Tag: forget

A Piece For Posterity

Hamar WilliamsLeave a comment

When all this is done I’ll probably print these out for myself and save them somewhere. I generally don’t read much of what I’ve written after reading them but one day will sit down and remind myself of how my mind has been thinking this year. I have tried not to just talk about myself and what I’m up to. I’ve tried also not to write too much about politics or whats going on in the world. I thought writing about football could be fun but thought better of doing it here too often. What is interesting about writing everyday though is not necessarily seeing what interests you on a daily basis but seeing what the mind gets caught up on for a period of time.

When Covid-19 started to become a thing I could barely think of anything else to write about for weeks. When our government has been at it’s worst and most corrupt they will be my focus for a week or so. I’ve stopped writing about these people though because their incessant self-serving bullshit provides something new on a daily basis. I’m just bored of being outraged about them, nothing of consequence happens and the following day there’s another scandal that gets brushed under the carpet and forgotten about. Currently I’m perhaps a little too focused on the fact I’m having a little change in my own life.

I mention all this because when I do look back on this one day in the future, I would like to remind myself of today. I moved out. Yesterday I mentioned my hoarding. Today I really discovered that filth can build up in ten months in some hidden places if you’re not regularly cleaning things. I would generally keep on top of things but rarely did I give much a deep clean. Even the fridge was disgusting and genuinely I didn’t even recognise anything until I emptied it and starting cleaning. We simply don’t see things until they’re pointed out, then they become impossible not to see. Why too do we only give flats a good clean when we’re leaving and not able to appreciate living in the cleanliness.

It has been a long day then. I’m back now at my parents for a week as I sort out a few things before heading off. It’ll probably end up being quite busy week here too but a different busy. And I should probably add that I’m also giving this quite uninteresting update because I want to remember the day I was exhausted and discovered late at night just before writing this, having a bath and going to bed, that I accidentally have one of the delivery van keys and I may have to drive over an hour to get it to them. How many times do we leave somewhere or think we’ve finished something and somehow we find ourselves back in it. Even if they do find a spare, which is why it is still ‘may have to’ drive and not definitely drive, I’ll still have to go down tomorrow. This I can live with. It will ruin my first actual day off in months but that is infinitely more tolerable than going off now when I’m struggling to keep my eyes open and can only think of bed. How I love my bed.

The Bonded Free

Hamar WilliamsLeave a comment

It has taken me over half an hour to get this far as first my computer gave me problems and then I couldn’t load up the website. Throw in the fact my eyes were getting very heavy and really this was a tempting push in the direction of sacking it off and not doing anything today. But I will persevere, for that is the trip I have chosen. What it also means though is that this will be the first of two pieces tomorrow – today as you read it – and none for today – yesterday as you read it. My god I’m ready for my bed.

I was listening to a podcast today and the guest was some porn mogul who’s name I never bothered attempting to remember. He seemed like quite an interesting person and he was discussing freedom. As a Scotsman this is a topic we’re weaned on from a young age but I’ll not go into the antics of Mel Gibson and instead what freedom means for us. This porn mogul believed freedom was about being able to choose what you want to do or don’t want to, as well as being able to act upon this or not. When I was traveling around Australia about seven or eight years ago, I was in search of complete freedom and for me that meant shutting off the constant stream of guilt that I should or shouldn’t be doing something, or producing something creative, or whatever it is I think I thought now eight years later. I felt totally free, although I forgot I was looking for that, and for better or worse just kind of was. I forgot this at the time and realised a few years later when I wasn’t free mentally and really made an effort to be totally free again. This time though, the ironic thing was that this intense desire and search for freedom was in itself incredibly restrictive, there was nothing liberating about it and understandably was just an escape from the justifiable tap in my head. 

What then is to be free? This porn mogul has it because he’s got nobody telling him what to do, although lets be honest we always answer to somebody, and I had it when I forgot I was looking for it. And then Mel Gibson the Scottish freedom fighting Australian; who desired his people to be free from their bondage to a foreign crown as bondage to their own would be much more palatable. Can freedom then be defined on a universal basis or is it just another subjective construct? Can we objectively be free, perhaps the very act of pure objectivity is in itself the most liberating act of all. As I discovered a few years back, it’s probably best not to spend too much time desiring answers to these questions. The more you think the further from it you get and the more the tap opens…drip, drip, drip…the inescapable bondage of the mind. 

A Shinning Moon

Hamar WilliamsLeave a comment

To carry on the misery, the deeply held pain myself and many others are feeling about this election gone bad, like milk but not the good stuff you can turn into something tasty if you know how, the bad stuff good for nothing, the stench so bad it goes straight in the bin, lumps floating on its surface like the boils of decay on putrid skin, the skin that covers up corruption and wanton self-serving betrayal. But I won’t, how about something more positive to mask the disappointment of hope smashed on the rocks of despair. What do we do when we want to forget pain, we stuff it deep within the folds of our soul, or we drink, we drink in search of the perpetual warmth of alcoholism or at the very least a nice whisky to take the edge off it.

If my phone hadn’t run out of battery and I hadn’t lost my charger now would be a great time to add a photo. In fact if you are reading this and there is a photo attached it means I went back to it and added one subsequently. To add photographic evidence of my successful attempt at creating the elixir of forgetfulness, the murky liquid gold, the self made man to the Etonian heir, the home-brew to the hipster microbrewery. You guessed it? Well understandable if not, but today I took my first step on a (continued) journey of suppression and made myself thirty-five pints of beer. This may be the start of something life changing, especially if my mate gets his way and we start producing enough to sell, but for now its just a combination of curiosity and pleasure. It is unclear whether it’ll be a success and I’m not necessarily excited as I’ve managed to convince myself that somehow I’ll mess it up, I just can’t quite believe its going to work somehow. All the same I’m pretty pleased with myself.

In about six days it should be suitably fermented to bottle and in a further two weeks after that it should be perfect to drink. Therefore in roughly twenty days from now I’ll be able to start on the road to suppressing my emotions and living in a world of denial and ruby ale drunkenness. In between then though we have three weeks together of me either twiddling my thumbs or feeling sorry myself. I could just get over it of course and get on with life but then where’s the wallowing, where’s the self-pity, what would be the point of making all that lovely beer.