Tuesday 5 December 2017

B L U R C H !

Hello, I am sat sitting here as usual trying to define my alter ego, whatever that means. Alter ego - which I seem to do every day, Alter it, I mean. I bandy such words (and the occasional leg) about, every day, in my pursuit of the intangible, whatever the 'Blurch!' that means. (I'm sick of using such rabid and worn words as 'Heck, Hell' etc, so I have invented a brand-new cliché hot from the turmoil that is the Universe of my brain.
Ladies and Gentlemen welcome to the birth of a brand-new anti-swear word: 'Blurch!'
'Blurch!' is highly convenient for use among the Gentry, as it is totally bland and meaningless, just like them and will never give offence to even the most sensitive soul.
But enough of these tender fantasies.
Oooh that reminds me of… er … something …er …oh blurch! …absolutely nothing… for a moment I thought I was onto something...
It was merely a flicker of memory butterflying through the unkempt garden of my scatter-brain, gobbled up in a flash by the chameleon of wanton amnesia.
I'm stuck here in a turgid mess of scrambled, addled, solidified - I won't dignify them with the label of thoughts, but scattered skull worms. The only thing is to just write and write and draw and draw and hope I somehow meet some of the jigsaw parts of myself, and then try and complete the picture. Yeah right!
I have no rules, I hate routine. It's the puppy litter syndrome. Puppies taken early from the litter do not learn the things they would normally learn from their parents and siblings.
I was one of those puppies, taken too early from the nest, so I've pretty much been self-taught. I've learned to improvise my way through life. That's why I'm such a good improviser on stage.
From a very early age I used to improvise comedy for my parents' guests, so it was also given the 'Parental Seal of Approval' and my talent became King.
The depressing thing is that people who live to an advanced age usually have very strong routines, that's what keeps them alive. So, I have intimations of mortality.
Routines for me are like jails, that's why I've always been obsessed by books, movies and documentaries about prisons,.
So I'm standing outside myself looking in.
I'm 77. I look in the mirror and cannot believe what I see. What the blurch was it all about? I have been very lucky, despite my wounded soul, or maybe because of it, I have had the great fortune to touch the hearts of many people. And yet somehow because, or despite this, I feel untouched. As though it all happened to someone else in another place and another time in another dimension.
The ancient Alchemists whose philosophy was to try and turn the soul into a higher essence, the metal lead into gold, said:
"As above so below" that is to say that everything in the Universe is built on the same pattern. It is said that Atoms are the same shape as Universes.
So, let us stretch this a bit further. Can we therefore suggest that each Atom is a mini Universe in itself? With whirling Galaxies, Planets, Moons, and Meteorites and the usual Universal garbage floating around inside it? How about the bizarre idea that some of these Atom-Planets are inhabited?
So, following that thought through to a logical conclusion, is there the possibility that on each atom there is life on some of its Galaxies and Planets?
And, in the Atoms of those Planets, could there conceivably be other Universes? And so on, ad infinitum. Not only that, but let us further stipulate that this particular Huge Universe in which we live, is merely an Atom in, let's just say for the sake of this bizarre thought, someone's toe nail?
Coincidentally my gorgeous daughter Sophie recently had exactly the same thought.

I once performed a Kids' show in some place in the USA. A small deadpan monster sat in the front row, totally unimpressed throughout and at the end he said: "You're weird!"
And, if you consider what I just wrote above, one must agree with him!
I contemplate my Twitery and realize that nothing can be done when you have no rules. Because whatever new page you decide to turn over will be quickly forgotten in the blurry days ahead.
Hear endeth the lesion. Let us spray.

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