Guess If I’m blogging, I’m feeling better again. There’s times when all I want to do is blog, but can’t think how to start. That said there’s times I wanna chuck myself outa windows. Not through suicidal impulses, I’ll have you know, I don’t want this misconstrued (and no I’m not in ‘De Nile’), but just to see what it feels like. You know the whole le parkour, urban-jungling thing is fine if you want to threaten yourself with death, but all I want is the experience – imagine, air juggling your cheeks, eyes drying out through the rapid passage, clean, sweeping everything past you as you fall, Batman sticking his head out of the window as you pass. Maybe it’s just the high pressure or the heat, but that seems a nice thing.

Anyway, as I sat on my window ledge a few moments go, eating my eggs, roasted peppers (did them myself, left them in oil overnight – luvvly) and soda bread the bells started going. I was sat there, staring at the big cathedral just opposite, and I was thinking ‘move damn you!’ Course, I know damn right that it wasn’t going to move, like it had the capacity to hear my thoughts, or reason, or any capacity whatsoever, except to sit there and just be regal. Just one of those peculair hman creations, things that have one particular quality, but no other. Like anyone I associate movement with noise, and vice versa – you drop a stick it makes a noise, swoosh-bang-clatter – but this big bolstered building makes a noise like a ventriloquist’s dummy, sitting there smug, saying ‘it wasn’t me, honest guv.’

Course, I’m no fan of churches and cathedrals either. Big bloody buildings that drew the blood of thousands of less-privilieged people just so a bishop (no god) could live like a king in his fancy raiments. Sat there at the centre of a web of lesser evils, built for the rich exploiters of bath, like a gilt crucifix, pretty enough, but reeking of death.

Mutha…! As I was writing the church doors opened and the sunday mass poured out, like so much unleavened bread. And, for fuck’s sake, as htey were leaving, they were accosted by a full African choir, who danced for them! I started joining in the singing, jigging along, rolled into my bathroom, then realised that I was singing all those hebrew folks ongs from my childhood. The most professed atheist, goes out of his way to insult those hung-up on the deity, and he finds himself singing “Manish Tannahm halileh-hazeh, mi-cohl hal-ey-ous.” at the drop of some tztitzis.

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