Just fingering it out

"I look around at a beautiful life, been the upperside of down, been the inside of out, but we breathe, we breathe" Stereophonics

At the urging of a friend (I was going to say incessant urging but that would be labouring the point, not to mention exaggerating) I've decided to write an entry about - well, nothing at all, about what blog entries are usually about. Life, irritation, frustration, joy, sex (or lack thereof), drinking (are there blog entries about drinking?).

It's meant to be revealing, and honest or at least frank (there is a subtle difference) I think, therefore - something or other. But this kind of "creative" (kick) writing isn't my forte. I'm caught, my life that is, in non-fiction, and on the creative kick I'd usually resort to plaigerising Byork lyrics, like tell me the stories, play me the tunes that crack you up. Or, that I'm no fucking buddhist but this is enlightenment...

Probably that is enough, I mean above. But I haven't told you much at all. I wish I was, just for a moment a beat poet. Then I could say something cool and subliminally meaningful or at least evocative, stirring and

Maybe I need a topic - Nostalgia. There you go. I'll create a whole new blogger label for it. It's a funny thing (nostalgia) it's almost like a mental condition. He's suffering from nostalgia, which is contributing to his alcohol abuse. Or perhaps the causation runs the other way, it's the alcohol that causes the nostalgia. Don't ever drink alcohol whilst listening to this CD. That should be a warning sticker on CD's that contain ballads from about 10 years ago...

What happened to my youth? It feels like someone else lived it. Not me. That doesn't seem fair.