Uncomfortabler Chapter One and a Half

Make Yourself Uncomfortabler: Chapter One and a Half

 

Please note: in the interests of pretending this is a work of fiction, I’ve decided to change people’s names around, including my own. This means I can not only hide behind the cowardice of a pen name (though, to be honest, ‘Ron Gridcharts’ isn’t something anyone keen on (or even totally indifferent to) anagrams would have much problem solving.

No, it’s not Orchard String, Starring Chord or any of the others that can be found on an anagram solving site here.

This is because that webpage only lists common nouns (nouns that say ‘haitch’ instead of ‘aitch’, shop at Farm Foods and so on) and not ‘proper’ ones. The ‘proper’ nouns are all a bit hoity-toity to be fair. I reckon it was them who made the decision about what was common and what was proper as they swanned about all capitalized at the front but then then just little letters after so they don’t seem rude or shouty.

Sometimes a particularly up itself proper noun group adds a little dash (called a hymen) between the two end words in the group and this is indicative of both in-breeding and a firm grasp on punctuation.

Okay, that’s the names thing out the way. I’ll go back and change a few people’s names slyly in the hope this website gets pointed to as yet another Mandela Effect, when really it’ll just be cut & paste- in words at least. In reality, I’ll be taking massive liberties so it won’t be in reality at all but in fiction.

This means I can weld entirely new people together from bits of others- a bit like Doctor Frankenstein or The Chapman Brothers, perhaps. My writing however, instead of being a thought-provoking treatise on the dangers of man playing god or, respectively, a couple of blokes gluing dildoes on mannequins, will just be me defacing my own site even further, like a lunatic who has smeared so many words in faeces on the walls of his cell that all that finely-wrought malodorous prose that might have once held promise and meaning is now just a load of shit with nowhere to go except round and round.

That lunatic isn’t me, by the way- it’s just imagery. I’m not a great fan of using bodily excretions for writing things down, although I did once manage to piss ‘fuck of’ in the snow but ran out of wee before the last ‘f’.

I also sometimes do poos- for the record- that look like some of the simpler letters of the alphabet and since February I have been recording these in a special journal. This is just in case my bum is trying to deliver me- or indeed the whole world- some kind of written message. So far it’s a bit limited in terms of vowels, though- mainly ‘I’ and the odd ‘U’.

To be honest, I think since moving to East Asia, my bum increasingly expresses itself through abstract expressionism (particularly the kind of splattery Jackson Pollock stuff that Jackson Pollock used to do) rather than writing.

I did think of recording each of these ‘works’ in RAW format and trying to sell the prints to some rich and weird art collector- one of the Podestas, perhaps- but it’s really more of a performance where it occupies a time and space (my toilet bowl about 30 minutes after I wake up and again after my second coffee) and then is flushed forever.

In verse that ironically rhymes despite its unconventional punctuation, this project can be summed up as:

 

I sit and shit / in time and space / then wipe and flush / and leave no trace (hopefully)

 

 

Anyway, I’m limbering up to continue my Uncomfortabler story but, as I said, I need to change a few names just in case I bump into one of the ‘characters’ again and they decide to thump me. I’ll also change a few other things round so that everyone gets good lines to say and a dramatic arc of some sort even though what actually happened was I said all the funny and clever stuff, only it was mainly to people whose English wasn’t good enough to understand me, or were too drunk, or just hated me.

I am eschewing many of the conventions of story-telling, however- a bit like Haruki Murakami does in 1Q84- a book I can’t recommend, even if you are one of those who bases a book-buying decision solely on how many words you get for your money- way too many in 1Q84’s case.

Here’s a little tip for cheapskate lovers of really long books (just because it ‘gives them something to do in winter’ like it’s the Nineteenth Century or something):

The Bible can be easily stolen from near-deserted churches these days for fuck all.

While it doesn’t provide a running commentary on the characters as they make light snacks, including miso soup recipes, nor comment obliquely on the niceties of Japanese culture, or even try to segue between all its bizarre and meaningless juxtapositions,

The Bible DOES at least have one recipe, for either some kind of Pita or Naan bread- the Ancient Hebrew is vague).

It also has one fuck of a memorable ending what with the End of Days, huge multi-headed monsters coming out the sea laying waste to everything during the revelation of the apocalypse and simply fuck loads of people getting burned forever in lakes of fire while God judges all in a shocking display of ‘tough love’ that Jesus- if he’s in that bit- probably doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at.

Now THAT would look way cool in 3D CGI whereas, as far as I can remember (not at all), Murakami’s overlong snore fest probably wouldn’t.

Anyway, in Chapter Two there’s a sex scene that was actually downright filthy at the time but I’ll have to describe it using either overblown metaphors, ironic distance, or try my hand at some erotic writing. I might even be able to sell it to Mayfair Magazine’s Readers’ Letters section, if that still exists.

In any case, it’s probably best to avoid Chapter Two if you are my sister and then just jump back in at Chapter Two and a Half.

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