Yes, that’s right today I reached the lofty heights of 27. This is the type of age I would definitely have classified as ‘old’ when I was a long-bleached-hair, long overcoat wearing indie weirdo teenager. I would have expected that by the time I got to that age (if I even made it) that I would have written a couple of books, maybe made a film, certainly a top 10 album.

Ah well, I probably knew even less then, than I know now, and certainly my haircut has improved (a bit). On the plus side, the last couple of years have felt like things are finally moving. The creative endeavours are growing in both intention and magnificence and that is surely no bad thing. I finally feel like some of what I started off wanting to do is possible and that the rewards maybe are there if I can just keep my tentative grip on reality and keep going against the current set by the increasing crowds of haters, nay-sayers and plumbaits of every description, found on all sides.

One thing I’ve learnt since being 15, is that it is possible to turn this great ship around. It is possible to set your navigation by a distant and dimly lit star and sail toward it, fearful of falling off the edge of the world, but certain that not heading for it will lead to a lifetime of regret and recrimination. However, it is bloody hard, everything takes a ridiculously long time and there is no certainty. You never quite feel that you know what you are doing and for every epiphany it feels like there are a hundred moments of doubt. It is a bit like trying to wade through concrete. It can be done, but it’s fucking dangerous and is slow tiring work that will probably ruin your shoes and see you standing still for a very long time.

To commemorate this fact and the occasion, I kicked a car-park ticket machine today. It was refusing to accept my money as I stood in the pouring rain and this made me extremely unhappy. Something clicked in my head, so I kicked it, stepping back to allow maximum momentum of bottom of sole into soft display panel, before stamping forward hard. The thing made a suitably loud crunching noise, rocked a little and then, sensing the risk of destruction, an alarm went off inside. Several concerned residents looked over before thinking again about making any kind of comment to the 27 year old who was already loping off into the distance, rain dripping off his face and shaking his fist at an old lady who was attempting to run him over, feeling once again, a lot better about everything.

3 Responses

  1. Coybag says:

    Yes, it’s the age when absolutely no old folk instantly suspect you of carrying a knife. I tried shaving my head but the adultness just wouldn’t shake. Now sonny, take some advice from someone who’s lived with this pitiful age some ten months now: it only really starts to get hairy when 28 is around the corner – and yes, I do mean your back…

  2. Coybag says:

    …Happy Birthday dude!

  3. breakingstein says:

    yeah dude, happy boeufday, sorry I couldn’t make it

Leave a Reply