Monday, 3 October 2011

Before the Sixth Minute

                The other day, after waking up much earlier than anticipated, the internet showed me another one of its marvels. Somebody had emailed me what, at first, appeared to be a music video. Halfway through this video the woman who was meant to be singing her upbeat declaration of love decided to pull down her underwear. This part of the video definitely caught my attention. I was completely engaged when she sat down and opened her vagina. Then from deep inside the bloody chasm there is was another mouth that continued lip-synching . I did not know what was worse, looking into the centre of a menstruating sheath before sunrise or that I recognised the pop song and could actually name the tiny teeny bopper that released it.
                I took this as a sign. It was either a warning or an invitation. Rather then accept I declined, vowing to stay away from technology for the day. Maybe I could find some small deserted island and stay there, just me and my senses. They could be trusted, they could lead me downstairs towards the kettle where I could sit and listen to it boil. Unfortunately there were obstacles. On the way to the kitchen I had to pass the living room where a television was discharging one of those ‘chat’ shows. A show where the host exposes his guests most intimate flaws and problems to the rest of the world. The show is extremely in your face, conversations are spouted at you the same way a dysentery infected arsehole releases faeces. It is shot out runny and goes everywhere, ruining everything.
                As I meander into the kitchen the radio is blaring out adverts. Catchy jingles designed to impregnate the brain with simple riffs offering a better world of motoring. Maybe I would appreciate the advert more if I could drive. Motorists themselves may smile in wonder and ecstasy when they hear the jingle repeated every twenty minutes during long car journeys. I gulp down a coffee, black and instant, before leaving through the front door. Nobody asks where I am going, they just let me go. It is entirely possible that they do not care.
                I end up at a park covered in green grass with trees surrounding the edges. At the front there is a play park for the smaller children, but I have no reason to complain about children in a park. That is, partially, because there are none. Today is an overcast school day. I wander towards a bench and sit down. I have no music player to listen to and I have no book to read. I am going to thoroughly enjoy the peace and quiet of the park. For five minutes I have peace and quiet.
                Sometimes five minutes is all you need, muscles feel like they relax in the brain. The girl with the singing vagina is now something amusing and, unless they actually found somebody with a mouth inside her labia, a lot of time and hard work went towards that video look realistic. It has the potential to go viral very quickly. Good for them. There is a breeze, gentle and calming. Waking up this morning is in the past, it could be a memory from months ago. Maybe it is.
Then I notice it across the road from the park; a bright purple billboard covering half of a brick wall. Across the solid block of purple is an ageing rock star with a body that must predate history. It is a body that has been used; it has seen damage and danger, taken near-fatal blows and survived through so many addictions and afflictions. It has endured through time and experienced more than most. Now it can now sell car insurance. Heroin can lead to worse things than an overdose. The peaceful mood is killed before the sixth minute. There is no physical escape. I will never have my own private island to escape to. Some days it is easy to avoid the things that you do not agree with they can be ignored like. Other days they are forced down your gullet. Repeatedly.
                When I return home the television is still on, excreting the same program. I am informed by my housemate that it is an omnibus. He then offers for me to join him, holding out a spliff. I sit, intending to stay only for a minute. Instead I stay a little longer and help him decrease his drug collection. As mentioned in the previous paragraph there is no physical escape from this world. But the physical and the mental can be two different things. I’m not suggesting that through any drug I have managed to reach a higher plane, or become enlightened. But I have found minor escapism and even numbed my mind. I can sit back, not worrying about what I see or intake. There is no negative, there is no positive. Today there is nothing. As the camera pans into the host of the show, he gives an unnatural grin and tells us he will be back after the break. I smile through the adverts and think of absolutely nothing.