with a typewriter will eventually write up the works of Shakespeare. This claim is accurate because after trying my sixth attempt at Zelda I finally succeeded in defeating the darkness. I became the saviour of Hyrule in The Legend of Zelda: A Link Between Worlds.

Some may argue that this is an easy game and a true Hero is the one who can dispel the tide of Evil on a television, not on the dual screens of the Nintendo 3DS. Others may postulate that it is cheating to use an online walk-through and to rage quit when defeated in order to preserve hired weapons rather than wasting Rupees on purchasing items again. To these combatants I respond that I am the Hero of both Hyrule and Lorule with no defeats. To save two kingdoms from despair any means must be taken.

A Link Between Worlds is a classic Zelda title, relying on the usual tropes and story I have come to expect and adore. As Link I save the Princess, obtain a decent enough sword to cut up bad guys and defend the triforce. The map is reminiscent of a Link to the past and it isn’t an offence in saying Nintendo has built on old work. The unique mechanic of this game is the ability to merge into walls by become a painting. This technique allows you to walk between Hyrule and Lorule, accessing areas that cannot be reached in one plane alone. Jumping between the parallels is a unique feature that adds an interesting facet to the game and a new complexity to dungeon puzzles.

With the newly mastered ability I imbued the master Sword with ore and defeated the recent aspect of Ganon and his androgynous benefactor Yuga. As the title credits detailed victory my chin raised in pride. After fifteen years and countless defeats I had finally grown into the Hero of Hyrule. With new pride I may return to the past, be awoken by Navi and rectify the mistakes of childhood.

 

The Defeated Hero of Time

I have been the Hero of Time for fifteen years. In all the time I’ve been defending Hyrule I’ve been cursed: cursed to never complete a game. My hex began with my first console. For Christmas 2002 I was gifted with a Nintendo64, a copy of Mario Cart and The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. Mario Kart was easy to play, simply accelerate and dodge the shells. Zelda, on the other hand, proved to be a challenge to great for a nine year old.

The first hours of game play were easy enough. I was awoken by Navi, bought a shield, obtained my sword and delved into the internal dungeon of The Great Deku Tree. After banishing Gohma I mourned the passing of The Great Deku Tree and snaked my way around Hyrule Castle, before Princess Zelda sent me on my Quest up Death Mountain. It went so well I could have recorded the first few hours as a decent walk-through. Next I bombed open the entrance to Dodongo’s Cavern and with my shield raised I soldiered inside. At this point my Mother wanted a turn at being The Hero of Time. Hesitantly, I passed her the yellow controller, only to watch her push the joystick forward and Link straight into lava.

Declaring it was a child’s game she passed the controller back and went along with her day not knowing my Deku Shield was now cinders. I tried to continue along the Dungeon with my Hylian Shield but it was too strong to defeat the Deku Scrubs. Instead of returning their projectiles, the overly effective shield demolished the attacks and prevented further journey into Dodongo’s Cavern. Defeated I trudged back out of the second dungeon and went in search of a new Deku Shield.

Even now I am hindered by my lack of instinctual direction. For the nine year old player this was even worse. Hard as I tried I couldn’t return to Korkiri Village and purchase the essential item. I traveled the map for days, braving the skeletons the plagued the plains at night. In the end I gave up on my dream of retrieving the Goron Ruby and left my the console to gather dust.

Journeying into Copy-writing

In September of last year I was asked by a friend to proofread and edit their tender for work. I did a good job apparently. So much so that he suggested I start doing it freelance and charging for it. At the time I’d applied for many editing, proofreading and copy-writing jobs. Only one interview came out of it and I was quickly rejected. His suggestion of doing it independently seemed appealing because it would bolster the little working experience I had. Hopefully the freelancing would be more appealing to employers.

I set about building a website through another online website which somehow creates other websites. It’s still a little perplexing that can be done- it seems like matryoshka dolls but for the internet. However, I gave the site a try and have had a page since September. Unfortunately, I haven’t had the response I would. Perhaps this is because the website still needs a polish; maybe I need to be bolder in my advertising- I shall work on both. Speaking of bolder advertising…here’s the link:

http://twaine24.wixsite.com/website

 

 

Poetry Reading

It’s an odd thing to confess you write poems. You hide them away in books, in old shoe boxes and under the bed. They’re treated like a large spot on the end of your nose. You walk with your head to the ground hoping nobody notices, or worse wants to take a good look. It’s a hard thing to let someone else read your poems because it makes you feel vulnerable. When you’re writing nonfiction it appears in your head as if you’re conversing a subject with another person: you’re just explaining what you think about the topic. But a poem doesn’t form at you fingers in the same way. It’s more automatic than the talking stroll of sentence. In truth, it feels more sensitive and there’s no guarantee the reader will understand it, let alone think it’s good.

I have been writing poems for a few years. They always stay in word documents, notebooks and on scraps of paper. Rarely I’ll share them with a trusted friend. However, in December I was brave (through much encouragement) and stood in front of over ten people and read five of my poems. Apparently, this is referred to as doing a set. Standing before so many people, reading what is normally clandestine was terrifying. The recording will show the shakes of my bones and at the time I was too caught up in the fear to enjoy the experience. Strangely, as soon as I’d finished and the adrenaline had ebbed away, I wanted to do it again. Only the second time I wanted to do it better, the way I’d practiced in front of the mirror. I now know that reading in front of others isn’t just exposing- it’s freeing as well.

That night there wasn’t chance for another try and I only had one other poem prepared. The other acts took the stage. There were a few guitar players/singers, other poets and a girl with a ukulele. They all were brave and brilliant, showing their talents for a good cause. The aim of the evening was to raise money and awareness for a mental health charity named CALM.(campaign against living miserably). Their focus is prevention of male suicide, a cause which initially confused me until I learned that 3 out of 4 suicides are male. The organisers of the event (at the Nexus Art Cafe in Manchester) are an art collective called Datura who produce original plays and are starting their first film later in the year.

I’m grateful to have people who challenge me and I’m inspired that there’s people reaching out to those who most need it. I hope to engage in such an important event again and next time I’ll aim to slow my words and shake less throughout the set.

The poem I didn’t read that night:

Alpha

In the beginning there was the word

lighting on tongue of Gods

but when it first cracked out his human skull

I misheard it as “hello”:

His eyes that saw Pangaea split, continents drift

apart on sheets of ocean foam,

Lost warmth when I turned the body over

into frost soft pillows of snow.

I pulled the spear from his sleeping head

thanked a God for battle well won

with lines that ran my face in blood

praying conflict, never war.

With one last breath of wind or luck

the dreamer shook out a jigsaw of bone,

I sat among the red, rearranging the hieroglyphs

until his mantra formed:

“Cool down the spear,

heat up the pot and

with open ears

pass my message on.”

https://www.thecalmzone.net/

https://www.facebook.com/daturaproductions.uk/?pnref=story

Show and Tell: Harry Potter edit

In my final year of university  I shared a house with three other guys. Every week we used to have “show and tell” involving a scoreboard, point system and no prizes. For one particular “show and tell” I contributed the video bellow. It’s not funny. At the time I thought I was editing comedy gold. After two years it has drawn in three hundred viewers and only two likes- a testament to the serious lack of humour. In its time on YouTube drawn  I’ve drawn people on the harry potter hook only to disappoint them, and now dear reader I shall disappoint you.