Crown Court Madhouse
Roland Michel Tremblay
29 November 2006
Someone who would be
following my career as a writer in this day and age might actually become very
confused about what I was trying to achieve. Probably because I never tried to
achieve anything. Writing for me has always been a sickness I was born with,
and whatever job I have, is what I’ll be writing about, and it will also go on
to influence whatever fiction I may be writing at that time.
So why a book about the
UK Crown Courts then? Simple really, I live in
It is 2h30 am right
now, I have my job interview tomorrow morning. I have never put as much energy
into getting a job. I first went to the Court without any assurance they had a position
available, I had never done that before in my life. You should have seen me
explaining to the security guard that I was looking for a job. I thought he
would look at me as if I was a lunatic, going into a pub to ask if I could
become a waiter. He was nice, he pointed me into the direction of someone who
could help. A guy gave me an application form which contained over 60 pages,
for a position that pays as much as a garbage man, and for which they would
still expect you to have degrees and relevant experience. I was however not
discouraged by this, as I had just filled out a similar application form for
the same opened position at the local Magistrates’ Courts. I had spent five
days filling out that form, and yet it was not enough, as at the Crown Court
they have developed discrimination into an art form. I also had to spend time
filling out a detailed Declaration of Health where I had to describe all my
ailments and confirmation that I gave them permission to have my medical file
transferred to them. There was also that famous Financial Declaration file,
where unfortunately I had to declare that I was almost bankrupted and on some
sort of voluntary programme to repay my creditors (IVA). I thought after that
they would never call me for an interview, and even without those declarations
included for the Magistrates’ Courts position, they have not called me for an
interview. So tomorrow my interview is far from being luck, it was dedication.
I stormed into the Crown Court, I harassed them for a 60 pages application
form, I spent 12 hours straight filling it up, and harassed them again the next
day for them to study it and call me for an interview. A week later they
called, and now tomorrow I will have that so important interview. And I will
get the job, or else I wouldn’t be writing this now.
I will get the job for
simple reasons, I am over qualified for the post, I even had to give them a
dumb down version of my CV to get the job. Also because it was not advertised,
and yet they needed me (as per destiny), and so how could I not get the job if
I am the only candidate? So I will start working there just before Christmas,
in time to enjoy plenty of paid holidays.
And yet there is
something dirty about me working there, as if a spy was about to infiltrate
their state secrets. Because I will be detailing here everything I will hear
and see, and ultimately condemn them for their shortcomings and ways around the
law, that great United Kingdom Law, that every single American Popstarz behaving
badly on airlines and at
Poor them, they don’t
know, as usual, who it is they’re going to hire. As long as I don’t have any
criminal record, then I am a perfect candidate. We’re living in clement times,
what I’m going to do now is legal, but I doubt it will be for long as we
continue our ascension to the ultimate police state that
So, let’s find out
about those serious criminals in
So I have spent the
evening reviewing questions I could be asked with my partner, this was a review
of classics questions you are given at interviews, stupid questions which I’m
sure could never help anyone for example to spot either an anarchist like me,
or a terrorist. It usually goes like: tell us what the biggest flaw in your
personality is: I despise you so much, I wish to kill you all right now, would
be the right answer. However I would say something more along the lines of: I
am too efficient in my job, it annoys my colleagues until they can no longer
stand it and they finally decide to form a mutiny coalition to get me sacked
after a while. That answer always pleases them deeply, and it is always so
untrue! How they let themselves being fooled like this by the defendants, is
beyond my comprehension. They’re human I suppose, poor them, we have to forgive
them for their human nature, badly placed compassion, etc.
The guy interviewing me
tomorrow, apparently, is a jack the lad himself. A Scottish chappy with a huge
earring in his ear (comparable to those the Bajorans wear in Deep Space Nine).
This is supposed to mean that he his subversive, cool, whatever. It is
obviously either a joke or a weapon. A joke because that kind of guy wouldn’t
be working at a Crown Court. A weapon because he must be projecting a cool
personality, on the verge of being a criminal, so he can gain the trust of
other criminals ending up at the most powerful criminal court in England unless
they decide to appeal. So it is a weapon, making the criminals believe they are
safe, gain their confidence, and then they talk and talk and talk, until
they’re toast. Brilliant! When those criminals will see me, in my suit, my
short hair cut, my tie, they’ll probably puke all over the place, and insult me
badly, because they will see in me the establishment, the respect of high
society, everything they despise. Little they will know that I am ever more on
their side than the one of authority, of any kind. You don’t need to look the
part to be the most anti-establishment bastard this world has ever seen. Look
is deceptive, I’m on their side, that guy is everything but on their side,
despite his hair cut, his attitude and his Star Trek earring. You see, I didn’t
even had the interview yet, and I have already established something critical
about how deceptive that Crown Court is. I won’t be fooled by this. I will be
so formal at that interview, I will even push it to the limits of being
judgmental against him. I will make it clear that I don’t feel he is cool, on
the contrary, I will show disdain and smugness towards his persona, and this is
how I will get the job, because this is what ultimately he is looking for.
How do I know so much
about a place that I visited for less than 10 minutes altogether? I have a spy,
a Justice of the Peace no less. He has told me everything about everyone
already. Not that this is how I will get the job in the end, however I know who
I will meet, and I know how to play them at their own game. I will be so pure!
It will be disgusting. I am so perfect, they will want to take me under their
wings. I will be so brilliant, intelligent, educated, informed, that they will
cry for me to accept that job and remain there at least a year (as they will
know that I could be Prime Minster one day, so why would I want a job as a
simple administrator, earning less than the Polish people cleaning the streets
of the borough? Exactly. That is the deception. I should have called that book
The Great Deception.
I spent the whole night
reading about the justice system in
I will either be a
usher or an administrative officer. I would prefer to be a usher and be in the
court room, I might learn more as an administrative officer though, and that is
what I ultimately applied for, because this is the application form I had
prepared for the Magistrates’ Court that I simply copied for the Crown Court. Do
you know what a usher is? Never mind, the important thing is that I now know
what it is. My only worry, if I was ever going to become a usher, would be to
fall asleep right there in front of everyone in the court room. Since I never
really sleep, too busy spending the night getting drunk and writing, I will
most certainly fall asleep everyday in court. So perhaps it would be better to
be an administrative troll. I’ll be a drone either way.
Wow! What a chance I
could get tomorrow, to study all the worst criminal cases in
So only Judges will be
people worth talking to, and I will make it my mission to get close to them,
become their confident, develop great friendships. To them I will have to
divulge who I really am, so they can respect me to the point of compromising
themselves. I would expect them to be all right though, but we’ll see. I will
certainly be afraid of them, I spent the whole of last year in
After such a speech
from me, I’m sure you expect me to fall flat on my face. I certainly expect it
myself, so what’s your point? Of course I will, however, if I didn’t feel like
this right now at the beginning, I wouldn’t get into this nightmare. I know I
might be proven wrong. I know I will once again go through hell on earth, dear
me, I know I will again want to commit suicide. Only need a bitch manager to
push me to those limits. But I’ll try my best, I’ll try to stick to my plan,
the reason I will be put there for over a year to observe and report, and
hopefully this book will be helpful in the end, to someone at least. I hope.
Should I start my
marketing right away? It could interest any criminal suddenly discovering that
he or she will have to go through that system, or any barrister or solicitor
starting in his or her job, or any politician in charge of re-writing the
constitution and developing new amends. Whatever. If in the end this is only
one book for myself to remember what I’ve put myself through, it will be reason
enough to write that damn book.
Ok, interview in six
hours. I will let you know what happened.
All right, I now went
to the interview. As planned I was sick like a dog, I couldn’t even answer the
questions about the car accident I had yesterday on the phone with the various
people who were calling this morning to sort out everything, I was incapable of
thinking. It was not however what I first thought it was, being still drunk and
tired, both Stephen and I are sick like dogs today, the flu or something, so I
was a real zombie at my interview. No matter how much I tried to smile, I think
what showed was my long face where they must have had trouble seeing any sign
of life in there.
I met two nice persons,
it always starts like that at interviews, and you usually discover later on
that they are bastards, but in this case I feel they will remain nice people to
work with even after I get the job. Their main point was to tell me my salary,
£15,000, and then waited. I said, so? They said, well, don’t you want to run
away out of here now that you know how little you will get? It was difficult to
convince them that I was an anomaly of this materialistic and capitalist world,
that money for me meant nothing, and that the less I get, the better I feel,
which of course is totally untrue. Then they told me what I would be doing,
entering data into the computer all day long. And then they waited for my
reaction. I had to convince them that I love inputting data into computers all
day, that I was aware it was the most soul destroying thing in the world, but
as my last 10 years of modified work experience was showing, entering numbers
into computers has been the bulk of my tasks for the last 15 years, and so I
was totally competent and didn’t mind at all. Could they truly believe that?
They said they were
terribly short staffed and needed someone ASAP, when I said I could start the
very next day, the woman was so pleased, she almost offered me the job on the
spot. The other guy said though that I would start Monday if I got the job.
They also stated that their computers predated the venue of the Christ on this
planet, and I sure could tell that the software I will be using must have been
invented in the 60s, and most people stopped using them for good 30 years ago.
When I saw the people I would be working with, I immediately realised they were
not short on staff, but were suffering from many employees doing nothing all
day. In other words, I’ll be the one doing the work of everyone else. They
could hire 20 more people and I’m sure nothing would get done. The other
administrators are either house wives who have never worked in their lives
before getting those cushy jobs, and probably never realised they had to do any
work once at work, jobs they probably got 20 years ago, and now no one can sack
them. The other ones are old Indian men who could never have got anywhere
because they would have suffered from discrimination, and probably have no idea
how lucky they are that they get paid to do fuck all all day. I suspect these
men are full of prejudices, and communication with them will be nearly
impossible. If they learn I’m gay, they’ll probably declare a war or something.
I made a few
discoveries, the building is very old, and inside it does look like a madhouse,
a madhouse of bureaucracy. There are papers everywhere in piles and piles over
every single desk. I was observing this, thinking, is there any way to find
anything in this? How is it possible that none of these papers get lost? Many
piles were about to fall off into the bins on the side of every desk, I was
convinced that if I were to be tried at that Crown Court, chances are they
would lose my papers and no one would be the wiser about what I had done.
Most cases are
apparently from the airport, half of them are about illegal drug entry into
this country. Others are asylum seekers. All criminal these days are people
moving drugs into this country and people moving their body into this country. They
all lead to prison.
So I went back home
after the interview, confident I would get the job. I was so sick, I went
straight to bed. They finally called and offered me the job. I feigned being
the happiest man alive, and confirmed I would be there next Monday at 9h30
sharp. I intend to find out if it is true that a job in the public sector,
paying absolutely nothing, is the way to happiness and self discovery about
oneself. Thank God this job has a double purpose, as I will be writing this
book, because I would feel like committing suicide right now. I am in a state
of panic, this is more frightening to me, that £15,000 and that madhouse filled
with zombies, than it was for me to be shipped to
3 December 2006
It is now 19h25, the
night before I start my new job. I am counting the minutes of freedom left
before I go to my prison every day, patiently waiting 17h to run out.
At this time I cannot
say which would be the worst madhouse between the court or my flat, as it has
become so unbearable around here with the dog constantly barking and being overexcited,
the parrot shouting at the top of his lungs all the time and flying in my face
every single minute of the day. This would be all right without Stephen in the
background constantly talking, whinging, attacking me, real verbal abuse of
unfair attacks, all because we have no money left and as a result he cannot
sleep at night. Just to show how unfair he is, today he accused me many times
of not bringing any money in and of being lazy, when I start work tomorrow, so
what more can I do? He also complained many times that I don’t do house work. I
cook every day, do the dishes all by myself every day, I do the washing every
other day, I clean the bed and sofa every week, if not twice when one of the
six cats or the dog decide to pee on them, and I vacuum the place twice a week,
which requires cleaning the vacuum cleaner four times a week because it clogs
up. Considering all the house work I do, compared with him who actually does
fuck all, it is hard to take that I could be blamed for this so unjustly. When
you’re living with some unintelligent and unreasonable person, there is no
possible defence, no argument that could help you to prove your innocence, as
they have chosen to be blind to the facts, and hearing them does not change
their mind in the slightest. Simply because they need a reason to whinge, to
complain, to make your life a misery. As they have no reason to do so, they
invent some.
In these conditions, I
welcome going to work. Not that it will bring me away from him, as we will be
working the same hours, and hence I would have been home alone whilst he was at
work. I just hope that now that I will be working, he will be happier and no
longer blaming me for being a drain on his resources. I’m not expecting a
miraculous recovery, until at least I get paid in one month, in the New Year
perhaps. I cannot live like this anymore, so either he stops attacking me, or
I’ll have to leave this place somehow.
When I remember how
peaceful and quiet I was in
I am in a panic state
because of him, more so because starting a new job is no easy matter when you
know nothing of what to expect. I have resigned myself one way or another that
it is not allowed in this society to be unemployed, without suffering the wrath
of everyone around you. They will endeavour to destroy you mentally as much as
they can until you can no longer take it, give up and go back to work. I have
also come to the conclusion that no matter the job you have, it will always be
like a prison you have to go to for at least 45 hours a week, the lunch hour
being part of the stress of that job. As it is a necessary evil, I might as
well find an easy job, even one that pays next to nothing. I will see tomorrow
if I have chosen wisely or not. That’s the big worry here. It is not because a
job pays nothing that it is easier, quite the contrary. It all depends on the
people you work with and how unreasonable and ready to attack they are. You
only need one bitch with some powers over you or capable of backstabbing you at
every corner to ruin it for you. And that office could be full of them. We will
be over 20 people working in a very closed environment, all sitting over each
other, breathing the same rant air, being crazy by the end of the day.
If you want to know
exactly what I mean, just read any of the dozen books I have written about my
corporate lives in the last 20 years. I go into much detail, I was hoping
somehow I had done that enough and would be spared this nightmare again as
nothing else can be learnt from this. But unless I have any kind of
breakthrough with any of my other books or film script, or anything else, I am
condemned to this zombie and uncreative life of working with the living dead.
I was well aware that
my time was limited before starting this new job, and I am proud that in the
last week I wrote the first fifty pages of my new work of fiction, Anna Maria
stories. I would have liked to write much more in the last three days, but
Stephen has killed my project, probably without even realising it, since I am
to be blamed for his bursts of anger as much as for everything else that has
gone bad on this Earth from before Jesus-Christ was even born.
Now he has sort of gone
to bed, and I have few hours left before me to write the end of my second short
story, but where would I now find the motivation, the inspiration? I feel more
like shooting myself in the head than anything else. If ever that book Anna
Maria is my way out of these 9 to 5 jobs and nightmarish small minded people
making my life impossible, I’ll have to say that it was written in such
constrained conditions, out of complete desperation, that I would be surprised
that I was ever able to finish writing it. It is no longer a question of how I
can make it better, how can I emulate the style of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but
simply a matter of: can I write a few pages tonight to get closer to the end
before the end of times fall upon me?
I am so depressed right
now, I don’t think I will be able to write. I might instead find a PC game and
play until
4 December 2006
I don’t have much time
to write on my lunch hour, I won’t even have the time to eat. Unfortunately
Stephen was here, and so stress ran very high.
My first morning was
all right. I have never seen so many employees who have kept their job for so
long. Well, that’s not quite true, however most of them have been there many
years. Can’t be that bad a job then. Hopefully they are paid more than I am.
I will have too older
Indian men around me. It is not the fact that they are Indians which I fear
will build a gap between us, but more because they are older men, family men,
etc. However, it might turn out that they will be very nice people. The younger
ones are hype, cool, and I feel we could become friends, even if they are a bit
serious. Most of the women which could be the real problems, backstabbing wise,
were absent today, so I don’t know about that yet.
I didn’t do much this
morning, but I sat in two court rooms with jury. One case of illegal drugs
entry in the country, and a rape case. A kid who was 11 years old at the time,
and raped twice a 4 year old girl. Fuck it, I can’t write right now, too
stressed, the bird is flying everywhere. I’ll see if I feel like it tonight.
It is now well passed
midnight, and finally I sit down hoping to write a few lines? Stephen has been
such a handful tonight, what drug is he on? He is so hyper, just like the dog I
would need to run him down the park until he could happily fall asleep, so I
can finally work.
Well, it is again not
now that I will be writing about my first day at the Crown Court. And anyway,
it was such a miserable day, in such an atmosphere of misery, with a bunch of
nobody that if they all died today, nobody would give a damn, that I don’t
really want to talk about it. God, if they ever read this one day, they will
certainly get the hump and hate me for it. Of course, it is more that I feel
miserable myself that I’m saying that. And I feel that writing another diary
book about nothing is really not a wise idea. I was born to write rock and roll
songs, just like Oasis, however I am limited to simply writing books with some
sort of similar passion, and now I realised that I’ve been reduced to talk
about stupid jobs that pays nothing. Not exactly what I had in mind when I had
this crazy idea that a diary about working in a Crown Court would be nice. Duh,
wrong!
Tonight I would have
liked to work on Anna Maria, for once I was highly motivated for some reason,
but I didn’t get the chance. I think tomorrow I’ll throw a sicky and write all
day. Just joking. I may go to bed at 3 am though and finish my second short
story, only 14 more pages to write.
The old Indian man is
patronising, I can see he has many children, and by default I became one as
well. At the end of the day, after I wrote down everything he said, to avoid
any mistake in the future, he complained that I wrote a novel! So I said, well,
that’s the difference between someone who’s professional and who cares about
what he does, and some loser you pay nothing, to do a half job. And that is the
Crown Court for god’s sake, people lives are at stake. I spotted no less than 5
mistakes in what he did today. And at least 5 more in the paperwork we received
from the
How we can still work
with those old systems is also a mystery to me. It is so old, the software we
use, I bet anyone could hack into this in no time. Anyway, if the British
Government does not wish to invest any money in something so important, they
must have their reason.
When I started working
there, and only had a vague idea of what I would be doing, I was panicking
because I thought I would have to do so many things. One thing in particular
that I thought was frightening was to put together daily the list of every case
in all 8 courts on a sheet of paper and contacting all these people to make
sure they would be there that day. I thought, as I’ve been used to in
conferences, that I would have to do it all by myself, on top of uploading all
the info and results of all the cases into the computer. That is what would be
expected of me in any job in the commercial world. I learnt that there is a
whole department in charge of listing, at least 6 or 7 persons in charge of
doing just that, including two bosses. I fell off my chair, none of them must
be doing any work!
And for the first time
in 15 years, I now have to fill out a time sheet. I have to work exactly 7
hours and 12 minutes a day to fulfil my 36 hours a week. I’m gonna have a lot
of fun spending three hours a week filling my time sheet! And better do those
12 minutes, or else, Big Brother we’ll have me for breakfast.
I’ve met the Manager of
the whole place today, he personally came to me to welcome me. That is one
bastard, I already saw him spitting on the second Indian old man who’s been
there for years, because he was slow at finishing an urgent task. I hope I
won’t have him breathing down my neck, because he will see that I won’t be like
that submissive old man, being kind and innocent in the face of such an
affront. I hope I can keep it all inside.
That rape story really
freaked me out. When the defendant came in, and I heard he was accused of rape,
I really felt weird. That is a universe I had no knowledge of, the criminal
world. And there, they face it everyday, dealing with people who look so rough,
you know immediately you shouldn’t stand in their way, or they will kill you. This
roughness was only matched by all those young solicitors who look very
effeminate, even though I’m sure they’re straight. They all have very thin
fingers, they look so weak, you think they would die or just vanish in the smallest
wind on their way out of the court. I would not even have sex with them, I
would be afraid of breaking their bones.
Which brings me to at
least a few people there that are nice to look at, only three in fact, all
young and good looking, at least one gay, the Scottish main manager. A bit
older though, but definitely gay. I don’t think we will be having sex any time
soon, and I don’t particularly wish it, but I would hope that he would be an
ally, at the very least. The second good looking one, very thin, nice built
body, very sexy and tight shirts without a t-shirt underneath, I could look at
him all day. Desperately straight though. And the little Chinese guy, who knows
if he is gay. I don’t think so, despite his style in clothes and manners.
Well, I will like them
all as co-workers, including the older Indian men (and hopefully the women), as
long as they like me. They will either like me, or not at all. Only time will
tell. They will only like me if I am loud and if I take a lot of space, joking
around and everything, but then this always brings you enemies, or jealous ones
fearing from losing their little paradise they had built up for themselves.
None of them though seems to have enough personality to feel threatened by my
arrival, so we’ll see.
A mighty danger might
be those ridiculously unintelligent security guards. One in particular is very
annoying and always tries to joke around with everyone, when in fact, he is so
boring, I could fall asleep in the middle of one of his jokes. And I’m afraid
he might get the hump with me. He seems to be either drugged or drunk, and as a
consequence, I can’t understand anything he says. It is hard enough that those
Indian men still haven’t learn to speak an English I can understand, after
spending something like 50 years in England, and I don’t understand half of
what they say, but the Scottish manager is also difficult to comprehend. They
are obviously a bunch of uneducated people, I haven’t been used to working with
people eating their words like that. It is a big contrast with those mighty
Americans I was working with in Los Angeles, who were all speaking very loud
and clearly and rapidly, but who simply could not shut up!
There is also this
annoying journalist who works in the office! She was using all the court’s
equipment, fax, photocopier, whatever, and all she does is to go from court
room to court room, taking notes, and splashing and destroying everyone’s
reputation in the newspapers the next day. I felt like shooting her on the
spot. In my opinion, all these court cases should be private. A career and
one’s credibility is too easily lost in this world. Only the results should be
known publicly.
That poor guy accused
of rape, he was not even 18. At 11 he apparently raped a 4 year old girl,
twice. It lasted 5 minutes each time. I’m sure he would be found guilty, and
his life will now be ruined. For something he was probably not even aware was
wrong at the time, he was 11! And the girl, she has been so brainwashed now,
the words she used were striking: he raped me! His private parts! Those are not
the words of 9 year old, and she was 6 when the tape they played was recorded.
It was very suspicious. It looked like acting to me, it didn’t look natural. However,
her story might be true, it is likely to be true. I will not witness the end of
this case, since I’m not allowed on my work hours to go into courts and watch,
unless it is on my lunch hour or my day off. I will check though if he loses.
I was also taken aback,
that as soon as the jury left, the judge wanted to speed up the process to cram
a lot in one day. He said that one way or another, this case would be finished
by the end of this week. Well, considering that a young teenager will go to
prison for years to come over this, how can we be talking about suppressing
testimonies, witnesses prepared statements, etc.? It was all a bit
discouraging.
There is also the
mystery of at least one woman who was sitting on two juries, in two different
court rooms. I haven’t dreamt that, is this allowed?
6 December 2006
Today I think I have
learnt that a job around the corner in admin, is just like a job in conferences
in
There’s a gloom and
doom about the people I’m working with, that they’re underpaid and feel
inadequate with their basic education. Especially on the men’s side. Women
appear, though I couldn’t confirm it since I have not spoken to many yet, to
accept their status of miserable underpaid bastard more easily. Probably
because society does not put as much pressure on women to succeed and to have
high salaries. So, my cool young friends there only work in these places for
years and years, because most probably they couldn’t work anywhere else with no
education or experience in anything.
Yesterday there was a
meeting with all the employees, a doctor from the hospital came to tell us
about tuberculosis and the chances we might catch it since one person of a jury
has been identified as a carrier of the disease. I asked two questions, very
much in the style of those solicitors that I witnessed in the court rooms. I
said: “Am I correct in assuming that you do not believe any of us caught TB?”
To which he answered “correct”. And then I asked what the symptoms were anyway,
and he told us all about it. I believe they were the most perfect questions to
ask and I’m pleased I did. It seems to have got the attention of the big top manager
of the place, the one I witnessed two days ago being very rude to my Indian
friend beside me. The one who will retire within two years.
So the big manager is
very nice to me, and has been since the very beginning. It is nice while it
lasts, I’m pretty sure I’ll get into trouble soon enough and he will simply
forget me. He is very worried about image, he must think there are too many
Indians working there, that much is clear, and not only that, they are all of
the same subdivision of Indians, not the Muslim one, and so some white blood
for him, I feel, is desired, so they fulfil their discrimination requirements
of having at least one white person working in the whole crown court, even
better if he is not a British White. That also fulfils some discrimination
requirements, to have some Other Whites, as I have come to be known as since in
The Court Manager made
a point in bringing me the newsletter of the employees working at the DCA
nationally. It was all about that we were the worst paid civil servants in the
whole country, with at least £1000 less in salary than anyone else. Also that
the Treasury planned more money for the DCA for pay rise, and even then the DCA
decided to not give anyone pay rises. Why would he make a point of giving that
saying: “here, please read this so you will be aware of any news within the
DCA”. Was he trying to justify why my salary was so low, or that perhaps I
should join the fight since pretty soon it seems we might go on strike? Dear
me, he has no idea I don’t give a shit about salary, or else I wouldn’t be
working there. I would be in the city killing myself working for a conference
company and commanding a huge salary figure. I reckon now I could get five
times my actual salary as a Management Consultant (£75,000). Maybe I’m
dreaming, I could at least have three times my salary quite easily with
bonuses, as a Manager or Director or something. I’m pretty sure of that. I
could get £45,000 even as a simple conference producer in telecoms, including
bonuses. I was supposedly on that in one of my last position in conferences,
though I never quite got any bonus at all.
I was reading recently
that the city council was now offering better and top notch salaries to attract
post graduate people. I bet they discovered that all of their employees had no
education to speak of. No wonder it is filled with incompetent losers. Archibald
must have been told I was a post-graduate student, and is probably afraid to
lose me. He’s probably in a hurry to promote me over the head of these people
who worked there for ten years and more. Little he knows that I’m not
interested. I look forward discovering with this genuine interest will
eventually lead, if anywhere.
I think Jaz, the main
Indian man who’s been training me since the beginning has already stitched me
up today. He tried to explain something to me, I was all confused because he is
incapable of explaining anything correctly, and after that he went straight in
the office of the Scottish guy. Not sure what he could have told him. All I
know is that before he went in the office, he told me that anyone who would
call would know what a consecutive and a concurrent sentence would be, and also
what an effective sentence means. He spent 10 minutes trying to explain to me,
and he confused me further than what I would have guessed it meant. I bet in
the end I’m right and he’s wrong, as usual. So God knows if he went in the
manager’s office complaining that I were stupid and ignorant, and perhaps I
should be sacked, however I’m not worried. The man is so dumb, they must know
by now! And if they want to believe him, that’s fine by me. Being backstabbed
like that though, after three days on the job, is quite a record. I’ll have to
keep my eye on him, I never thought he would the backstabbing type.
I’m learning also that
the other Indian guy is quite the whinging type. And if somehow I try to get away
with no doing the mail in the morning, I bet he will report me within 5 minutes
to everyone who would want to hear his complaints. I’m on dangerous grounds,
anything I do which could suggest I’m lazy, I’ll be in deep trouble. Five
minutes late, I’m pretty sure will be known within the whole Crown Court within
seconds. Got to watch my back.
He was the one this
morning to spot that I was very tired, and yes I drank a few beers yesterday.
He immediately said so out loud, and repeated it twice afterwards as people
arrived. Another backstabbing in a huge scale, just because I looked tired. He
told everyone that I partied all night, bastard. I bet he doesn’t even
understand how damaging to my precarious situation he can be. Another one I
will have to watch.
Here we go, I’ve been
the perfect employee so far, and I have already been stab twice. Way to go!
I’ve seen worse though, however I don’t know yet the extent to which they’re to
go to destroy me after my beginning there. We’ll see. Human nature is so predictable,
and is the same the world over. Jealousy rates amongst the top five problems,
and what they’re ready to do as a consequence, has no limit. Unfairness must
come second. If they feel in any way that I get a preferential treatment
somehow, even if it is only a perception and not quite true, dear me, they will
destroy me.
7 December 2006
Usually I plague people
at work with so many personal questions that they back off and tell me right on
the spot to mind my own business. In the case of my supervisor, the British
man, as he is the only real person from
I will call him
Matthew, or Matt. Apparently he is the person to thank for saving the trees in
my area, he is the one who fought with a group of his friends to get the place
declared a conservative area. In doing so, he prevented the whole of the Crown
Court to expand since for that very reason their proposal was rejected by the
council. Some people must know he was at the root of this little problem.
He calls himself an
eco-warrior and an expert on trees. First thing he asked me in fact was if I
had seen the movies Lord of the Rings. Apparently he was consulted about those
big trees walking around the forest on which the Hobbits travel. He was also
asked information for many other films. Told me his father used to be a
cameraman and his mother a hairdresser at Pinewood Studios and worked on just
about every film there was, including Star Wars, etc.
For a second there, I
thought I was back in
What was even more
puzzling to me, was, why was he so desperate to revalorise himself like that?
Is he trying to prove to me that he is not the loser I could think he is
because he probably has no education to speak of and is a simple minded
supervisor earning perhaps £2,000 more than me? Or more worrying than anything
else, has he done a search on the Internet under my name and found out all
about me? I certainly did not mention anywhere at work or even on my CV my
published books or my work in television and films. So where did this come
from? I would have a lot explaining to do if ever he found out. He didn’t tout for
info though, so I guess my secret is safe for now.
He says he is a jack
the lad, and if he doesn’t grow up, his wife will leave him. It was more like a
joke. I bet he doesn’t even know what being a jack the lad means, as he
certainly looks like the quiet type. Been arrested once for fighting in a fish
& chips restaurant, and claims to have been kept in prison only for his own
security. I can think of better ways to be secured than going to prison, like
perhaps a little trip to
He asked me today if I
had any criminal offence under my belt, I said I was so pure, I had never been
arrested in my entire life. He also asked with whom I lived, I think they
already suspect I could be gay. I said I lived my a flat mate. They were going
to get that private info so easily, I can tell you that for nothing. Then it
was the game of finding out exactly where I lived. Stephen had warned me the
day before to not let them know, because if you throw a sicky, they will be
checking you on their way in and out of work. I had no choice but to tell them,
as they were so insistent.
So finally he asked if
I knew a certain neighbour in my block who went bunkers and almost killed
everyone in the building with grenades, fire weapons and other paraphernalia.
Well of course, who could have missed over 100 army soldiers in my back garden
throwing fuming cans and using taser guns? In fact, I recorded the whole
episode on tape, audio only. So, it turns out that this lunatic is one of his
best friend, though by the end of the conversation, he simply said, an old
friend with whom he was a scout with when he was young. Yeah!
Well, very embarrassing
for him, that by trying to find out embarrassing facts from me, he had to admit
to be good friend with an heroine addict who had hepatitis, who’s girlfriend
died of AIDS, and in the end wanted to commit suicide by having the police
shoot him. Simple miscalculation that, even though taser guns had never been
used in the
The only other personal
questions I got were from the Chinese guy, the one who really feel like he did
mess up his life and is working in a dead end job. He asked me once where I
worked before, and I managed to say that I was not working, I was off work for
a while before that job. The very next day he came back to ask again, obviously
not satisfied with my cryptic answer. So I said that I worked in admin in
conference companies, nothing fancy, nothing extraordinary. Hopefully this
convinced him that I am no threat to him and I am not there to supplant him
with any possible promotion. I just hope it has not gone around the office that
I have a Masters degree, though I feel this is exactly what happened, which
would explain why the big top manager of the place is interested in me. Big
deal! What’s wrong with these people? Everywhere I worked I was surrounded with
people with diplomas, more often PhDs as a matter of fact. I never felt
threatened by it. I’m not sure what’s going on in their mind about it, it is
something I never experienced myself, to feel inadequate and threatened by the
experience or education of others. Might be difficult for me to understand them
and prevent their attacks which will surely come eventually. At the moment I
can only lay low and convince them that I am a loser. Fuck! How could it be any
other way? Who would accept a job at £15,000 a year if it was not the case? Are
we not supposed to be ambitious and want to succeed at any cost, never stopping
until we get to the top and that we are as rich as Directors or Managing
Directors are supposed to be? I hope that even the word conference does not
light up any light bulb in his mind, it did in Québec back home, and there sure
is no reason for it, it is far from being glamorous. Can you imagine if he knew
that I was in
I may tell them more
about me in time, I guess this cannot be helped, when all day people ask you
questions. However I don’t intend for them to know all about it within my first
week. I know nothing could be gained from it, perhaps just an Ego trip, and
that is meaningless because it all depends upon the people you compare yourself
with. Some garbage man supervisor can feel quite proud to be the supervisor,
when in fact, he is still a garbage man.
I am failure myself, I
know that. I failed at everything. There’s nothing really about me that I can
be proud of. The way things are going, I will die and they will be able to say
about me that I wrote the longest blog ever, and that’s about it. Nothing to
write home about. Unless of course, as I am planning, my next novel will
revolutionise everything, my dear Anna Maria and her colleague the Duke of
Connaught, from Richmond Park. In fact, I live much more in that fictional
universe at the moment than in that reality. Must be a good sign. But how many
times have I started a book thinking that this one would the one, that
overnight I could expect a huge best-seller and enough money to write full
time? It never happened. So I can dream. For now I am but a garbage man, and
not even a supervisor at that.
10 December 2006
Sunday 15h. I’m finally
sitting at my computer after watching the Biography channel all afternoon.
First the Dr. Atkins war with the rest of the nutritionists industry, then the
Coca-Cola war with Pepsi. It convinced me to go on Atkins diet again
eventually, and not to drink Coke or Pepsi ever again. I’ve been drinking water
anyway for many years now and I’m glad of this decision.
Now that this is out of
the way, let’s do an assessment of my first week at the Crown Court. It ended
well, with everyone asking me if everything was all right, and the fact that
this is Sunday and I’m not having any panic attack at the idea of going back
tomorrow morning is a good sign. Hopefully it will last. The Scottish guy is
going to
I made only one
significant mistake in my first week, I was a bit too anal about the details. I
insisted way too much to my Indian mentor to tell me exactly how everything
should be done, worried that their carefully designed system of organising files
and folders and data was respected in its entirety with me. I didn’t want to
repeat the same mistakes over and over again in my work, because I would have
been told to do something wrongly in the first place. Even the big Manager
heard of this and came to me on Friday to tell me to calm down about this and
simply go with the flow. All right then, I’ll be making many mistakes in days
to come and they can find that out in time and correct them as they go along. I
won’t be asking so many questions from now on, quantity is better than quality,
as it has always been the case in any of my previous jobs, a Crown Court not
being the exception.
I haven’t yet spoke
about one disgruntled bitch there who I’m sure has been working there for over
20 years. She’s OK so far, bitch is too hard a word to describe her at this
time, and I’m sure we won’t have problems her and I. But she’s got an annoying
voice, a bit like those Americans in the
It turns out that
Lillian is the anti-French spokesperson amongst the zombies I’m working with.
She’s also the only British woman in my office. I was astonished by the racist
comments she shouted out in the office: “I hate French people, they are all
pigs!” Can you imagine if I had gone into this office that day and said the
same thing about Indian people? “I hate Pakis, they’re all pigs!” Not only
would have I been suspended and sacked on the spot, I would also have a
criminal record now. And so I can see that discrimination and racism within a
Crown Court in
Her sole argument was
that she went to France with her kids, and whilst waiting in line to buy an ice
cream, a French guy apparently pushed her kid out of the way to go and buy an
ice cream. So I said this could have happened anywhere in the world, even in
Note that I was quick
to point out that I was Canadian, and not French. And believe me, it is not the
first time in my career that I found myself apologising for how rude the French
people are and to distinguish myself from them in that fashion. However
sometimes I can be rude myself, and when this arises, I’m also quick to point
out that: “Oh well, I’m French, what do you expect? It is in a culture thing and
it means nothing.” Go figure.
The only Brits on my
office is at war with is wife, she claims he has to grow up or else she will
divorce him. They have been married for a year and a half, and I suspect it was
for her to remain in the country as she is Australian. So we can wonder about
how much she truly loved him in the first place and if this marriage will last
other than for her to remain in the
Many times now the Brit
said that he needs to grow up, repeating the words of his wife. And when I asked
him what it is that he needed to grow up about, the only example he could
provide (I guess if it is a heroine addiction problem he wouldn’t tell), is
that he went for pints of beer down the pub with the Chinese guy a few times
without telling her. That one time his mobile phone was off, and she freaked
out, went to all the pubs around, found him and hit him in the face. Who needs
to grow up then? And stop freaking out when her husband is not home right on
time without calling first to ask permission to go down the pub?
I think the Indian guy
who is in charge of showing me the drill likes me more and more. The fact that
I never had any trouble with the law, that I love Indian food, and perhaps many
other details like me saying in the office that he was my mentor, seems to have
earned me a soft spot in his heart. Not sure if it will last though, we’ll see
next week.
At least, one of the
main positive thing about this miserable job, is that it has wiped my ass into
working on that novel Anna Maria. I finished the second story this Friday
night, drinking the vodka and orange juice of Stephen, and fortunately, despite
drinking a sizable sample of them, he didn’t notice. By the time he goes to
bed, usually, he’s so drunk, he cannot remember if he drank it or not. I hope
tonight to start my third short story and finish it early next week.
Leonardo called from
I’ll be having 11 days
off over Christmas, hopefully paid as this is the public sector. I will paid only on the last day of the
month, and so will have the poorest Christmas period of all time. Thankfully I
don’t intend to give anyone a gift, so I should be all right. I never had any
money to give anyone gifts, so I gave that up years ago and no one seems to
mind, they just learnt in time to not give me gifts either. All sorted.
I almost made a mistake
at 17h on Friday at work. Received a phone call, it had been someone trying to
reach me all this week, and so this time I answered it in the office. I shouted
back out loud: “you are Catherine from BT?” So afterwards I was able to say
that I was trying to sort out my broadband connection. It was in fact Catherine
from the BBC, and I am invited for an interview fro Development Producer for radio
drama on 5th January. I wish I could say I’ll get that job, but the
competition must be stiff, with thousands others in the country with more and
credible experience all willing to move to
11 December 2006
This morning I was
plagued again with questions from the British guy, he asked me if I was a
trekker. Which I had to say I was. He then went on to ask if I had written my
own little Star Trek stories, which I have not but I told him I wrote others.
It is now clear that he has read my website, I doubt my Pocket PC alone could
have suggested that to him. It is one thing to deduct from it that I could be a
trekker, quite another to guess that I wrote sci-fi stories. So I guess all my
secrets are out. Not sure where that leaves me.
The Chinese guy asked
me again, what sort of sports I liked. What is it to him? He is Chinese for
god’s sake, it is not like he would be interested in British sports? He
mentioned that he liked Cricket, like if I believe this, there’s no cricket
team in
The old Indian man sort
of invited me for a beer on Friday, which I sort of agreed though I have
absolutely no money. So I guess I’ll tell him we’ll go for one, he will pay,
and in the new year we’ll go again and I will pay. Could be interesting to hear
his story. He really annoyed me this morning, with that other woman from the
other office who will be leaving soon. They are both lazy workers who wish to
get away with doing as little as possible. Which is fine by me, as it is also
my own rule. The problem is when people are trying to do as little as possible
by making the new employee to work like a slave and do everything for them.
That’s not acceptable. That woman is patronising and I’m glad she’ll be gone
soon. They were both pressing me to answer every single phone call today, the
problem is that I am unable to answer any of the questions people ask of me, as
I haven’t been properly trained either on the computer and about all the codes
and their meanings. But now, every time the phone rings, I feel guilt for not
answering, and none of them picks it up. The phone can ring over 20 times
before finally the callers give up or that they answer it. I guess you can’t
expect too much from any of those civil servants, they’re not paid enough to do
their job properly, or even, to do their job at all. Something tells me that
even if we were to double their salaries, it wouldn’t change much. If I were
supervisor there, God help me, I would be merciless and these people would have
targets to achieve and they would be answering the phone and they would be
working. They don’t need more staff, they only need the ones already working
there to do their job, even at 50% of their capacity would be enough, as at the
moment I would guess they’re working at 20% of their capacity.
I usually feel bad if I
have another interview and might perhaps leave my job, but if they get on my
nerve any more than that, I guess I won’t feel any regrets at all.
In the meantime I am
pleased to report that I have written more than half of the third story for
Anna Maria, and the fourth one should be easy as the film script is completely
written. It will be a job of trimming it down considerably and incorporating
Anna Maria and the Duke of Connaught within the story. I intended this forth
story to not be part of Anna Maria’s novel, but since a big block buster just
came out with the exact same title, Déjà vu, with Denzel Washington, I doubt
anyone in their right mind would want to invest in producing that film script.
So it will be part of Anna Maria.
Funny I had many months
of freedom where I could have written every single day, but didn’t write
anything. And within a week of working in a dead end job, I have written almost
100 pages of a novel. I wish I could explain it, other than in my freedom, it
was vacations from everything, work and writing. Just complete blank in my mind
of doing nothing. And now I am filled with adrenaline and ready to go mad
working at the court and writing books. I went to bed at 3 am last night,
working on my book, the British as well went to bed at that time, but he drank
many beers, took two sleeping tablets and fell asleep on the sofa. A very
unproductive indeed, and today he is a zombie at work not doing anything. I am
fresh, simply because I didn’t drink anything, which is good.
I guess I made a big
mistake today. The Brit asked me if I had ever taken drugs. And I admitted having
had one joint 20 years ago, and one ecstacy 15 years ago. You should have seen
their faces, it was like I had just told them that I was a heroine addict. When
I asked him if he had ever taken drugs, he said no, when it is so clear to me
that he is probably a drug addict himself. Once again I have proven that I
would never do a great politician as I cannot lie when asked a direct question.
I guess I should learn my lesson and do like everybody else, lie through my
teeth until they fall off. Anyway, I told them they were free to sack me if
they were unhappy that I had once taken a Class A drug 15 years ago. I’m glad
I’m not going to be hypocrite about this. Never mind that all my books are on
my website and I state it all in there, so it’s not like I have the choice.
They can find out for themselves, if they have the courage to read it all,
which I doubt they would.
12 December 2006
I am so discouraged
with myself, it is unbelievable. I went to bed at 2 am last night, it has been
two nights in a row that I worked on that book Anna Maria. It is great that I
have well over 100 pages now, but I am so tired at work, I snapped a few times
today and this is just not acceptable.
The very second I
arrived, the old Indian guy said: “You’re two minutes late.” I don’t respond
well that that kind of pettiness, and I answered back quite rudely: “So, you
are counting the minutes I’m working here now?” I was too tired to think,
fortunately, or else I would have ripped into him much more than that. It was
enough however to make him feel bad and he said I was taking the job too
seriously, and that he was only joking. I said, I know.
However, these mind
games are more damaging than simply joking around. They do put pressure on you
and the very next day you panic, you rush everything, in order to be on time. I
don’t want that shite. I arrive when I arrive and I leave when I leave. I don’t
need colleagues to check up on me in that fashion.
Not only they have to
be treated like children with these stupid little rules and timesheets
calculating to theminute how long they remained in the office, but on top of it
every single weak link small minded person I am working with makes it they long
time ambition in life to make sure it is all respected to the letter, when they
should be fighting against that bullshit.
And then I snapped
again, this time with the boss right behind me, the woman with whom I had the
interview. I whinged: “How long will it take me to find 84 folders?”
Considering that there are live and dead folders, and they’re not kept at the
same place, that by date they are kept in 5 different rooms across the
building, that there are four types of files which are not kept in the same
place, and that on top of it, the files are not likely to be where they should
be because they could also be on anyone’s desk or in three other locations
where they are waiting to have something done to them, I reckon finding 84
folders could take me forever, and yet, not find half of them. And yet, this is
my job, I should accept it and shut up! Who cares if they want me to clean the
toilets, I have to say: yes sir, and do it. I dare I snap like this. I should
be shot for this.
I freaked out also many
times at the Indian man, he has every reason now to speak in my back and
backstab me at the first opportunity. And no doubt I was the main topic of
conversation as soon as I left the office. I won’t last very long there, I know
that now. Especially if I barely sleep at night. I’ve got to sort myself out. And
oh, not be two minutes late anymore, as everyone is a spy, and they would love
nothing more than catching me off guard, reporting to the bosses that I’ve been
two minutes late every day this week. Doesn’t matter much if you do those two
minutes at the end of the day, all that counts is your time of arrival. This
afternoon, I better be a sheep or I’ll have to punish myself. No more writing
late at night, let’s go to bed.
It doesn’t help either
that there’s nothing left to eat in the flat for months now, and though I
always managed to find something already pass date at the back of the cupboard,
for the last three days there is really nothing left. I’m not that bothered
because I need to lose weight, but I think it has an impact on my mood. I’ll
end up killing someone. Class of case
13 December 2006
An hour ago I had a
hufe fight with Stephen, I almost destroyed everything in the flat and now I am
alone once again in
The man is so irresponsible,
and so dumb, and so incapable of learning from his own mistakes, that I am at
my wits end. Today he drove like a madman, as usual, so bad it is that a plain
clothe ran after his van and even banged on it so he would stop. When Stephen
didn’t stop, the man called 999, and so all police cars in
A few phone calls with
the police, solicitors and his boss later, he was back home bright and early
ready to drink himself to death to forget that once again he will lose his
driving licence and his job. It must be the sixth time in the last two years
that police stopped him for dangerous driving, we went to court last year to
plead his case so he could still remain on the road, and see the results. He
has not learnt anything, he is right back to going to court, when only two months
ago he was stopped again and he got away with it by crying that he would lose
his licence and his job.
So what do you think he
did when he came home? He let it all out on me, as if it was me who was acting irresponsibly.
I buried myself into a computer game in order to avoid discussion and verbal
attacks and verbal abuse, but it didn’t work. Before long I had to retreat to
the bedroom, where three times he came back to abuse and harass me. I had no
other choice to get out, not before, unfortunately, throwing on the floor
everything that was on the counter and hitting the parrot with my bag by
mistake on my out
What I cannot
understand is that it is so clear that he is the one starting all these fights.
The drunker he is, the more virulent it becomes. It is also clear that it takes
me a long time before responding back and letting it degenerate into a fight,
even leaving the room before getting to that point. Despite all this, he still
continues to blame me for this and cannot even admit or realise that I have
nothing to do with any of those fights, that all by myself I would never start
one, never looking for one and have done everything to avoid them
It is puzzling to me
that he doesn’t realise this, and does not feel guilt afterwards and come to
apologise. He is so convinced it is all my fault, that even when he is nice, he
forgave me for my bad behaviour. It is beyond the joke. At least if someone
could regret and apologise, there is hope that one day it will stop. But when
you are being blamed for something you’re not responsible for, even when the
person is no longer drunk, then you are in a position where the situation will
never be resolved and there is no hope.
When I left
All I ask is that he
sees that he pushes me to those limits and that he makes an effort to either
control his temper or avoid me altogether when he feels like fighting and
blaming me for everything that is wrong in his whole life. He just sent me a
message, instead of apologising for having kicked me out of the flat when I
have a book to write and work tomorrow morning at the Crown Court, and the
washing to finish, he attacked me some more, saying that the least I could do
when he is in deep shit would be to be more loving. How can be I be loving hen
I live in fear of him exploding at any moment and that anything else is of
little consequence to me in that sort of extreme situation.
This whole situation
has made me so weary of relationship, it will be years before I ever get into
another one. As soon as I can, I will go and live alone for a very long time.
He sent me another
message, why should I read it? It is certainly not an apology. Just as I thought,
more insults. I tried to understand his point of view, I tried to see if
somehow I was responsible and causing these fights. I looked at what I could
change, but I realise now that it’s not me. Blaming me for not doing enough to
clean the flat when I’m the only one doing all the cleaning on a daily basis
says it all. You cannot reach anything else but check mate with that sort of
mate. It is hopeless. I really didn’t that shite right now in my life!
I still have two hours
to burn, should I sleep or read some Sherlock Holmes?
15 December 2006
Finally the end of my
second week, and I’m dead tired. I sort of bickered with the old Indian man
today at work and I have realised that I need to back off and just concentrate
on my job. Right after he invited me for a pint of beer tonight and Stephen
feels I shouldn’t go, or go for one only. My supervisor would be coming too,
and I’m just too afraid the purpose of this is to get to know me better, and
hence to get me to admit I’m gay. I don’t know yet what I’ll do.
What happened since I
last talked? Well, I may have been interested in this union business at the
beginning, but I warned off once no one wanted to talk about it. I have
discovered since that it is all burning inside them and they are all into union
business over their head. The Indian girl in listing claims she will be part of
an action to not do more than she’s supposed to do or more hours than she’s
supposed to.
Finally I am back home,
it is now 1h25 am. I didn’t go for a drink, even though I could have learnt a
lot from two of my colleagues, and I would now have a lot to say about them. It
is just that finally it was not worth it, if all that was at the cost of
knowing all there was to know about me. It was a case of if I should blow up my
cover or not, and alcohol would have made it all too easy for them to do so. In
the end, I know their life is so not worth it, as they appeared so
insignificant to me in the first place, it was better that I come home.
I went to Tesco instead,
bought myself a bottle of
By the way, I may have
hit the parrot with my bag two days ago, tonight I almost got killed in order
to save the dog. Stephen told me she needed a pee, so I got her out. I decided
to walk down Naseby Close, un cul de sac, and then a car appeared out of
nowhere going very fast. As Bubba was right in the middle of the street, I had
no choice but to myself move right into the middle of the street, hoping that I
would be more visible than the dog to the driver. I had my hand in front of me,
and I yelled STOP! I guess I was successful, the driver stopped, and waited for
me to put the collar over the dog, so we could go back home.
I never thought I would
be risking my life like that for the dog, I never liked her that much in the
first place, even if her beauty and cuteness is growing on me, and has been
since my return from
And now that I am back
in the flat, I got carried away revising the third short story of Anna Maria,
which has a negative twist against French-Canadians, the very people who
ignored for so long my talent as a writer and to which I hold a grudge. It wake
Stephen up. He freaked out again. Funny that I was listening to the exact song
I was listening to the day we took an ecstacy, the very one that made me
realise I was in love with him. It is a song by the Nine Inch Nails called
Hurt, on the Downward Spiral album. Is it the
The Full Circle was the
name of a famous club around Heathrow Airport before my time, a club where many
famous people went to, went on to do great things, and then seemed to have
simply vanished from the face of this earth. And yet, there is not a month
going by without having Stephen mention his damn
20 December 2006
Today was my first
official brooding day at work. I arrived this morning and the old Indian man
was in full swing about his whinging, and he crossed the line with his
familiarity and his personal attacks. As the Chinese and the Brit woman joined
in, and the attacks become more and more personal, I shut down and did my work,
answering every single phone call the department got this morning. Familiarity
brings contempt, and so perhaps I myself crossed the line at the same time they
did, and so I need to get back to some anonymity as I cannot bare being at war
when there’s no need to. The other Indian man sort of backstabbed the Brit girl
this morning, and she said: “Right, we’re now at war.” And as the Chinese guy
invented things I had not said about the Indian guy, I also stating: “Those are
lies, and we’re now at war.” So, diplomacy is gone, and so I need to keep quiet
without them thinking that I am brooding. Not an easy matter.
This is my third week,
and I am already on edge, can’t stand it anymore. If I didn’t have hope for
that job interview in January with the BBC, and if I hadn’t written so much on
my Anna Maria novel, I would feel so depressed and miserable now, I couldn’t
even start to describe it. This is a heartless job, again because the people
I’m working with can’t be trusted and would backstab me at any time. Very
difficult in those conditions to remain happy and perky, as they called me on
Monday morning. Misery likes company, and so, we’ll all be miserable from now
on.
I’m in such a state
right now, I could work on my novel at lunch time, something I never do. Tonight
I need to finish the fourth short story, there will be seven now, and so it
will definitely be finished by the end of the month, it has to. And I need to
ship it to agents and publishers before going back to work. Not sure how I will
achieve this, as I don’t have the printer and I will only get paid at the end
of the month. This is not a book that will sit on my website for years to come,
all my hopes sit on this novel, and so it needs to go to everyone before I start
working again in January. After all, it is perhaps not for the publishers that
I will rush to finish this, but for the BBC itself, as it would be perfect for
Radio Drama, the job I’m going for. Somehow destiny needs to work in this case,
as I’m not getting anywhere fast and I’m tired of this.
Christmas lunch on
Friday, I truly wonder why we are celebrating it since three quarter of the
company is Indian and none of them celebrate Christmas. I’m surprised the
Manager, an Indian, gave me a card saying Happy Christmas, as the word Christ
appears on the card, and I would have thought, as they do on TV now, that it
would be Happy X-Mas from now on, as to get Christ out of Christmas in order to
make it more acceptable to everyone of all faiths. Never mind, I don’t even
believe in Christ or God myself. Let’s keep the time off on the pretext of the New
Year celebrations, let’s get rid of Christmas altogether. It’s fine by me. Time
to go back!
21 December 2006
Everything was much
better at work after I wrote those few lines. It might have something to do
with the Brit woman being on holiday. The first class whinger was still there,
but by ignoring him more and more, I found that he leaves me alone. And when he
was not there, I was able to enjoy my day and joke around with my colleagues.
They might also be cheerful because tomorrow is our last day in the office
before Christmas, and there’s the lunch at 12.
I’m very much into my
novel right now, and especially the second short story about how my characters
can predict the future, the lifestyle of people and how they may react in
certain situations based on the analysis of many personalities and characters
of people. Well, you would never guess how successfully I demonstrated my
abilities today at work, I feel like I am upon a great discovery and a little
Sherlock Holmes is born, if I may say so myself.
I told my Manager that
he looked just like my cousin now working in
I said that his wife
was fat and he was pressure into marriage. How in the world could I have
guessed this right? Especially when he his so tall, so thin, and so good
looking that he could get any girlfriend he wishes and marry anyone he liked. I
was right, though, just like Sherlock Holmes, I was very insensitive. It was
funnier anyhow. So I asked him why both of them, looking so identical, would
have the same taste and have fat girlfriends from outside the country, so
immigrants, pressuring them into marriage? In his case, for her to remain in the
country, for my cousin, so he can remain in the country? I suggested that they
both like fat woman, however he said it was because they were stupid. So I
guess they didn’t want to end up with fat wives, but somehow did. And so I
understand now that it is because they’re weak at the heart of their soul. They
allowed themselves to be manipulated by these fat women, and they did not have
the will to say no! I deserve better and I will go and find something better. These
men can only be unhappy for the rest of their lives, and it is very sad indeed.
I may be living with an unreasonable alcoholic and drug addict, at least he is
thin and good looking, even though there’s not much sex to be expected there. He’s
nice to look at and he can be nice most of the time. Sad as well I guess, but
there’s hope in my case.
22 December 2006
We had a Christmas
dinner today, with all the Judges, all white older men, and the other half of
the table being mostly Indians and Pakistanis, with a token Chinese, a token
British male, a token British woman, and now a taken French-Canadian out of
place element, the unsuspected spy who wanted to know more about the Crown
Court and what underlay the structure.
I admit that this book
is going nowhere, neither my investigation. In the admin office, I don’t hear
much about what’s going on in the courts. The Judges appeared to me to be
filthy rich, travelling constantly to all corners of the world, all with some
sort of nice personalities, great intelligence and understanding, and a capacity
to lower themselves to the level of the underpaid weak links of the
organisation. Many of them appeared to like their status of being hard judges
in court making rough decisions. Today two of them were boasting that they
refused many bail applications of people still not proven guilty, in prison,
who would have liked to be out of there for Christmas. And the Senior Manager
in the background stating out loud that every time a judge today rejected a
bail application, they cheered. I freaked out a bit at that, and asked out
loud: Why would they cheer at that? Stopping short of saying: When we’re
dealing with the freedom of citizens who could very well be innocent and often
are declared not guilty in courts? She answered because every application is a
lot of bureaucracy, and so every clerk and ushers in the building today cheered
for every single person who would spend Christmas and the New Year in prison.
She herself said as a joke that there were not after justice, but the least
work possible for the Crown Court, which reflected my earlier observation in
the court room of the Judge trying to speed up a case in order to free everyone
involved, at the expense perhaps of proving someone innocence and saving them
from 20 years imprisonment or other consequences.
I met the main Judge
yesterday, nice chap, also strong image of being rough in his judgments,
especially if he is in a bad mood. Now, that’s another great problem, if you
own fate depends on the mood of one person. Happy day, not guilty, got up the
wrong side of the bed, 20 years. Could this system be any more subjective? And
that’s not all, different judge, same possible different outcomes. Your own
safety and future should not depend on what judge you get, in which court and
on the mood of the Judge. I guess this is certainly an identified problem, and
I’m sure judges are very much aware of all this, and must be taking it into
consideration when they passed their judgement. I can only hope that they do
their job as expected, for what we pay them for. Being objective and free from
any personal or outside influence.
Every time a custom
officer or other prosecutor calls to find out the results of a case, and that I
have to tell them that the jury decided the defendant was not guilty, I can
feel the disappointment in their tone, almost as if they would have liked them
to be guilty and go to prison for years, this, despite having proven in court
that they were not guilty. I don’t like it, I don’t care if those prosecutors
believe or know that these people are guilty or not. I have come across enough
cases where all witnesses were policemen, to easily guess that this is all
entrapment, and that
Most cases I process
are drug related, because of the big international airport being nearby. And so
I feel that if the police were to stop being so overzealous over those drug
charges, we could instantly unclogged the justice system and save a huge amount
of money in court resources and legal aid. Stopping short of legalising drugs,
we could at least be much more lenient and look the look the other way more
often for cases which appear relatively insignificant, and yet will end up
costing thousands of pounds to the tax payers in the end.
I have also noticed
that 100% of the cases I have process in my first two weeks were all benefiting
from legal aid, which means all these people earn less than £21,000 a year
between them and their partner. So, all criminals are poor. Anyone with a joint
salary with their other half of over £21,000 a year, appears to stand clear of
higher criminal courts. So we know the threshold, if every couple in the
country was guaranteed over £21,000 a year, we could witness a dramatic drop in
criminal activity and save enough money to provide those couples with £21,000 a
year. Processing each criminal through the police and legal system, including
prison if necessary, must cost in the end much more than providing every couple
with that minimum amount of money every year. Of course, I have done no
research about this, I have no statistics at hand, but I suggest this hear and
I will let people debate the question. It is clear that the poorer people are,
the more they will go on doing criminal deeds, and in the end, sink the budget
allocated to the legal system.
I like it when
solicitors call and try to get favours, push a case, try to get an early trial
or hearing, whatever. It annoys everyone else in the office, and we rarely do
anything to help them, but it shows that these solicitors are not just
vultures, even though, they are. They certainly stand to profit here from all
these cases, they often learn they will represent a prisoner the night before
the hearing, and so, how can they defend the defendants in those conditions? Do
they even talk to them? Sometimes, definitely not.
Yesterday I had the
strangest call from a solicitor desperate to get a case moved from the morning
to the afternoon, because his client was into voodoo and must have threatened
his solicitor in doing a great job in his case. The lawyer was panicking
because he couldn’t make it in the morning, and if he was not present to defend
his case, he could be the victim of voodoo tactics on the part of his client.
What a good idea! I didn’t know we could easily influence the legal system this
way. So if I ever get arrested, I’ll threatened everyone involved in my case
that I will voodoo them to kingdom come if they don’t get me out of here
presto. The solicitor, obviously an intelligent man, did a huge research upon
the subject to find out if he should give this any credence. And he came up
with the conclusion that he better do a good job for his defendant and be
present on the day. Not sure if he showed up today, I hope so for his sake.
I have dreams! Dreams
of finally succeeding as an author, and I worked all night on Anna Maria, once
again. I hope to finish that damn fourth short story, whilst being discourages
by how long it is and how I can shrink it to my universe of short stories.
I’m listening to Muse
right now, great motivation, lot’s of energy, especially that I feel I might
have inspired them, well, right down my alley in any case. If I ever find out
that my website inspired them, I will for sure feel that even then I had a
great impact on this world, without any published books in English, without
even being known. Could it all be coincidences? How many times have I come
across stuff which was just so much what I wrote and that has been on my
website for years? In at least one of those instances I must have been some
sort of inspiration? Could it really be coincidences? I’m reasonable, I would
certainly admit to myself that I had nothing to do with it if it could be so.
It is just not possible, it is like they wanted to let me know where it came
from, a clear message to say: thank you, we’ve read you, you inspired us, and
these are all the elements which will convince you that you’re part of this. And
so my head is now as large as can be expected. My motivation knows no
boundaries. Being stuck today in the crown court is the lowest point I could
ever reach, even though I’m hiding these feelings of mine behind the idea that
I’m getting inspiration from it somehow, writing a damn blog about it, a blog
that I’m not even bothered putting online, since I cannot imagine anyone being
interested in that crap, if I’m not interested myself to begin with.
Anna Maria will explode
on the literary markets, it will be finally me, there on the spotlight. I can
already imagine the success and the consequences. The interviews all around the
planet down to the ones in Québec, where I come from and where they ignored me
all my life! Bastards! I’ll show them! I’ll be a bloody success worldwide,
because I never stopped, I continued dreaming, I lived the life I wanted. I
went to
This is how I feel
tonight, after drinking a whole bottle of wine. I want to go back and look at
those judges in the eye, the same ones who thought they were such higher beings
and snubbed me as if I was a piece of crap, when I have all this potential
inside of me ready to detonate in their face! Not that they would care, but
I’ll fell better about it, because I’m worth it, more than they will ever be. I
don’t think they’re fit to be judges, I feel I’m the only one on this planet
fit to judge anyone. I feel I have a unique understanding of this universe and
its mechanisms, and I’ll judge this planet for them. I’ll destroy that
insignificant planet for them, as per my judgment. No hope for humanity, I
cannot see anything worthwhile anywhere, anyone who should be saved. Except
perhaps Tina.
Tina is an Indian woman
who lives right in front of the Crown Court. She’s a Saint. If I could aspire
to be anyone on this planet, it would be her. I cannot even tell you why, or
how, I came to this conclusion. She’s perfect. I don’t think she would ever
hurt a fly, she’s understanding, she would sacrifice herself for anyone. She’s
also suffering her colleagues without saying anything, bending and agreeing,
sacrificing everything for an easy life and to keep them happy. God, she is
sweet. I could marry her right now. And something is telling me that I would be
the happiest man alive, even though I’m gay. She is what I aspire to be.
Of course, it helps
that she likes me, for a start. It is hard to explain why she would, no one
else seems to particularly like me in that court. She’s pure, there’s no two
ways about, I can’t explain it. I’m sure she can only do good in this world, She
could be compared to Mother Teresa. There are not that many people like that on
this planet, I certainly do not count myself as one of them. Which is why I am
so attracted to them, want to learn more, try to understand what make’s them
who they are, why they are saints, and what’s really boiling inside if
anything. I will concentrate on her from now on, I will get to know her, I want
to learn from her everything there is to learn. I feel that through her I will
get a glimpse of what perfection is, what God could possibly be all about.
Getting closer to the truth, of understanding this universe. This is what this
woman represents to me, and I won’t let it go. I can’t remember when it was
last time I have met such a specimen of perfection… let me think, can’t
remember. So she’s it, she’s everything, I will get to know her better, she
will become my friend. And I don’t want this relationship to be like a mother
and son one, as it seems that she has taken me under her protection. It is true
that she’ll always be my master, as she should by definition be the master of
everyone else on this planet by her purity as a saint, but I need to go beyond,
I need to know, I need to find out, I need to learn everything there is to
learn about her. And it has nothing to do with her life and whatever happened
there. It is the complexities of her mind, how she thinks, how she can be such
a saint, accept everything peacefully, how everything is getting processed in
her brain. That’s what I need to find out. No easy task.
It is amazing that she
has taken an interest in me, I have no explanation for that. I’m certainly not
someone worthy of that kind of attention from someone like her. Do I need
saving and is it written on my forehead? God knows. She’s my Anna Maria, that
Indian woman. And yet, she’s purer than my Anna so far. I’ll find out all about
her, and model my Anna in future stories based on her personality. Sad I’ve
realised this only tonight, as I won’t be back in the office for 11 days now.
What a waste of time! I could have invited her to the pub today! However, I
would need to admit to her I’m gay before doing so, as she will definitely
think I have some ulterior motive. I don’t even know if she’s married! I only
know she’s living with her sister, as she presented her to me today. Her sister
afterwards was outside dumping an old computer, and the Chinese guy had to go
to help with that. It was surreal, didn’t make any sense, but I won’t go there
right now. It is more bits and bobs about the life of a saint dealing with
stupidities of life, when their overall role is definitely to save this world
somehow, make it more bearable. God, it is so nice to meet sane people in this
world once in a while! I never met any in so many years…
Could I just knock on her
door and say that I need to go down the pub with her? To talk? Just to talk.
Talk about nothing in particular, until it clicks in my mind that I got what I
wanted? Could I really do that? No. I’ll have to wait until the New Year, and
then I might be quickly gone, with a brand new job at the BBC, if everything
goes to plan. The fact that I’ve written so much already about that job, that
miserable job, indicates to me that I’ll be stuck there for many more months,
so I can write more about the Crown Courts universe. I don’t give a shit, I
don’t want to write this book. That’s a project I would gladly give up, if it
is to be right in the middle of the BBC universe, and that is more important to
one’s destiny than anything else. I need to concentrate here, make it happen
somehow. Before February, I’ll be working for the BBC no matter what, there’s
no other choice. I don’t care about this book, blog, or whatever. I’ll gladly
delete it, bury it in my lost files, I need to, BBC means everything to me.
I’ll be working for the BBC in 2007, nothing else would make any sense. I
didn’t come back from
Every morning on my way
to work I’m thinking about
I’m quite aware that
some people will read this and believe that I’m totally delusional. I would
even agree with them once I’m no longer drunk. But I’m drunk now, and that’s
what I truly believe. So fuck you all. You won’t save yourself, you won’t save
the world, let me try, and I might just succeed, or at least help getting us
closer to that goal of making this world bearable to everyone. I’m not asking
for much, I just want happiness for everyone on this planet, that’s all. Or
else, let’s just annihilate this world as it would be a pointless world to live
in.
Oh, I know where I met
another perfect being. My cat Murmy. She’s perfection, honour to her race.
She’s also a saint, and so in love with me, and me with her. So gentle, she’s
the only thing alive who made me cry so many times before, just for being her.
She’s the only thing I could think about when I was in
Now you understand my
apocalypse views of this world and why I feel none of us deserve to be alive. We’ve
got a lot to learn, most of all me, and until I reach their level of love and
perfection, I don’t deserve to be alive, and neither you.
3 January 2007
Gosh, where am I now?
I’ve got difficulty in telling. The fact that for the last weeks I didn’t write
anything, despite being off work for over 12 days, is quite something. I was
working like a madman in order to get that job at the BBC. I’ve done everything
to prove to them that I was special, had a lot of potential, and seriously, if
I don’t get it, then there’s something wrong with the BBC and I will never in
my lifetime work there. Because then it would mean that it is just impossible
to work for the BBC despite all the glory and glorioles you could ever imagine
to get a job there. To be honest, I made myself sick over that interview, I
read everything related to Radio Drama, including dozens of website pages and a
book by Yuri Rasosvky. I read everything about the First World War to give some
ideas to BBC Radio 3 about what to do next year, and everything about Black
Wednesday, if that tells you anything, a radio play about British politics and
economy, which I care nothing about, in order to comment that play at the interview
on Friday. I feel like committing suicide right now, after all that crap that I
have ingurgitated for that interview, so I better get the job, otherwise I will
definitely shot myself. Especially after the two miserable days I had at work
following the New Year. My God, that old Indian guy, I will kill him, I know
that now. Not that it is that unbearable or that I feel threaten by him, but I
never ever met such a whiner trying to do so little, and try to get me to do
his job for him. There’s a limit to my patience, and even though I’m quite new
at the Crown Court, I’m telling you, I’m that close to jump into the Manager’s
office and tell him all, how that old man is trying to get away with murder,
whilst I’m the one suffering from all his work I inherited in the last few
days. It is obvious the man has not done anything in months, it would take me
years now to finally achieve what he should have been doing in the last few
months. And that would be acceptable to me if he didn’t make such a song and
dance about how he can now do nothing while I work myself to death doing what
he should have done. I have dream of strangling him on the spot, murder him in
his sleep, or as he is diabetic, give him the ultimate chocolate which will
annihilate his existence. That’s what I’m thinking about all day long. One more
month in that crazy place, and I will kill him, I’m sure of that. Better get
that job at the BBC, or there will be blood on the dance floor.
How can someone work so
hard for a damn interview, and still miss it? No way, I’ll get that job. I’m so
certain of it, I have never be so certain in my entire life. I’ve been
prepared, I had four BBC interviews from hell before, I know exactly what to
expect, and I tried to prevent it as much as I could. They got from me an extra
introductory letter along with my essay about the First World War, and my
latest novel filled with short stories who have been writing on the basis that
it could be easily turned into radio drama. I feel like there’s no one in the
world at the moment who knows as much as I do about radio plays and how they’re
made, and the First World War, as I do. If someone else gets the job, well,
that someone else must be quite something, must already have an established
name more ringing than mine, or whatever else I could think of, the only other
explanation would be that he would be British, whilst I’m only some lost
immigrant incapable of speaking White, or WASP. And if it is the last remaining
obstacle, then so be it, I wouldn’t want to work for an organisation
discriminating like that. They need to fill their quotas of aliens, that means
Black people and Indians, not French-Canadians, and I cannot fight against
that. I’m still white, unfortunately. I’m not recognised as being discriminated
against. I could state clearly that I’m gay, but that is also not being
discriminated against, as I suspect everyone working at the BBC is gay, or are
they?
Anna Maria is the best
thing I have ever written in my entire writing career. Anna Maria is the best
thing that has been written this year alone in the entire
I’m so happy now, cos’
of course I’m drunk, very drunk on red wine. Just saw my boyfriend watching
Doctor Who, special episode for the New Year, and he looked so perfect, so
British, with the most perfect and British episode of the telly, whilst I’m
listening to Suzanne Vega, and reviewing my short stories I sent to the BBC… I
couldn’t imagine a more perfect moment. Stephen looks as weird as one of the
characters in Torchwood, never thought I could have at home what was so
desirable on TV. Mr. Barnsworth is there in my monitor picking all his feathers
one by one, just like I would imagine he would do inside the Anna Maria short
story I am reviewing right now. Parrots are so affectionate, so impressive, so
un-British, they make you want to move to the Amazonian jungle for a few days
and observe them in their natural habitat. Must be an extraordinary thing which
obviously I will never witness. But having that parrot in the flat, is a
reminder that there are things going on outside our universe, somewhere else on
the planet. Barnsworth doesn’t seem to mind missing all that, wanting to be on
me every second of the day. He seems to have truly developed a liking to me,
even though I certainly do not deserve it. It is unconditional love. He was
born in the
I’m so happy, because I
have hope, faith in something more than my actual miserable existence. This
Friday will be my liberation. Until then, life is a game, nothing more. I am on
a fluffy cloud, and it will be a hard way down if I fail to secure that job at
the BBC. It will be darkness, reaching rock bottom on a massive scale. I cannot
imagine it will happen, and yet I know it would be the exact thing I would need
to finish that Anna Maria book of mind within days. I would be then highly
motivated. I would prove the BBC wrong, in not choosing me. Because then Anna
Maria would then be the best thing ever to hit the British market since Harry
Potter, nothing less. IF they hire me, not sure what will happen with Anna
Maria. I would still finish it, and hopefully before I start working for the
great BBC, but it could be less motivating. And yet, it will be finished soon
one way or another, whatever is happening in my life. It is a necessity, the
most important thing I have ever done. I need to clear my head, and
concentrate. I don’t care, never mind all those others in the
And there again you
have it, after such of speech about undeniable assurance of success, I just had
the biggest row you can imagine with Stephen. That even though I spent £1000 on
us this month, I’m already minus £40 in my account, which means £70 of charges
because that damn British Telecom Bill bounced back, and now that I went under,
it is another £35 charge, and so I need to put £110 in there as quickly as
possible, or there will be another £35 charge at some point. And so I cannot
help Stephen with his car insurance, neither on paying Sky TV. We’re in deep
shit once again, even though we’re both working full time, and that I haven’t
even yet started to repay my creditors, which I will do next month.
We’re so skint all the
time, there’s no way out. He better find a better job, or I better make so much
more money out of Anna Maria, that not only I will repay my £75,000 debt, but
also have enough to buy us a huge house in the countryside, like Devon or
Cornwall, I don’t care, as long as it is still in the United Kingdom but away
from Isleworth. Oh shit, any more money than that and I’m moving back to
Because I have a
tendency, standing in front of Anna Maria, to feel that anything I wrote before
is meaningless and worthless. And yet, if I had not written it, I would never
have been able to come up so easily with Anna Maria, which will make my
success. So it was wasted, and yet, essential. As bizarre as it can be, I just
have to accept it. Anna Maria will come out and it will be like none of the 25
or 30 other books I have written before, it’s like they didn’t mean anything,
including the six published previous ones. That’s great, wonderful, to be able
to say so. Because the chances that I would ever have been able to accept such
a statement is so slim, it required an Anna Maria, perfection, the perfect idea
that could sustain me, my existence, and just about any friend and family member
I ever had. And I came up with that idea, that’s all that count. And now it
will make my fortune, and I know it, I’m certain of it, as I never was before. So
thank God I came back to
I haven’t slept for
days, I was a zombie at work for the last two days, and yet, it is not tonight
that I will be going to bed. Fuck that job at the Crown Court, I don’t give a
shit if they sack me. Come on then! Sack me! It is the least of my worries. I’ve
gone through so much, I really don’t care. It’s not like in Los Angeles, where
I was paid so much more than anyone and I had to prove myself, for what I’m
paid now, never mind if they think I’m a slum because I drank myself to death
the night before. That story could do a nice radio drama at least, if I cared
writing it, which I don’t. Even life in that Crown Court would do a nice hour
on BBC Radio 4. And it would certainly be more interesting than all that crap
out there. No one can accuse me of having a boring life, at the very least. And
I found myself defending that crazy existence to my mom last week on the phone.
Never mind. I’m dumbing you down.
Suicide is such an
attracting thing when you feel that the path ahead of you is an impossible one,
such an easy way out, and yet, I have to go through this, I have to make Anna
Maria my biggest success ever and save me from these useless jobs forever. I
have to, somehow. I have to.
Thank God, being from
elsewhere, I can see the poetry here in
Oh, I so wish I could
listen to the Moody Blues all night, write Anna Maria, and claim I’m sick
tomorrow. I think I will. I won’t, but God knows I want. The menial jobbies I
have to do are so simple, I could do them whilst drugged to full capacity. And
hence, useless to be sick. I think I will test my limits, once again. I think
I’ll be sick tomorrow. And take the whole day to work and write till I drop
dead. Wouldn’t it be worth it, to finish the fifth short story? Only history
could tell…
5 January 2007
Well, I guess that now
I know exactly where my limits are, they are fencing me in an
It is clear that all
his game was simple mind games to get us all in lines, it is also quite clear
that he barely had a leg to stand on, one sick day in five weeks? My first one?
When I could actually be real sick, and when I actually was? Whatever the
reason, he had no right to say all those things he said. That’s the Scottish
guy, and now I know he’s a freak, and the cosy job I thought I had, is nothing
like a cosy job. I had been the blue eye boy for more than a month, I was the
model employee, and so I thought everything was fine. I saw the older Indian
man called in the office a few times, and even then I didn’t suspect that they
were chewing up his ears. I guess I just found out that there’s nothing like an
easy job around the corner, no matter your salary, your nightmare always depend
upon one thing, how bastard his your direct line manager, and once again I’ve
got the one from hell.
What’s ridiculous, is
that I know all of his game was unjustified, all his threats were overboard, he
accused me of lying, he said he didn’t believe me, he threatened me like if I
was a bad element of his team, just because I was sick one day. He acted very
unprofessionally, and yet, I was so shaken by the whole experience, I couldn’t
breathe tonight, I was in some sort of bubble, I was almost suicidal. What
saved me is that it is so blatantly obvious that he was wrong and it was a mind
game, that this was all a game. Can you imagine next time around though, when I
will feel like I have really taken the piss and he will slash into me with his
basic psychology of high school, he will destroy me, because I am a sensitive
person who always worries about what he does, say, etc. I understand now that
this place is not for me, and that if I don’t get the job at the BBC, I will
have to leave eventually.
The worse is that he
could have said that after missing one day, I had already missed more work than
many others in the building. They are never there! All of them. They’ve all
been sick for many days if not weeks recently. The fat British woman alone,
because she was sick for two weeks, something like 200 accused spent their
Christmas and New Year in prison and are still there to this day, when they
could have perhaps got a bail out of there. Now, did that bitch go through hell
as a result? O way, it was clear that she was sick. She still is, and perhaps
even mentally.
Tonight I’m fed up, I’m
dead tired, it is the culmination of so much work going into one job interview,
days and nights reading, studying, writing, getting ready for that famous 40
minutes in the office of two of the most important women at Radio Drama at the
BBC, and god, I feel I gave it my best shot ever. I don’t think I could have
done it better. I certainly did say stupid things, and this cannot be helped,
and I probably showed my ignorance here and there, it couldn’t be helped, but I
feel I could not have done before. Which is sad that being sick yesterday
destroyed all that, which should have been a celebration of this success.
And no I feel so
defeated, so low, I have lost all my confidence. I keep thinking now that I was
only the first one to be interviewed, and according to the cute little boy from
I have fire in my eyes
right now, I have unhappy and depression written all over my face. I just hope
that by tomorrow I will have forgotten those two traumatic events in my life
today, including the job interview. If I don’t get the job, I think I will
never again apply at the BBC. It would mean that I would never get a job there,
and I’m certainly going through another month of working full time just to
prepare myself like this for an interview. All my hoped would then be that damn
novel I will need to finish and get published somehow, and this is what from
now on that I will concentrate on. All my hopes and my long sought freedom will
come from those few lines written about Anna Maria, and if not, I sure hope
that faith in a better world will be enough to my survival in this world.
I feel better now.
Hours have passed, I’m drunk, I can see more clearly. The only I should always
see, in this world. And to be honest, when I remember what happened today at
that interview, I feel like I was outside this world, outside of myself. I was
not the one speaking, as if I was drunk then, and I was definitely not. Sincerely,
I feel now, that I see clearly, that no one else will beat me to it, I cannot
see how. I will get that job. How really cannot see anyone else having worked
so hard at it, with the right credentials, capable of impressing them as much
as I was able to in my short time with them. I do not see it. I can already see
me telling my bosses at the Crown Court that I have to leave, and their
reaction to that. I will be working for the BBC within two months, I know it, I
will get to know all these people, I will excel at my job. My god, could they
even get to produce Anna Maria? I know they received it, I know they may have
read 10 pages of it, and that would have been enough hook them. Anyone better
than me, and they would be afraid that guy or that bitch might leave them soon
after for better pasture. I’m the best candidate. I was also the first one. Not
sure how many they will see. It is a top notch high position according to the
kid from
What a building! Right
in the middle of the
I was even thinking
that perhaps we should hire them all to record their voices to the play I could
write, as they are so distinctive and perfect. Maybe it will inspire me
something after all, but not now, not on what I’m working on at this time. We’ll
see.
I’m pleased the
Scottish Boy showed his real colours today, I had no idea of the extent of his
personality, which is so intrinsic to the miserable life he’s got and make
everyone suffer from as a consequence. His voice is so distinctive as well, I
heard the exact same one on the last computer game I played, an old Scottish sailor
telling stories no one wanted to hear anything about. The Longest Journey, if you’re
that interested in finding out. Best graphic adventure game in years to come
out of this world. It is my life to live in those adventure games, my only
escape, as I find TV does not suffice to make me forget how horrible this world
is, and everyone within it. Without those games, I would not hesitate to state
that they all need to be shot, so we could hope for some sort of peace in this
world, some peace and happiness.
What am I doing? What
am I to this world? Sometimes I really think I just deserve to die, never wake
up the next day, I certainly wouldn’t be missed, and I don’t give a shit. I
can’t stand this world, I can’t stand the people in it, I can’t stand anything.
The virtual worlds I’m creating in parallel, in order to escape, do not suffice.
It does not compensate, it does not save me. I had enough. I’m tired. I)’m
fucking tired of this pointless existence. If I don’t get that job at the BBC,
I might just as well commit suicide. I had enough. I don’t want to have
anything to do with this pointless and insignificant world. I’ve gone through
enough already, there’s no point in continuing. I had enough.
If all that I have to
hope for is that miserable job at the Crown Court, and finishing that Anna
Maria novel, hoping to get it published, then I might as well abandon now.
Getting that published is an impossibility, it won’t happen. And if somehow it
happens, it won’t sell anything, and I’ll be back to square one. I don’t
understand why I cling to these stupidities to motivate me to continue to be
alive. It makes no sense. I know it won’t go anywhere, what the fuck am I
doing?
The only great memories
I have remaining from my miserable existence, are all the ones connected with
Leonardo whilst I was in
Funny, I just thought
of something. Of all that I have written in recent years about all the places I
worked at, I always felt bad at the idea of putting it all online for the world
to read. Because these people, I cared for them, and they cared for me. And
right now, that crown court, I wouldn’t give a shit printing all over the world
how little I care about any of them. It is obvious that none of them gives a
shit about me, and I certainly could not care less for any of their feeling. I
guess that tells it all. I would have never thought so, but now I realise it.
The only people I really care about in that mad court house, are two Indians,
who I feel and I fear suffered most terribly at the hands to these losers. I
feel so bad for them, I’m crying right now. I don’t understand how they go
through life like this, how they can accept all that shit from everyone, when
at heart they are such nice people, the only human beings I have met in a while.
If I ever get rich one day, I’ll rescue them from their nightmare, and perhaps
they will witness some sort of humanity to recompense them before they die.
Some souls are really
lost, part of the game, and there’s really nothing I could do to save them,
they wouldn’t want it anyway. There are true genuine souls in this world
struggling to survive, and despite everything, they are still nice and genuine.
I admire them very much because they are years if not centuries ahead of me and
what I would ever be able to accept and achieve. You can only spot them by
mingling with the animals and savages of this world, I could never spot them
all, save them all. I can’t save any of them, I can’t save myself. It makes you
wonder and hope that there is a God somewhere which will recompense them at the
end, because I fear I can’t, and it kills me. Genuine people are rare. Shame on
the people who can’t even realise they have them on their payroll and learn to
cherish them. It is so obvious to me, they must be really blind indeed. Shit,
am I now going to thank life for giving me the opportunity to meet such people?
They must exist everywhere, I’ve met them everywhere. Pure souls. Like I will
never be myself.
I’m trying to convince
myself right now that it was a good thing if I took one day off work, so I
could finally get the pulse of the nightmare place I’m working in. I may have
destroyed my image of the blue eye boy who’s perfect, but at least I now know
what I’m dealing with, which is no different, and maybe worse, then everywhere
else I have worked in recent years. Just a bunch of human beings incapable of
appreciating life and make it better for human kind. They’re all on a mission
to make it as bad as they can for all of us, make this existence the worst
experience one can endure, and they’re highly successful at it. They were born
suckers, I hope they die suckers and get what they deserve. I’m no longer the
blue eye boy, I will either become the black eye boy that I am anyway, or I’ll
be out of there before it turns nasty. I don’t give a shit about any of them, I
will destroy them all in the end. That is what they deserve, and that’s what I
need to do, denounce them all, identify them, reduce them to nothingness, which
they are at any rate. And I hope they will recognise themselves for what they
are. Small minded bastards who have a lot to learn about life, and how to make
it better even in the details. No hope, I’m afraid, they will never learn.
8 January 2007, 2 am
It is amazing how a
little pep talk with your Line Manager can throw you into existential crisis
and bring back to you all the horrible memories of
So many little come
back to me now, like my direct Manager, the British one, telling me that he
walked in front of my apartment and saw all the bottles of wine there were for
recycling. I can’t believe it! Not only he check up on me like this, when most
of those bottles had nothing to do with me and it is after all right after the
New Year and people have been celebrating, but on top of it he told the
Scottish guy about it, which brought about the accusation that I was drinking
too much, didn’t sleep and hence, I faked a day off and deserved to be sacked.
I don’t care that it is true, they have no way to know, so what if they were
wrong? Throwing accusations like this, is no proper management.
There are dozens of
other details of my return after work meeting which tells me blatantly that the
Brit Manager took a long knife and inserted it in my back very deeply, and
turned it a few times. What? Coming from an obvious drug addict and alcoholic
who confesses himself everyday that he drank until
And now I go to work in
six hours, I have been in a panic state all day. Once again I will have to play
those childish games of playing the mute at work, so I can at least provide
nothing for them to attack me on, to backstab me about later. I am trying to
convince myself that I am jumping to conclusions, that surely this place is not
going to be as bad as it was in
There is no point for
me to write another journal about this, I’ve said it all in all my previous
journals in all the jobs I ever had. I don’t want to go through it again, I
don’t want to write about it again. I really need a way out, freedom, at least
enjoy going to work everyday, like I did for the first month I worked at the
Crown Court.
There is also that I am
less than careful and I do attack people as jokes all the time. I can’t prevent
it, I can’t stop myself, and hence I make many enemies, and they don’t wait
very long before declaring a war. I absolutely need to learn to be hypocrite
and shut my big mouth if I get the job at the BBC. I have no excuse this time, it
is the last job I’ll ever get, I cannot jump like this forever from job to job
hoping it is better elsewhere, it never is. Living in
I should not forget
that I knew what I was doing, I was testing them, my boundaries, and now I know
exactly what to expect and the sort of Nazi hierarchy at place in the Crown
Court. Can’t fight against that, I’m afraid, they will always win, you will
always either be sacked or have to leave eventually so you can still remain
sane. The question is, how long will they last, how long will I last?
8 January 2007, 8 am
I didn’t sleep all
night, thinking about work. Now they will definitely think I’m taking the piss
by not going to bed anymore. And so when my manager asks me today what time I
went to bed, I will have to say bright and early (you bastard). And perhaps
add: and no, those bottles you saw this morning outside my building for
recycling, are not mine. And maybe I should ask him right after if he got his dose
of methadone this morning?
10 January 2007
I don’t really feel
like writing tonight, however I better mention what happened today, since it is
a crisis in the making. I don’t know how the subject of nuts came into the
conversation, but we talked about chocolate, and that sometimes they contain
nuts, and that I’m allergic to nuts, that was before Christmas. The subject
came up again today and the young British girl could not prevent herself from
shouting in the whole office that I didn’t eat nuts except the ones of
(mumbling)… as X said. I couldn’t hear the rest, or her exact words, however it
was clear she meant the nuts of another man, his balls. She also made it clear
that she was reporting what my Line Manager had said in my back. It is not surprising
that he would do such a joke about me, since it is not the first time I hear
him make such a joke. The top Manager, the Scottish man, is gay. Once his big
girly laugh came out of his office and my Line Manager said that once again
someone had tickled his balls, to explain the girly laugh.
It is not so much a
joke about the fact that I am gay that surprised me, what sent me into shock is
that the bastard somehow guessed it, and told the whole office about his
speculations, making jokes in my back. And that is my Line Manager. I was so
stun by the implications, I remained silent against my will. He immediately
told her: Am I glad you’re leaving at the end of the month. And upon seeing how
silent I became, she turned around and asked me: I hope I did not offend you
with my joke. I answered: most of the time, what you say goes right over my
head, I don’t understand most of what you say. I was trying there to pretend
that I had not heard her, which would have made it easier on me. But then the
older Indian man came back to talk about those chocolates, and I sort of
freaked out saying, Please, can we talk about something else? So she turned
around to me and said: so I have offended you then (how perceptive of her). I
said no, and tried to talk about any other subjects after a long and
traumatising 5 minutes of total silence. I wished I had laughed it off, as it
stands, the only way I could have been offended by the whole thing, was if I
was in fact gay. So it was like admitting it. And now they all walk in the
office embarrassed, wanting to melt with the floor or the folders which
populate our office. I certainly don’t want to get any of them into trouble,
for such a stupid joke, however I wouldn’t be surprised now if I would be
called in the office soon to be asked if I want to make a formal complaint
against them, by the Scottish boy who is himself gay, though there’s no
confirmation of this except his mannerism and jokes from his under link. I’m
sure he will take the matter seriously, just as any racist comment in that
office full of Indians would be a guaranteed gross misconduct and you would
find yourself out the door. Of course, this is the politically correctness
world gone mad which you would find in a Crown Court environment. Without it
however it could quickly degenerate in a situation like what Stephen has been
going through in the car and delivery industries for the past five years. Where
he has been abused verbally to such an extent by crowds of employees, I really
cannot understand why he has done nothing about it, I supposed it would have
lead to an impasse where whether any of them had been sacked, he could never
have worked there again. If you are responsible for either a crisis or if
because of you someone gets laid off, you can be assured that your future
within that organisation is over and everyone will hate you. In this day and
age, I guess the solution is to work where such political correctness gone mad
is in place, and then we can be surprised like I was when suddenly someone is
willing to discriminate openly. It is also possible that she never thought I
was gay, and so the joke could only be funny since I would not have felt
threatened. As my Line Manager is pretty certain I am, since he put two and two
together and knows I live with a man in a one bedroom flat, it was unthinkable
that she could stitch him and backstab him the way she did. She does it all day
long, backstabbing us all, how can he trust her that way? I bet he has not
learnt his lesson yet. He can’t help it, he is the traditional common British
man who seems to be from ancient times, ancient values, with some appearance of
having evolved and be open minded. In fact, soon I predict we will get back to
a whole bunch of people thinking just like he does and discrimination against
gays will not only be legal, it will once again be encouraged. Not hard to
envision this, half of
12 January 2007
Friday, finally, I’m
back home, hoping to some escape from the hell of a week I had. Stephen is back
from work however, in quite a state, all because we have no money to finish the
month. All bills are paid however, I made sure of that, but now how are we to
feed ourselves, and the zoo? We have no more cat food or dog food. Enough
grains for the bird, hopefully enough food for the fish, he got rats tonight
for the snakes. No more salad for the tortoises. It is one thing for us to
starve, it is another for the animals. It is just not acceptable. Human being
can die anywhere anytime, and this is not a crime. But animals? There’s no
excuse, class 1 offence, sent for trials automatically, they have to come
first.
We won’t go out
tonight, with money we would have, perhaps it is a blessing in disguise. I felt
like going out tonight, and yet, my universe is here alone at night completely
drunk, with enough cigarettes or tobacco to last me the night. In my
phantasmagorical world I created. Nothing can beat that. Unless of course
you’re in Ealing, meeting Lindsay Lohan like we did last time we were there. That
is worth anything there is in this world. She must have been filming here in
Ealing Studios, all night she was interested in me, because I told her I was a
writer. My cousin has still got to recover from this experience. Maybe I should
call him tonight. I don’t know his number. Can I find it? I wonder.
I couldn’t find it, my
mom told me he was leaving in the next few days to go back to
After hearing Stephen
complaining however, I think I might be ready to go back to
It has been such a hard
week, I truly wonder how I survived it. Five days at work, in a dead end job,
with colleagues talking in your back and planning your downfall, and management
playing mind games to drive you completely off the wall, is way too much for
any sane human being. Not only the Scottish cunt made sure he annihilate my
quality of life last week by playing hard with me, he has attended only two
days this week, and for the whole time of those two days, he has been in his
office for only 30 minutes altogether. So he can go and screw himself, I have
lost all respect for him. He can bet that at the first opportunity, I’ll do anything
I can to destroy the him. I will never protect him, I will never do him a
favour, I will never do anymore than what needs to be done for me to stay out
of trouble and get paid at the end. I have absolutely no loyalty, I would just
love to tell him that I found another job at within days of him treating me so
badly, well, I would love nothing better to see him stuck at the bottom of a
well. How do you do this? How can you go from being the most friendly boss
which your employees would like to get to know better, worked so damn hard for
over a month out of loyalty, to wishing you dead. It certainly must be the worst
management skills I have ever seen in my entire life. It is obvious that the
guy doesn’t have a clue about motivating his troops. Had we been in
I have no more time to
waste with anyone in my life. I don’t give a shit about anyone anymore, or any
crap. If someone turns around after I took one day off and tell me: take one
more day off and you will be sacked, I only wish to tell them to fuck off and
that I quit, on the spot. Might sound extreme, but I had enough. It is like Big
Brother, how little details after a while is all they need to finally start
crying and leave the house, when they knew damn well that it is what they could
expect and they prepared themselves psychologically before going in. It tells
you a lot about human nature. We’re all terribly fragile, sensitive, and we
don’t need much to feel deeply hurt, start crying, whether we are male or
female, they all cried so far. Three left on their own accord within 10 days.
And yet, when you look at it from the viewers point of view, it was nothing!
How dare they be so weak, cry for nothing, and leave so readily at the first
little crisis? What are we missing here? What does it mean? It means that details
are all that is required, and that little mind games are far more powerful than
anyone could have thought. Before we get closer to any sort of happiness or
world where people are happy to be alive, we would need to be so gentle with
everyone, I don’t think we would ever be able to reach that point, as first we
would need to understand it, and we don’t seem to have the capacity to
understand what other feels, and we are way to ready to laugh at them, or
destroy them for their weakness. When it is our turn, we sure are no surprise
to find that no one is willing to help or understand, quite the contrary. And
so we have no choice but to suffer in silence in our bubble universe. And yet,
it is all universal, we are all weak, we are all easily shaken or hurt, we all
hate this hierarchy at work and these mind games, these management fads and
other. We all hate some people, colleagues, and yet we spend more time with
them than with our own family. We are we obliging ourselves to do things we
don’t want to do, with people we can barely stand? It is beyond me. What is
also surprising, is how willingly everyone seems eager to make it worse and
impossible to breathe and be happy at work. I don’t understand. And yet, I’m
sure they too suffer and would love to have an easier existence. It is
puzzling. I can’t stand any of them anymore. Today I didn’t say a word, I
didn’t answer the phone once, I didn’t go to the counter when people rang. I
did my job. None of them had done anything to upset me, however the was
electricity in the air this morning as it was Friday, and both the Brit girl and
the old Indian man were on the rampage to hurt each other and it was coming my
way. So I had to retire in my bubble to prevent a crisis. I created one by
doing what I did, however I didn’t explode or shouted at any of them, thank god.
I would not have needed much, I tell you. I couldn’t have controlled myself. I
almost lost it when one of the usher or clerk moaned and moaned about a few
things I did wrong, God, I needed all the self controlled in the world not to
turn around and tell him that he could fuck off and go back to his own office. He
put all those folders in order he said, my God, none of them are in order! That
is why in the end I gave up and I put one file over the most likely pile where
I felt it belonged to. You would have thought it was the end of the world. And
I couldn’t stop thinking that those losers who can’t even put in order 200
files, would be back within a week to blame me for having put it all in
disarray, when they never were in order to begin with! My God! How incompetent
can they be? I had enough as well with the old Indian Man who does fuck all all
day, dumped all his work on me as quickly as he could, and now I get blamed for
his total inaction for the past year or so. Three crisis erupted from the
clerk’s office this week, all with me very much at the centre of the crisis,
when I had absolutely nothing to do with any of their complaints. For a second
there, I thought the might powerful Indian woman in there had a vendetta
against me, now I think it is that the older Indian man has been so careless
and inactive in his job that she’s probably right to be in a panic state. I
worked so hard since I started, I feel I have done much in a month and a half
than he did in the last year. So much so that today the big top Manager sent a
big thank you email to my Line Manager to thank him for all the great work that
has been achieved. When the old Indian man asked what about, it turned out that
it was all that he had dumped in my laps. And so he said candidly that all the
credit was to him and I had nothing to do with it, of course he was sort of
joking, but at the moment I can no longer stand him or his twisted sense of
humour, I hate the man. My Line Manager followed suit saying that he was too
happy to take the compliment for himself, and would certainly not credit any of
his staff. And so it turns out that I worked so damn hard, enough that the top
Manager noticed, someone who knows nothing about what is going on in the
General Office, and none of them, including probably the Scottish man, will
know that it is all down to me. And that’s nothing, I answered every single
phone call and the phone rings every two minutes. None of them answer the
phone. There are ten people in the office at any given time, and none of them
answer the phone! If I had not answered the phone at all, I could have triple
the amount of work I did, and so I could have been a miracle worker. As it
stands, doing a third of what I could really do, I still managed to shine
beyond any hope, and yet they will most certainly find a way to get me out that
door, one way or another, within weeks, hopefully within days.
The only persons who
have a brain in that place, are the nice Indian woman, the Irish woman and the
Chinese guy. Only the Chinese guy is not in a position of power. It takes him
two hours to get to work in the morning, two hours to go back home. He
definitely is the one who should get promoted eventually, over the nice Indian
man who is now my friend, and whom I regret to say, I have helped to get
eventually promoted. I said in the office that after 8 years working there he
should be promoted over clerks who had been there six months, he said he tried
four times because one person or two hated him. And now the older Clerk of all,
who just retired but who will still be coming two days a week, virtually the
only British clerk in there, heard us, and came in and said his name as if she
was about to say something and said: never mind. I realised then my mistake,
she went out and talked, and the other nice Indian woman as well perhaps, and
now the nice Indian man will be the boss for a week at the beginning of
February, and perhaps eventually of the whole General Office, as this is how it
starts. Two are wrong with this picture. First he is incompetent, I have to
admit. Second, the Chinese is so obviously the brightest bulb in the place, and
knowledgeable of everything, you would be crazy not to promote him. Finally, I
made powerful enemies, and most of my problems started since that very day. I
don’t even know who my enemies are, but I feel it might be the Scottish man and
the other Indian Manager of the Clerks office, the very people who hired me. I
guess they regret now, just like I do. Who could have thought that with one
stupid little sentence, said when I thought that no one was around, could have
so drastic a consequence on my career and the one of another Indian man? He
will get promoted, I will eventually get sacked.
Good for him, he has
five kids, he is far from retiring, has lived in Russia for some 20 years or something,
and is from Pakistan instead of India. Which makes me wonder if perhaps I got
myself into the middle of a personal racist war between the Indians and the
Pakistanis in the office, and since the Pakistani is so nice to me, and the
Indian one such a bastard, I got myself on the wrong side of the war. I
personally cannot make the distinction, I couldn’t tell them apart, so it’s not
like if I care about this, whoever is nice to me, I’m nice back, whoever gives
me shit cannot hope that I will sit back and ask for more. War is war, and I
will fight back one way or another. As for the nice Indian woman I like so
much, I think she’s Indian, but I couldn’t be certain, and I’m not going to
ask.
That’s it, I know now,
I understand. I can’t believe it took me so long to get it. My best friend is
Pakistani, and not Indian, and now I am the enemy. I’m sure that’s it. I
couldn’t explain why suddenly I was under such fire after working so damn hard.
Pure racism by association. Amazing. This is a first ever. And yet, the man is
sort of being promoted, or certainly being groomed to be. As if my innocent
sentence suddenly made it clear that they were racist, and I’m talking about
the other Indians, not the British, who I’m sure, cannot see a difference
between Indians and Pakistanis. Well, I did say in my CV that I was against any
sort of discrimination, so in the end if I get sacked because they are racists
and I obliged them to stop discriminating, then I guess it would have been
worth it. And if ever I start my own conference company, I’ll come back and
hire that Chinese guy.
Sometimes it can be so
difficult at work, when I think about how miserable a job this is, and how at
home I am being treated so badly by Stephen. I look out the window and cannot
imagine that I gave up
I’m the first one to
say that I will never regret any of my decision, that things happen for a
reason, and so far I never had to doubt that, and I fear that I might have to
eventually admit that leaving Los Angeles was a terrible mistake. Perhaps this
is why I worked so hard on my novel which is entirely British based, I could
never have written that in
15 January 2007
I didn’t get the BBC
job in Radio-Drama. I guess my accomplishments are not as great as I thought,
or that more successful people would have killed to get that same job. After
all that I have done for this interview, I can barely believe I didn’t get it.
I have no idea on what count I failed, or if I didn’t at all and someone more
impressive came along. All I know is that it has changed my whole perspective
on life and my actual situation.
Coming back from
I am so gutted, all my
energy has just got snatched away. I don’t think I will ever work for the BBC
in my lifetime, and so now I think I won’t even try. I feel like hating the BBC
for this, that might motivate me to succeed in other ways, not sure. I’m so
tired of trying, so tired of working so hard, I really feel like giving up
right now.
20 January 2006
Five days have passed
since I got to know that I didn’t get the job at the BBC, and this week at the
Crown Court, it has been very depressing indeed. Nothing happened, they told me
at the end of the week how quiet I have been, it was my bid to avoid any
trouble by being too familiar and inviting contempt. I have thrown myself into
Celebrity Big Brother in order to forget my life, I have not written anything,
and my motivation has never been so low. I don’t want to be reminded that great
projects are being created out there and that there is no way for me to be part
of any of them. I feel I have a creative mind, an unusual one, and yet, society
has never been able to recognise it and to help me develop it further, to the
point where I am wondering if finally I have that creative at all and if all my
projects could look completely uninspired. I know it is not true, and yet, I
cannot stop wondering. I can’t live an uninspired and routine life like my
colleagues at work. I’m glad they have children and feel that this is their
legacy, at least they’ve got something. I don’t have that, I will never have
that. My children are my books, and yet, they don’t grow, they don’t interact
with anyone, they might as well be in a cemetery, dead, without ever seeing the
light of day. Rejection is a hard thing, and yet, that’s the story of my life.
So this week at work I
was a zombie, I was reduced to nothing, and this job was my existence, for a
very long time to come. I don’t feel like getting another job, I know it would
be worse, especially if I have to take the tube or the train to get there. It
seems I have failed to find a job where I wouldn’t have, like in Big Brother,
to suffer and suffocate in a room smaller than my apartment, filled to the
brink with a bunch of backstabbers waiting and hoping secretly that I will fall
flat on my face. There is nothing I can do to escape that nightmare.
I felt small this week,
insignificant, a low rate human being, a third class citizen. It was total
despair, that it could very well be what the rest of my existence will be all
about. I’m not sure I could accept this, I know this is not good enough. I’m
all for that I need to make it happen, I have to work hard and achieve great
things all on my own, and that if I have the talent, it cannot fail to happen,
however I no longer think that way. I feel it is clear that I will need help
along the way, I will need someone or some people to give me a chance to get it
out all there, and I am well aware that a miracle would be required for this to
happen, and by miracle I mean that it is highly unlikely to ever happen.
Something tells me that
there is no way I could work in that Crown Court for a decade like many of my
colleagues, and still be, 10 years later, at the exact same point. I’m not
certain how long I could bear this before shooting myself in the head. So many
things I could be doing right now across the world, so many places and
countries I could visit, so many interesting people I could meet, so many books
I could read and so many books I could write. This is what has been denied to
me with this full time job around the corner. I am missing out on life, on what
I feel I should be living and learning, and instead all that I have been given
is pettiness and patronising people who treat me like if I was shit not even
worth considering.
23 January 2007
I have fallen in the
routine of going to work everyday, and as the weekend passes so quickly, I feel
I’m working all the time. I must have a lot of free time, however Celebrity Big
Brother is eating it all up. One week left, thank god, this damn programme is
so addictive. I bet mentioning it at my interview at the BBC cost my new career
in Radio Drama. Or perhaps it was that I was going to see a play in
There are only four
persons in the building at the Crown Court that I don’t like. The one I
immediately identified as the most dangerous, she’s returning to another Crown
Court for good at the end of this week. The second most dangerous one is the
old Indian man who is constantly on the attach, whinging all the time, and
backstab someone at least once every hour. Thankfully he is so sick, being 63
years old, he spends as much time in hospitals as in the office. Many times now
we have come close to have big arguments, and the only thing I have on my side,
is that he already has a reputation of getting into trouble. I am not privy to with
whom he has had trouble with, I hope it is not of me that he talks when he
says: it has been one hour without getting into any argument, I am getting
better. It is very embarrassing, because as soon as he arrives, I shut up, and
it is obvious. I also ignore most of what he says, all his attacks and digs,
thankfully he gets the message and does not insist. I also will go out of my
way to ask the other Pakistani, Chinese or anyone else any question before
going to him. What is awkward here is that I inherited all his work, and so he
is the one I should really be asking the questions to, as often he is the only
one to know the answers. I just know that eventually I will have a full blown
fight in the office with that guy, and I am afraid about the consequences,
which leads to the third most hated and dangerous person in the office, the
Scottish big top manager.
It’s a shame really,
one full month of liking the man, thinking he could become a friend, and all I
needed to find out about his true nature and the sort of management we are
being subjected to, was for me to take one day off. And now I cannot look at
him in the eye, I cannot speak him anymore, he really gets on my nerves, and I
would more often than usual answer the phone as soon as he comes out of his
cavern to talk to everyone with his over the top voice which scream: I’m gay! And
again I find out that having gay colleagues is far from making anything easier,
they’re all like impetuous children who must have it their own way, they are
also emotional, control freaks, independent, stuck up, proud, and prone to
reject anyone who is not in their opinion either cool, in, beautiful, etc. And
so, I must rate very low on their list. There’s no hope with the Scottish guy,
but he certainly frighten me off to death, as I am unlikely to take another day
off work unless I’m dying and that I have showed them that I’m dying by dragging
myself to work and coming back home after.
The fourth and last
most annoying and dangerous person for me at the Court, is a usher, and hence
he is not even working in my department. Again, it is an old man, British,
White, and miserable. He seems to have gathered a lot of hatefulness about the
world in his existence, no wonder they put him on finding files all day, and
replacing them in the dead rooms day after day. They don’t want to see him in
his office. The problem is that after him, I am the person who is most likely
to have to find files and pile them up in every corner until they can be
processed, and since I have no time to process them, all I do al day is
classifying the sheets of the files I need to find, and then try to find the
files. So he hates me, because I make his life painful. Anytime there is
something wrong about anything, up he goes in the office of all the Managers
and moan until they have to get back to me and freak out at me. He has
backstabbed many times now, to the point that I no longer acknowledge his
existence. Today he accused me of having lost the keys to one of the dead room,
last week it was that I was responsible for mixing up all the files on the
shelves when the person responsible for that mess was the old Indian man. And
myriad of other things. Today he even started to attack me out loud when I was
speaking with the girls, the two temps we hired for two months, whom I’m in
charge of training. I ignored him, pretended I didn’t hear and went back to my
desk. I hope he gets the message. Avoiding these people is all I can do at the
moment if I want to avoid confrontations and fights.
Ignoring them is made
easier by the fact that I’m always so tired, that everything anyone says comes
to me is if I was in a dream, or from very far away. I can easily shut myself
up in my cocoon and do my job.
It is also the first
time that I am in the public sector, and all they can talk about is working
conditions, low salaries, no money, and strikes. There is one at the end of the
month, but as I am casual and not in the union, I cannot take part in any
strike. The Scottish guy said that when he started there was a 10 weeks strike,
and he was the only one who went to work everyday. Well, I’m certainly going to
try to avoid this, I need to get into the union as quickly as possible, because
I won’t be alone in that hell hole doing everything whilst everyone is comfy at
home enjoying the strike. They appear to have many strikes a year, with little
results. And who cares anyway? No one. It does not affect anyone within the
government whether we do our job or not, it only angers everyone else in the
public, including all those defendants who as a consequence will spend many
more days if not weeks in prison as a consequence.
Funny how in the
private sector, going on strike is something we would never have considered, as
we would have been sacked the next day. It is very unfair that all civil
servants can have that weapon against their employer, whilst everyone else
suffer in silence or move on. At least, they’re usually better paid.
I also miss having
intelligent people around me, I mean with PhDs, knowledge, culture, etc. I had
never worked somewhere before where everyone is just a complete slum, and their
mind certainly never worked harder than watching TV all day. I never told them
yet that I am a published author, and something tells me that it wouldn’t
impress them anyway, they could end up hating me for it. I better keep quiet
until I am permanent. About that, I have now to apply again and fill out all
the forms, for the job I already have. I will be in competition with everyone
else in the country who has a daughter, like the woman who called yesterday,
who wishes to work at the Crown Court. I would like to think that it is a mere
formality and that I will get the job, but I don’t know, I could very well not
get it, and then it would become impossible to continue to work there. The
interview is a board, and I don’t know who is that board, if they know me, and
hence, if they don’t like me, I might not get it. Considering that I have
applied for a similar position at two other Magistrates’ Courts and never even
got an interview, I might not actually be successful at getting the job I
already have. I’m not alone in that weird predicament. The HR department in
Maybe the Chinese guy
is actually applying for a bigger post, my God, if he moves to another department
or other court, we’re fucked. He’s the only one who knows what to do, what he’s
doing, and who seems to have access to everything. Lose him, and we might as
well shut down the Crown Court.
24 January 2007
As predicted the day
before, today I had some sort of a row with public danger number 4, the usher. He
moaned and moaned against me today like he never did before. He was instructed
to find a few files for Standard Fees by one of the clerks, files that I am
supposed to find myself but never had the time since I have something like 6000
Graduated Fees waiting for me on my desk, and for each of them I have to find
the files. He found a few, and it gave them the chance to freak out and tell
everyone in Listing, the General Office, the Clerk’s office and the Usher’s
room, that I was incompetent. He even found a file on my own desk, would you
believe? When I had only 5 files on my desk. That was his crowning achievement
of the day. I came back from lunch and the bitch who leaves at the end of the
week, public danger number 1, who was too delighted in rubbing it in, and
telling me after lunch out loud that I was in deep shit. I said, let me guess,
the usher has stitched me up. I wasn’t happy about it, and I went on to say
that he didn’t like me, that I had my fill of him, and I slashed into him. I
should regret it, but I don’t. I no longer care. I need however to survive
until the end of the week, after that she will be gone, I will be off for
training the two first days of the next week, and then the strike hits us. A
lot of water will have passed under the bridge by then.
In the meantime,
Stephen is being bullied at work on a daily basis, and comes back home in such
fowl moods, that I’m the one suffering the consequences, as he bullies me in
return.
25 January 2007
Today I assisted at my
first Official Union Business Meeting. I have learnt a few things, that I’m in
the wrong job, the wrong type of English Courts, and the wrong location
altogether. Thankfully in my case salary is inconsequent, so I don’t really
care if we are the first paid civil servants in the country, and the worst paid
civil servants in all the different type of courts as the Magistrates Courts
get a good thousand pound per year than us and a collection of advantages we
don’t have because they went on strike a lot in the previous year, and our
building is so old and falling in disrepair, many of the courts are like
freezers and there’s nothing we can do about it. It does look like I can join
the union and have a day off on 31st January, however maybe this is
not the right time, perhaps I should show up at work as usual and impress the
Managers, as well as proving to them that I am no threat by not joining the
union. Going to the meeting today was already a step too far, but I needed some
content for this damn diary about life in the Mad House. The thing is, there
isn’t much more to say. The union representative we have is the top Manager of
the place, and hence, it is totally useless since we will never dare complain
to him. We can’t even suss him out, as if he wants us to go and strike or not.
I think it is clear that he doesn’t want us to strike, and you can see the
problem, since he is our representative. So I guess union business at our Crown
Court ends with him and now I can understand why we are the worst paid civil
servants in the whole country. I almost pop the question today, how incompetent
this union must be if communication broke down with the government and they
were unable to get us at least what the Magistrates Courts were able to get for
themselves, and still be the top worst paid people in
The old Indian man who
is so annoying to me during the day, has proven to be one of the most dedicated
fighter of the union, and unafraid of the big bosses. He pointed out many
things which no one else would have ever said in front of the bosses, and even
said that we needed another representative who is not the top Manager. When we
got out, I said: My God, you are fearless, the top Manager must hate you. He
rebuked me and answered: He does not hate me, he hates you, even your Line
Manager hates you. I have to say, I wasn’t ready for such a poor taste answer.
I couldn’t believe the top Manager had an opinion about me, so I didn’t really
care about that. But that my Line Manager could hate me, I feel it might be
true, as they go for beers on Friday nights, and he must have heard many
things. Once again hard work my be totally useless, and might not count in such
an environment. Because he could he hate me when I have been working my ass off
for him? I guess I could have gone for a beer, but then I would have to admit
I’m gay, because it is the first question that will pop up, especially since I
know that in my back my Line Manager has been telling everyone already that he
suspected that I was a queer. It did hurt me that my Manager could hate me, I
told the nice Indian woman, and she told me not to worry about it. And in the
end, that’s what I did, I removed the thought off my mind, especially that the
old Indian man might have simply said lies to be spiteful.
I did say one thing in
that meeting today, and I sort of regret it. In all of this, if we go on strike
for two weeks, many people in prison will remain there not for two more weeks,
but perhaps a few more months, as the backlog becomes so great, no one can get
rid of it. And all those people who have not even yet been proven guilty will
rot in prison for what could only be perceived by them as forever. No one in
that meeting gave a shit about it, they don’t either on the day to day job. If
doing something means someone out of prison, they don’t care, they still won’t
do it for another few days at least, if not weeks.
26 January 2007
Last day of the bitch
from the other Crown Court today. New guy starts on Monday, and we lost our
temp, she will be replaced on Monday by another zombie, I won’t be there to
train them, since I’ll be on training the first two days of next week. And when
I come back, I’m not sure yet if I can be part of the strike or not, I have
sent my application to be in the union tonight only. £8 a month is a bit much,
but I will not find myself the only sucker in the office whilst everyone else
is at home during strike time. I may have mortgage my future there by joining
the union before I’m even permanent, but who cares.
No more alcohol in the
house, I had to go fishing in my old bottles of Scottish whiskey, wondering
once again if it can still be good after 10 years, when it has already been
aged 10 years before. Still going well, I have to say, shame it is such a
disgusting drink. But hey, if Scottish whiskey had not been so undrinkable, I
wouldn’t have it for times of emergency, like tonight.
Celebrity Big Brother
is coming to an end this Sunday, and it’s about time, since I barely wrote
anything since it started. I still need to read again tonight my fifth short
story, which brings it to 200 pages. I would hope to find the inspiration to
write the sixth one this weekend, the one happening in Sidmouth. Once that one
is finished, I will feel I have achieved something, as I’m not too sure about
the seventh one, The Box on the Seven Dials. It is a story which has been with
me for a very long time, since my come back to
Let’s speak about one
of the celebrity in Big Brother, Ian “H”, who for a while was a huge pop star
as part of Steps. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have never heard of him by the
time you read this, as I would imagine that 20 years would have passed by then,
in all likelihood I’ll be dead by then as I don’t intend to live forever. I
never really liked Steps or pop music, however I was in
Tonight I’ve spoken as
if I was about to die. As far as I know I don’t have any threatening disease,
but I think this job at the Crown Court, and the prospect that this was my new
career, has sort of brought back in me the idea that I was mortal and that I
would one day die. As if I could not imagine any sort of great future for
myself and that I would still be there in 20 years. If I knew that for certain,
I would seriously consider suicide right now. How do these people I met there
worked there for 20 years, and still live to talk about it, is a mystery to me.
They must be the most un-ambitious people I have met, as the money is shit, and
the place is like a prison. I meet a few criminals everyday, they come to the
counter asking why they’re not listed, and then I go on to the computer, see
that they have robbed people, hit them, two inches from killing them, and then
they come to court to ask me questions. I see in the cold light of day those
bastards who make everyone’s life such a misery on the outside. I’m trying not
to judge, I’m as nice as I can possibly be, understanding and all, but inside I
feel really weird. Sometimes I feel the only way to make this world right is to
bomb it to kingdom come. I’ve said many things like that in the past, speeches
of doom and gloom, you can rest assured that I never truly believed any of it. I
am well aware that I was the first one to cry when the twin towers in Ney York
fell down, however, I also have to add, that I was also the first one disgusted
by how this has been use to manipulate everyone into our ultimate downfall
which will certainly lead directly to a worldwide Civil War. And if no one acts
upon it, I guess I’ll have to be a t the forefront of it all, assuming I just
don’t simply fall asleep on my keyboard, as I always felt quite detached from
everything happening around me. I always felt like an outsider, probably helped
by the fact that I was gay and rejected from early on. I was never part of
anything, and so all that remained for me to do was to observe and pass
judgment. I’m quite impassionate at times, I can see corruption destroy a
country, and yet, I don’t really care, because I see it more from the point of
view of history, not like in the present moment. And being one without a
country or nationality, in
What interests me most
in Big Brother, is how it reflects the life on the outside much more closely
than anyone could think. There are cameras everywhere, we are watched all the
time, there is an audience for everything I do or say wherever I am in
About that Old Indian
man at work, enemy public number one in so many ways, and my biggest danger,
there is something I have to admit, I like him, I like him a lot. He has many
detestable qualities about him, and he could be the one to bring my downfall in
the Crown Court, and yet he is like a puppy, a desperate one, and in some ways,
he is likable. Next Wednesday I will have some money, hopefully, so I can
actually afford a beer on Friday night, and then I’ll go with him and learn
whatever it is I could learn from him. The first time it stroke me, was at the
Christmas do, he looked distinguished, like someone, unlike the others who look
miserable and seem to belong in such terrible positions. He has style, class,
and is actually quite funny. In fact, he reminds me of my grand father, and my
grand father is gay, so he could be too. I thought I had met him before, I
couldn’t remember where, but I think it is the gay pub of my home town, the
only one. My God, if he turns out to be gay, married with the same woman for 40
years, reminding us every hour, what a scandal! I would have the biggest weapon
against him ever. Of course, I would never use it, I’m not like that. I look
forward learning more from him and his three children, one of them in
I received an email a
few days ago about a film crew who just finished doing a movie called Journey
to
27 January 2007
Isn’t it annoying, that
every time I start a new project, someone else thought of it as well. Sometimes
it makes me think they got the idea from me as I put it on my website, and
sometimes I feel it goes beyond the coincidence. However there are too many
coincidences, and hence, there are just that, coincidences. I had already
written four short stories buy the time I found out about the series called
Spooks by the BBC, featuring an agent of MI5, and another one from the CIA, a
blond woman, and there you are, you have my Duke of Connaught and Anna Maria.
How annoying is that? Oh, and it is big budget, it is well researched, no doubt
by a team of at least 300 people, and so it looks more than professional,
whilst I have to write the whole thing by myself, and do my own research in
parallel of a full time job as an underpaid civil servant.
Thankfully they stick
to MI5, they bring the old terrorists out of the closet, IRA, the Russian
Maffia, the Muslims, etc. So it is nothing like what I’m doing, and yet, my
main character is the Director General of MI5. I was wondering about that,
maybe he should be the head of Scotland Yard, or even nothing at all, as it
would not make any difference to my book in the end. He could work for the
department of agriculture, and it would not make much difference. And I have
been wondering if it was wise to have there the top man of MI5. when I
presented my story to the BBC, I thought it was a bit childish to have there a
James Bond type of guy, and they must have thought, oh look, that kid is copying
our own programmes, Spooks. Now, the question is, do I stop or continue, Stop,
Stop, ou, Encore, Encore, to paraphrase an old song of Plastic Bertrand. Well,
I guess I will continue for now, it is a bit late in the day to change all
that, though I’ll think about it. Perhaps he should be the head of New Scotland
Yard instead, but then, the big Sherlock Holmes beacon will shine. Maybe I got
into terrorism a bit too much now to step back, I don’t know. I guess I’ll
discuss that with my future publisher, if I ever find one. I reckon it would
take me less than one night to switch from MI5 to anything else. I’m used to
making that kind of change on massive scale in record time.
I just watched an
impressive episode of Spooks where they simulated a terrorist attack, however
the guys at MI5 didn’t know it was a test, they thought it was real. Best
episode I’ve seen so far. And yet, I question myself, I wouldn’t have written
anything like it, because it would have been boring on paper. And if it is
boring on paper, I’m sorry, I cannot go ahead. TV makes it look so much better,
they could get us to swallow just about anything, and it would still be
interesting. One great sentence since the beginning, I must have seen at least
8 episodes now, something like: “governing over a country without people, must
be a politicians dream.” It was a great sentence, because in the end, this Big
Brother state, or radical regimes like Hitler or Staline, becomes a bit
useless, because if you kill all your citizens, what is it that you have power
over in the end? Nothing, and it is all meaningless. And I have been wondering
about that, this thirst for power, which makes no sense to me. And it is only
after listening to a documentary that I kind of understood, some people really
want power, they crave it, and they don’t mind killing half the population to
get there, as long as there are still a few people you can have power over, and
no one else who has power over you, then it is all worth it.
And actually, whilst
I’m on the subject, I thought Spooks at the beginning existed as some sort of
tool against the actual governments which tend to be a bit more fascist than
usual. And now, I’m pretty convinced it is a tool of propaganda to work with
the government to frighten everyone. I have a clear subtext in my book against
the government, I even make my Duke of Connaught an un-likable anti-hero in
order to denounce what the government is all about. I am careful though to keep
it short and not bang anyone on the head, because if it becomes obvious, I
might turn off my readers. In no way should I become a moralist, like they did
recently in some episodes of Stargate SG1. In one of the recent episodes,
Colonel Carter found herself in a parallel universe where the President has
become a bit more extreme than George W. Bush. And then Carter goes on national
television to remind us that we, the people, are in charge of our destiny and
can get rid of an administration if we really want to. Great episode, and I
need to watch it again. But it is way too obvious. In my last short story I
talk about the civil servants, and what the government is doing about it, and
how terrible it is. At the end of the day, no one reading the story could tell
on which side I really am. Do I feel civil servants are incompetent or not? Is
the government treating them badly or not? I don’t know, I have no opinion on
the subject. And yet, I just brought up the issue, I’m not taking sides. If my
character says something, it is not me saying it, it is him or her, carefully
integrated into who they really are and capable of thinking or doing. That’s
the whole irony of it, and that’s how I like it. There is a danger though that
the readers might not like the Duke of Connaught, and could be a terrible
mistake from me. Why do I do it, when I could so easily have baddies instead
speaking those words? Well, my characters are flawed, and that’s the way I have
written them. I intend for them to learn as they go along and learn from their
mistakes, just like normal people, just like the people in the government seems
to think at the moment. So it’s real, this is not the world of Walt Disney. If
people cannot stand an anti-hero as their hero, then maybe they should go and
read something else.
I have serious thinking
to do about tome II of Anna Maria. I’m wondering which is best, keep the same
characters, same locations, same job titles, and continue, or find a totally
different line, something new, new characters and locations and plots, same
principle though, seven short stories all linked together in one continuous
novel. You see, if Anna Maria fails, because of the clairvoyant’s idea, and the
MI5 idea, then I must have something else to fall back on. If either one picks
up, then I’ll concentrate on that instead of the other.
The thing is, if I
think of a great idea which has nothing to do with paranormal, then it is a bit
superfluous. I could have two different sort of main story lines and then write
in the one more appropriate. Like the sixth short story for example, it does
not really require the powers of Anna Maria, and I thought I would create bad
weather and render her incapable of reading anyone. At the same time, it is too
perfect to be anywhere else than in the Anna Maria universe, because it is the
town of the Duke of Connaught, as he is high up in the government, people come
to him for help, etc. I will see.
29 January 2007, 00h13
I just watched the end
of Big Brother, and I feel electrified. I’m also very drunk, on pure whisky
from
Well, tonight there are
only two avenues for me. I am prepared to kill myself, drinking a whole big
bottle of methadone, or, put what I have of Anna Maria online on my website,
and hope for the best. This is a shit idea. I’m ready to die. Putting Anna
Maria online will have no impact whatsoever, at least for a few years, until I
see all my ideas, once again, all over the TV, without anyone contacting me to
work on it, all stolen, from the first idea to the last one, because no one out
there seem capable to have one single original idea. Shame, shame on all of
them, for stealing so blindly, me, of all people, who never got anything from
all the work I have ever done, all that imagination gone to waste. Now you can
understand why I feel this world needs to be eradicated from this universe. It
all become clear, isn’t it? I’m out of my mind, yes I am, what do you expect,
Scottish Whisky. Time to die, it was a horrible existence, no thanks for the
nightmare that was. You deserve to die as much as I. Goodbye, Adieu! Forever.
That’s it, the end, The End. Where is the rest of that bottle of whisky? Should
I poor a little bit of Methadone in it, at least, to find out what I’m missing?
Stephen told me that even a few drops would have quite an impact on me. I’ve
got nothing to lose anymore. I have nothing to lose.
If I decide to end it
tonight, perhaps you would like to know the drug that has brought it in. The
Edradour, Est. 1825. The smallest distillery in
And after this great
debate about life and death, Aristotle and Plato, Homer and Virgil, here’s
reality for you, tomorrow I start a two day training brainwashing session about
how great are Crown Courts in this country, and how we should behave in
whatever circumstances. Just give me a gun, and I’ll show you how the crown
should behave. Lucky if I am still alive tomorrow morning.
30 January 2007
For the last two days I
have been going to
Funny how the DCA,
Department for Constitutional Affairs, is trying hard to convince us they are
helping the civil servants so much, through a myriad of networks and other
helpful sub-organisation within the department. Well, I think these have been
created out of necessity by employees, because civil servants working for the
DCA must be the poorest people in the country. And those are not children out
of school waiting to become lawyers or doctors, most of these employees are
older people, middle-aged, without the brain to find something better or for
whom money is not important and they feel this might be a less stressful life, which
could not be further from the truth. I will join anyway the Rainbow Network,
the gay organisation within the organisation, and we’ll see what’s happening
there.
Tomorrow is strike day,
not sure what to do about it. I’ll go tomorrow morning as usual, see what’s
happening, and then go and do the grocery, I have not eaten anything consistent
for at least a month now.
I often think of Los
Angeles, remember great memories, feel bad I’m here, especially that it is on
TV every day on all channels, but there were too many bad memories as well and
I have accepted that I could no longer continue that career in that horrible
company. And so I miss
I miss an excellent
Italian restaurant in the San Fernando Valley, the canyons, Santa Barbra, all
the places Leonardo brought me to, I also miss the sun, it is very grim at the
moment in London, miserable and all. I also miss the palm trees, it was really
like living in a video game, a graphic adventure, as this is the only place
really where I used to see palm trees. Even programmes on TV seem to hide the
vegetation, so it seems that we could be anywhere else in the
I hope I won’t get into
trouble because of the strike tomorrow, it could be what will lose me my job in
the end. At the same time, if I am to have that job for many years to come, I
may as well try to make it less miserable by striking, we are really underpaid.
Funny, I just happened to see the offices of my union on my way to
The day is now over, I
am on my way back home. Nice group of people, half of them black, the other
half oldish and uneducated, most of them are certainly not racist, and racism
is what we talked about all day today. We didn’t talk about gays at all,
probably because no one who was gay at that meeting would have admitted it in
the first place. It is something to be openly gay at work, it is another to
shout it on all the roofs and amongst strangers.
I spoke a lot, as
usual, and the training woman asked me at lunch which court I was working at.
And I said: why, am I in trouble? And she quite bluntly answered: Do you want
to be in trouble? And damn right she could get me into trouble, she is part of human resources, I
could easily have her there at my interview. Her and her colleague made it clear
that to make sure there is no discrimination, I do not have more chance than
any of the other candidates in getting the job I already have, and so now I am
really afraid that I might not even get the interview. I didn’t for the two
other magistrates courts I applied at. So I will do my time, but ultimately I
should be planning for my next move, it is clear I won’t be working at the
court very long. Most especially because my actual managers have no say in who
gets the job.
I also learnt that if I
pass the picket line tomorrow, I have to go to work. I have been told to simply
not show up, because if you pay to be in a union, and if the union is fighting
for your rights, then you should morally support your union and do what it is
telling you to do, or else, your money is wasted because they will remain
powerless. Those wise words were utter by Tony, a charming black guy who was at
the meeting, certainly the brightest mind I have met in the whole court system
in
Something amazing
happened at that microcosm representing the whole of DCA around the region. It
is that many of the people there physically looked like others working at my
Crown Court. Others had the exact same problems I had, like having only one
pen, always losing it, and get myself into trouble by asking for a new pen and
having to sort of go through this mental exercise of: what, you have lost your
pen again, what have you done with it?
Or temps who don’t do
anything, it seems quite common, and a myriad of other situations with our
managers. I even had my own double there, a white man who tried very hard to
get a job at the Court, only succeeded in becoming casual, is also an AO,
Administrative Officer, and has now to go through another full scale interview
with the board, to get the job he already has. He faces the same as me, and
this simply prolongs our probation, because it will be six months plus all the
time we would have worked as casual. So it may be another year before I am
permanent and safe. Up until then, they can get rid of me quite easily and I
have absolutely no rights, which makes paying the union a stupid idea.
My man also had to go
through the same problems as me, learning what to say to all those enquiries on
the phone and at the counter, no training whatsoever, having to learn this
Crest software which is older than any of us and which is so complicated, that
it is not possible to get to learn it without a professional trainer, has no
one else has got the patience to teach us. He told me of situation which were
identical to mine, and so you can see how even though we believe we are unique,
we are far from being unique. It explains why statistics can be so accurate, we
are all the same and living the exact same experiences. And I feel this thought
is depressing. Finding out about this during a meeting about diversity is quite
ironic, as there is no diversity in this world. I bet there were a few gay in
the closet there and I’m sure they’re all going through the same stuff as me. A
few must also be AOs.
I am now back home, I
received a message from a certain Anna in
31 January 2007
I don’t understand how
I was ushered in the office so quickly when I was so determined to go on
strike. Got up, spoke to Stephen, who called his mom who was my reference to
get the job, went to the office to see what was happening, had a word with the
top manager, and he simply pushed me in without even listening to what I had to
say, as if he thought I was trying to get in despite the people on strike. So I
spent the whole day there with little staff, and I was the only one answering
the phone. It has been a real nightmare. I wish now I had stay in bed.
At least I had the
opportunity to get to know the newbie, who took the place I wanted in the
office, and I need to find out tomorrow if there is a reason if I didn’t get to
sit where the girl who left used to sit. Perhaps I already have plenty of
enemies in there, and I don’t even realise it. I am also the hardest working
one, and that I am sure of. And again, this is not good reason enough to keep
me there, I think they will try hard to get rid of me, all that because I said
once one sentence in the defence of a Pakistani there, who turns out to be the
only Muslim in the whole building, amongst a whole bunch of Indian Sikhs who
appear to have taken power of the Crown Court.
The Muslim guy told me
today how much he suffers from racism and how they have been ostracising him
for many years now. And since the British Government has declared war on the
Muslim countries, being racist against them right now is almost the new policy
of the DCA. Great training yesterday about equality and diversity, and the very
next day I come back to a bloodbath of racism from virtually all the Managers
in the Crown Court. And of course, ignorant as I am, not understanding the
distinctions between Indians, Pakistanis, Sikhs and Muslims, I only saw one
human being being picked on for no apparent reason, and I went to save him,
however what is going to happen is that I will sink and will be kicked out in
no time, whilst he’ll probably still be there in years to come.
I can only come to the
conclusion that the only way to survive in this world is to always shut your
mouth and do your job, because if you do not shut your mouth, no matter how
hard you work, they will get rid of you.
Which brings me to the
three newbies, one has been there for three weeks now, but she’s so stupid that
she knows as much as the two others who started on Monday. They are extremely
slow motion, they are doing nothing all day, and they don’t show any sort of
potential or energy which could indicate that once they pick up the job, they
will be motivated and faster. It is so exasperating, I felt many times like
kicking them in the butt today to get them into gear, because what they don’t
do, I have to do. However, this display of extreme incompetence will help me no
end, because beside these morons, surely they will realise how good I am at my
job. If only, I know now they will choose to be blind.
I have also learnt
today that officially the Scottish guy is gay and has a long time partner. He
is also openly gay at work, but of course, openly gay means he mentioned it
once years ago, and since then it has been a taboo subject that has never been
talked about again. And so I feel I will need to declare myself gay rapidly in
order to get back in favours with the Scottish guy, because right now he is
most certainly trying to get rid of me, I also feel that it is unlikely that he
will still want to save me once he learns that I’m gay as you cannot expect
sympathy or help from other gay people, they don’t feel that way from my
experience, they won’t help you just because you’re gay, quite the contrary,
often you will be seen as a threat.
I have also been told
that they hate my Line Manager, the one I was praising yesterday or the day
before, that he should be Prime Minister because he was the only great Manager
I ever had in my entire life. They probably hate him for the very reason I
believe he is the greatest manager ever. They must have tried to get rid of
him, but I guess after so many years it is not easy. Maybe they just learnt to
live with him. Or there is much more going on which I am unaware of, and I
might find out more on Friday when I’m going for a beer with them.
So, all in all, I
prevented leaving them a bad taste by not showing today, and I got some brownie
points for helping in a time of crisis, and I learnt a lot more about what’s
going on there. When I left, the Muslim said that he would drop me off home,
and I declined because I said I really lived around the corner, now I regret as
it is obvious he wanted to tell me more about what he is going through. He is
writing down everything they do against him and I guess once he is really stuck
in his corner, with nowhere else to go, he will make his stand and who knows,
perhaps destroy them all. I hope so for him, as for me, perhaps it is good if I
declined, because if they see me plotting with him, I will definitely never
become permanent, and what help will I be to him then? I’m not ready yet to go
on crusade to save the Muslim of the office, but I can see that one day I might
have to, because if he ever needs a witness in any tribunal, I will certainly
not let him down, and I don’t care losing my job over justice and rights, as I
hate bullies, and I hate racism. And in this day and age, how dare they act
like that? Especially in a Crown Court environment?
2 February 2007
Tonight was my big
night out with people from work. I was supposed to hear all the gossips, who
hate who and why, and the side I should fall under to insure my future or
annihilate it forever. Unfortunately, I could barely hear anyone down that Thai
Pub, and hence I sort of heard them bitch all night about everyone, but I still
have no clue about whom they were bitching about.
All I know is that I
thought this was a rough pub, and as a gay guy myself, I was quite frighten
when I got in. First person I saw was the Manager bitch who hired me, I was
quite embarrassed to sit next to her, but not as much as her. It seems she can
get friendly with all the gays in the place, but as I am still in the closet, that
door is shut to me. I was explicitly told by my mother in law to not tell
anyone that I was gay no later than yesterday, she was my reference to get the
job there, you see, so I had to respect that. In the meantime, everything is
crumbling down to dust around me, and I feel that it would be much safer for me
to tell them all that I’m gay. It would instantly get me the favour of the two
main managers there, the first one being gay, the second one being a fag hag. And
now I think the Chinese guy must also be gay, the bitch white trash woman from
another court who’s left now, but was there tonight, hinted at it, and he told
her to shut up. So I guess that is it then. And I thought the Chintok was
straight, because even though he still retains some sort of self respect, being
from
I tried, I tried so
hard, to get them on my side, it was an utter failure. Even after everyone had
left, I remain with the old Indian man, trying to sympathise with him, telling
him he was my role model, and he really is since he is not afraid of anything
or anyone, but I failed. I guess it might have something to do with the fact
that I ignore him all day at work, because he is an old fart, and has no
patience, and this could easily become ugly. I realise now that I have the same
problem with the other Pakistani guy, he has no patience at all when training
me, and it takes all my energy to remain calm under pressure. What’s wrong with
them, I have all the patience in the world when comes the time to train the
newbies, I actually enjoy it, and I do understand that they will have forgotten
everything I told them 5 minutes later, because this is all human beings are,
we are useless at everything. Except me, of course, because I write a novel every
time anyone teach me something, so I never forget, and then I become a master
at what I do. It explains why the newbies are totally useless, and that you
need to tell them what to do every five minutes, without losing patience. And
apparently I’m the only one there capable of understanding this. For God’s
sake, the two Indian guys lose patience with me when I don’t know something I
was never told about, can you imagine how they would react if they had to
remind me something they had already trained me about? And yet, the newbies
never even took notes when they were trained, and as a result, they’re so lost
about the most basic thing, and yet, those bastards don’t seem to mind about
them and that for some reason. I’m the best employee they ever got, in perhaps
five decades, and yet, they lose patience with me. I was expecting fireworks
about the newbies and their total lack of understanding, and yet, they are fine
just as they are. Fuck off then, I don’t give a shit about these fucking people.
They can all die in hell as far as I’m concerned.
At least one person has
noticed how great I am, the top manager of the place, would you believe. Perhaps
because he is the only one without any sort of prejudice to start up with. He
made sure today that my application forms for me to become permanent were sent,
as today was the deadline, and without him, my forms would never have been sent
to
I’m so uptight right
now, I could write 20 of my un-famous poems which have only one purpose, to
annihilate humanity as revenge for the hell I suffer on a daily basis, in any
work environment I have ever come across. 20, that would be a record. I hate
them, I hate them all. They are far from being as bitchy against me as they
were when I was in
All I care about right
now, is that I have been able to download a full adventure of Nancy Drew, the
next best thing after Sherlock Holmes, even though she’s so cheesy, Ì could
die. But that’s what I need right now, anything to help me escape reality, to
help me escape them all. I don’t want to have anything to do with humanity, I
want to get rich and isolate myself forever. I don’t want to ever again have to
deal with anyone. I want to be shield from this nightmare. If I am not going to
commit suicide to spare me this life, I should at the very least be able to
prevent any more interactions with anyone. Everyone’s a bitch on this planet.
And I can’t stand bitches.
Everyone’s a bitch.
Even my Muslim hero was ready to bitch around like no one else. He did a good
job of it already, and I prevented him from going further, from getting me on
his side, from telling me who the devil was. I don’t care, I don’t give a shit,
I’m way beyond all that crap. I want a world where everyone’s happy, where
everyone talks kindness and love about everyone else. I hate pettiness and
gossips and all, but I will never find peace anywhere, because none of them
wants it. It is war that they seek, and it is war that they find. They only
destruction after them, and I don’t want any part in it. I won’t go for another
drink, I won’t listen again to bitchiness, I will shut my big mouth and do my
job. That’s what I’ll do. Go home, drink myself to death, and forget it all.
5 February 2007
Last night I finished
my sixth short story for Anna Maria, I went to bed at 3 am. Sunday is always a
good day, because I’m always is such a panic state because of work the next
day, it is highly motivating. And yet, I needed all the inspiration in the
world yesterday to get into it.
I knew the next day I
could easily snap at work, and that I would have to be doubly careful about my
temper, but they really did everything they could to get me into such a state!
I had a row with the Scottish Queen, who instead of helping me did everything
he could to put the blame on my Line Manager. He gave up, as simple as that, on
my application forms I had to fill to become permanent, and vaguely told me
that there would be another opportunity at a later date.
How was I supposed to
react? Was it not a clear attempt to undermine my career within the DCA? When
he went out of his way to help the Chinese guy to get an extension until
Wednesday to give his application form for the same position I am going for,
because the Chinese guy could not even be bothered to fill out one form!
I filled those 90 pages
forms to get interviews at two other Magistrates’ Courts. I fill them again to
get the casual position at Isleworth. I filled them again when the bitch in
I was so angry, I
freaked out completely in the office of the Scottish guy. I told him that if
this was an attempt to get rid of me, it was working perfectly. And tot eh
bitch in
In front of such unfairness,
favouritism, clear backstabbing, how should I have reacted? Just walked out the
door, forget al the consequences, that’s the only answer in front of such an
assault. I took my calm, well, I calmed down eventually, the Top Manager sort
of intervene from what I gathered, and only because I blatantly accused the
Scottish guy to make sure I wouldn’t become permanent. He must have been afraid
I would officially complain, and then he acted.
The Scottish must also
be aware that he had the forms in his email inbox for a whole week before he
decided to send them to Human Resources. I reminded my Line Manager the day
before the deadline to make sure they would be sent. And on the day, only the
new intervention of the Top Manager, who called me aside to ask me if my forms
had been sent, that finally the Scottish was ordered to send them. And then, he
printed only one form out of three. And the last one, he was omitting the last
two pages. The most important ones about if I had any criminal record and
permission to check. That could have been enough for my application to be
rejected. He must have seen then that it was the wrong application forms, and
yet, he didn’t say anything. And now it all bounced back as a total fiasco.
I like the way he tried
to put the blame on me, after he spectacularly backstabbed his other manager.
He accused of me of not telling them that I was casual, which explained why in
the first place they sent me the internal forms. But I was ready for that one,
I had sent an email where it was explicitly stated, and yet the woman in HR
sent me the wrong forms. Only the next day, after I sweated on these forms, did
she said it was incorrect, I needed to apply externally. The Scottish guy also
said that I was merely like a member of the public doing a bit of work for
them, I had no status, which was why I had to fill out the external forms. And
said that it was my responsibility to contact HR, get the forms, and send them
to them. Not his, that he was in fact being helpful by sending them for me.
Well, I contacted HR, they sent me the wrong forms, they told me to contact another
number, my Line Manager stopped me and sent me his own wrong forms instead, and
so I was left in the dark about where to send those forms.
I can’t even tell where
incompetence and backstabbing begin or end. I guess it is the fruit of both
things. I cannot understand how two managers who worked in the same office for
over 8 years and 15 years could not understand which form to use. I cannot
understand either how two departments of HR, who their sole purpose is to send
the correct application forms and recruit people, all year long, could be so
lost at sending the right forms to one of their own employee. And once the
whole disaster came to light, I cannot believe how quickly all of them were
quick in blaming each other or myself for their own blunder, and how inflexible
they were at finding a solution or helping me.
This tells you a lot
about the Department of Constitutional Affairs and Crown Courts in
And now I have until
Thursday to fill these fucking forms again, and we all know it is totally
useless. First there is only one position available, the Chinese guy will get
it. Second, after my speech to just about every single employee of the Human
Resources departments in
Shit, I could have
finished my novel this week, instead, I’ll be wasting my time for another three
days. And tonight I’m too tired, after the day I had, I need an early night.
And what kills me most, is that this story is far from over. When my Line
Manager will be back from holiday next week, they will use this as proof of his
incompetence in order to try to get rid of him. And yet, they are all
accomplices in this disaster, and equally all responsible. If anything, if one
of their own Line Managers doesn’t know which forms to give out, when his own
name is there in the ad for people to contact in needs of information, well it
is their own fault. They should train them better, or take that responsibility
away from them.
The DCA is in great
need of establishing clear procedures and to train their staff about it.
Because the DCA is an inflexible organisation at the top, and yet, no one knows
anything about anything, and so, no one can respect any of its very rigid
procedural system. It is one thing to ask the Moon from its staff, it is
another to give them the means in order to make sure they can deliver. Or else,
you’re flying blind and you’re inviting disaster.
7 February 2007
I have finally finished
filling the last application forms. I sent them to the woman in Marylebone, and
I spoke to her today to make sure they were the right forms. She was in a bad
mood, and told me that anyway I was unlikely to get the position, since there
are at least 1,000 people applying for this miserable position in the Crown
Court around the corner. Plus, I have alienated everyone in both HR departments
of the DCA. And my Scottish Manager hates me now, I successfully alienated him
and his new replacement, the woman in Listing who is moving to become our boss
soon.
So I am really
discouraged tonight, and I guess there is only one thing I should do, laugh
about it, I have no future at the Department of Constitutional Affairs, and so
there’s no point fighting anymore. I’ll go to the interview if I get one, and I
will simply put it at the back of my mind. They could potentially keep me there
for a year as a casual, and so I accept that this will be my deadline before I
need to find a new job. It is quite possible that the end of my contract will
come at the end of this month, or in three months time, but I’ll have to deal
with this when it happens. I’m sure none of them will make any effort to keep
me there, my attitude is so bad now, I can’t even stand myself. So I guess they
have alienated me too. I’m the one who works the hardest in there, but we all
know that this counts for nothing. I’m sure they are much happier with Charles,
who is always late, leaves 30 minutes before his time, and do nothing all day.
At least, he never says anything. He is a casual too, I wouldn’t be surprised
if he becomes permanent before I do.
I didn’t lie anymore on
my CV, well, I still gave them the wrong job titles I had in the past, and I
haven’t told them about my career in television, but I said I had six published
books and in my examples I sort of made it clear that I was responsible for
these conferences. No need to dumb down my CV, they feel that only someone with
the highest qualifications deserves the job, even though it is one of the
crapiest you can find on the market. They pay only £14,900 a year, and yet you
would think I was applying for a job that pays £70,000 a year. The guy in the
pub that I have met, who used to work there, moved to a solicitor’s firm, and
tripled his salary. If I was not on an IVA programme towards re-imbursing my
creditors for my debts, I would never even consider this job. Which reminds me
that I have another form to fill tonight about that, and I’m getting really
tired about the bureaucracy of this world. And I haven’t even gone around to
fill out my application form to become a British Citizen, which is another one
of my priorities. I need to write to my solicitor about that.
9 February 2007
This was the week from
hell, and it all ended up on Friday with the news that I had to declare
bankruptcy! Anna Maria, simply put, has bankrupt me. Because that novel is made
up of all the great ideas I had over the years for films and television series,
and when I took at least three years off in the last few years to write, that
is what I was working on. So now there is only one solution to my problem, Anna
Maria bankrupted me? It now needs to make me one of the richest on the planet.
A successful series of books on the subject would help, but selling the rights
to a television series is my real goal. Leonardo the psychic man has already
foreseen that John Cleeseman would be my Duke of Connaught, but please! I don’t
care for Cleeseman. Of course I wouldn’t say no. I just fear that the whole
sensual chemistry between Anna and Arthur might go out the window, but you
never know until you see it on the screen. I should be depressed right now,
especially that all I have done in the last few says was to download PC games
about Nancy Drew, but I’m listening to Depeche Mode Remixes right now, and
there’s nothing Depeche Mode cannot cure in my case. It puts everything back
into perspective, it helps me escape this reality. I should be electrified enough
to write the last short story of Anna Maria tonight, The Box, even though there
could be an eighth one now, Kill the Prime Minister. Not sure yet, I’ll have to
come up with a much better story, and that one should come before The Box. So
that’s the one I should write tonight. We’ll see.
The fat British woman
with the most annoying voice on the planet is moving from the List Office to
the General Office. And we’re losing the Chinese Guy who decided that his life
wasn’t stressful enough. Apparently the List Office is the worst, but I don’t
believe it. Only one person in the list office really works, the others just
pretend. I don’t foresee clashing with her, but it could happen. She inherited
the Legal Aid transfers, and I believe it was just too much for her. She thinks
she can start anew in the General Office, what a fool! After her firsts NTT
files, NG and T forms, and countless Grad Fees, she will scream to go back to
the List office. I have over 15,000 grad fees on my desk, waiting to be paid,
Junior Advocates who charge a fortune for virtually doing nothing, and it
sickens me to death.
At the beginning of the
week I was thinking that we needed to move the Scottish Man to the list office
by force if necessary, because he is a right bastard, and only wishes to
prevent anything from happening. IF he can refuse anything, like for example
Legal Aid, he will. He won’t only if he cannot find a reason, and by a reason I
mean anything, like bird shit on the form would do. He is the king of
bureaucracy, because we all know that in the end, even if he can pause it for
three months, these people will get Legal Aid. At the end of the week however,
I think like he does. I want to say NO to everyone, because I’m tired of it, of
seeing how this whole charade has gone too far, and that the most single little
act, which is not a crime in the end, ends up clogging up the whole system and
costing the taxpayers billions of pounds every year.
A poor man was fucked
today on the phone, could not get a job at the airport because of his criminal
record. Death threat it read on his file. And all he did was probably tell a
fucker I will kill you where you stand, probably something he heard on Star
Trek, right from the mouth of a Klingon, and he never believed it for a minute,
neither the victim I’m sure, and then this case had gone to the Crown Court,
via the Magistrate’s Court, and is now going into the Court of Appeals. At
least half a million pound will have been spent on that petty case at the end
of it, destroying a few lives in the process. No more great career at the
airport, that’s for sure! You’re fucked mate, you shouldn’t have been watching
Star Trek. For that matter, I have made so many death threats myself in al
those books I have written, I am ready for the Old Bailey. My case will
certainly cost the taxpayers a million pounds. Because it will definitely reach
the Supreme Court, if there is still such a thing. Bomb letters. I’ve read
about those yesterday. It inspires me already.
There you are, It is
now 1h31 am on a Friday night in February, Letter Bombs inspired me two pages
of the now official seventh short story of Anna Maria, about Kill that Prime
Minister. I guess I have to get dirty. However I’m trashed. Completely drunk on
Port, and I only wrote two pages, which translates into 5 pages in published
terms. I hope I can continue that story tomorrow, and finish it sometime this
week. I still have the mega last story to write, God knows when I will write
that one now. I’m not even sure yet of what will happen in the one I’m writing
now. I guess I’ll find out as I write it, just like I did for the Sidmouth one.
Turned out okay, but I can’t stop thinking it would have turned out better if I
had planned it a bit more. But sitting down here one night and writing a whole short
story about Anna Maria, is what I hope to be able to achieve in the future, and
that means improvising as I go along. I want it to be like if I could sit down
here tonight, and come up with a great single for the charts. Five minutes,
that’s all, one night required to come up with a success. That’s what Anna
Maria will be about in the future, the subsequent tomes. I just came up with a
big fight between Anna and the Duke, and I feel great, because that’s what’s
happening in my life on a daily basis, with Stephen, and it seems normal to me
that Anna and Arthur would have the same problems. The Duke is Stephen now,
anyway, and I guess I am Anna, even though Anna is Leonardo in
12 February 2007
I’ve been sick like a
dog all weekend, and yet I managed to write the seventh short story about the
Library from the future. And suddenly I couldn’t sleep because I was too sick,
and could write anymore because I couldn’t concentrate, so I read about what
happened to the celebrities who were in Big Brother. I was shocked, so shocked
in fact that I believe I have no more choice now but to censure myself all
around. They are all being investigated by the British Police, and if I can
believe the alarmist newspapers, something like five of them are facing racist
charges and could go to prison up to seven years. Even Dirk Benedict is being
investigating for saying that the Indians were taking over
19 February 2007
Tomorrow at work will
mark a new era for my little adventure in the Crown Court. They know I’m gay,
two of them so far, and I take it that it will take less than a minute tomorrow
morning to go all around the 8 criminal courts.
I went for a beer again
last Friday, the first time with my Line Manager, I thought it was important to
get the gossip from him, and my gosh, I certainly got that. The price to pay
was to answer their first question which was burning their lips: are you gay!
How could have I denied it? My best friend on my application form didn’t fool
anyone, the one bedroom flat I’m living in with my best friend didn’t fool
anyone, and apparently I’ve been giving myself away in the office, acting like
a queen on some occasions. Denying it any further would have been stupid, but a
grey area came up, I did marry to remain here, and if I get real enemies in
there, they have a first class weapon against me. I know I can justify this
quite easily, 15 years ago in
So, for the price I
paid, I got to know that my Line Manager has a serious addiction to Cocaine,
and one day was forced to admit it to the Scottish Guy and the other Indian
Manager from the Clerks. Since then they appear to have done nothing against
him, might have something to do with the fact that the Scottish Boy had a
serious addiction with hash and marihuana, and even was the drug provider to my
Line Manager. He apparently stopped now for health reasons, but somehow I don’t
believe it, and cocaine must also be a little problem my Manager is dealing
with. My Line Manager tried to convince me that he had been clean for a long
time, and when he stated six weeks, both the Chinese Guy and I burst into
laughing, and for a second there I thought we would never stop. The famous day
we were on strike, my Line Manager was lying dead somewhere, drugged to full
capacity on cocaine. He took so much of it in the last few years, he said he
has or had a hole in between his two nostrils. Heek! This is monster stuff,
quite an horror story.
I never had a manager
before who would admit so openly to be a hard drug addict. I asked him why he
told me, and he said he trusted me. I wonder why, I certainly never gave him
any hint that I could be trusted. Simply put, everyone knows, and it is useless
to deny it, just like my big secret now in the open.
It is hard to remember
everything from that night, I drank so much, I puked for half an hour upon my
return. Just like two weeks ago when I went out with them. I guess I’m not
supporting alcohol as well as I used to. Since my return to
Well, now I understand
what he means when he talks about his wonderful fat and ugly wife, and how he
needs to grow up to save his marriage, a marriage that he would gladly cancel
if he could, and he was not shy either on telling me that he would never be
faithful to her, and good for him, as he is very good looking, and she forced
him into that wedding, first because she’s fat and wil never get another
chance, second because she’s Australian and needed a visa, turning this
marriage into a prison sentence. There should be laws against that (I said to
myself, with irony).
I’m not really worried
about going back to work as a gay man, if anything they should have known on
day one. It might cost me the friendship of a few people there, including my
Muslim friend, my only ally so far in that court. Let’s see how this little
detail, the one that I’m homosexual, will affect him. I’ll tell you afterwards
how great it is to be Muslim or not, or how modern he is. I won’t fail to ask
him what he will do if one of his six kids turns out to be gay, I need to know,
and I need to guide him. If the population is at least 10% gay, then 5 kids
might very well have given him one. 50% chances that it is so. Might be the end
of the world for him, one lost one amongst the pack, and most likely the one to
be the most successful of them all, either as a consequence of the hell he will
bring upon himself or herself, or simply because gay people seem to be more intelligent
and clued up in this world. This is a verifiable fact, so please, do your
research.
Why have I not told
them I was gay until now? Good question. I supposed I sort of played a game
with them. I told them nothing about me, I had to play it down because I was
way too qualified for this job, even though I know now that I will never be
qualified enough, out of the 1000 who applied for my job. Apparently the Top
Manager of the place said that my CV, the one of the Chinese guy and another
girl who used to work there were the best CVs they have received. And so this
confirmed what I thought, I’m too qualified, and this is why I never got any
answers from all those types of job I applied for in the past. Anyway, if I was
not going to tell them anything about me, then the gay thing was also out of
the question. Also because my mother in law ordered me not to say anything, and
she works there one day a week, and was my referee to get that job there, even
though they have not contacted her. So even the Court forego contacting your
references, interesting. Who knows, I could be some sort of anarchist planning
the downfall of the whole Justice system in England, by, I don’t know, writing
a book upon the subject from my own experience? You wouldn’t want that kind of
anarchist in your ranks, would you? Anyway, none of my referees would have
warned them about that unlikely possibility, or else, they wouldn’t be on my
list of referees, stuuupid.
Wonderful, both my
Managers are drug addicts, both of them even have drugs with the intent to
supply, and did to employees of the Crown Court. Because my Line Manager has
admitted having sold drugs to the new recruit we have, Charles, the cute and
not so pure British kid working for us now. I’ve got them over a barrel. Not sure
what I could do with that kind of information, except for telling it here in
this book. Everyday we are dealing with drug addicts as defendants in our
courts, most of them with the intent to supply, and the ones processing them,
and sending them to prison for years to come, are guilty of the exact same
crime. So I guess you’re only off the hook for as long as you don’t get caught.
And that the problem is so generalised, that the hypocrite system we’re living
in sends to prison people for crimes they are themselves guilty of. And it
becomes a game of cat and mouse in order to avoid being caught. You might as
well legalise the damn thing then, since it is obvious that everyone is guilty
of it, drugs, and so we could save billions of pounds and unclog the justice
and prison systems overnight by legalising it. However, it is not my duty to
speak about legalising drug, I’m only concerned as far as my own boyfriend is
an addict, so I am indirectly concerned. I will wait for my boyfriend to be
arrested and going to prison to freak out about it, for now, it is a game of
cat and mouse.
22 February 2007
I am literally sinking
under the grad fees. I have now seven huge binders on my desk of claims to pay,
for which I will have to find the folders, check if they have already been
paid, and if not enter them into the computer. Each file now has something like
25 claims on them, and I need to sort all this out for each of them. Every time
I sit down to deal with one, the phone starts ringing and no one in the office answers
it. There is always someone either in the clerk’s office or the Chinese guy
preventing me from entering anymore claims, because they don’t have the time to
deal with them and they don’t want piles and piles of folders on their desk. This
is a war I’m losing. And now, today, the very man who was responsible for the
claims and did nothing about them for months, getting us where we are now, had
the audacity of stating I was incompetent and that the situation had never been
that bad. The old Indian guy, I could have strangled him today.
There is one woman in
the City who calls me every two days to ask me about a few claims, and she
always asks for one in particular, and every time I try to be helpful and the
answer I get is that there are discrepancies and that we’re dealing with it. It
was obvious this was not going to do for long, and today she called, and every
single claim she mentioned I was able to find the file for once, and see that
she was right. There were a bunch of claims that were 3, 4 and 5 months old. I
was only able to find the files because I order the files to be audited, over
the head of my Line Manager who explicitly said no because he thought it was a
waste of time. So many people are looking for files everyday that they cannot
find, so many hours were being wasted, I took it upon me to get organised. Now
I can always find a file instantly, and that is what I call a sudden
improvement. Especially that today I found so many old claims. Of course it
didn’t go well with that woman, especially when she asked again for that full
of discrepancies file that we were supposedly dealing with, which I’m sure, we
were not. She had enough, she freaked out and called the top manager of the
court. The cascade effect was instant, many crisis meetings were organised, and
now everyone feels that grad fees are a priority. And in all of this, I
obviously take the blame, because I’m in charge of Grad Fees, which is
ridiculous when you think about it. I know next to nothing about grad fees, I
can’t make any decision about any of them, they never pass because they are
filled with errors, and I cannot find out why they don’t pass or how to correct
it. Finally, when a claim is rejected, discontinued or cancelled, which is all
the time, no one takes the bother to tell the counsels, and no one takes the
bother to write down in the fill why. And so, I feel so powerless! Between
trying to help the counsels, the solicitors, get rid of these grad fees for
which I can do nothing, and can’t even enter them into the computer because no
one had the time to process any of them. And then when the shit hits the fan,
they all point at me: well, you’re in charge of grad fees, what have you been
doing? Which can only bring one emotion in my heart, a desire to kill. So I
didn’t have a good day today.
On top of it, it has
been a few days since I worked on Anna Maria. I have been bogged down on
downloading stuff and making space on my numerous hard drives. I am really not
proud with myself. Tonight I should get back to it, read what I have written so
far for the seventh short story and continue it. I know I can’t finish it
tonight, which is no great motivation, and I’m not sure where it will go.
Initially it was called Kill that President, and that seem acceptable. But now
it is called Kill that Prime Minister, and
I am filled with energy
tonight. I am drinking my second extra large can of beer, I remember all those
nights in
Spoke with my great
Scottish author friend recently, I gave her the name of Shirley before, she
hates it, so not sure how to call her now. She has kind of discouraged me, I
think she wrote two novels and half a biography since I last spoke to her.
She’s like a writing machine, and she’s the most literary person and author I
have ever met, she writes like a student from
I’m listening to Muse
right now, and that is powerful stuff. I wished my books could have the same
impact on anyone reading them. I wish I could produce that kind of stuff. Violent,
heavy, exploding in your face. Something you could turn to maximum and get
transported by. My poetry is the only thing I have which can be as violent and
powerful, and yet, you would need to listen to Muse to appreciate it. I did on
Sunday, I was almost singing my words. I was dead the next day at work, going
to bed at 4 am, but it was worth it. This is how je m’éclate, and God knows I
need to m’éclater.
It is only 19h27, I
have already drank two beers, I feel the night will be a long one indeed, and
yet, I’m not sure in which area I will be creative tonight, as I know and feel
like I will be. I need to. Perhaps I should start a new poetry book, somehow I
was quite certain that three poetry books ago I would never write another one,
and felt for sure that the last one was to be my last one. I cannot read the
future you see, I have no idea if any of it will ever be popular one day, and so
I felt it was useless to continue to write them. It is the first time for a
long time that I am not writing inspired work, and so I feel a bit lost, cos it
is a need to write that kind of stuff after all. And so I think I should start
a new book tonight.
I’m now listening to
Diana Ross, perhaps I feel closer to death than I initially assumed. I need new
music, anything, I can’t go any longer listening to the same old crap. What
could that new book be about? Usually it should have the same name than the diary
that goes with it, but in this case, how could poetry about a Crown Court could
be any good? Especially about my last one about
Is it time to talk
about my theories that the context, the characters make no difference, it is
all I the content? And how fascinating and gripping the story is? Right, a
Crown Court. How gripping could that be? Even this present book, this present
blog, I feel, should be deleted. I never even once thought, oh, I need to write
that book. It was more like when the need was arising.
Right, so what should I
do now? Amazing that it is in a few minutes that the decision to start a new
book arises, that at that very moment in time you could decide to go for it and
start it, and then usually you finish it. But if you don’t start it at that
specific moment in time, that is a book that will never see the light of day.
And God only knows how successful that book could ever be, after you’re dead
off course. And so, I guess these are no criteria to decide a book or not, you
can only rely on your own motivation and inspiration. That book I would start
wouldn’t be the greatest thing ever, could never top any of the other ones I
have written before, and so now I know why I never made a conscious decision to
start it before.
There you are, I won’t
be started a new book tonight for three reasons. First I talked with Madjid,
over the Net, a good friend of mine with whom I may once more one day work on
some 3D animated stuff. And so I have lost my train of thought. Second my
computer has gone into slow motion, I would need to re-start it and since I’m
already downloading a lot, I don’t want to restart it. And third, I’m too
drunk, and I’m about to eat a vegetarian Shepherd’s Pie. Amazing how a few
details can alter the course of history. Fourth, the parrot is out of control
and I now have the Murmy (my favourite cat), sleeping on my keyboard. That is
all I need to stop motivating me. Perhaps I could have an early night tonight
and have a normal Friday tomorrow at work instead of the hectic day I had today
where I lost patience so many times, it is getting ridiculous. I’m no longer in
the mood for listening to music. No longer in the mood to write. Maybe I should
watch a film, it is only 21h56 after all. Maybe I should play a Nancy Drew
adventure game, but that would require re-starting the computer, something I
don’t want to do. Gosh, maybe I should go to sleep.
3 March 2007
There were many things
I wanted to write here in the last few days and weeks. I wish I could remember
now, I guess it was all bollocks if I can’t remember now, but that’s the thing,
it wasn’t, and yet, I can’t remember, so screw that.
All I can remember now
from that job from hell, is that I kind of enjoy it, how sad. I have thousands
of invoices to process, I can only enter about
The only other thing I
can remember is that many times in the morning, walking to work, I was thinking
about
This weekend I need to
end that stupid short story about books from the future, get on with another if
possible, I know it is not, let’s concentrate on finishing the one then, at the
very least. I would have already, but my stupid internal hard disk is almost
dead, and that rescue mission took me the best part of the weekend.
To be honest, I no
longer think tonight that
I guess I just
understood something quite important. It is nothing to be expecting to get
somewhere, be in the right place and all, and hope to be there at the right
time. You still need something to show, and so far Anna Maria is the only thing
I have in English, and the only thing worth anything. It is all hard work, and
you need to do it before you even think of going there. And Anna Maria isn’t
enough, I’m afraid. I need at least two more of those concept ideas before
going back to
At the same time, this
is so relative, subjective, and insignificant, because I don’t crave that crap
that much. It is yet another way out for me, any of them will do apparently, to
lead me to the freedom of writing all day, researching, reading, writing. And
now, it seems, my way out is the most extravagant of all, succeeding in
The books I have
written which I have read many times, and could read many more times, are all
my poetry, and my first two books, The Revolution and Towards the Green Fields.
And those last two ones, I haven’t read for years. And my first poetry book, I
find it hard to read now. Only because I read them so many times. I wrote many
books I couldn’t read more than three times, including these damn diaries. So,
it must mean something if I have written things I could read again and again
until the end of times. And yet, none of those books could end up being on TV
or in Cinema, so I guess there is something to be said about literature, it
still means something, it can still be a medium in its own right which can
really bring someone somewhere else where music and films would fail. In a way,
I’m very pleased I have written those books. Very few authors, no matter how
successful they have been, could say they have written something highly
inspired, and that they could read it a hundred times and still find great
things about them after all that time. Writing a novel or a film script is
boring, it is demanding, and you might be proud by the result, in the end, you
don’t want to hear about it ever again once you finish writing it. And that
will be the faith of Anna Maria. I don’t even want to correct it before it gets
published. I have written it, and that’s it. Reading it again would be too much
to ask from me. I will if someone pays me to do so. I won’t do it for pleasure.
So basically I just admitted to be writing crap, and yet, it is my best chance
yet to make money and free myself for reality, so I can finally write, I
suppose, philosophy and theoretical physics and poetry, and other inspired work.
In a way, these books
were very experimental, stuff no one else anywhere else throughout history has
ever written. Maybe that’s why I thought I would such a celebrated author from
the very beginning, I was convinced I had written one of the greatest books
ever written after I finished writing Towards the Green Fields, and even more
so after The Revolution. The Eclectism (published I might add by some sort of
miracle or twist of fate), brought me the same satisfaction. And yet, no one
responded, perhaps no one even ever read them. They have been on my website for
more than ten years, and yet, no one ever spoke about them in the many emails I
received. And so I have to come to the conclusion that I could very well die
without anyone ever reading them until the end of time. And I thought that one
success would change all that, but after learning about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,
and the fact that anything else he has written apart from Sherlock Holmes is
completely forgotten, and was never known, I now understand that these books
will never go anywhere. I’m glad that they brought me so much, at the very
least. And for me, from now on, the perfect reader, would be the one who know
these books by heart, and will come to me one day telling me how they connected
with those books. I’m not kidding myself, I might very well die before this day
ever come. All right, maybe not know them by heart, but at the very least with
a line that says that they connected with those obscure work of art.
I connected so much
with those books, I cannot believe no one else could connect with them. I have
written enough books in my life to know when something is special, and when
something is not. I never changed my mind despite so many years, and so many
books written, and so I must be right, these books are special. And for all I
care, I can only be proud for having written those books, and if I get rich one
day, that’s what I’ll do, write books I, myself, can only like, like reading
till the end of time. Special books, inspired books. They don’t come often, not
sure of the ingredients or how to go about writing them, I just know I could
read them forever and never tire of reading them. I need to get back to that,
never mind the commercial side of this, the chance to getting published and all
that crap. Inspired books are all that counts, I need to write another one. So
out of this world, that no one could ever understand it but me. Maybe that’s
the problem, perhaps that’s why these books only speak to me. Maybe that’s what
I’ll write after Anna Maria. Got to get back to inspire books, something that
means something to me. Screw the commercial and publishing world. I bet I won’t
even find a publisher for Anna Maria. And I admit freely now, tonight, that I
will never top that ever again. That’s my best attempt for a commercial book,
and if it fails, all hopes of ever be an author will fail with it. And then I
guess I will be free to write forever whatever I fell like writing, as long as
I have a miserable job at a Crown Court to support my miserable existence. I
always felt anyway that I was writing for a different audience, the next
generation after my death. Now I’m more realistic, I’m writing for myself, no
one will ever read these books I have written, and somehow, it is acceptable, I
don’t care either way. I’ll write what I feel like writing, and that’s it. It’s
good therapy, that’s perhaps more important than anything else. That I can sit
here one night, be completely drunk and read my poetry until 6 am, that’s a
buzz that very few people can afford, it has no price tag attached to it, it is
the one thing I have that kept me alive all those years, at the very least I
have that.
As to why these books
were so good, I was 18-19 or something when I wrote them. There’s no better
age. At that time I still didn’t accept the social contract, in fact I still
knew nothing about it, all I knew is that I needed to reject it forcefully.
After that it’s too late. Society gets its big grip on you and you are no
longer free to think for yourself. They tried for many years before that, but
until you enter the normal working life of everyday and need to take your own
responsibility, you can still, and you usually do, reject everything. As this
world had got it so wrong, it is the most obvious thing for any teenager. And
yet, at that point, you either become a delinquent or you accept the social
contract. And if somehow you reject it, you’re fucked. Everyone will come on
you with a ton of bricks, until you finally get the message and accept the
social contract. I guess I just pretended to accept the social contract, so I
spared myself the ton of bricks, and yet, I’m still a rebel, as I could never
accept this world, this reality. It is clear to me that none of it makes any
sense, and no logic could ever prove otherwise. I could start with the social
hierarchy, the way this world is organised, but I’ll quickly jumped to Planet
Earth floating in the nothingness, orbiting the Sun, and the rest of the
universe, which makes absolutely no sense at all, and must be hiding some
higher sort of truth that we may never be privy to. That alone has been my main
argument for wishing to die, because someone is playing a trick on me, and life
is therefore not worth it, I won’t be a rat in a lab-rat. But then, the social
organisation around me, the hypocrisy of it all, that everyone’s playing a game
and lying through their teeth, and that everyone knows it, and yet, no one is
doing anything about it, is even worse, double reason to commit suicide. And
then this heartless existence where I have to work all the hours God sends for
so little money that I can’t even afford bread and eggs, is tripling the
reasons I need to commit suicide. Topple that with an ardent desire to become
an author, and that has been denied for 20 years to me, then I have four
essential reasons to commit suicide.
In fact,
it is a miracle if I have achieved so much despite so little means to achieve
any of it. Sheer determination and motivation to see what was beyond the hill
permitted all this, determination. You have to be damn determined to get
anywhere in life, and if you are determined enough, and no one will stop you,
because you will wipe them out of your way on your way there. And so, if any of
us will ever get an answer about what this universe is all about, it will be
me, no one else, because I seem to be the only one to be so determined and with
that puzzling look on my face before all that unbelievable and unlikely
reality. Seems more like a computer programme than anything else, written by an
ignorant spotty kid in some other universe than an almighty God, to be honest,
and yet, we’ve tried to make sense of it all, us fools! And that’s The
Revolution, that’s what I was writing about then, at 18, I already knew. Unlike
others I haven’t forgotten, because I have written it down. In the most
incomprehensible book perhaps, but I guess at the time it was the only way I
had available to express it. And the third part of this books was inspired by
the Cosmogony of the Rosicrucian, so I guess they must know something about it,
about this world, how it makes no sense. They came up with their own way of
seeing the world, but that I also reject. I reject everything, all philosophies,
all religions, all sciences, anything anyone ever wrote in order to explain
this world. No one has the answer, and I’m afraid, that perhaps, no one could. If
that is not a good reason to commit suicide, I wonder what would be. If I’m
still alive today, I guess it is because I can handle it, I can live without
understanding anything, and I can also easily forget about the great questions
of existence whilst I go to work at the Crown Court almost everyday doing some
useless admin work about the judgements of low-life criminals who probably
think the same way as I do about this world. No ethic, no morality is
necessary, this is all conventions. This is the jungle, you get what you want
when you want, you fight for what you need, you survive. Because at this point,
your basic instincts are all you can trust. Just don’t get caught, so I won’t
have to process your case. I had enough.
We call teenagers
innocent, on the contrary, I believe we are all innocents, and they are clued
up, they know there’s something wrong, they act accordingly, it is puzzling to
us, we are the fools for being unable to understand them, and to have forgotten
our own teenage years. I was far from being innocent then, I’m still no
innocent now, but I certainly am more now than I was then, cos I have been
brainwashed over many years against my will, and at that time I categorically
refused to be brainwashed. I lasted as long as I could, without going to
prison, and then I simply gave up. I thought that perhaps through my books I
could still be an anarchist, a literary one I might want to add, and I hope I
have succeeded at that. I guess all I have succeeded at, was to convince
everyone I was an anarchist when I never really was. I might have closed many
doors because of it, good, I don’t care. These people must be ultimately be the
ones I am fighting for, not against, because the poor souls are simply
brainwashed and blind, it’s not their fault. And perhaps it is still possible
to save them, to make them understand that something is horribly wrong with
this world, even though I couldn’t even begin to explain what or where to
begin. I guess we’re all doomed! I suppose that deep down this is what
Jean-Jacques Rousseau was trying to say. Obviously he couldn’t say it in such
simpler terms, but I can, since I have no reputation, credibility or career to
worry about.
And when I look in the
mirror, I don’t like what I see. Another damn good reason to commit suicide.
With so many excellent reasons, it is a miracle that I’m still alive. I can’t
explain it, I came close so many times. And yet, if you do hear that I have
committed suicide one day, double check, it could be murder. I haven’t said much
in my short career, and though sometimes I feel I have not said enough, for
others I have already said too much.
I have some time to
waste tonight, and so I searched the Internet. At the very least I would like
to be more famous than my grandfather Michel Tremblay, the most successful
author Québec has ever known. It should be easy, because he doesn’t appear to
have been to be that international, even though he has been translated in 26
languages and is played worldwide (his plays). I bet I can top that easily.
Isn’t it extraordinary
that a minute before I thought I would die without ever being read, and now I
feel I can surpass the greatest writer my nation haws ever produced? Well, such
pretence goes a long way to motivate me to write another book, so I guess I
should keep it on my side. There’s nothing pleasurable about writing a book, it
is painful, so better find motivations where you can.
And now I can go to bed
and sleep soundly, because I found in between many references about me on the
net something quite special, on the website of a small publisher in
« L'Anarchiste Couronné.
Au royaume des agités du
cyber-bocal, le Québécois Roland Michel Tremblay est roi. Une christ de plume,
une calice d'énergie auto-productive, un tabernacle de sens du réseau ! »
“The Crowned Anarchist.
In the Kingdom of the agitated of the cyber-fish bowl, the Quebecker Roland
Michel Tremblay is king. A Christ of a writing hand, a fucking auto-productive
energy, a fucking sense of the network!”
Now I can die.
22 March 2007
It’s been 20 days since
I last wrote here, this is how long it took me to recover all my data after the
crash crisis of the millennium. I never before lost everything on three
different hard drives all on the same day, including of course a backup of
everything I had. I have successfully recovered, I believe, 100% of my data via
disaster recovery software, however I have learnt something I thought I knew,
one backup is never enough, those twin towers can always both fall within the
same hour. You need a third one, preferably kept far away from the first two. I
have also learnt that no matter what you do to delete your files and reformat
your drives, data can always be recovered. That’s a frightening thought.
I’m back in business,
with two new 500 GB hard disks, and everything else to re-install, but I’m
downloading again and I receive my emails. Just one month gone down the drain
to get back to this point. Didn’t write anything else in any of my books since
the big crash. As usual, this was to be expected, it is March after all. March
has always been my worst nightmare, terrible things always happened to me in
March, and until April is over, I’m not safe.
Everything is breaking
down, the car, the phone, the satellite dish, the digibox, the dvd recorder,
the computers, everything. As if from the point of view of destiny, to have the
most miserable salary ever was not enough, I also need to lose everything else
I possess, knowing very well that I don’t have the money to replace any of it,
or even fix the damn things.
Mr. Barnsworth alone is
responsible for a lot of my breakdowns, eating everything away with his
powerful beak as if this was fun. It also takes him less than 1 second to fly
somewhere and eat a cable with terrible consequences, I’m surprised the damn
bird has not been electrocuted yet. He destroyed one of my external hard drive
at least and the days of my only working DVD-CD recorder are counted.
What destroyed the TV,
the DVD Recorder and the Satellite system and its box, must be cat pee. I went
at the back of the TV tonight, I almost had a heart attack. And Stephen wanted
another cat for Christmas.
What destroyed the
phone, and perhaps my other hard disks, internal and external, I believe could
be MI5 or some government agencies spying on me. For the last few months there
have been weird trucks outside parked right in front of our door, they are
there every morning, and since then our phone makes strange noises and my
computer suffers weird glitches. Stephen thought, I’m sure, they might have been
for him, I know they’re for me. I have read some on my poems recently and
thought, dear me, they must think I’m a terrorist ready to blow myself up near
a government building. The thought sounds ridiculous, but I would be worried in
their place, even though for me this is simply art, I don’t think half of what
I write. Most of it was written anyway before the terrorist attacks started.
Sounded innocent then, could bring my downfall now. As I will never act upon
any of it, and as they might not want to take the chance, God knows on what
else they could get me on. Doesn’t help that I work in a Crown Court, criminals
everywhere, no terrorists though, those ones end up at the Old Bailey, and
Paddington Prison. I only deal with Wormwood Scrubs, and that’s a name for a
prison I like so much, it will definitely inspire me something at some point.
At the court I am now
permanent. I guess George helped me a lot, coming after me and being so
incompetent, the sun is now shining out of my ass. It is easy when someone could
easily be a CEO or a Managing Director, and yet remains at the bottom of the
food chain, that way you can be a miracle worker, and no one is the wiser. Not
being ambitious at all has its advantages, if you’re bright enough to never
reach the level you should really be at. Because once you reach that point, you
yet again become incompetent and you’re in trouble, they don’t like you and you
will soon be looking for a way out.
I have also dealt with
my financial problems, my creditors, my lawyers, etc. And now there is only one
thing which I really need to look into, my British Citizenship. Tomorrow I will
get the ball rolling, I need to sort this out before the month is out, because
after that everything changes, and it will be nearly impossible for me to
become a citizen after 15 years in this country. I first have to pass that test
proving I can speak English and know something about
Somehow tonight I am
happy, not sure why. I have three days off, I’m finally back to normal,
listening to music, writing again, feel on top of my game, having climb over so
many obstacles this month alone. If I can climb that mountain tomorrow about
the citizenship, I’ll be one step closer. I didn’t want to involve my
solicitors, but I think I will. I want to expedite this, I want to make sure I
get it. Somehow when you have a solicitor, it works every time. Try to do it
yourself and you will most certainly fall flat on your face. It will mean
another bill of a thousand pound, but if I can pay it monthly over 10 months, I
think it is worth it. I will contact them tomorrow.
I have been back from
Which brings me to my
regrets for having left
My plan is so simple,
it is almost disgusting. I’m gonna be rich out of Anna Maria or the next book
I’ll write, and then I’ll travel everywhere and write all day long. Such a
simple plan, how can it fail? Just about every single television series and
films on TV have stolen my ideas, it means there is something to it, surely I
should be the one cashing in? I’ve been considering lately censoring myself
much further, meaning deleting my websites. Maybe I’m paranoid, delusional, and
no one is stealing my ideas, but coincidences are too wild, and why take the
chance, especially if I intend to present something fresh, new, revolutionary? I
did it because I thought they would hire me out if it, they simply steal and
run away with it. There is a full blown film called Déjà Vu out there, with
Denzel Washington, I cannot believe this is not coming straight out of my
website. The last episode of Medium had parallel universes written all over it,
and I am at the point of I feel the need to delete my short stories because
others have copied me, but got it out there before me. They always modify just
enough that I could not sue anyone, and yet, it prevents me from putting my own
stuff out there.
And now I think I drank
enough to be really depressed, enough to no longer believe in myself. I might
as well just die, because I’ll never go anywhere, and being permanent now in
this Crown Court is just one more proof that I’m not getting anywhere any time soon.
Shit.
28 March 2007
Today I’m going to
speak about the Indian woman in charge of the Clerks. She’s a bitch, however
she only indirectly affect me. She likes to multiply the bureaucracy, and if
you cross her, she will get you. She’s been there too long, she creates
problems where there are none, and she successfully today doubled my workload.
It was an innocent conversation, she asked me to find the link files to all the
grad fees I do. The problem is, we cannot even find the files to which the grad
fees refer to in the first place, and now to pay one grad fee, I need to find
two or three files, which renders my job impossible to do. Not only it will
double the number of files in the shelves, but they are likely to remain there
for a few more months as a result. We are already under, we pay the junior
advocates three months late, and now it will be five or six months late,
because all by myself I cannot cope. I don’t really mind about this, because in
the end I just do my hours and get out. But after realising that she was asking
me to double my workload, I wanted to make sure that my Manager knew about it.
So I got them both there with me to discuss the situation and to make certain
they wanted me to do this, because in the six months I have been there, we
never had to do this, and they never did before, so why now? It was also
important to me that my Line Managers knew it would now take me twice longer to
do my job, and so that they shouldn’t be surprised when the grad fees become
once again out of control. The bitch didn’t like it, being put on the spot like
that, within one minute after our simple discussion about what to do and how to
proceed, she was on the phone with my Line Manager, freaking out about me. I
have been told now to avoid her for the rest of the day. It has put me in a bad
mood, but to be honest, I don’t really care that much. Put in perspective, this
is nothing compared with what I had to suffer in my previous jobs. And so, I’ve
realised that this job is very cushy, almost free of any troubles and
confrontations. I will go to her today and apologise for whatever it is she
felt bad about, that she felt the need to contact my Line Manager to get me
into trouble. What is brilliant, is that my Line Manager does not give a shit,
and almost didn’t tell me she stitched me up. It goes no further with him.
Great management skills. He defuses the whole situation but simply not making a
fuss about it. He’s the reason why this job is so great.
My manager should get a
medal for his skills, a book should be written about it. I told him he was the
best manager I ever had in my lifetime. Yet, he is despised for it, the
management believes he is useless and apparently they have been trying to get
rid of him for a while. This is sad, and I am powerless to do anything about
it, except protect him as much as I can, and that, I certainly do. He is the
first manager I ever had who has my unconditional loyalty, I am unlikely to let
him down, as I don’t believe he would let me down. This is quite refreshing for
me to be saying those things, to have suffered such a big backstabbing, and
yet, within 10 minutes of panicking, I am peaceful again and will go in after
lunch not bothered by the whole thing. It is revolutionary. It is though what I
thought I could expect from a job in the public sector, this is why for many
years now I wanted to work as a civil servant. No pressure, less backstabbing,
real happiness. I’m coming to terms with the nightmare the work place is, so I
guess I should cling to this job, even though it pays next to nothing. Money is
nothing, having a job is everything, otherwise everyone around you, your
family, makes a big fuss about it and blame you for the misery of the whole
humanity.
27 April 2007
It has been a month
since I write in here, for a moment there I thought I would close the book,
because nothing happens apart from the routine, and the crashing of three out
of four hard drives on the same day two months ago brought my whole life to a
halt. I only restarted last night writing Anna Maria, 10 pages, and this why I
am so tired today and told the old Indian man to shut up at work. My whole life
in ruins because of a lack of sleep, no more patience for anything, everything
annoys me to death.
Very simple sentence,
shut up, we hear it everyday on TV, without any consequence, but there, said in
an office environment, in the cold light of day, in real life, it had quite an
impact. No one spoke for five minutes, and I bet it is not the end of it.
My life is also come
crashing down because I can’t afford to become a British Citizen. I’ve done the
stupid immigration test, I passed, cost me
I’m not sure how I will
survive the afternoon, at least the old man has the rest of the day off. He’s
never there anyway, and now he has inherited the cashier’s job, and no one gets
paid, I can’t process any grad fees, I have a mountain of files to go through,
thousands of grad fees for which I need to find files that remains inexistent,
and every time I try to enter a claim on the computer, everything beeps, it is
plagued with mistakes which prevents to do my job, and I have to go see the
monster Chief Clerk in order to figure out what to do. She is a master of
multiplication of bureaucracy, I spend more time sending back claims to
advocates and solicitors, than simply paying them, and they keep sending them
back to me the very next day, and I keep sending them back again, and they come
back again. The reasons are futile, unjustified, and I am totally on their
side. I am powerless to stop this childish behaviour of the Chief Clerk. It’s
time she moves on, she’s been there 15 years, that’s enough!
God I’m tired.
1 May 2007
Tonight I’m in the mood
to talk. Funny that now extraordinary circumstances are necessary for me to
start writing, like tomorrow we’re on strike. So tonight I can drink myself to
death and write. Even then, I had to tell myself that I wouldn’t do anything
else, I was quite prepared to go to another abandonware website and download
just about every single adventure game there ever was which have now gone into
the public domain. God knows when I will have the time to play these games, at
work last week I joked that I was downloading all that for when I will retire,
in 35 years. I never do half a job, I will die trying to do 200% of it. I guess
I need to cure myself from that, but not this year. I will have every single
adventure game there is on this planet, and I will one day find the time to
play them all.
I remember a time when
I was programming my own graphic adventures, designing the images, writing the
content, programming the whole thing to build a story. I must have done at
least 4 or 5, the last one quite impressive and comparable if not ten times better
than most of the shit I’m downloading right now. And that was done at a time
when we we’re programming in basic, and the best of us all were programming in
binary language. What I would have done to be able to do the same, and I would
have if the new generation of computers had not it the market. Once I switched
my Tandy Radio Shack CoCo2 computer form an Atari ST with some sort of early
windows desktop, that was it, I never programmed again, I’m surprised I
continue writing at all, because I could have easily let go of that as well at
the time.
I don’t know what
happened. It was not the same after that, writing in basic did not seem that
easy on an Atari ST, and it was even less on Windows 3.1 once I bought my first
portable PC when I was 18 years old. It was black and white then, my God, I
sound like my grandfather, when he tells us he bought the first TV of the whole
village, and that it was black and white. He also bought the first colour TV,
just like I bought the first ever computers on the market as they were becoming
available, and I certainly bought the first colour one of the whole town when
it came out.
I’m 34 years old now,
and I’m working with that kid at work who’s barely 21. He was born with a PC
and other game consoles. I had in my time a Leisure Vision, then an Atari 2600,
then some other console I can’t remember. I’m not even certain if this kid
knows these consoles ever existed, I believe he thinks xbox and play stations
are the first generation of game consoles. Or he believes that anything that
came before that was simple crap and not worth considering. However I had so
much fun with these early computers and consoles, and as much as I try to
connect with the actual ones, I can’t. All the games are boring, and are about
military strategy and first person shooter. We had none of that in my days, or
at least it was on a much simpler scale and hence playable and fun. Today
there’s no fun in most of these games, they have become way too complicated and
uninteresting. And it is not that I’m becoming old, I’m still very much playing
actual adventure games, though at the moment they have a tendency to jump into
action adventure style, and then I lose interest. If I have to use a vast array
of weapons and kill up to 10,000 soldiers, monsters or dragons, I disconnect,
booooring.
I’ve been worried about
that kid at work, because he shows me how old I’ve become, and how young he is.
That we are so far apart, that I seem to lose touch with what’s new. But that
is not true, I have all the latest gadgets, I buy them as they come out. They
seem to think that iPod is the newest invention around, they think these MP3
players came out last year, I had the first ever MP3 player something like
eight years ago, the iPod has nothing revolutionary about it except the memory
capacity.
I don’t know, I feel
like I’m getting older, I’m jealous to be honest. I wish I was born at a time
when personal computers really existed at the time I was born. That’s what I
really feel bad about, that I had to wait a decade of my life before I finally
got my first ever computer, even though I had a game console when I was 7. But
the computer was what was going to change my life, that’s what I should have
had when I was 4 years old bored out of my mind because there was nothing to do
except playing those old 33 tours records that today I can’t even stand that
they ever existed. I wanted to be born with a computer plugged into my brain,
and by the time that technology exists, I’ll be dead.
However I had to try to
convince myself that everything happened as it should have, instead of things
happened as they have been able to happen considering how limited we were at
the end of the 70’s and early 80’s. I would have never learnt basic, never
programmed all those little software I did for fun, never created my own
graphic adventures which I have now lost. True, but who cares, I cannot imagine
myself starting to write in basic again anytime soon, or any other language,
though this week I’ve been considering it. But which one? Today there are
dozens of different computer languages, most people working at creating
adventures probably don’t even have to program anything. I don’t even know
where to start. When I was young, there was only one thing, basic. I had to
learn it, I had fun with it, today it is like I’m being flooded and I wouldn’t
even know where to start, or if I wouldn’t be wasted my time learning something
that next year will be totally useless. Anyway, at the time I was able to
create adventures as good as the professionals. Today I couldn’t even come
close. Doing a game today is more like how
I am jealous because I
would have liked to be born when computers were already old hat, at the same
time, I had an experience that none of those kids will ever have. When your
computer is a command prompt, you have no choice but working in codes, and
hence to start programming is very natural. When you have windows, you have the
chance to never see a code in your life, and in certain ways it has its
advantages. God the nightmare it was to programme HTML pages at the very
beginning, as once again I was one of the first on the Internet and building
web pages. There was a time when my websites were reaching number one on every
single search engine, on any search people were doing, because by then the
commercial world had not taken over the Internet, and I seemed to be the only
one out there with more than just a list of products, I had pages and pages of
content, I was King of the Internet, every one of my friends found me as soon
as they got connected. Today they would have a hard time finding my website
doing a search on my name. I need to re-submit my pages again to all search
engines, I haven’t done it for years, it might explain why I am being buried.
Why did I have to think
about all that recently? Because of a damn kid who used to like Street Fighter
as the first ever new generation game on the streets, which marked the
beginning of the end, of all these boring games that came out after Ms Pac Man
was finally dead, but was never replaced with something much better? More fun? Today
I can’t stand Ms Pac Man, and yet, I played it a lot in
At least adventures
went wild, they became much better, the Atlantis series have been my long time
favourites, with a bunch of Sierras and Cryo’s games, and the Longest Journey,
Dreamfall and the House of Tales games from
Even books nowadays, I
feel it is almost past date. Before the Internet, writing a book was quite
something, you were an author, it was respectable, whether you were published
or not. Today you can quickly just be another blogger. Millions are writing,
publishers are churning new books as if it was the end of humanity and that
they needed to do something to save the human race. Unfortunately. most of it
is unreadable, boring me to death, none of the new authors are Sir Arthur Conan
Doyle.
What’s wrong with me?
I’m bored out of my mind. All this technology that I eat for breakfast is not
enough, I need more, I need a few next generations to happen instantly, and
even then, I think I will become bored so quickly. I want the ultimate
experience, the one which will free me from my reality completely. The virtual
world which will be so convincing, that it will take over my existence, stop
time somehow via relativity, and give me the chance to live in there for
eternity in a world of wonders where I will be the happiest. One way or
another, I will free myself from this boring reality, if it is not suicide, it
better be a convincing virtual existence. Does not even need to be about sex, I
know better. I know that walking around in a virtual reconstruction of the old
city of
If I ever have a lot of
success one day, my recompense will be the freedom to isolate myself completely
from everyone else. I will live in my own little isolated universe alone, and
that will be paradise. No news, no radio, no magazines or newspapers, no
emails, but lot’s of technology, that I know. My medieval castle perhaps will
not fly in space like the enterprise, but inside it will very much looks like
an enterprise. Perhaps it is why I’m downloading all those adventures right
now, 800 to be precise, when I know that I can only play a few a year. Totally
wasted, I spent more time downloading and burning CDs than I will ever have the
chance to experience these universes. It’s a gamble, maybe I will never play
any of them, maybe I’ll be spending years playing them with more free time I
ever dreamt of. You never know, and you cannot predict which adventure you will
want to experience one day, so I’ll get them all, and one day I’ll advise. It’s
like everything else anyway, I need to know everything that exists about
something if one day I will be doing the same. And if I become rich one day,
that’s what I’ll do, create adventure games, even thought there’s not much
money in it. Escapism is the most important thing, and you will note that I’m
not talking about simple entertainment, I’m talking about something that saves
lives, just like it saved mine. It is like going to see Depeche Mode in concert
in Wembley, it is an adventure, not just another night out. Something to
remember forever, an experience. Even that the kid at work cannot comprehend.
He believes Depeche Mode has been dead for years, when their last album last
year was number one in
Perhaps it is time that
I accept that this kid at work and me, we have nothing in common, we have very
different tastes, and just move on, don’t give it a second thought. For god’s
sake, his favourite music is beatboxes, whatever that is. Beats done with your
mouth, I can’t think of nothing more exasperating and uninspired. He loves
raves, and he is some amateur of drugs, like Ecstacy and hash. I don’t understand
why I see myself in him. He is thin, skinny, beautiful, soft, intelligent,
intellectual, some sort of genius, just like I was at his age. We are perfect
replica. I was also going out every night at that age and a zombie at work the
rest of the week. He developed it into an art form, something I never did, but
we’re the same. That’s what is troubling. I’m the only one at work able to see
his potential, how intelligent he is. I feel he could become much more than I
ever was, if somehow everything falls into place in his life. I also need to
consider that people like me, there might be thousands, and yet only one out of
thousands will ever break out. I’m not even sure if I will ever break out of it
all myself. I sure work hard towards it, I certainly made every possible
decisions to ensure I will escape this way of life, and if I haven’t been
successful so far, I certainly believe that I am getting there. And
There is little left to
motivate me in this world. There never was much to motivate me in fact. I
always thought that death was much more desirable than life. I don’t know why,
I can’t explain it. I’m drunk again, and every single time I’m drunk, I reach
that same conclusion, whether I’m in
The worst thing is that
I couldn’t possibly hoped for a better life than the one I have right now. I’m
proud of everything I have achieved, everything I have done. I have to admit,
it is much more than I ever thought I could achieve when I was still 18 years
old lost in my village in the North Pole. And yet, it is not enough, I am not
happy, I have not found either happiness or peace. I wish to be peaceful at the
very least, that I could not even achieve, when it is perhaps just a state of
mind, it is psychological. Anyone can be peaceful and happy, if they wish to.
Perhaps I thought it was dependent on some events or some situations or events
in one’s life. Obviously it is not. Being rich right now, or a huge public
figure wouldn’t change anything to my state of mind, it wouldn’t make me
happier or satisfied with this existence. I suppose that is a hard lesson to
learn, and being able to learn it without even having ever tasted fame and
richness is a good thing. It will be one less thing to achieve for which I
would have learnt that this was not the answer to all my problems. Freedom I
guess is everything, it always comes back to that, even though I’m not certain
of the definition I would give it. I would recognise it, I know that, it would
bring me happiness and peacefulness, that I know. So how do I find freedom? How
do I reach it? If it is just a state of the mind state of affair, surely I
should be able to reach freedom in my sleep? Or is it something I will never
find, because it is so intangible, just an intellectual concept, that none of
it will ever be reached? Dear me, that would explain a lot of things. Toute ma
vie J’ai couru après des chimères, that could easily be the last thing I will
state on my dead bed.
Something the kid at
work said last week, he was wondering if he should go to
15 May 2007
Was supposed to sleep a
bit tonight, but Stephen prevented me. So I thought, would go to bed early so
not to be a zombie at work tomorrow, and now at midnight I had two glasses of
wine, I’m listening to old 80’s oldies MP3, and sleeping time nowhere in sight.
For the last two days
I’ve been catching up on some reading, about every negative article and books
written about Scientology, I downloaded everything I could find, I never do
half a job. And every single piece of writing Ron Hubbard ever wrote, including
what they sell for thousand of pounds. I may one day flick through that. The
only problem about scientology, is that it always bring you back to the stars
supporting it, and so tonight I’ve been reading about John Travolta and Tom
Cruise, and hence
Somehow this whole
thing energised me, that Tom Cruise and John Travolta could one day come out of
the closet, that I could eventually meet them, and who knows, perhaps sleep
with them… all right, I’m getting carried away. This is more Gay Power out
there, and I’m in awe. Unfortunately I guess it won’t help me, closeted gays
and openly ones are not exactly coming out of the woodwork in order to help
other desperate gay people. Will just have to hope that my Anna Maria will
reach stardom all on its own. I never doubt it for a moment, and yet, I’m in
deep doubts right now. Is it all down to connections in the end? Or never
giving up? I never gave up writing, I never stopped, writing more and more, and
at some point there must be a breakthrough, I’ve got to insure my pension, cos
the way it’s going, I’ll have to commit suicide before reaching 65, because
then there will be no pension and no government help anywhere in the world. I
can see it, everyone can see it, no one cares. So I have to do something to
insure my old years, if somehow I don’t kill myself before reaching them, or
die of that Essential Thrombocytemia, this overproduction of platelets that my
body decided one day to do, for no reason apparently. Very rare in people in
their early thirties, and here we are, another one with an unknown sickness,
will be original foer my obituaries: Died of an obscure disease, just like
million others who al seem to die from mysterious illnesses. How many of them
are there? Millions. The weak will perish, and Ì guess I’m just too weak. Let’s
face it, I was already diseased, being gay, but that at least is not obscure or
rare, though at one time it was because everyone was in the closet, just like
it seems to be the fashion in the celebrity world right now.
Problem about that book
is that last weekend I sort of drank too much, and launched into multiple
attacks about everything. Anna is now a closeted Jewish woman, Arthur is a
closeted Catholic, and hates religion a bit too much, ready to exterminate
millions in order to eliminate it, within some sort of tyrannical monarchy. Oh
well, will need to edit the whole thing (delete the whole thing) and hope I
will not have to annihilate everything. I guess I cannot really talk about
religion, too many people are way too fanatical about their own religion, I
would alienate the whole planet, and I guess this is the last thing I need for
my mass market commercial product Anna Maria. Anna Maria is the first book I
have ever written which I consider a pure product, instead of literature. There’s
a difference, and that’s what my mom has been telling me for years, think big,
think money, think product, and so I gave in. I enjoyed it though, it was not
painful to write the book, so that’s a first. Each idea for each story was
considered by me to be exceptional, however when you’re in the thick of writing
them, you just lose all perspective. For now I have no idea of the value of any
idea, originality and impact it could have. Two persons read them all, Leonardo
in
Listening to old hits
from the 80’s, makes me wonder. Bands that have been highly successful but
today are all but dead, along with all their songs and albums, except that one
or two classic songs they were able to come up with in a moment of insanity. Something
so spontaneous, so extraordinary, where everything seems to have come up
together at the very last minute, and there you are, a song that will never
die. Most of them happened by mistake, and were never repeated afterwards, I
mean one great classic song, most people have only one or two under their belt,
if they’re lucky, if they were genius enough to achieve that in the first
place, if their song is still played in every decade since it came out. Take on
Me of A-ha is one of them, still the most played song in
And there I am,
wondering if I can achieve such a classic, but in books. And if I will only
have one shot at this. I’m worried, because if Anna Maria is successful, I’m
not sure I can do it again, or do something better or more successful. And yet,
it was all innocent, all done instantly with all the spontaneity in the world,
no pressure whatsoever, no one told me to sit down and write a line, and there
was no monetary motivation, I never really considered that I was doing it for
money. Hey, with my history, I never made any money from writing anything, or
almost. This is certainly not my motivation, as deep down I know very well this
book will not go anywhere, even though I hope it will be my breakthrough. There
is something so pure and innocent about it all, something that will never exist
again. I tend to forget that if this is a success, it will be down to one thing
only, the amount of great ideas that are parts of the short stories, and these
came to me over a period of many years, and a publisher following the success
of Anna Maria will want another one within six months. Writing it is nothing,
thinking and creating it will be something else. I’m already thinking about ways
of gathering inspiration, and it is all bollocks, because I never needed
anything in order to get inspiration or finding great ideas. I guess I’ll just
have to trust that I’m good at what I do, and that my resources and imagination
are unlimited and unbound. And then again, if Anna Maria goes nowhere, then all
this is for nothing and I might as well give up, because I really don’t know
what else I could write which could be better. Not true, I was thinking about
it today actually. The most simple and horrible love story filled with painful
events, ordinary stuff, the kind of story which would bring me to the brink of
suicide if I had to read it for a particular course, yawn, yawn! That would
have to be my last attempt.
Well, I already know
that I would fail. After watching a film about Truman Capote. The book that
turned him into the most respected and best selling American author was In Cold
Blood. And when you look at the content of the story, there is really nothing
about it that would make me wish to rush to read it, in fact, I started reading
it yesterday and it sent me off the wall. The only reason Truman Capote was
successful with that book, was not the content, or the story, or even that it
was new to write a non-fiction novel (though that must have helped), it was his
writing style. And then, at that point, he could have written a book called In
Cold Winter, about two escargots being crushed on the pavement, for 300 pages,
and people and critics would still have gone wild. And there and then, I know I
will always fail as a writer, because I cannot write in the style of Sir Arthur
Conan Doyle, my favourite, not in English anyway. And I cannot do it in French
either, because if you’re from Québec instead of
There is no reason to
deny this now, I’m obsessed with reaching success, being recognised, I’m
consumed by it, it is eating me alive, and it always did, since the first short
story I wrote at 10 years old, since the first graphic adventure I programmed
in basic when I was also 10. At that point I started having ideas of grandeur
that I was some sort of genius who would achieve great things in his life, and
I never looked back, or I did looked back every other day. To remind myself, of
where it all started, and where it was going, and where it would all lead. And
yet, you will not find a word about this in everything I have written in
French, even in the most biographical books I ever wrote. I will vaguely touch
the subject, but never go into an in-depth analysis like I’m doing right now. I
learn very early that a whinging mediocre writer crying over his lack of
success was to be avoided at any cost, and yet I could have written whole books
about it, because it has been the only thing on my mind for the last 25 years.
There is only one reason I let myself go now, in this book, in English, when I
know I shouldn’t, because in English it is like a new beginning, but it is
because when you have been writing for 25 years and have over 25 and more books
under your belt, it is like you already have a lifetime or career done upon the
subject, and so Ì better start talking about these things soon, because I could
very be at the end of my writing career. I could die, or I could decide to stop
writing altogether. I’ve always been writing what I wanted anyway, including
Anna Maria, to bring together all these ideas I came up with for potential
feature film scripts. I will have no more ideas to cover after that in any sort
of Anna Maria’s style book. Either it is a success and I will have to start
from scratch to write another, or I take it easy and wait until I feel like
writing something totally different, either in French or in English. I have no
doubt it will be completely different and new, something I never did before,
and I look forward to it. I just hope I’m finished with these pseudo-poetry
books which I thought for a long time would bring me fame, I know now that the
titles alone frighten any publisher in sight. No one have been able to
appreciate these books. They were useful in order for me to vent my hate and
pressure, but ultimately they could not go anywhere on their own, and I intend
to have an easier life from now on, so no more of that crap. Even though, and I
cannot deny this, whenever I am drunk, feeling energised listening to great
music, I always go back to these books and read them until I fall asleep in the
early morning. They will certainly stand as my favourite books, and in the end,
that is all that counts, and so I should not discount writing another. It is
never a waste of time, because every single one of those poetry books have
always been written in parallel of writing something concrete, or at least,
another book, as I have always been writing at least two books in parallel,
sometimes three.
When I look back, I
don’t know where I found the energy, the motivation. I could never have done it
on demand, no matter how much money someone could offer me. This is a life in
writing, and it was done as if it was the most natural thing for me in the
world. It might turn out to be worth nothing, it is a big worry for me, and
yet, I was compelled to do it. Sometimes I am frighten that it is something
that I will never be able to repeat or carry on. That one day I will just run
dry with nothing else to say, like it happens so often at work that suddenly I
shut up for days and just do my work, something meaningless and repetitive. Because
then I find the environment hostile, not permitting any sort of talk,
deviation, or freedom. I might then just shut up, when everything you say is
used to incriminate you, that everything single word you say is used against
you in some sort of ongoing trial. I’ve reached that point now at the Crown
Court, I am now a stirrer, at least I am not a backstabber, but I feel I am,
even though it is nothing compared with everything I suffered everywhere else
in the other jobs I had. I have met real backstabbers in my time, I have to say
that where I work now, there are none. Just a few gossip people, mostly and
mainly the managers, probably because they are a bit more intelligent than the
rest, who are so simple minded, backstabbing would not even enter their mind.
Nice people, shame they’ve got no brain whatsoever, which explains why they are
civil servants, living a pitiful existence serving others for a pittance. Today
I told myself that I had to stop talking about them about al the places I
visited and everything that happened to me in my life, because I strongly feel
that they will perceive me as a pathological liar, a delusional, who thinks he
is better than he really is. And yet I have tone myself down so many times, it
took me months before I told them anything about me just to prevent that. And
yet, I am coming to the conclusion tonight that despite all my wildest claims,
none of them expressed jealousy and hate towards me, simply because they are
too small minded for that sort of thing, which is really refreshing, I have to
say. In
Now I thing I babbled
enough for one night, telling things whilst being drunk, which the next day I
might no longer think, and would have a hard time to convince a jury that
despite saying those things once, I never really believed any of it. And that
is becoming a real problem with the media and websites like Wikipedia. If once
you said something, you’re fucked, because it becomes then your core being,
everything you believe in, and you will never be able to shake it off. Telling
your true thoughts will be seen as a PR exercise, a lie. Sometimes I love you
all, sometimes I hate you all. Sometimes I write you love letters, other times
it is mostly hate and destruction. Which is the real me then? I am a being of
love? Or a being of hate? I bet you will only remember the latter, and yet I am
both. Sometimes I love you, but sometimes I hate you. It depends on a lot of
things, and right now, just thinking about this, I hate you all. I find it hard
to love you. But I’m trying, and tomorrow morning I might just love you again,
when I’m peaceful again and without any alcohol in my blood. Thank God I’m not
completely drunk, or else what I would be telling you all right now, is that I
wish you could all burn in hell and a bomb should annihilate all of you as soon
as possible. Never mind, tonight I love you all and I wish you all to live a long
life and to prosper, and to multiply to the stars. I must really feel close to
death for talking such nonsense, I really don’t give a shit about you, I just
hate you all though I can’t explain why. Most criminal in England must feel the
same when they rob you of your money, when they hit you in the face in the
street for no reason, they are filled with what fills my vein, hate, for no
reason, no apparent reason that is. But when you read these lines, perhaps you
can guess the real reasons, the frustration, the real reasons. I know them, I
won’t admit to them, certainly not in a court of law. Which reminds me a letter
I read today from a defendant from
21 May 2007
Tonight has been the
most exhausting night for a long time. We’ve had police cars and other
policemen all around the building and in the garden, playing with electronic
gadgets, taking photos and perhaps listening to our conversations. Stephen
arrived tonight without the van, because he suspected something like that could
happen, he thought that because he had a drink today, his employer set the
police on him, sent them to our home, and so the police were waiting for a
white van to arrive, which never arrived. So for a while we were quite in a
panic state, and you can understand that we argue and fought all night.
The thing is, if
Stephen is truly that great criminal mind that he believes he is, he has done
many stupid things all night. He went outside to snoop over the police
something like 30 times, he kept all the curtains wide opened, all the lights
of the flat were lit at high capacity, our flat became a spotlight for the
whole neighbourhood. He kept most of the windows opened, so the police could
hear us fight, etc. It was madness, he was practically giving himself up!
I am now at a complete
loss as to understand this kind of mentality for which he assures me he what
should have been done under the circumstances. I was actually wondering this
week how the police, for whom we have way too many proofs are totally useless
and disorganised, could have arrested all those criminals we process at the
Crown Court. Simple, the police is useless, they certainly never truly
investigated any crime, the people they catch are always the same ones, they
come back year after year in the justice system, they are the ones who
basically give themselves up, because they are small time criminals with
absolutely no brain, who most probably always rob people in the exact same
spot, or at the very least, the same area around where they live. When is it
last time someone robbed your house and the police caught the guy? Never. Have I remained in
Anyway, I know now that
the criminals who get caught are the brainless ones and that they seem to want
to get caught, as if they don’t really care. They are cocky little bastards,
like Stephen, and whenever a police car is going around, they go snoop around
it until the police decide to arrest them.
As the night evolved,
it became clear that the police was not here for Stephen. There were now too
many of them, with full armour and guns, and so it was way too serious for a
simple employee who might or might not stopped down the pub for a beer. I guess
it was only a coincidence if Stephen tonight felt the need to park the van a
few roads away, in all his paranoia.
So if it was not for
Stephen, for who then the full swat team had been called here tonight? What
could be serious enough anyway? Terrorists come immediately to mind. So, do we
have a terrorist living next door? Of course not. So, came the realisation that
perhaps they were here for me, because of my few little poems which could
suggest I was a terrorist. So you can imagine the kind of night I had, living
in this police state where the freedom of speech, or even just freedom, has
been eliminated at the same time it was gone all over America, the very day two
planes crashed on those stupid towers in New York.
This story is not over
yet, the swat team is still outside waiting patiently for something, we don’t
know what. However we feel now that it is more likely that they are here for
our next door neighbour, who is an ex-convict who went to prison for an
uncontrollable temper and actual bodily harm. He must have been arrested, must
have been able to get a bail, and now the police must be here to make sure he
will not retaliate against the bitch who gave him up to the police.
In the process of the
night, the tension caused by the presence of so many police, has almost brought
my relationship to a state of war and on the path of destruction. Stephen is
also very short tempered, very short fuse, and goes on the attack in a split
second. He would never hit me, but his verbal attacks and abuse are probably
worse, because they make me lose it completely, and I almost destroyed the
whole flat and be myself charged with actual bodily harm, just like our
neighbour. It is so easy to get to that point, when you’re living with people
completely off their mind through alcohol and drugs.
So, we might never know
why the police is here, or they might storm our flat any minute now. It
certainly does not help my sense of paranoia, my convictions that
Just got another big argument
with Stephen, who still insists to keep all the doors opened so the smoke can
get out, and as if this was not enough, all the lights on too, so the police
can have the greatest peak in our flat, and gather as much evidence as possible
against us. He must have the tiniest brain of all criminals, I am amazed he was
never caught in his small time scheme 30 years ago, another proof of how
incompetent police really is.
Well, the state of
alert is over for us, a police woman just told Stephen, who went out again to
snoop around, that an incident has been reported at number G. G is not the flat
next door, and so we can only surmise that it is the fluffy girl again who went
mad and destroyed everything in her flat. As she is also a sex addict, perhaps
she invited the wrong type of guy for the evening, who knows. Now the police
will be here all night, and we feel so wonderfully safe now, after going
through the five stages of death, culminating with panic attacks and all. Great
world this place has become after 20 useless, allegedly got five planes to
crash years ago. This place is now unliveable, so I guess terror really does
work, it has changed our lives completely and now there is really no more good
reason to live.
31 May 2007
Oh dear, for some
reason I feel a bit lost tonight. It’s been the hardest week at work so far,
even though it is only a three day week and only two have past. Yesterday the
Old Indian Man really got on my nerves. Bitching, backstabbing, checking on me
at every minute, ordering me around when the bosses are not around, as if I
needed that, considering that I work with 8 persons exactly in the General
Office, three of them are already my Managers. Funny enough, none of them order
me around, which was why this job was so perfect. They all let me live, do what
I want, and I repay them back by doing my job and working hard. If only that
old man would leave me alone or got sicker and decided to retire early. I think
he is 64 anyway, and certainly doss around at work, doing nothing all day. In
fact, our problem together is that if I work hard, he has to work hard too.
Because I enter all the claims in the computer, and when he has to do a payment
run, every single claim I entered, whether they have failed or not, he needs to
pay them. As he is the King of wanting to do nothing, going sick home al the
time, taking half day holiday virtually every week, and always at the doctor,
he simply cannot cope. And then the grad fees and the standard fees and the
files just pile up just about everywhere, we’re four months late paying
everyone, and then I spend the day apologising to those angry counsels who want
their money.
It is so typical, that
even in paradise, in the perfect job, the dream job, I still have a fucking
bitch on my back to make my life a misery. Otherwise, without his bitchiness, I
would like the man, we had a few beers together and he was nice, full of weird
experience from when he lived in
Funny also that the 21
year old kid, who does fuck all all day, still has his job after now four
months, and the old Indian man appears to have fallen in love with the kid. So
perhaps people who work hard are a threat in this Mad Crown House. I’m
definitely a threat to the old man. And yet, I never speak to him, I avoid him
at any cost, I’m trying to be as diplomatic as can be, I never bitch about him,
I never denounced him, I let him live. So why can’t he do the same? What is so
offensive about me that he feels the need to corner me, to entrap me, to
eventually get me sack? What is the purpose of it? The only thing he stands to
gain, is that he will have to work a little bit less if someone else inherits
the grad fees. Perhaps it should be my course of action, I should go to my
Managers and tell them that I want a change at work, I don’t want to enter the
claims into the computer anymore. Let the girl from the List Office who just
moved in the General Office to take over the worst job there is in the General
Office, which I inherited for the simple reason that the Old Indian Man could
not get rid of all his work quick enough, that he gave it all to me when I started,
including the National Taxing Things that the kid has now got and cannot cope
with, when at the time I had that and the grad fees, and I managed just fine.
In fact, this is
brilliant idea, I should get rid of the grad fees and that’s it, I will no longer
have any link with the old man. The problem is, I love doing the grad fees, it
is the only challenging job there is in the General Office. It is a monster, it
is complicated beyond belief, no one understands them, including the Top Clerk
who’s been working there 15 years. Just organising all the files after finding
them all, is quite an art that I have mastered. As soon as someone else’s takes
over, this wonderful system I developed will most certainly go out the window.
It will certainly show how good at was at it, no one else in that office could
cope with what I’m doing. When I inherited the Grad Fees and the NTT, there was
such a backlog of at least 8 months, there were so many complaints, it was
clear the old man did nothing for months. And somehow he came back to blame me
for all this mess a few weeks after I started these impossible mammoth tasks.
I love doing grad fees,
however the intelligent course of action is to cut myself off from having to
deal with the old man, and the chief clerk, who is also some sort of monster
who frightens everyone. The thing is, we all need to go and speak to her daily,
but no one wants to do it, and so things pile up on our desks in the hope they
will disappear without us having to speak to her. The beautiful Spanish girl
from
I need to make my move,
and I need to make it quick. It is decided then, I will get rid of the grad
fees, and then I will simply make new files all day, and also I suppose learn
to do Post-Trials. Then I will have a minimum of interaction with everyone
else, it will be a more peaceful job. And let’s face it, that’s the only reason
I’m still working there after all, I deserve an easy life after the nightmare of
the last decade.
On the Anna Maria
front, I worked very hard last weekend. Finished the most complicated and time
consuming short story and started the last one with a brilliant introduction.
If I were to work very hard this weekend, I could finish the novel, and it will
be well over 300 pages. I should be proud, but the idea of reading it again a
few times to correct it, and what I will do with it once it is finished, is
worrying me. The last think I feel like doing is print a copy, pay to get it
photocopied, and post the damn things. I also know it is the most disheartening
part of writing a book, the rejection until the very last dear John letter,
when you understand that this book will not even get published. Well, anyway my
website needed such a novel in the English section, I didn’t have any thing
that was publishable to speak of in English, and there you are, no more excuse,
I could be a bloody success overnight. However, I feel that as I am getting
closer to the end of Anna Maria, I’m becoming pessimistic. I feel the book will
not find a publisher or an agent, and it will be another one of those
excruciating full year writing a book that will never go anywhere, will never
be read. And eventually I will reach that part of not having anything to write anymore,
and wondering what I should write next, or do next. The only reason I can
suffer a job that pays nothing, well below me, is because I convinced myself
that I only took it in order to write a book, which I couldn’t do if I had to
commute to Central London, I would be too dead. And so I will find myself in a
situation where I will feel lost, just like I feel now. Do I write a second
Anna Maria book? Do I write something totally different and new? Another
English novel, a French one perhaps? I don’t even want to think about the fact
that perhaps my English is not good enough and writing that brick of 300 pages
was a big waste of time. I could always translate it, modify the locations and
job titles to match something in
And now, before I get
too depressed, I think I should go to bed.
3 June 2007
I didn’t intend to write in this book today, I had already
after all worked on Anna Maria, The Eclectism II and started a whole new book
called The Book of Dreams, and suddenly the neighbours had a barbecue, that is,
the ex-convict next door. Brought in his best friend, also an ex-convict, and
finally the neighbour at the end came out for a beer, also an ex-convict. So I
had there four people who did prison or, in the case of Stephen, have gone
through the whole justice system a few times. The saddest part were their
girlfriends, innocent bystanders (including me), living in fear that their
boyfriend will end up in prison again any day now. For my next door neighbour,
as soon as today apparently, as the neighbour upstairs has been shooting all
afternoon for them to turn the music down, we know now that it is a question of
time before the one next door go up and carve a new face to the one upstairs.
It might still happen tonight, the evening is young.
In fact, it might happen now, and Stephen just came in to
let me know he is preparing his own exit, within ten minutes, or else, he might
come back with a black eye. Our next door neighbour has a temper as long as a
Out of eight people, three have been grave diggers,
including Stephen. That tells it all. It has become a ring between truants,
who’s the one who’s been in court the most, who’s been in prison the longest,
who’s done the worst crime, etc. It is obvious that the guy at the end is a
pussy cat, quite intelligent and clued up, he is nothing like a criminal, I
don’t care how many times he had a splif going through the customs from
Stephen just came in to tell me that the back windows of
the next door neighbour are now completely broken. Never mind, it is only the
sixth time in the last decade that these windows have been shattered, the
spectacle is already started, and no one could tell exactly why. Short fuse,
anything will do.
Well, I told the guy that I wouldn’t mind sitting with him
one night to discuss his experience throughout the justice system, he knows I’m
working at the Crown Court and that I’m writing a book. I had to admit that I
had already written over 200 pages, and yet, nothing significant happened, and
I still have to learn anything crunchy about it all. So tonight was not the
night to discuss it, however I did get one important bit of information.
Corruption within the police and the Judges of any Court, including mostly the
Old Bailey, is running high. His father, a right criminal, went to the Old
Bailey four times now, and yet, he walked free four times. Apparently it is
normal to bribe the police and Judges, and it works every time. So I guess that
all those Hollywood stars going to Court and getting off so easy, has nothing
to do with how much money they’ve got, and how great their solicitor is, but
how much money they are willing to put on the table to walk free, and it seems,
it works most of the time.
I knew it, I was hoping I would come across some scandal
whilst I was working at the Crown Court, I guess these never get out. I had to
speak with criminals to find out, to understand, and it seems that right now, I
am living in the criminal world, as all my neighbours are truants, except the
one upstairs, he is the perfect victim to get the others back to the hole.
I also learnt a bit about prisons. How they are a walk in
the park where you can watch TV, read novels, and in my case, I could write
books to my hearts content. Good, I wouldn’t want to hear otherwise, however it
is certainly not a deterrent. The next door guy wouldn’t mind going back, and
he is tough enough to avoid all the bullocks from other inmates. One try to
have sex with him the very first day, I had a hard time explaining to him that
the man was probably not gay, he just had been there too long. Of course, all they
all know we’re gay. Sounds like Wormwood Scrubs prison isn’t so bad after all.
Whilst I always imagined it to be a nightmare place. Highdown Prison in Reigate/Banstead
in
I suppose
it all depends on how likely you are to be a victim of bullies, which I most
certainly would be, when the neighbour, no one would give it a try, they might
lose sleep over it. So it is all relative to who you are, and I have a whole
collection of bullies who made my life a miserable one when I was young, and
even when I was older in the work place. I sometimes think that it is written
on my forehead: I am a victim, I am weak, please kill me! However I no longer
feel like that now that I am in my thirties. I sometimes think that I have more
rage accumulated inside of me than any of them, and that none of them would
want to be around the day it will all come out in one huge burst. How easily I
could myself become a convict, is simply amazing. Which means, it could happen
to any of us, at any time. And so, let’s continue to hope for prisons where you
can still breathe and pursue some sort of hobbies and learning process. We are
all human beings after all, and that we have to incarcerate our neighbours now
and then, should not mean that we are about to turn them into animals, though I
agree, sometimes, that’s all they actually are, including Stephen. And it is
damn hard for me, who is a bit more intellectual, to have to live with them.
Because these animals cannot understand anything about the any intellectual
idea or the desire to write a book. It is all meaningless and a big waste of
time. And they have almost convinced me of it, I now agree that this world
needs less intellectuals, and more animals. That’s the way to go. Just build
more prisons, as we are all about to end up there one way or another soon,
Tension
is running high at the moment, and it is contagious. Stephen and I are at the
brink of war, he brought back some meat for the zoo we have, and taking a
Tupperware bowl out of the cupboard, I crashed a big bottle of Surgical Spirit
on the floor. What that bottle was there for, and who put it there, is a
mystery, I just know it had been there for years, and it has now left an
indelible smell all over the tiny flat we’ve been living in for the so many years.
Of course, with the zoo, we can’t open any windows.
I’m
getting tired of it, tired of Stephen, of the nightmare of living with him. All
day long, every single sentence that comes out of his mouth is a personal
attack on me, completely unjustified. I’m so desperate, I’m thinking of leaving
the country without asking for my citizenship before hand. These things take
too long, they cost too much, they are too complicated, in the end they will
always succeed, I will never become a British Citizen, I will never retire
either in England or in France, I will die in Canada where I was born, just as
they wanted all along. I am tired of this existence.
12 June 2007
Today has been a bad day, and unfortunately it is not over,
I could cause myself more damage. This morning ended with me shouting across
the office to the Old Indian Man that telling the Chief Clerk she needed to
sign these claims was his job, not mine. I then disappeared for 30 minutes, and
then went to lunch. I have no idea what to expect this afternoon, I’ve already
reviewed in my mind my options: going back to conferences, finding a job that
pays even less than what I’m already earning, where no stress and no bitches
are a guarantee, not a simple wish, because I have enough experience now that as
soon as you work with a whole office, it will always be a nightmare, even when
there is only one lazy bastard bitching around.
I foresaw it, I knew it was about to happen, I requested
specifically 12 days ago to be taken off the horrible task of Grad Fees that no
one wants, and for 12 days I am still stuck in it deep, there has been a bunch
of major complaints from counsels reaching the very top of my Court, and even
further to the directional director, I have now declared a war on the old lazy
Indian Man, and I cannot see how I would be taken off the grad fees any time
soon. It is a wonderful world.
The logical choice to take over the claims, has been
prevented from doing so because my Manager is too weak to make a decision. He
wants a meeting about the grad fees and how we will proceed to pay them within
20 days, when right now it takes us 4 months to process them. Now the woman is
going on holiday for a full week, we may have that meeting the week after her
return, and that meeting will not solve anything, if it even gets me off the
damn thing. So I’m stuck, and alienated, and ready to kill.
I’m completely de-motivated, I don’t want to go back this
afternoon, especially after my three bursts this morning, the last one quite
grandiose and dramatic. I’m in deep shit.
My problem is that I’ve been used to get things done, and
so if it was all up to me, within a week I would have got rid of all the grad
fees, no matter that there are thousands of them. However it all depends on the
cashier, the Old Indian Man, who as soon as he sees 20 files on his desk, goes
into panic mode and stop all the machines. And then, it all depends on the
Clerks, who also freak out as soon as they see 20 files on their middle table,
they can take over a week to come and sign the claims so they can be paid. I
simply cannot do my job, and unfortunately I’m on the front line when the shit
hits the fan, I’m the one being blame for being so late, my name is the one
going right through the top Manager and the Regional Director. I’m the incompetent
one here, despite the fact that I work like three administrators.
The frustrating situation has been more stressful on me
than I initially thought. I wish I was like my colleagues and say: as long as I
can justify myself, I don’t give a fuck, I will sit back, relax, do fuck all,
go to lunch, take the rest of the week off. I wish I could be so complacent and
irresponsible. I’m not, it angers me, I want to take the whip, and start
beating them up so they will do their job. And if they still don’t want to do
it then, pick up my phaser and simply vaporise them out of existence. That’s
what I would be like if I was the Manager of the General Office. The newbie,
the kid, that one, is the main problem there. By doing all day, but stare at
the ceiling or his computer screen, he has insured that he will not inherit the
grad fees, and prevents someone more competent from being hired. And so that
bad apple should have been eliminated a long time ago, I have a feeling he will
be in that job for many years to come. And the Old Indian Man has taken over a
job too big for him, it is clear he should never have been made the cashier, he
is not up to it. His philosophy is quite clear, he wants to do fuck all day,
and he tells everyone so almost on a daily basis. And the Manager of course
does nothing important, managing people does not get the job done. He is most
famous for putting in the bin most of the post and faxes we receive, and now we
are plagued with phone calls about these things that they sent years ago, that
we never answered, and then they have to send it again, it is being binned
again, and so every single phone call comes from someone completely out of his
or her mind, because we don’t pay them or even give them the courtesy of
telling them that we have binned their letters. I am at my wits end.
I am now back from work for the evening. Dear me, what a
day, but I certainly shake up the place, the email I sent to the Manager had
the same impact as when the Top Manager gets a complaint and freak out at everyone.
Once again I will be free to enter grad fees into the system for a while, until
it clogs up again. Hopefully by then I will no longer be in charge.
Unfortunately, as I exploded again in the office at the Old
Indian Man, as he was constantly trying to see what I was writing on my
computer whilst writing these emails, I had no choice but backstab him real
hard. For six months now he has been backstabbing me, and not once have I told
one manager about it. Today it is writing in an email. I found it was the only
way I could justify getting out of the grad fees soon, rather than next month.
Also that the Old Man pushed me too hard at the very last second. I was not
going to say anything about him, I had already deleted my backstabbing, but him
still peering at my computer screen for five times, made me lose all my
inhibition. I yelled: what? What do you want? You are not my Manager, mind your
own business, leave me alone and everything will be fine! His answer did it: If
you have a problem, tell it to the Manager. I shouted back: don’t worry, I
will! So I did, fucker.
I was called into the office after that, remained there for
over 45 minutes. And then it was the turn to the Old Indian Man, where most
likely he had his chance to stitch me up real good. As it was ongoing, I guess
I don’t really care at this point.
At the end of the day, the Scottish Manager wanted to bring
the DX with me where we have to put it every night on the other side of the
building. This conversation I have to say was illuminating. The only way I
thought of to finally tell him I was gay was indirectly, stating that I was
wondering if the Old Man had a problem with him, quickly back pedalling to
assure him I didn’t think it was the case at all. It gave him the chance to
tell me he was also gay, and how he thought, like I do, that the top man at the
head of all the courts was also gay. As a result I have now joined the Rainbow
Network and will be attending a gay meeting in
When I left tonight, I think the whole of the Clerks office
was doing grad fees. A new system has been implemented to avoid preventing me
from entering grad fees. And the Old Indian Man was sorry indeed for the way he
has been treating me and the casual way he does his job. He certainly will get
his revenge, and more bloody baths are to be expected now that it is an opened
war, however he left me no choice. If I had no complain against him, they would
only have his side of the story, bashing over their head again and again how
bad I am, and ultimately my big bursts in the office would confirm all that he
had told them. Now I’m in a position to say: stop there, I’m not the problem
here, he is.
All in all, it was an exhausting day. I should go sleep for
an hour or two before Stephen arrives. He told me on the phone he also had a
hard day, but he has one every day. For me at least, it is the exception to
have such a nightmarish day. I just hope tomorrow will go more smoothly. I
really need a holiday!
20 June 2007
I am so tired, I just recovered from having the flu. All
Saturday, Sunday and Monday I spent in bed, and then, could not sleep anymore
for most of Tuesday and especially during the night. I was supposed to go back
to work today, but as I couldn’t sleep as I was wheezing because of asthma, I
wrote all night instead. Now I am completely drained, because I wrote all
Tuesday as well, despite my headache. Unfortunately, I wasn’t finishing my
novel, I was working the Eclectism 2, which now has taken over my brain. I
wrote between 45 and 50 pages of a normal book since last Friday, pretty good
when considering that I had a bad flu and slept for three days out of five. The
problem with The Eclectism 2 is that it is not commercial in nature, it would
never be published, it may never even find a reader. And yet, I feel the need
to write it, and I feel better for writing it. I already have 140 pages, maybe
more. I wrote 25 pages back in April, then forgot all about it, and picked it
up again 18 days ago and wrote 115 pages since. It is truly impressive,
remarkable, I’m very pleased with myself, because this is not just a journal
like this actual book you are reading. A journal, I can churn out 1000 pages in
six months. But a real book, novel or not, it is not that easy, it does not
come so naturally. And what is nice, is that I used to be afraid of running out
of ideas, of suddenly be hit by the blank page syndrome and run dry. This year
alone I will write more books than last year, and last year was a record. But
this year I have a novel in English, something commercial, but I don’t want to
think too much about that, because if it fails, and it cannot fail to fail, I
will be so disappointed.
The real question is, is it quantity or quality that I am
looking for? Bad question. Should I write less books, but concentrate on one
only, making sure it would be perfect? Not really, I need to be in the mood, I
am not always in the mood to write fiction. And if I had to try to produce a
novel which is more high quality than what I have already done, I wouldn’t know
where to start, I may no longer be interested in writing then.
The other big question, and that one is quite important, or
will become important one day if I become able to live out of my writings: Is
it possible that having a full time job is where most of my inspiration and
motivation to write comes from? Would have I still written sop many books if I
had not been constantly working full time in parallel? Even if that were true,
no longer having to go to work would be such a blessing, I wouldn’t care if
suddenly I was a bit less motivated to write. Fiction anyway does not require
that much input from the outside world, and I have accumulated enough experiences
and memories now for a lifetime. I could quiet easily isolate myself alone on
an island and I would still be writing about all this in 100 years time.
I think the book of dreams, I will abandon it. I started
all motivated and all, but that books require time, time to sleep and dream,
time to write it all down, and I don’t have any time left. The idea is good
though, I will put it on hold until I have more time.
And this present book has now over 200 pages (though you
might not find that if you read it one day, because then the version you would
read would be an edited version where most of the crap, like the few paragraphs
I have just written, will have disappeared). However, 200 pages is significant
when it comes to a journal. It means I am way on my way to the bottom of the
ocean with my job, I had enough trouble that I wrote what could be considered a
book, and so I have enough and I can move on to something else. It usually
takes between 8 months to a year, so I guess I’m not quite there yet. Though,
we never know, perhaps that will be the job I always wanted and in which I will
remain in for years to come. I could also become a clerk and finally sit in
court instead of the admin office. That would be like a new job, and it would
be a great one. Imagine, sitting in court all day listening and writing down
the main lines of all those criminal trials. I might even start to write crime
books, something I never had any interest in so far, unless they were pastiche
of Sherlock Holmes.
I used to hope for something nice or different to happen at
work every day in my previous jobs, as I was so bored out of my mind, and the
day were so long, and so much bitchiness would happen, I always needed
something more to keep me going. This time around, I have not done that often.
Once only did I go to work and said to myself, something nice needs to happen
today or I will lose it. There is also something else that only happened once,
and it happened last week. When you start a new job, at some point will come a
time where suddenly all the days are so similar, you can no longer distinguish
your different working days, the routine has finally arrived. And then, going
to work in the morning for one more time, becomes so painful, that routine, I
often used to think it was reason enough to commit suicide. Well, in this job
it only happened once, and it was not even that frightening, in the sense that
suicide would never have occurred. I just felt irritation at the idea that I
was falling into a routine and it was getting tedious. But then I immediately
got the flu, and five days later I will only work two days, and then next week
perhaps I will not feel so much the routine as I would have without the flu to
change my mind a bit. So the job is not bad at all, however I will have my
return to work interview tomorrow and everything I said tonight about this job
could suddenly turn very sour and sound more like a bunch of lies I stated
whilst under the influence of paracetemol and other feverish flu.
1 July 2007
Speaking of days at work where something suddenly happens
to make it more exciting, two things happened last Friday. First they found
some unexploded bombs in
Last month has been the worst for a long time, as we ran
out of money a few days after the beginning of the month, and we didn’t eat
anything fro at least three weeks. Stephen is finally going to do something
about it, he’s declaring bankruptcy, or the next best solution, a Individual
Voluntary Arrangement with his creditors, just like I did two years ago. Great,
we’re now both bankrupt, and I guess I’m the one to be blamed, though I prefer
to blame it on my books, they are the reason I didn’t work for six months after
my return from Los Angeles. And I feel guilt for not having finished Anna Maria
yet, though I haven’t stop writing, The Eclecticism II. It is going very well,
yesterday I wrote the first half of War, I’m not sure if I will finish that
tonight or if I will work on Anna Maria. I’m drinking a lot of wine, and that
is a dangerous thing to do when I work the next day, however I’m unable to get
drunk and motivated to write, which explains why I’m writing this book instead.
Last Friday I went to the gay association of the HMCS, Her
Majesty’s Courts Service. I wouldn’t want to put them down here, as this is quite
identifiable, they would recognise themselves. But I can’t avoid mentioning
that this is the perfect example of a small little committee representing a
government at the microcosm. A bunch of losers with nothing better to do than
meet, pretend they have any sort of power, having a small budget and spending
it in all the wrong places. Have I mentioned a bunch of moaning bitches? Well,
I met quite a woman there, who is actually a member of all the sub-groups of
the HMCS, as she is a Jewish woman from
They invited me to attend the Gay Pride on Saturday,
apparently the Civil Service will have a banner or something for the parade.
I’m so disconnected, I was unaware it was the Gay Pride the next day. I also
didn’t go, as it was raining and I needed to finally do the grocery shopping of
the century, as we just got paid and we had nothing left in the fridge, then cup
board or the pharmacy, not to mention alcohol and tobacco. Now I am breathing
better, everything is full and it needs to remain so for as long as possible,
enough to survive a bird flu attack, because I have no money left and it is the
first of the month.
One more thing I need to mention, just to show how petty
and jealous your colleagues can become when they have a bit of work lined up on
their desk. The fat woman who recently moved from the Listing Office to the
General Office, the very same who for more than a month now has successfully
avoided inheriting the Graduated Fees from me, and will not even get to work on
it for another month, was appalled because suddenly she received 14 bits of
post to deal with. In itself this can be discouraging, especially if there are
NG Forms in there, which means a lot of photocopying to send tot eh Court of
Appeal, however she didn’t have any NG Forms and most of these faxes or letters
are most probably people who want a record sheet of the defendants, which takes
a minute to print and fax, no need to find the file (the most time consuming
part of our job, since we can never find any files). She immediately got angry
with me and shouted in the office: did you get any post to do? Now, you will
understand that three people are required to deal with the Grad Fees and pay
them on time, and yet I have been working on that alone for the last seven
months. So I turned around and said quite calmly, no, I didn’t get any post,
once you’re on the grad fees, if you want any post, let me know and I will make
sure you get some. Her unjustified jealousy then became full blown, and she
replied back: so on grad fees we don’t get any post? Obviously she’s already
thinking about the day she will finally inherit them, and so she wants to
insure she won’t have any more work to do. Si I answered: I get post, a lot of
it, including NG Forms, I just didn’t get any this time. And then I gave it the
last blow, just to confirm her pettiness and desire to do as less as possible,
I said: Look, at some point and for many months I was on Grad Fees, on NTT and
on Post. In my mind the rest of what was not said was: And you’re worried about
14 bits of post, and the fact that I didn’t get any, when those Grad Fees are
so urgent and I can’t keep up? Not only do I have to deal with the grad fees, I
also have to find all the files, and before I started to work there, there was
someone working full time at just finding files, so she can fuck off the bitch.
I can’t believe she freaked out at me because I didn’t get any post, that she
could have thought for one second that it was unfair and some sort of
injustice, when she has done everything she could to avoid getting the grad
fees and I have been killing myself over them for so long. She thought in her
puny mind, like everyone else working at the court, that the General Office is
easy and relax, because unlike with the Listing Office and the Clerks, none of
our work needs to be done urgently in the next 10 minutes, if something is not
done, well, it can wait another day. That is why she moved from the Listing
Office to us, she will realise once she inherits the Grad Fees, that she should
never have switched to the General Office. Then she will understand what I have
been going through, how justified I am to want out after so many months. The difference
between her and me, is that I liked to be on so much pressure, I was happy with
grad fees, NTT and post, and doing very well thank you, whilst NTT alone right
now is overwhelming the other kid who does nothing al day. It is against him
that she should be freaking out, however once someone in the civil service has
been declared a useless employee, everyone just accepts it and act as if that
person didn’t exist. They accept him or her as a lost cause we all have to put
up with, and as such, no anger or jealousy goes towards them, in fact, they
have all fallen in love with him, I guess it helps that he is so good looking,
even though he is stoned most of the time. We have been short of staff for a
very long time in the General Office, and he is the only person who was hired
to save us, as it turns out he is doing nothing, and the Old Indian Man who is
also doing nothing, means that not only we are short staffed like crazy, but on
top of it there is no hope that someone else will be hired to save us. We are
sinking and there is no light over the horizon. My desk is so full of files, it
has now become a mountain, even the General Manager of the Court on Friday
looked at it and asked: what is that? Grad Fees? And then the Deputy Manager
said yes. I felt really bad, it looked like I was not doing my job, but I am,
and I would have done it all if I was not constantly stopped by the Old Indian
Man who cannot deal with the claims and the cheques fast enough, he is always
off at the hospital or gone to see his children in the West of England. And
when he is there, he prefers to moan instead of doing his job. What can I do?
They hired two assistants from an agency to help us get out of the hole, one
has left because he couldn’t be certain if his contract would be renewed (they
wait until the very last day of the month to let them know if they will remain
for another month), and the second one, who was helping on the Grad Fees, has
been stolen by the Listing Office more than five months ago. And our Manager is
too weak to complain that she was hired to help us, not the List Office who
probably does not need her in the first place.
Well, now that I had a good moan, I feel much better. I’m
ready for another week in the Crown Court Madhouse. Despite all day, at least,
on Sunday nights, I am not hiding in my bathroom in fear of going back to work,
like I did in
I can’t
wait for him to retire, the Old Indian Man, because he causes me so much grief
by hating me, being so rude all the time, being quite blunt and barking orders
at me. I just don’t know at this time if I will feel the need to move on to
another job before he retires this autumn. It seems too far away, I will crack
before that time.
6 July 2007
This week for the first time ever at the Crown Court, we
got on top of the Graduated Fee Claims and we’re paying them within the 20 days
required by law. And today for the first time ever, I cleared all the files on
my desk, and every single file and claim on the two shelves. I worked so hard
at this, you wouldn’t believe, I got rid of almost every single grad fee we
had, and to do that I had to climb to the top and write reports about problems
and solutions so they would let me enter the claims on the computer to finally
get on top of things. Because if it had depended on me alone, we would have
been on top of it after one month on the job.
Anyway, I felt it was worth celebrating, and told my Line Manager
I deserved a medal for all this hard work. To which he answered, great, it only
took you a year! It was a joke and we laughed, and it does seem like it took me
six months to finally reach the point where we could pay the fees within 20
days, but he knows very well that it is not my fault. Though I have to say, he
never noticed all the work I did until I told him, and then he agreed it was an
achievement.
So, as a recompense for all my hard work, the Chief Clerk
freaked out completely, went straight to the Deputy Manager (the Scottish guy),
and complaint I was incompetent because I had not looked inside one file where
it was clearly stated why a grad fee had been cancelled. She also accused me of
not investigating enough to find out that some files have been transferred to
other Crown Courts, which explains why we couldn’t find the files for so long. It
was a proper bullocking, in front of the Deputy Manager. It left me completely
aghast, de-motivated, and I sure am glad I took the next two Friday off. If I
see that bitch Chief Clerk for five days straight once more, I will no longer
be responsible for my actions.
So, whilst I was being reprimanded and told I was
incompetent, what were the kid and the old man doing, the very ones who do
nothing all day and never get into trouble with any manager for it? Well, the
kid stares at the ceiling all day long, and for once yesterday the Chief Clerk
came in and told him: do you actually ever do any work? The answer being no, of
course, or else, he would have inherited the Grad Fees by now and I would no longer
be sinking like a madman. So there you are, she knew this guy does nothing, and
yet, she doesn’t do anything about it. It is understandable, the kid is so
incompetent, he is limited in his duty to doing one thing which only concerns
the General Office. But then the Chief Clerk went to the Old Man and asked him
to do something by Monday, and his answer was: well, you see, I was planning to
be sick on Monday because my hand hurts. We are Friday, how can he be sick on
Monday for arthritis, and what about the next day, and the next? The answer was
so astonishing, we were all stunned. Even the Chief Clerk said laughing: I
thought you were joking, and yet, I can see that you are not! And so, do you
think she jumped into the Deputy Manager’s Office to complain that both these
morons who do nothing all day are a waste of space, time and money? No, it was
all perfectly acceptable, whilst I am being accused of incompetence while working
so damn hard.
I told
her in the office: you will see that I am good at my job once someone else
inherits the Grad Fees. They laughed, because the woman who will inherit them,
eventually, maybe, once she returns from holiday, has got a lot of experience
and has been working there for quite a while. I said: you will see.
I know
better, I thought, she is as lazy as the others, she complains like mad as soon
as she has a bit too much work (which is the reason why she moved from listing
to the General Office), she does not have the intelligence, she will bring us
right back to us paying those grad fees three months late. I give her one month
to reach that stage, after which month the grad fees will get back to me,
because now we are on a rotation system, and apart from her, only I can inherit
them.
In
virtually all the jobs I ever had I always worked like a madman. I always gave
them 200%. And yet, it has been my observations that all my managers decided to
ignore that fact, to give me shit about details. At the same time, I was always
surrounded by a bunch of lazy bastards doing nothing all day, and yet, they
always seem to get away with murder. How do you explain this? I can’t, unless
this is some form of discrimination, favouritism. Is it because I’m gay, French
speaking, or my appearance, or my attitude? All valid points, but in the end,
it is getting really tiresome, and this unfairness is killing me.
Invariably,
every time I left a job, I heard afterwards how incapable the people who
replaced me were, and how they had to sack the newbies time after time until
they could get what they had when I was doing the job. Why can’t they see it
whilst I was still working for them? How could they have forgotten that before
I arrived, we never used to do so many things, because they add more and more,
as they see that I can do it, and then freak out and I have to leave, and then
no one can take over such a nightmare. I feel a good manager should be able to
spot this instantly, and my Line Manager has spotted it, unfortunately he does
not appear to have told anyone about it, and so some other managers believe I
am incompetent.
Well,
this time at least I won’t have to leave the job before they understand it, the
fat bitch is back in two weeks from her long holiday (she had another week
holiday two weeks ago), and I will scream with pleasure when she starts
complaining on a daily basis about the grad fees. Unfortunately for me, I’ll be
there every step of the way for her, I will train her to do her job the way I
came to do it, and so she will have it easy, and yet, she will be drowning in
no time.
I never
spotted her looking for a file, never, now she will have to find hundreds a day
and process hundreds of claims. I look forward seeing this happening. First
thing that will happen is that she will say that she cannot do that job if she
also has to find the files, and so ushers will be given to her to find files. I
will be laughing, because ushers are so useless, in a week’s time working full
time finding files, they will find ten of them, for four ushers. In one hour I
find 50 files, I also check if the claims have been paid and if there is Legal
Aid granted on them.
I won’t
set the fat bitch to fail, I will train her exactly the way I was doing it, and
yet, I predict she will explode before the training is over, once she realises
all that it entails. And then I will say: shit, I got 14 pieces of post today, and
I have a whole week to deal with it because, frankly, I have nothing else to
do, did you get any? How can this world be so unfair?
I feel
much better now, all this injustice will not be in vain if I have written it
all down for posterity. I just hope I didn’t bore you to death in the process.
Who could care about damn grad fees anyway?
What fries me most, is that scheme 4 is coming soon, and so
the fat bitch won’t have to pay any grad fees for most of the new ones we will
receive, until the system is updated on our computers. And once it is updated,
there will be only one grad fee to pay per file, instead of between 10 and 24. She
will have it easy, and yet, I predict that she will still fail and complain a
lot. She must have an angel looking over her shoulders, because she was able to
delay inheriting the grad fees long enough that I got all the shit whilst she
will have it so easy. Bitch.
10 July 2007
I understood today that it was not my incompetence which
seems to drive the Chief Clerk, every hour now she finds a good reason to jump
into the Deputy Manager’s office to complain about me. It is a personal
vendetta, she is for some reason annoyed with me and has decided that she will
give me as much shit as she can for the shear masochistic pleasure of it, just
like she does to all the counsels and solicitors who found a way to annoy her,
she will return the claims over and over again until they either give up and
accept that they won’t get paid (most of them), or until they complain to the
top manager or regional director (which happens once or twice a month). It is
pure pettiness, and now I suffer the consequences of it.
Today she has to remind me to be careful with my language
with the Senior Managers, after I told her that I had worked my ass off to
process all these claims. I’m sure she has already reported me to the Deputy
Manager, even though it wasn’t much to report. Later on during the day she came
out of the Deputy Manager’s office once more, with a pile of files to complain
about and I stopped her and I asked her directly if she had a problem with me
because she was now always on my back without a valid reason. She was so
patronizing whilst she denied all that, the kid noticed it and told me
afterwards how patronizing he thought she had been. I spent the rest of the
afternoon thinking about finding a new job, and I told the kid who now I’m sure
he told everyone else. And I told my Line Manager that her little vendetta had
been lasting since last Friday and I was growing tired of it. I said that if
she continues tomorrow, I will simply go home. He told me to come and talk to
him before I do so.
On top of it, Stephen announced to me that we had to pay
all the credit cards this month, that his IVA is not working as planned, and I
can already confirm that we are not in a position to pay most of these bills
and we are now heading once more towards a complete month without any money. Another
good reason to find a better job. The problem is that I don’t know which jobs
to go for, all I know is that I will not go back to conferences.
It is now 1 am, I’m afraid I have become one of these moody
persons, and no matter what turned me into a miserable sod, no one will want to
work with a miserable sod. And so, there is a point of no return that all
Managers should know not to cross, because after that, whatever you could do,
that apple has turned bad and will never get back to the red shiny shade of
before. That apple needs to be crushed and replaced by another bright one which
will, one day, rot as well. I have to be careful that this time has not yet
come for me, I need to get back there tomorrow with a smile on my face, work
with the bitch as if nothing happened, hope for the best that she feels she had
her little revenge on me for whatever it is I may have said which disturbed her
so much, even though I know from experience that she doesn’t need much to go
into attack mode. If I am unable to get my smile back, start laughing again
whilst still working hard, then I am finished. It will be like in
Today must be one of these days, the cat or the dog, peed
and shat on the bed, at 1 am. You can imagine how Stephen is in a good mood
about it, and as usual he tried to blame me for it, asking me when was the last
time the dog went out. Of course, it would never enter his mind that it is as
much his responsibility as mine to get the bloody dog out. Incidentally the dog
was out less than an hour ago, but freaked out so much, waking up all the
neighbours, I had to bring her back in immediately. And after all that
argument, now Stephen thinks it was one of the cats.
Don’t you feel sometimes life is really testing you, just
to see how you can keep it under pressure, until the cover just blows up and
sprays every wall? I can no longer contain it, and Stephen never could in the
first place. I had become excellent at keeping my cool, and still say what I
had to say despite the shouting, tonight I exploded without even giving it a
try. And tomorrow there is a huge risk that it will be the same, that the
smallest dig will send me off the wall. I need to ensure this will not happen,
I have to control myself, change my mind, learn to ignore the bitch, and smile
back at her, and laugh with her, even though it is obvious she has backstabbed
me a dozen times in the last week, and will continue to do so for a while. I
think I would need powerful drugs to achieve such a feat.
There are two ways to be tired at work. Being tired because
you went to bed very late a few days in a row (or a few months in a row), and
then you can snap at anything at anytime. The second way is to be tired because
you went to bed very late for a few days, but at least you drank a lot of
alcohol the night before. Then you are so comatose, you don’t see the bitching
around you, and quite sincerely, you don’t give a shit, and so, this is how
alcohol can save your ass. I wouldn’t try it though, because the only reason
you might avoid a fight, is because you are already fighting with yourself to
keep awake and try to achieve some work, which then becomes impossible. At
least without alcohol the night before, you may be tired, but you will still be
able to enter stupid numbers into the computer without inventing suspicions
that you might not have the brain to do so.
So far, every single prediction I have made about this job,
from the very beginning, before I even got it, have materialised. I have not
been wrong once. Is it because I ultimately control that destiny and whatever I
want or fell might happen, does happen? Or is it because I have become so good
at that game, and people are so damn predictable, that guessing what will
happen next has become second nature to me? Well, if people and myself are so
damn predictable, what is the point of being alive, go through life and acquire
an experience for? Is that the experience I will have at the end? Being able to
predict every single bitchy thing every single bitch will do in this world?
I am now in Defcon 2, which means I spoke to her rudely, I
confronted her with her bitchiness, and I told my Line Manager that if tomorrow
it is the same shit, I will go home. I am now wondering if tomorrow it will be
Defcon 1, an outright war, officials meeting with all the Managers to make my
discomfort official, or Defcon 3, slap a fake smile on my face and ignore the
bitch. If she talks to me, answer the most polite way as possible, just get rid
of her. If I am in a bad mood, if I suddenly shut up completely and show that
there is a problem, I will still be in Defcon 2 and Defcon 1 will be around the
corner. And the danger is that despite everything, without my control, if she
goes too far and cannot stop herself from digging, I will have no choice but
declaring an outright war. So much depends on yourself and your own attitude,
but sometimes it is inevitable. I hope and I believe I can ride that wave and
get back to Defcon 3, I have gone through much worse in my life, especially in
I have learnt today that two weeks ago was the first time a
defendant killed himself in a Court (in the
Let’s make a few more predictions about little me in that
job. I was thinking becoming a Clerk, now I know this is not feasible for many
months, because the construction of the new Crown Court means the shutting down
of many court rooms, also that I cannot become a clerk under the actual Chief
Clerk. Since she has been working there for 15 years, there is no reason to
believe she will move on any day now. And since I have already written a full
book about this job, I doubt I will need to remain in that office for much
longer. Either I will decide to move on, or something else will happen in my
life and will make me move on. I doubt I will be working at that Court for that
much longer, could be a few more months I reckon, in the autumn at the latest I
will be somewhere else. I hope it will be something better than that shit job
that doesn’t pay anything, whilst you still have to suffer the pettiness of
small minded “Senior Managers”. The only remaining argument for me to remain in
that job, is that it is local and three minutes away from my flat. I wonder how
powerful this argument will be to keep me in that shit job as a civil servant.
11 July 2007
I think I have been very successful in getting down to
Defcon 3, though stress was running high with the Pakistani man this morning,
as he was freaking out because I spent an hour on the phone about Legal Aid for
one case, and he was insulted when I told him that I had to do what the Chief
Clerk had told me to do, and so, no, I would not listen to anything they were
asking me to do. They said we never had to chase Legal Aid before, and now I
have to do it on half the cases I have to process, that is all I have been
doing for two weeks now, chasing Legal Aid orders.
I told
them that my Manager now was the Chief Clerk, and she had been freaking out so
many times and backstabbed me so many times lately, I could not afford not to
do what she was asking me to do. That shut him up, and so after that it was
quiet for the rest of the day. Though for a while I thought the shit would hit
the fan again. The Chief Clerk came in with over 500 grad fees in her hand, and
she said: return them all back with a letter saying the cases were still
opened. This was a double blow to me, because first writing 500 letters will
take me two weeks, but also, it was another proof I hadn’t done my job, and she
will probably once again jump into the Deputy Manager’s office to complain that
I had not verified that these cases were still live, so now everyone is
convinced, me included, that I failed miserably in my job.
However,
it would be humanly impossible to verify the thousands of claims about first if
they are still live or not, if they have been paid or not, if Legal Aid was
granted or not, and if it is a Scheme 4 claim or not. I did it today for 50
claims, what we received today alone, and it took me the whole day. Which
means, if I were to do that everyday, that is all I would be doing, I would not
be finding files, I would not enter the claims on the computer, I would not
achieve anything. So I am glad I ignored all this for so long, at least I have
paid almost all the claims, and now it is really apparent, because after I
finish sending back the 500 claims, I will virtually have no more claims to
enter into the computer. I will give the woman who will take over a clean plate
about grad fees, and it will be more obvious how she will fail.
I just finished drinking a few beers, like ten of them, and
I just finished writing at least 4 entries for my book The Eclecticism II. I
find it quite extraordinary that I could probably be writing my two greatest masterpieces
of a lifetime, whilst being so petty about the reality surrounding me, and be
worried about the smallest bitchiness of some small minded people around me.
The truth is, I could die tomorrow morning, and the last few months of my
existence would turn out to be the most determining and significant months of
my existence, because of Anna Maria and The Eclecticism, and yet, when people
will read about what was truly going on in my life at that time, they will stop
and wonder, how can such a crap life bring out in someone such books?
Of
course, I am not talking here in real terms, none of these books will ever see
the light of day, I will die completely unknown to humanity, this is not the
point. This is what I feel, that I have written the best I could within my
lifetime, and it is no small matter for someone who has been writing every
single day since he was ten years old, and wrote over 30 books in his lifetime,
whether or not any of them get anywhere.
Dear me,
I wouldn’t want to appear pretentious, with a large Ego, when in fact, this is
exactly who I am, and I don’t give a fuck about any of you who will laugh at
that. Write one book of 300 pages, and then we can discuss it further. What
comes so easy to me, can only come to you as the most painful and impossible
task there is. So if I feel right now that I have written the best I can, then
it is so, and it is my right to wonder about whatever impact it might have
after I’m dead, because dear me, I would never suppose I can be recognised
whilst I am alive, though I’m pretty sure that if I am not recognised before I
die, then I never will be, and to be honest, at this point in my life, I have
accepted it, and I don’t care anymore.
I only
care for one thing, writing books I can be proud of, even if in the end it was
all just for myself. This is how I will judge my life on my death bed, and I
can assure you, it will not involve any of you. You have only been a big
disappointment to me all my life, and I am not expecting any miracle coming
from you anytime soon. All I can say is that you have been my greatest
inspiration, and you probably do not deserve to read any of it, because it will
fail to inspire you back.
I won’t
change this world, I don’t believe this world can ever change, it has been the
same forever and will always remain so. We cannot change human nature, whatever
how we would like to believe that there is some sort of evolution in
mentalities. There is no such thing, and hence, we are all doomed. I’m not
proud of humanity, of what we have achieved, I am not even proud of myself. There
is no hope for any of us, we will all go to hell, if there is such a thing as
hell.
Sleep
well tonight, even though I know, you know, we all know, you don’t deserve it. Humanity
deserves to go to hell. If you want to know why, just read every single word I
have ever written since the day I was born. If you still believe in humanity
then, then my God, you must be Jesus-Christ re-incarnated, and then we need to
crucify you. Fuck you all, I sincerely hope that these will be my last ever words
before I die.
Funny,
after writing that stuff above, I decided to put it online on my website. I
never usually do such a thing until it has been a year since I finished working
at the place I’m talking about. It is not the first time though that I put it
online, I did it a few months ago once I was completely drunk, but deleted it
two days after. Tonight though it is different, even though I am completely
drunk. This time I truly do not care if any of them reads it, anyway, I believe
they are all too stupid to first find my website, and second to find this book
which appears under the name The Lost Link. And anyway, at this point, I don’t
really care if any of them finds it and reads it. I am quite prepared to lose
my job over this, which I wasn’t before, for some weird reason. I guess they
had not pushed me to my limits then, now they have.
Something
weird also happened tonight. I spent some time reading the beginning of this
book, and realised that all of this, this job, this book, was supposed to be
more like a game, a spy within the mist of the Crown Courts. Along the way,
somehow, I forgot that it was all but a game, and that at the end of the day, I
truly didn’t care about them, whatever could happen to me. It was all for the
sake of this book. And then, as usual, I forgot all about it, and it became a
true reality for me, a nightmare. I got caught in the mind games, I have been
brainwashed, and then I started to take this game way too seriously, when there
was no need to. I felt tonight that I had accomplished my mission, after eight
months. So I have nothing left to lose. Writing anymore about this job would be
simply repeating myself, even though I know you are all over finding out if the
woman who will succeed me in the job I have been doing most of the time will
succeed or fail. This is unimportant, we all know she will fail, there is no
need for me to confirm it or tell you all about the details about how she will
fail and when. In a way I feel I have written enough about this book, enough
that I don’t care about losing this job about a few words I might have
scribbled upon the subject. Which tells me a lot, because there is still a
whole book on my computer about a friend I met in Los Angeles, and yet I am not
ready to put that online anytime soon, even though he is now very far away from
me, and I do not believe we have any future together. So what is stopping me to
put it online then? Good question. It is called Kiddo. I think I might put it
online soon. Fuck that friendship then, as if he reads it, it will be over
faster than you can say what the fuck?
The
problem with me is that I am so honest about everything, so blunt about
everything, it almost seems obscene to put it online for everyone to read. Fuck
it, tonight I put everything online, I will put that Kiddo online. It is all a
game anyway, and I should be damn if I forget it for one minute and suddenly
decide to lie about anything or censor myself in any way. If people can’t take
the truth, I don’t care.
19 July 2007
I did put them online, but I took them off the very next
day once I was sober. In fact, I spent Sunday writing many pages of what has
now become People I may have inspired, and I did put it online, and once again
the next day I took it off, because I believe it would cause me more damage to
be seen to be boasting about what people would not believe could have happened.
So, how many hundreds of pages am I going to write this year that I will never
find the courage to put online because a few people might get hurt by it and
might decide to confront me?
This week was supposed to be my last week doing graduated
and standard fee claims. As a consequence I worked so hard, I stayed at work
until 18h30 every day. I cleared all the claims, there are 10 claims without
files, probably cases that we no longer have at the court, and I have ten files
with claims on them that I would have been able to clear if we had not been
told to turn off our computers at some point because of a network upgrade. I
succeeded! I am giving on Monday a complete clear slate to the fat woman, no
stress, no pressure, and so, I can in no way be blamed if she fails, as she
cannot avoid, as there is no way she will be able to work as hard as I did.
I entered
so many claims this afternoon, there were a huge pile of files on the table
waiting the chief clerk when she came to sign them. She said: There were only
two last night, where have this all come from? I turned around and I said: you
see how I work hard? She answered back: well, yeah, but the important is to
find the files. She was basically accusing me once again of not searching and
finding files, which angers me so much, because I have found so many files
since I worked there, I filled the two cases of five shelves each so many times!
So one way or another, I could never have succeeded, in her eyes I have failed
miserably, I did a half job, I did not look for files, I didn’t spotted all
those claims that were still from live cases and needed to be returned, etc. And
yet, she is completely blind to the final result, that I cleared them all, the
most single and biggest source of complaints we ever had since I started, and
every time there was a complaint, as I was responsible for claims, it was my
fault, when it was anything but my fault.
Anyway,
speaking any more about this would simply be repeating myself, and would now
become some long and interminable whinging. All I want to say is that I have
cleared it up, the bitch is supposed to take over on Monday, something tells me
she will somehow not take over until the beginning of August, or perhaps never,
and if she does take over, the shit will hit the fan, they will suddenly
realise how great I was, and then I would have no qualm about taking them back,
because then I would actually be appreciated for my hard work instead of being
picked on al the time, and humiliated in front of the whole office as if I was
the most incompetent employee on the planet, when I am the hardest working
person in the General Office.
As a
proof of this, lets look at the other areas. The cashier is always sick, always
at the doctor, and yet he can now do is daily run of payment as if it was
second nature. I can only surmise that being the cashier is actually an easy
job, because he is never at work, when he is there, he does nothing, and yet
the few cheques are printed and posted everyday. And yet, dear me, he certainly
struggled to learn that new job and he too got into a lot of altercations with
the chief clerk.
The
Post-Trial section, the job of the Pakistani man, is overflowing with files, it
is one of the main reason why many claims could not be paid, because files need
to be properly closed. There has been many complaints from many other
departments that files were not being closed fast enough, there must be over
400 files waiting to be closed. The distribution and photocopying section, also
the responsibility of the Pakistani man, is overflowing with files as well. I
can only feel that if I were to apply the speed I have demonstrated in these
two sections, I could clear these bookshelves within days, and yet, he is so
slow motion, it simply getting worse a bit more every day.
NTT,
National Taxing Team, need a lot of information from every file in order to
calculate the taxes to be applied to each claim. This is the responsibility of
the kid. We are in so much shit with the NTT, they call every day to complain
about the 100 files that need to be found, photocopied and sent to them. Once a
week at least all the senior managers are buzzing around us because NTT have
complain again.
The other
main section is the committals. These are bundles of files we receive from the
Magistrates’ Courts that need to be entered into the computer and new files
created for each of them. When I was on Committals, I virtually eliminated them
all, and yet no one ever congratulate me about it, and no one recognise that
fact now that there are four towers on the Manager’s desk. On committals we
have the kid already drowning in the NTT, and the fat bitch. Since she has been
on holiday for over a month since she has moved from the Listing office, it is
understandable that there are now four towers awaiting me once I go back to
committals next week.
There are
other areas like Legal Aid and Post, which are requests from everyone in the
country for this or that, and there is also a huge pile of unanswered post that
most of the time will end up in the bin, as my Line Manager cannot be bothered
with it. All in all, the General Office is an utter failure filled with
incompetent and lazy people. They all need to be sacked, because none of them
are productive at all or can do the job properly or at the very least at a
faster pace so in the end we do more work than new work is coming. It has been
piling up since I started and it is all going to hell.
And let
me repeat it once more, just in case it has not yet entered your mind, I am the
only one being picked on by the Chief Clerk, because I am the only one, with
the cashier, who has to work closely with her. So it is quite an injustice, for
this new Ministry of Justice that we are now part of.
This week
the top Manager of the place came into the office and asked the kid to come in.
We all thought, that’s it, he will finally get the sack. The main big surprise
was that not only he didn’t get his head chopped off, the discussion was about
if he had filled out his application form in order to become permanent. The Top
Manager is trying to make permanent the most incompetent employee I have ever
worked with in my entire life, and no one will stand in his way to put a stop
to what I could only qualify as a crime. The kid is stoned and drunk at work al
the time, and sleeping all day, and yet, they are doing everything they can to
insure he becomes permanent. This is really the civil service for you. The kid
is not even fit to work in a McDonald’s, because there they would quickly spot
that he is a zombie and they would not hesitate to kick him out within a month.
I truly cannot explain this madness.
However I
predicted, I knew that this is what I would find, and I do not resent the kid
for this extraordinary injustice. Thank God, because if this was truly angering
me, I would have been out of this job by now, because I would be completely
alienated by now and probably driven insane by what I am witnessing. At least
at the moment I may be stressed out because I work so hard and run around
everywhere all day, at least I am not creating a fuss, being jealous or
backstabbing anyone. Because then I would be no better than any of them, and
hard worker or not, I would be as rotten as them and would not deserve that job
either.
I have
also assessed that almost all employees working in my Crown Court have got
their job through a contact of theirs, as I understood it, the Top Manager
alone is responsible for many of the employees there. He did say to me also
that it was great that I got the job via a job interview in
The civil
service is that last refuge for the lazy and incompetent people on this planet,
and in a way I guess it is important to have that at least fro these misfits
who could never keep a job fro long in the private or the commercial world
where everything is based on results, quantity, speed, etc. It is also fitting
that the salaries are so low, because none of them deserve their salary anyway.
However, I do suppose that if the salaries were a bit higher, people who
actually have some brain and aptitudes might actually apply and get those jobs,
and then we would only need half the employees the whole service is using to
accomplish the same amount of work, since at the moment the whole civil service
is working at 20% of its capacities, and there is no denying that from what I
have observed.
Working
there is just a depressing thing, seeing all these people doing nothing all day
and getting away with it, and me working so hard and being bullied by the Chief
Clerk. I cannot stand that treatment for too long, and I will have to move on
rather soon, I’m afraid. Unless of course I was to start dossing all day like
them, take it easy, be sick all the time and always find ways to leave early,
like the fat bitch and the other fat bitch still in the listing office. She’s
pregnant now, so it has gone worse, but she has no excuse, because she was like
that months before she became pregnant.
I hated
the fact that we had now to sign in and out using magnetic cards and a
computer, but now I have realised that everyone is no longer arriving at almost
10 am and leaving at 4 pm. They are all now working longer hours, and even, my
Line Manager and the Kid have to work until 6 pm for something like a month to
compensate for their late arrival and early departures. They have now admitted
that they have been lying on their time sheets before the system was installed,
that everyone had been lying except me, even though the Old Indian man was
always checking my time sheet as if he was my Manager, and passing comments,
and I hated him for it, and it is now clear that my Line Manager and the Kid
were the only one who failed to adapt to the new system and took the piss for
many more weeks before realising the consequences, and now they have to work to
exhaustion to compensate. It doesn’t matter though, that extra hour they spend
talking and doing nothing, so it is again totally useless.
I do not
believe the Scottish Manager is working a full 36 hours a week yet, he arrives
late every single morning, often by 30 minutes, and almost always leave at
4h45. However, he has access to the computer, so I imagine that he can temper
with is time sheet. It is also just a question of time before my Line Manager
gets access too, and then, we will be lucky if he works 25 hours a week. Not
that it matters anyway, since he does nothing all day but going through the
mail and dropping all the work on our desks.
My next
Line Manager will be, before Christmas, the Pakistani man. I also helped him to
get that job he has been trying to get for years, but failed every time. After
my indiscretions, making it clear it could be discrimination and racism, he
suddenly got the job on a part time basis when my actual Line Manager is not
there, which is quite often. Again he was off all this week fro back problems (more
likely too much cocaine, as he is a self confessed drug addict, just like the
Kid). As my Line manager is immigrating to
Basically,
despite witnessing me all day running around like a cunt, entering grad fees
into the system so fast, he was still blind to how hard I work, and find many
ways to pick on me for insignificant details. I felt today that he was not
happy with me for whatever reasons that I am not certain I can even identify,
so the injustice is likely to continue with him at the helm, and so there is no
hope and no future for me in this Crown Court.
Hard
workers in the Civil Service are perceived as threat for some reason, they make
everyone look bad. Usually it doesn’t matter because the Managers at least will
recognise that fact and will help you, defend you, let you get away with more
than usual. The novelty here is that hard workers are also perceived as threats
by management, which is just as lazy and incompetent as the rest of them, and
will be as ready to bully you for it than the weakest link. In those conditions,
bureaucracy worldwide will never be solved unless most of the craps and
administrative tasks are simply eliminated instead of being multiplied. There
is just no way any civil service work force will ever be efficient or
competent, and so we stand to save a lot of money by simply simplifying
everything, eliminating the work somehow. If we could somehow eliminate the
need for Civil Servants, we will then have found our perfect solution. As for
the Civil Servants themselves, I suggest nothing less than a genocide, because
they would simply go on benefits as they would not be able to find a job
anywhere else. (I hope you can read the irony here, I burst laughing out loud
just now. I feel the need to clearly say it, because most of the time my
readers fail to see the irony (perhaps because they are Civil Servants? I would
not expect them to spot irony when they come across it.))
21 July 2007
I have now everything online, though three of my latest
pieces in English are actually only found on my French website, that is the
only compromise I could reach with myself, and yet, I was thinking of taking
one off, the one about the people I might have inspired. It is too pretentious,
it will shut down everyone. Worse, some people I talk about could find it by
simply doing a search under their name, and then I guess I could be in trouble.
Funny, that I inspired them, some of them blatantly stole my ideas, and yet
they could decide to sue me on the basis that I decided to say it online. I bet
it wouldn’t look too good for them on any level, especially if in the end they
are not responsible of the source of the inspiration, it could after all be the
work of one single person on a project of a hundred. Anyway, if truly I
inspired so many big things, then surely I have attracted the attention of many
people out there, and I suppose it is just a question of time before someone
contacts me to work on a project. Then, who cares about what I could have
potentially inspired? At least I have now written it down and I will keep a
record. Who knows it might come handy one day. Not sure for what.
Today I wrote an interesting entry in The Eclecticism II
called Recognition. Though you could have thought that the idea came from the
fact that I could have written so much and yet I am completely unknown might
have been behind that text, actually this very journal opened my eyes. I was
reading the beginning last night and understood that I was struggling with
working hard at work without being able to get anyone to recognise that fact,
the same at home, that I could be working so hard cleaning the house, and yet
my partner just drives me mad with his attacks and bullying tactics. And
tonight, after I wrote the text in the afternoon, I got the most perfect
example of this lack of recognition.
Stephen will be doing Jury Service for two weeks starting
on Monday, yes he will be coming at the my Court every day, and yet I doubt I
would see much of him. Quite a big coincidence, since it has been 13 years at
least that we have been together, and it is the first time he is being called
upon being on a jury. Well, because of that, they would not let him keep the
van at work, and so I had to go and pick him up, sort of destroying my day off.
I didn’t complain, I went to pick him up. I have done three loads of washing
today, including the bed and the sofas cover and cushions. Something he never
does, and if he has to make the bed, he complains so much, it proves how
horrible a job it is.
So we met at the back of a fish and chips restaurant in Heston,
where I used to live, but then the car would not start again, even though it
just came out of the garage, went back because it was still not working, and
now will go again tomorrow. A problem with the starter getting stuck, and the
only way to unstuck it to start the car is to bang the starter somewhere way
under most pipes under the hood. We had to drop his van in the end, and walk
back to the car, something like two miles. You can imagine that it has ruined
my day off, we were gone for over three hours. He was fuming, and burst into an
unprecedented bully, blaming me for everything that was going wrong. I didn’t
say a word, but when we arrived home I told him, you know, you could have said
thank you that I came to pick you up, that I washed everything and passed the
vacuum, instead you shouted at me and attacked me for the last three hours. I
think I made my point, he went quiet. Still didn’t say thank you, still didn’t
admit how much I did to help him today, he went straight to bed after moaning
some more.
I have now become a master at shutting up and boiling
inside without reacting to his attacks, and I have to admit that it serves me
very well at work, as I am now able to suffer the most disgusting personal
attacks from my colleagues without exploding myself, keeping calm and still say
what I need to say softly whilst they are totally out of their mind and still
jumping up and down in front of me. I will not say that I will now be able to
keep such a cool exterior forever, like everyone else I, after all, only need
one more drop to finally go berserk myself, but at least I have gained some
sort of self control, even though this came at the cost of 100% compromise,
where I let these people walk all over me, insult me, shout at me, whilst I
bend and give up all my own personality or my own needs. I turned into a pussy.
However I feel more like someone who can distance himself from all these
conflicts, capable at the same time to analyse their shortcomings and judge
their actions. I also have a better edge over the outcomes of these events,
because whilst they moan, I can think and find the right answer, whilst they’re
already out of their minds, when usually I would also be and it would
degenerate into a outright war of verbal abuse on both sides.
And by the way, you might think: he passed the vacuum, big
deal! When you have six cats, one dog, three tortoises and a parrot, let me
assure you, within a day of clearing the carpet, there is not one single
Talking about the tortoises, I think I mentioned before
that they have much more sex than my partner and I, and as a result they laid
three eggs. We have been cooking them in the improvised incubator for almost
two months now, how long can it take for these monsters to come out of their
shells? The big killer is that somehow we do not believe they will ever be
born, and this could be a big waste of time and energy. However if they were
not healthy, apparently, the eggs would rot after a few days, and this has not
happened. These tortoises are very rare as well, they need to be registered
with the government as soon as they are born, highly classified stuff. We might
make a grand out of them, but Stephen will never be able to part with them, I
guess they will be so cute anyway, I would find it hard to let them go. We have
many animals, in a way they are our children, since gay couples are not exactly
allowed to adopt children or have them, whatever, I guess in everyone’s mind
gay people are still considered pedophiles, which is such a ridiculous idea, I
won’t even discuss it. Anyway, these tortoises would be the first ever babies
born under our roof, and as such, they are important children. Just have to
make sure the snake will not eat them, as he escapes all the time, the sneaky
slimy thing, and I’m always the one to find him and put him back in his cage.
I feel like writing a bit more of the Eclecticism, but it
is not easy to find new topics to talk about. It almost has to come naturally
to me, once something quite shocking happens in my life, then it is obvious
what I need to talk about. The Eclecticism gives me the chance to take a step
back and truly analyse a subject from a distance, with all the objectivity I
need. From it great truths might come out, unlike this journal which is just a
bunch of whinging without too much philosophy involved.
I find it
extraordinary that I have started four other books and wrote quite a lot
instead of finishing the damn novel Anna Maria, the most important book I have
ever written and might ever write. I can’t explain it, but then again, these
things cannot be rushed, it needs to come when I’m ready. Often some important
events in my life will influence the story I’m working on quite considerably,
and then I believe that it was great that I waited before writing it, that
somehow there was a reason why I was blocked, some more experience had to come
in. However I cannot sit on that argument too much, or else I could wait
another decade before finishing it. Finishing a book might be the most
difficult part of writing a book. Because until it is finished, then, it is not
really worth anything, it might as well not exist, because then it cannot see
the light of day, and could easily remain in a drawer for eternity.
I have
finished many books in my lifetime, and yet I cannot remember exactly how hard
it was to finish them, how much I had to pressure myself to do it, and how I
felt once it was finally over. Most of the time you spend over a year on such a
project, talking about having children, being in labour and abortion, this is
exactly what writing a book is all about. And the buzz you get once you have
written the last sentence, is indescribable. An aborted book is also painful,
because so much work has gone into it, and now you have to realise that these
months or years have been wasted. Fortunately I don’t think I have ever
suffered an abortion, I usually finish what I start. Because when I start, it
is already quite concrete in my mind, and the need is there for me to write it
all down. When I finish writing Anna Maria, I will celebrate properly, it will
require a bottle of pink
I am well
aware The Eclecticism II is not publishable, and that I have no other book in
French which could possibly interest a publisher, apart from what has already
been published. And so Anna Maria is my only and last hope. If it turns out
that my English is not good enough, since English for me is a second language,
and hence it cannot be by definition literary, then I’m fucked and will most
certainly go back to writing in French, a new novel, and then it cannot be
sci-fi because in French there is simply no market for science fiction, I would
never get published again.
Somehow I
feel so confident that I will once again be published, and yet I have a great
friend who has so many published books, and won so many awards, with a perfect
literary English from
I just finished writing Pride, for The Eclecticism II. So,
how do I feel? Proud, there’s no doubt about it. This is really why I have
become a writer, this kind of text that could truly have an impact in this
world. I don’t know where it comes from, I guess it was always at the back of
my mind, and yet finally it is all stated completely in a few pages, and it is
now so clear in my mind. I will never be fooled again, and without writing it,
I might have still be fooled and be proud of something other than myself and
lose control over my own destiny.
The
Eclecticism is another ball game altogether. This is something else, it is
moving beyond the traditional entertainment, the insignificant book that no one
would care if it existed or not. This is une littérature engagée, (engaged
literature?), it is taking clear position about a whole bunch of beliefs and
values, strong opinions, something this world lacks tremendously, that we are
all the same, we think all the same, we do all the same, we are one and only
one. No individuality, no democracy, no freedom of any kind. The Eclecticism is
something I can proud of, it will probably remain in my mind, the most
important book I will ever write, and yet, it didn’t exist two months ago, I
had no idea I could write 200 pages like that out of nowhere, I am amazed. I am
proud of what I can do, it is just a shame that I am the only one on this
planet capable of appreciating it, and that ultimately it is only for myself
that I lay these eggs. I guess these are things people have to find out and
realise for themselves. Without writing it down though, like I do, it must be
quite difficult. It becomes so clear after I have written it all down, suddenly
it makes sense, it is concrete, it is significant, it means something,
something big that I could not have understood otherwise.
And what
I can be most proud of, is that I am not a parrot. I never just repeat what I
hear here and there, it really is all coming from me, and that is what I feel
is rare in this day and age. Listening to journalists and TV presenters, it
seems that they are quite happy to simply repeat what they heard somewhere
else, and ultimately all new ideas and opinions only come from a few clued up
people in this world. Better one of them if you wish to have any sort of
impact, being capable of thinking for yourself and expressing opinions that are
truly coming from your heart. Otherwise, you might as well just shut up,
instead of serving the whole propaganda machine.
When I am
talking like that, like when I am writing a book like The Eclecticism II, I
feel so disconnected with a book like Crown Court Madhouse, or my job, or my
life in general, it is like I am another person altogether, the real me, what I
was meant to do, what I was meant to be. Anything else, everything else, is
bullshit, fake, unreal, not existing, definitely unimportant. This is how I can
still smile and be happy, even though I am sinking faster than the Titanic ever
did. This is why I don’t care if for more than a year now I didn’t have enough
money to buy anything or even eat something. This life is not mine, it is not
me, it is not my legacy for after I die.
It is
certainly premature for me to think in those terms, that I could somehow leave
any sort of legacy, but I can’t help it. Writing significant stuff is the
reason I gave to my existence, at this point it doesn’t matter if I am
recognised for it or not, if I am being read or not, or if I will ever be one
day. I don’t really care anymore, and I am being truthful now, otherwise I
would have stopped writing a long time ago. If I am proud of what I have
written, if I can read it over and over again and still learn something
worthwhile after reading it for an hundred times, then it is all worthwhile and
it is enough for me. No one told me a legacy had to be for everyone else but
myself, I did it, I know it, I’m proud of it, that is sufficient and I will die
happily.
In fact,
I could die right now and feel I have accomplished everything I set myself to
do. I could die proud right now, without writing another word. In fact, I could
die right now happily without even giving it a second thought about anything I
feel I may have achieved in this world. I am that disgusted with this life,
that it doesn’t matter whether I wrote a whole library or not, I don’t give a
shit anymore, I don’t give a shit about anything. I’ve been ready to die since
the very second I was born. I hate this life, I hate this existence, and to be
honest, these questions of being proud or trying to achieve anything in life
makes me sick. I would perhaps die more happily if I had never given this any
thought at all or achieved anything.
I don’t
understand why I have not committed suicide years ago, that is the true mystery
of my life. I don’t give a shit about anything, I couldn’t care less about
anyone, even myself, I welcome death like the bit of fresh air I desperately
needed all my life. I am incapable of appreciating this world, this universe,
my existence. It is not only because I cannot make any sense of it, that I
cannot find anything worthwhile or significant enough to justify my existence,
I’m just tired and bored with it all, I have always been.
I welcome
death, I wish it would come this very minute, I crave for the day that I will
go to bed and never wake up the next day, and I sure hope that any sort of
consciousness will die with the body, cos’ I couldn’t stand continuing any sort
of awareness or existence beyond what seems to be.
I never
felt the need to be aware, to think, to exist. I want to stop all that, I want
to die for good, I do not wish to exist in any shape or form. I am tired, I am
bored, I want to die. I always felt like it, I cannot commit suicide, I can
only hope it comes quickly, before I do something insane.
Life is
not worth living in my opinion, and I don’t think anything else like fame and
fortune could change anything to my train of thought. Not even love. This is
how desperate I truly am, this is how serious I am. There is just no hope for
me, and I can’t explain any of it.
You may
think this is sad, but it leaves me completely indifferent. So how do I really care
about a fucking job in a fucking Crown Court, or recognition, or pride of self-accomplishments,
of having written a few books, whether they will turn out to be significant or
not? I care not at all. I don’t give a shit.
23 July 2007
As I predicted, the fat bitch came back from holiday and I
will still be on Grad Fees for while longer. The excuse this time is that the
Line Manager has back problem, and so the Pakistani man has to do the Line
Manager’s job, the fat bitch has to do the Pakistani’s job, and I have to do
the fat bitch’s job, with two NG forms and a bunch of committals (making new
files). This sort of management is called apparently reactive management, as
opposed to proactive. I was told in the office this morning, after I made it
clear I was unhappy about the situation.
I told the Scottish man that this sort of excuse could not
go on forever, as it is certain that someone else will go on holiday soon, as
it is the middle of the summer. And then what, I remain on Grad Fees forever? He
said a few more days, until the Line Manager comes back. It seems to me that
the Line Manager might never be back, that now he got something like
As usual,
as soon as the Line Manager disappears, the Pakistani man cannot wait to take
me off the Grad Fees to do anything else, and I hate that, because if you leave
the grad fees alone for more than two days, there are so many claims to check
and files to find, that you are already sinking.
I don’t
know what else I can do for now but accept my fate, I have tried every tricks
in the book to get off the grad fees, something no one will accept to be
responsible for for more than a month in a year. By the time I’m off it, I will
have been doing for a whole year, the worse job possible to be given to anyone
in any Crown Court. And the worst part of it is I may never prove to them how
efficient I was at it, because it seems no one will ever take it over from me,
and they’re still convinced I can’t do the job, somehow. Since this week it is
unlikely that anyone will work on grad fees, they will be proved right, because
within a week we will be back to square one and probably be back to paying them
in three months time instead of the 20 days required by law. Who invented
reactive management? I hope he didn’t get a Nobel Prize for his discovery. Some
planning would not go amiss.
It is now
the evening. Never mind all the game plans you can come up with, you always get
affected by the situation, and today I was not in a good mood. I launched into
the first woman on the phone who was rude to me, a Manager at a local
Magistrates’ Court incapable of sending us a few Legal Aid orders that I have
been asking for over a month, calling every three days, and then she turned
around, said that I was rude, she said she would contact the Top Manager of my
Court to complain about me, and she still has not helped, and she still has no
intention to help me. I told her that if they were spending less time
complaining about us to our superiors, and spent more time doing their job, we
wouldn’t have a problem. Those were my exact words. It may seem like nothing on
paper, but the effect at the other end of the phone line seemed to have been quite
powerful. Unfortunately for her I didn’t swear, and, unlike my Line Manager, I
didn’t tell her: Fuck Off Fucking Bitch! He got away with it many times, so I
guess I will get away with this. And yet, it has added tremendously to an
already stressful day, and now, I can no longer contact that Magistrates’ Court
on any pretext, ever again. Which means, all those counsels will never get
paid, all those solicitors will never get paid, unless they somehow can get
that Legal Aid order from that Court. Good luck to them! It is the second time
this month that someone from that Magistrates’ Court hangs up the phone on me,
the first time I had not even lost my cool. Meaning, stress must running very
high in that work environment in that Court. Better leave them alone.
Somehow I
doubt my mood and attitude will get better as the days go on this week, until I
start training the fat bitch and finally get rid of the fucking grad fees and
standard fees.
Tonight I
have to sit down and read three brochures about the new pay deal offered by the
new Ministry of Justice, to decide if I want to keep my old terms and
conditions and salary, or if I wish to opt-in using the A option, or the B
option. Sounds very simple doesn’t it? I have already read the 40 pages before,
and the 22 and 11 pages of the smaller brochures, and the bundle of sheets that
came with all of this. I still have no clue what they are talking about, and I
am not the only one, the whole office today had no clue what to do, none of us
could understand anything about that new deal, including all the senior
managers who were joking that if we understand any of it, to let them know.
The New
Deal offered by the new Ministry of Justice is so complicated, it can only mean
one thing, it’s a trap, a big one, and you will let go just about everything by
moving to the new deal instead of keeping the old one, unfortunately they make
opting-in an obligation, because it gives you a bit more money now in salary,
but probably in the long term you will lose big time. There is no way to know,
as none of it makes sense. So for
I
immediately called their helpline, the man at the other hand quickly told me a warning,
that he could not tell me what to choose, that in fact, it was as if he had
been told not to tell us anything, to let us remain in complete darkness about
what that new deal really means. In the end I was able to get him to tell me
that in my case, whether I go for Option A or B makes no difference. When I
asked if I should fill out Option A or B, and said he couldn’t say. And now I
am worried, because I feel he is not telling me everything, hoping somehow that
I will choose the wrong option. I hope the Scottish Guy will have read it again
tonight and that he will let me know what option to go for. Otherwise I will
have to risk it and go for Option A. It could be a big mistake and I could miss
some raise sometimes this year or next year.
Maybe I
should file out Option B. If it is all the same, or is it? I don’t know, I
can’t understand anything they are talking about in all the information they
sent us. And if I cannot understand it, and if the Senior Managers cannot
understand it, then no one can understand it. Which means, there is a little
team of clever accountants somewhere in the Ministry of Justice laughing all
the way to the bank, as most probably half the civil servants will choose the
wrong options and will in the end lose all their money. This is how the government
works in
24 July 2007
Days are getting longer, more boring, more stressful,
because I lack focus. I am already being a lot of other things to do instead of
concentrating on grad fees, and the result is that I’m no longer doing
anything, I am not motivated, I have no self set targets and goals anymore,
hence I leave early. I am once again prevented from entering grad fees anyway,
for two days now, might continue until the end of the week from the look of it,
and the two NG forms fro the appeal cases I prepared yesterday were full of
mistakes. My Line Manager would have corrected them without telling me about
it, a few files went into the wrong pile, but the Pakistani man made a big deal
out of it, and I have to keep all my self control in order not to explode. It
also adds a lot on my incompetence file, which seems to grow more and more as
the days pass. All my hard work, all my overtime, have been eliminated in a few
mistakes I made, and if they were to assess now if I should get a bonus, in the
new bonus scheme, and assess if I need improvement, or if I am adequate or
excellent, they would rate me as improvement needed, when in all, it is
obviously the lack of training that is to be blamed here. And just to make sure
it is all unfair, all my colleagues who do nothing all day would be rated
excellent work, because if you don’t do anything, you’re less likely to make
any mistake and attract attention to yourself.
So it has
been two stressful and long boring days. I lack sleep, wrote yesterday until 2
am, the entry about immortality. I thought I would find much to say about it, I
did better than I thought I would, even though it goes all over the place and
there is no coherent argument in there. As long as I am writing something, I
don’t really care at this time. Considering that I should not be writing because
I have no time, and that no one asked me to write those, then it doesn’t
matter. No one has any expectation from me, and yet, they are all ready to
destroy and criticise me, forgetting the larger picture, the context.
I met
Stephen today at court, as I did yesterday. In the cold light of day, outside
our fetid flat environment, he looks really sick, as if he was about to die,
and yet, he sleeps three times more than I. Must be the alcohol and some other
things, I think we are overdue for a long holiday, preferably one where we
would only have to look at trees and the night sky, with nothing else to do. It
would take us at least three weeks to decompress from all that has happened in
the last few months.
The only
positive thing at work is the engineer fixing the computers, who has been there
since last Thursday. His name is Vivianne. This is not a typo, he is a she. The
first time she showed up, she has been the talk of the whole department. I am
the only one who did not burst out laughing about the fact that he was a
transgender, and I had to remind a few that we were no longer in school, and
bullying or ridiculing people was not acceptable.
It turns
out that Vivianne is quite clever, philosophical, intellectual, speaks French,
is from Belgium, and all in all, the most interesting person I have met in
years. I wouldn’t mind having such a friend in my life right now, but I guess
this will not be possible, as she lives in
I made
the mistake, the first time I met Vivianne, to call her Monsieur. That was
right after my big speech to the whole office about growing up a bit and show
to people that we were not so ignorant. I felt bad about it, but Vivianne
realised quickly that it was not meant as a nasty comment, just a simple
mistake on my part. But what a stupid mistake. I hope she doesn’t feel like I
am ignoring her, but if I speak to her for more than 3 minutes at a time, the
Pakistani man starts to freak out. How quickly new managers find their hole and
become monsters overnight, will never cease to amaze me. However I cannot
afford to have any problem with him, because I already had enough problems with
too many people, and then it will become obvious that I am the problem, I
respond very badly to any sort of authority, and if I don’t get it my way, I
become a stroppy kid stamping his feet on the ground. I know I have an attitude
problem with authority, I wish I was as laid back as everyone else and accept
my miserable fate just like all those drones who never even express an opinion
about anything. I just can’t, we cannot change our nature, we just need to live
with it and repress it whenever we can.
25 July 2007
As planned, the Manager at that Magistrates’ Court, with
whom I feel I have been only assertive on the phone when she was downright rude
from even before I called, because of the sudden flows of faxes I had sent
requesting Legal Aid Orders they never sent to us in over a month period, has
done her best to get me sacked. She has written a letter quoting verbatim
everything I had said, amplifying it all to make it sound worst. I have a great
memory when it comes to what I say, I could recite by heart everything she said
and everything I said, and yet, despite having everyone in the office having
hear what I said, the Scottish guy only spoke to the Pakistani man. I don’t
know what he told him, I know he said he had been surprised by my tone. Whether
the Scottish man deduce from it that I was rude, I can’t say. It is on minute
details that he is trying to get me, trying to catch me on lies, when I have
only told him the truth and had to remind him what I said on a few occasions.
The Scottish guy seems determined to push this as far as he can, we have
already spent two whole days on the matter, involving all the top managers of
the both courts, as if they had nothing better to do, me being assertive on the
phone to a woman who was rude to me and refusing to send us what is required by
law. Well done, the pettiness of some people have no limits. The result is that
now I will definitely never call that Magistrates’ Court again, and fuck it if
a few defendants end up in prison as a consequence, at this point I really
don’t care. Though in this case the result is simply that many counsels and
solicitors won’t get paid, so who cares anyway? They should have received that
legal aid order, they should have sent it to us, especially when they know the
Magistrates’ Court are incapable of sending these orders to the Crown Courts. I
guess the real culprit here is the way the Legal Aid system has been designed,
and hopefully this will change soon.
Ultimately, was I rude to her? And does it matter? She was
rude, I was rude back, and now she’s trying to cost me my job, or at least a
warning, which would means under the New Deal, no bonus or raises for me for at
least a year. If I had been clever, I would have complained to her Top Manager
whilst she was complaining to mine. I had every right to, especially that I
still haven’t received those orders. And then she would have been in as much
shit as I am. However I am not like that, I am not as petty as her.
I can
only hope that such behaviour from her will not go unpunished somehow, that if
she is that petty, somehow it will get her into trouble until she
self0destruct, instead of destroying the career of others like that. I bet she
is a right bitch and that no one under her can stand her. I also believe the
stress is running high at the Magistrates’ Court and that employees don’t
remain for long. I have already heard rumours to that effect. And now,
unsatisfied to create chaos in her own court, she’s only too willing to
continue her Destructivism in other courts as well. I wouldn’t be surprised if
one day someone kills her, I would never, I can still keep my self-control,
others might not be able to. So ultimately she must be leading a dangerous
life, just for being who she is, a right bitch.
And now I am going to drink myself to death on a Wednesday
night as a consequence, and go to bed so damn late writing all night, that
tomorrow I should be a zombie and make a few more mistakes in the
administration of all these cases. Who cares, not me, not anymore.
All of this need not happen without me learning something,
so I will perhaps start by writing an entry in Destructivism under the title Pettiness.
I have observed it way too much recently to by-pass it. I hope the readers will
recognise themselves and think twice before wasting the so much time on complaining
when there is no reason to. Sometimes I feel that all Top Managers and CEOs do
only that, deal with petty complaints of that sort. This is the only time we
hear from them, and they appear to be delegating everything else they may have
to do. So I can only conclude that all day long this is what they do,
justifying the behaviour of some employees or decisions made that are not very
popular with whomever.
I have seen worse, I have gone throw worse, I also feel
justified. If I had been downright rude without good reason, I would say so
here. As it stands, I feel this has pettiness written all over it, and I’m sure
the top manager of the Magistrates’ Court knows the bitch that Manager is, and
must know she is not justified in her complain. However, unlucky for me, this
is the first time that Magistrates’ Court complain about us, whilst every
single other Magistrates’ Court we are dealing with have complained repeatedly
about us in the last few months. Unfortunately for that woman, in all she has
carefully quoted about what I said, there was nothing that sounded outright
rude or unacceptable. It is all in the tone, and that cannot be translated to
paper. It can only be confirmed by my own Acting Manager who already confirmed
that my tone was a bit hard.
I don’t know what the consequences will be, now. All I know
is that it adds a lot to an already hard and stressful week, and that right now
I feel so much anger, I could easily kill someone. I also certainly do not feel
like working anymore, or doing overtime, or killing myself on the job. I know
now that no matter how hard you work, it is impossible for any Manager to
actually conceptualise it, to see it, to recognise it. And so, whether I do
nothing or work very hard, no one can tell. I might as well do nothing, the
result will be the same. It is after all my determination in getting those
Legal Aid Orders that got me into trouble in the first place. If I had done
just like everyone else, and didn’t care about paying these people, I would not
be in trouble now.
It is totally useless to try to be efficient in an
environment where everyone else is not only inefficient, they don’t want to
hear about efficiency. They’ve given up years ago, and they will not rest until
any new employee decide to act the same. They have decided that they would not
do anything, and if you try to push them even slightly, they would react the
way that bitch did, they will complain against you, get you sacked, and then
they can return to doing nothing all day long. I wonder where they find the
energy to actually complain, I lack that kind of energy, as I am always too
busy trying to do my job. I am truly sorry to say that in the Civil Service, I
appear to be the only cunt who’s got any sort of professional conscience. The
sooner I get rid of my professional conscience, the more successful I will be,
the farthest I will go.
I can now confirm how low my opinion is of the whole Legal
System in
Whether they are old and about to retire, or young and
freshly out of dropping out of school, it is my observation that everyone who
ends up in the Civil Service are incompetent, brainless, with no desire to do
anything with the desire to do anything in order to achieve their ultimate
inefficiency, and somehow very clever at insuring that it will remain the same
at every level. And so, whatever the government could do to try to make them
more productive, it will never work. Nothing in any management book that could
be applied to try to get something out of these people would work. They will
fight it, in the end, they will win. They will doss around doing nothing all
day long until the very last day of humanity, no matter what.
I can see, I am not blind, that the New Deal of the New
Ministry of Justice recognises that fact. Everything in there is designed to
motivate the civil servants to work harder. And yet it will definitely fail,
because the one working hard, are stopped by the ones who want to do nothing.
The ones working hard in the end are the ones getting punished and will eventually
leave the Ministry of Justice, until it is filled with people who have the same
lazy mentality. And somehow, if standards constantly continue to remain so low,
no one will ever suspect that there is anything wrong, they will assume it is
fine and normal. After all, no government ever expected anything great coming
out of any civil service at any rate, which explains why they always underpaid
them so badly. I don’t believe for a second that giving these people higher
salaries would solve anything, until the underachievers are kicked out,
something apparently impossible to do. And so it will remain that the civil
service will always be incompetent and incapable of achieving anything. No one
in their right mind, with any intelligence or aptitude, will ever work for the
civil service. If they do, they will be destroyed within months. There is
nothing attracting them there in the first place, and if they end up there by
mistake, everything will work towards them being kicked out the door at the
first opportunity. It is very sad, but it is a fact. I know just the man who
could solve all their problems, he was my boss when I worked in Westminster, he
would clean up that place if he were to become the Top Manager there, I can
assure you. I could also do the job if I had any authority, but no one would be
clever enough to recognise, though the lies, that I am actually the most
competent employee of the whole Crown Court I am working at. I defy anyone to
prove me wrong on that point. Not only I would get everyone to do the job they
are supposed to do, I know I would achieve it without alienating them all and
destroying them in the process. I’m fairly certain I would be more successful
than the actual managers, but then again, anyone could be more successful than
them, because at the moment no one is doing any work, except me of course, and
see how I am rewarded.
I can’t believe it took me a transgender or drag queen
working for the subcontracting company dealing with our IT, to realise that not
one of my colleagues had any intelligence, culture or knowledge about anything,
and how much I craved intelligent conversations in the first place. I am not
even asking for intelligent conversations, ultimately I could survive on common
sense, but that in the civil service is also out of the question. I am dealing
with a bunch of irrational people who cannot see any global picture, they get
stuck on details and can remain stuck in loops forever. As a result I am too
stuck in a multitude of psychological and physical time loops with no hope to
escape. I am now as low as the best of them. And I feel powerless to change any
of it.
I must be getting drunk, I am thinking of putting this
online on my English website right now. Hoping that one morning, maybe, just
maybe, I might just keep it there forever instead of deleting it once more. I
am at the point where I don’t care about any consequence over my pseudo-career
in the Ministry of Justice. Right now It doesn’t feel like there is any justice
within the Ministry of Justice, and there is nothing on the horizon telling me
that it is about to change anytime soon, despite the New Deal, which in the
end, will only complicate matters and bring about an outright war within the
Ministry. You can never reason with an unreasonable people, you have to be more
clever than they are. Even though they are useless at anything, when comes the
time to self preserve themselves, their jobs and their laziness, somehow their
survival instinct kicks in and they will get it their way no matter what.
It is not even 19h42 yet, and yet all the events of today
have already produced some concrete results. I just finished writing the entry
for Pettiness in my book Destructivism. This entry now justifies the title of
that book, how great is that? I’m quite please with the result, of how
something so petty and selfish could actually bring about some creativity,
something tangible, something concrete. Undeniable arguments about what
humanity is all about, and justify how dark I perceive humanity to be. How
could I ever be some sort of idealistic person, when all that I confront
everyday are personal wars, for such petty reasons, it is laughable. And yet,
based on this pettiness, we go to war, we annihilate a good fraction of the
people living on this planet, and yet, it always seems all justified, that we
were right to act in such a way. Wars on a personal level cannot fail to
reflect the wars at a collective level. Except that somehow, at a collective
level, there is no more rule or law that applies, we can be as wild and
destructive as one can wish, when at a personal level, we would have to face a
tribunal, a trial, and punishment. There is no such thing when we act
collectively, and so we continue to go to war and kill a significant part of
this humanity, and no one cares anyway, so why should I? I don’t, I don’t’ give
a fuck, because I am way too busy being worried about one single bitch who
declare a war on me today, a bitch I have never met and will never meet, and
yet now I am fighting for my job, for my existence, my chance to by a damn
bread next month. It angers me so much, I could kill just about anyone right
now standing in my way. And this is how wars start. There is no turning back
when you reach that point, that stage, you will finish the war, you will kill
them all.
I
think that what it is that I have learnt from that transgender Vivianne, is the
Latin mentality, which has been burning inside of me for so long, and is such
an alien concept to anyone in
So
playing mind games with me is very dangerous, because I am always ready to give
it all up to prove my point, just like I would expect French people to do,
whilst these people have been used for too long to sheep, people who will
endure anything before a squeak is heard from within their very heart. I would
be the type to take a gun out and shoot them in the head, whilst they’ve been
used to people who will break down on their knees and cry, asking for more
pain, punishment and fewer rights.
I always
take them by surprise, because I will not fall for their mind games, I will
always put everything on the line, risking everything. As I have nothing to
lose, why not? As a gay person, only myself ever enters any equation. It does
not seem that it is the case for most of them though, it seems that they have
everything to lose, and have the time to think about all the consequences
before they act. No Latin mentality person would stop to consider that kind of
stuff. Do what’s right right now, think about the consequences later, sort it
all out later. Don’t let anyone give you any shit or exploit any sort of inner
fear they know you must be suffering from. Tell them to fuck off, re-assess
your situation after the war.
No one is
prepared for that kind of mentality in
When will
these people ever learn? They cannot, because most of you are so afraid and
weak. If you were all like me, they would learn fast and never try these tricks
again. Shame on you. You have to learn to act a bit more like the Latin
mentality would dictate you should respond to any sort of mind game or threat. It
is all or nothing, and be prepared to accept the dramatic consequences. There
is always a solution on the horizon, I have never failed to find answers to all
my questions and problems. Just trust destiny, there is always a way out, and
it always turns out to be better than whatever you could have suffered
previously.
And now I
am finally completely ready for tomorrow. If they give me any more shit about
that that letter that bitch has written in that Magistrates’ Court, in order to
get me sacked, I will turn around and tell them frankly: all right if you feel
this is serious enough to warrant forgoing how hard I work for you in the last
few months compared with everyone else, let’s discuss my departure date. And
then let’s see how serious that shit really is, how powerful a fucking stranger
in another Court can be. I will not let them play their little mind games until
I capitulate in my little corner, apologising for something I should not be
apologising about. Let’s be ready to risk everything, every time, and be ready
to accept the consequences if they decide to call your bluff, because in the
end, I am never bluffing. Let’s see how serious this really is, let’s bring it
in perspective. Is it worth my leaving this job or not? If you feel that way,
then fine, I will leave. If not, and we all know it is not the case, then leave
me alone and shut that stupid bitch up somehow. You know she’s playing a game,
you know I am not, so don’t give me any shit, because I will not tolerate it.
Yeah,
that is my course of action for tomorrow. No more shit. I have told you my
version of event, she told you her version of events, you heard my acting Line
Manager upon the matter, there is nothing left for me to listen to or suffer
from you. The mind games that bitch is playing is just that, mind games, and I
will not be part of it. Sack me now or forget it and move on. She will not
succeed in her pettiness, because I am not afraid, I am ready at any time to
sacrifice everything I worked so hard for. If you could not recognise it, if
you were blind to it, then so be it, I will have nothing more to do with you.
That is
the right answer, that is the way to react to bullshit. And I will do just that
tomorrow, just watch me. Always be ready to sacrifice everything at anytime, so
others can see the big picture and realise the pettiness of it all. If they
fail to see it, so be it, move on. This is the only to deal with small minded
people. I bet I can find a new job paying as much as that anyway within a
month. Just have to delete most of my CV in order to achieve that. For God’s
sake, I would earn more anyway cleaning the streets, the civil service is
really not worth fighting for. At any rate, at that kind of salary, no one
should have the right to give me any shit. Tomorrow could be my last day in the
civil service. Great! I can’t wait to put an end to my misery!
Gosh, I
have never felt so strong than right now. I just wished I was still under the
influence of alcohol when I will enter that Crown Court tomorrow… At the end of
the day it is that bitch’s words against mine. No matter how the Pakistani guy
could have backstabbed me, I do not believe he would lie. And so, the issue is
no longer that bitch in another court. The issue, the problem, the struggle, is
between me and the Scottish guy. So he needs to understand that I will play his
mind games, that I am quite ready to sacrifice everything upon the matter, and
that if he does not drop it right now, that is it, I am out of here. I will not
suffer, any longer, any kind of mind game or shit. I specifically moved from
the commercial world to the civil service for that very reason, if it is to
continue in that safe haven, I might as well be working in the world of
conferences and make a fortune, no matter the shit that will come my way. Tomorrow
I will be merciless: leave me alone or I leave within a month. What is it going
to be? You decide. After all that I have gone through in
So now I
have a plan of action, shame it took half a bottle of Vodka to get the answer.
When the Scottish guy calls me in his office, I will not remain there for two
hours like today, it will be five minutes. I will tell him that I won’t back
down. That woman has a pea in her bonnet, she freaked out when she saw 30 faxes
coming her way asking for Legal Aid Orders, and now she is trying to get away
with not doing any of it, when she is required by law. She has amplified a
simple conversation that was quite assertive, I admit, but it won’t work. She
is wrong, she has to send me those representation orders, and I will remain as
strong as I should be. If you do not agree with this version of event, I will
leave within a month. She will have won, she will not have to send us any
representation orders for years to come. Efficiency will do with my departure,
but who really cares about that? No one I suspect, this is the civil service
after all, isn’t it? Thank you for having inspired me a few pages, a few books
in fact, I guess in the end this is all that was required from you. Now it is
time to move on. No regrets. I have done and achieve what I came here to do and
achieve, beyond that I don’t give a shit.
Right
course of action, I will refuse to talk about it anymore, especially that by
talking more I only give them more fuel to accuse me of something. He knows the
big picture, never mind about the details. Now he is free to do whatever he
wants with this little crisis, I don’t care about the consequences. I will not
debate details, you decide if it is worth for me to lose my job over this or
not, and that is all. Let me know your decision, I am quite ready to accept the
outcome, but I will not discuss it further. This is how pettiness should be
dealt with, by not giving it any more attention than it really deserves.
And
tomorrow I should also make a point of leaving at 16h30, no more overtime. I
will also leave at 16h30 on Friday. No longer will I break my back for blind
people incapable of seeing all the hard work I have done for them. And of
course, this means the beginning of the end, as this will alienate them
further. I have to find another job, and I will, somehow. I should set myself a
goal to apply to at least 10 new jobs this weekend, and see what happens. No
loyalty is required for people ready to backstab you at every turn, and who
have never been loyal to you in the first place. It is not enough to just give
you a salary. They deserve what they get.
Tomorrow this Scottish guy will be facing a worthy
opponent, as I will not be willing to listen, I will tell him that I am
stopping this pettiness right here right now and will not discuss it any
further. Whatever decision they want to make out of it, I will accept it and
that will be the end of it. I have nothing to lose, do they? We’ll find
out.
I’m so
pleased that all of this happened, because without it, I would never have
written my entry about pettiness in my book Destructivism. And to have acquired
enough experience in order to write such an entry, is priceless. Anything I
might have to suffer or go through as a consequence, does not really matter. It
will not make me rich at any rate, but I am proud of it nonetheless. And that is
what being a spy within the mist of a great institution is all about, that all
this pettiness is not wasted, it brings in me some creativity, some ideas and
observations about human nature that otherwise I would miss completely.
It helps
understand human nature, find solutions that perhaps will help escape
self-destruction. I have no doubt that we have already initiated self-destruct
a long time ago, and yet, it would be nice to know how, before we simply all
return to nothingness. That is what I mean by considering the whole picture,
instead of being stuck on insignificant details.
I know of
only one of my past managers capable of saving this planet, he is now on sick
leave for God knows how long. Fuck! Where is my Line Manager when I need him
the most? I will have self-destruct before his return. Didn’t take long for all
the other vultures around him to annihilate his management style. One week and
a half exactly. And that is also how long it took me to destroy my future in
that job. It tells you a lot about management and how incompetent people end up
there, and can only bring destruction in their wake without realising it.
God, no
one has any clue about anything in this world, no wonder we will bring about
the end of the world and humanity within my lifetime.
At some point today I went to the toilets for a good 10
minutes, I was trying to calm myself as I could feel I was about to explode. I
was wondering, how can I achieve that, see al of this for all it really is, a
game, a joke, and not take life so seriously. I went back into the office not
hoping for any miracle. But a quick talk with the transsexual Vivianne brought
me back to some sort of sanity, that was just before the shit hit the fan and
that woman complained against me to the top manager. And then, of course, there
was no more hope over the horizon.
Tomorrow I will have to be strong, and show them that there
are consequences to their destructive mind games. I will immediately request a
week off as soon as possible, meaning next week. If they refuse, they will
again owe me something, and somehow it might make it easier in my mind, to go
through one more week of shit just for the sake of it. I know the shit cannot
fail to hit the fan many more times before the end of next week, and that it
will be small consolation that I had predicted it and tried to prevent it, trying
to avoid it somehow by taking a week off, and they refused.
Somehow I
will get them to confirm me a week off as soon as possible, because I’m
desperate for it. I need to sleep for a whole week just to cope with the shit I
suffered from them this week alone. Otherwise, it is my resignation they will
get, and I have no doubt they don’t really care either way, and will never,
ever, feel any regrets after I’m gone. They failed to recognise a hard working
employee, I don’t know how, and I doubt they will ever recognise that fact even
if I am replaced by an incompetent moron, as it is most likely to be the case.
I guess I
was expecting too much from them, I can only conclude that they are more
brainless than I ever thought possible. It is amazing to say the least, but
what can I do? There is no hope for any of them, which explains why they are where
they are now, and how they could have sustained themselves in these jobs for
more than a decade or two. We’re not from the same universe, that is all. I
don’t belong there, but I guess that in my case, I don’t belong anywhere, and
they in return, could belong anywhere, as everywhere is the same pettiness and
selfishness I have witnessed, whatever the country I was in. There is really no
hope for humanity. No one is looking for happiness, peace, freedom. In fact,
any one I ever worked with pretty much worked hard to make sure there would
never be any peace, freedom or happiness in this world. I can’t explain it,
except that pettiness and selfishness destroy any of those ideals.
Oh dear, how could I ever bring any happiness to any of my
readers, leading such a negative existence? When do you have to stop and wonder
if the problem is not yourself? Perhaps I take life much too seriously. Maybe I
was born with a negative attitude and I am ready to explode at any given
moment, even when the moment does not require such a reaction, such an
emotional burst. How can I become peaceful? Laid back? Lazy? Just like everyone
else? How? Is true that no one can change its nature? Am I condemned to walk
into nightmare after nightmare for the rest of my life? Is this life really
worth it then? Will we not all be better off if I were to end it? Is there any
point for me to continue living like this? At the end of the day, I have to
admit that I may ultimately be responsible for everything that is happening to
me. That I may very well have rude with that bitch, never mind who was rude
first and who had the energy to complain about it to make one more point. It is
known that everyone in this society will not stop until they have total
control, until everyone is just simple sheep obeying all their smallest whims.
And as soon as someone confronts them about it, they go into hyper panic mode
until the deviant is brought back to reason or is kicked out for good, so they
can continue their own little path of power. Should I descend to their level,
accept authority as soon as I hear the word Manager? Or should I fight every
single Ego trip I encounter? Who’s being hurt in the end? Not them, they’re way
too protected, only pawns like me can suffer any consequence. And hence, if I
were to become the sheep, filled with humility and surrender that is required
of me, maybe I would stand of chance to peace and happiness. Maybe there is
something wrong with me, perhaps I am not ready enough to give up my own
whatever to the next person in authority, when I should. Maybe I can learn to
be sedated like everyone else, even without drugs. Maybe this is what I need to
learn in this world, before I just decide to unilaterally end my existence. Or,
just as I thought, perhaps for me there is only one solution, to end this
existence, because I do not capable to fit in anywhere, I don’t think I was
designed or born to function properly in all these situations and environments.
I think I am the problem here, that I deserve all the consequences of my actions,
and yet, I know that I could not live any other way, that I will not change in
order to become that I am not and could never be. And so I am condemned to live
a nightmarish existence and alienate everyone along the way. Can I accept that?
Is there no solution for me? Like isolating myself completely from everyone? Is
suicide the only solution for me? It always comes back to that. I wish I would just
do it and be over with it, be over with everything. If I were to meet that
woman who is trying her best to destroy me right now, I think I would not
hesitate to kill her, I don’t think I could stop myself, because I feel this is
all she deserves. I am still moral and ethical enough to not upon my deep
desires, but then, there is only one other solution, to end my own life. I
think I should give it more serious thought and start to think about ways to
achieve it. I think it is clear now that whatever the job I will get, I will
put myself through the same shit and will always be depressed. As I cannot find
any solution in order to get myself out of these situations, and fail to see
how I would ever be able to escape that fate, I guess that there is only one
remaining solution. I cannot accept this way of life, I will never fit in
anywhere. When something like this happens, a real crisis, it reminds me who I
really am and how I am just dysfunctional in society. I don’t think there is
any hope for me.
27 July 2007
After my last entry, you would expect me, two days later,
to tell you worse tales. In fact, the very next day it was as if nothing ever
happened, I had two last long and boring days, didn’t hear anything about it
except they asked me a list of the representation orders I needed, and I got
them all the next day. Despite the fact that I nearly ruined my career over a
two minute phone call, I can only observe that it brought great results and I
doubt we will ever again have to wait more than 10 minutes to get an order from
that Magistrates’ Court. So in all, it paid off in a way, and no one can accuse
me of being inefficient, in two minutes I unblocked a serious communication
problem between our Crown Court and that Magistrates’ Court that has gone on
for years. And now, all those counsels and those solicitors will get paid
instead of getting back in the post yet again the claims they sent us something
like a dozen times before getting the message that without that bit of paper
that no one on this Earth can get a copy of, they will never get paid.
I guess
the lesson here is that you do not achieve anything in this world without
stirring a lot of shit, putting your neck on the line, be ready to sacrifice
everything over the slightest detail, and there you are, finally you succeed in
eliminating a big chunk of our bureaucracy that has been alienating the whole
legal system for decades. There will of course be consequences for me, probably
next time I bark at another bitch down the phone, because obviously I can only
get away with that kind of crisis once or twice, but at least I not only got my
orders, I have insured we will get all the other ones in the future.
This
panic has highlighted a big problem they have been discussing for years in high
level meetings between the top managers of the Magistrates’ Court and the Crown
Courts, something that they never succeeded in making it happen. It took a
nobody a bit too hysterical about doing a good job, to pick up the phone and
tell them to do their job, creating a hurricane between the courts, and now the
problem is sorted. After complaining about me the way they did, I think the
answer they got was that it was true that they simply ignored all our requests
for Legal Aid Orders, and hence, perhaps they were not as white as they claimed
to be. They probably thought they would get me sacked overnight their desire to
do nothing about it would continue forever, now they are so afraid we might
actually be complaining about them with good reason, they are doing their job. I
just hope I didn’t destroy myself in the process.
I speak
like if I had just saved a thousand lives from starvation out of a poor African
corner, when all I really achieved is so insignificant, it makes me want to
cry. And yet, I receive desperate letters from counsels and solicitors telling
me to pay them or else they will go bankrupt. When they are owe
I think
the whole point of this exercise with the Magistrates’ Court, was for me to
finally understand that I have been rude to that bitch, that I am responsible
for the crisis that ensued, and probably she had every right to complain about
me to all the top managers of all the courts around a radius of
The
minute I realised that I was the bitch here, that it was I who had an attitude
problem and needed to correct that sort of unacceptable behaviour, suddenly
everything changed. When I woke up the next day, the sky was blue for the first
time since the beginning of the summer, there were birds in the trees and
leaves, when I could have sworn that the day before, it was like winter even
though we are right in the middle of the summer. Something tells me that if I
had not got the message, the next day would have been bloom and gloom. It is as
if I changed timeline, that somehow after writing over 30 pages upon the
subject, and drinking a whole bottle of Vodka, and understanding that I was
wrong, I switched to another parallel universe where it was as if none of it
ever happened. Something tells me that if I had not accepted that, this story
would have gone worse the very next day and I would still be in crisis two days
later.
I cannot
change my nature, no matter what. I am gay, I tired to changed that when I was
young, I was unsuccessful. I am impulsive and ready to explode at any moment,
and can sometime be very rude, no matter what I could devise to change that, I
will never change. It is like my neighbour next door who always get mixed up in
fights and end up in courts and prison for another GBH or ABH, Actual Bodily
Harm, they simply cannot change their nature, they are prone to explode at any
moment, especially when drunk. An anger management course might help keep it
under control for a while, but at some point it will explode again and
hopefully you will not be anywhere near them when it happens. In a way I feel
very bad for people born with such a nature, because it is out of their
control, and if you push them too far, as life always do in any circumstance,
that is it, they simply lose it and can only regret it the next day when they
face the consequences.
So what
is the lesson I really learned here? That I need to change my attitude, need to
keep that bad character under tight control, or that I am like I am and I
cannot change who I am? And so, have I really learned something important here
or not? Because I know who I am, I have known for a long time that I cannot
change, so what’s the point? And unfortunately my problem is not severe enough
that it requires help from professionals, it is not like I had beaten the shit
out of that bitch in that Magistrates’ Court, I never even sworn at her. On
paper it looked like I had been a nice sheep, though it was all in the tone. There
is no denying that it drove her off the wall, and could have led to my
dismissal, and might still if they get a second complaint soon about me. Well,
I guess this is how I learn stuff without professional help, I am unlikely to
explode again at a bitch at the other end of the line for at least a few weeks
and months. Efficiency and reducing bureaucracy might suffer, but at the end of
it all, who really cares? No one, or else governments would have done something
about that, right? As if… no matter how many millions or billions complaining
about bureaucracy every day, governments have never shown any desire to
eliminate or reduce the problem, on the contrary, it is getting worse every
single day and as it is progressive changes, none of us really freak out like I
did on the phone at whoever might be listening, so things will finally change.
All we
hear is PR campaigns from the civil service and other public services that if
you shout or hit one of our employees, we will prosecute you every time and
make sure you get maximum penalty. When really, this is such the wrong way to
go about it. I think the statistics of the employees of the Underground being
beaten up every year by angry passengers are running so high, they never stop
to assess why. Instead they decided to send a clear message that none of us
will get away with it and will be severely punished, because at least a few
hundred cameras will have filmed the whole thing and we can no longer escape
our fate. Perhaps if they were to spend as much resources and energy on making
the whole transport system work, they would actually eliminate the problem
completely, instead of alienating us even more. They let it go so bad, I
sincerely believe that if they were to build five new Piccadilly Lines deeper
underground running in parallel of the first one, we would still be like
sardines in the wagons, we would still want to kill a few of their employees
every day. The whole of Outer and Inner London are all hysterical now, do
something about it! If I ever hear once more that this train to Heathrow will
terminate at Northfields or
I have
been getting into new television series on Sci-Fi recently, and it seems that
my Anna Maria is so similar to all of those, I really cannot feel any pride in
my achievement. It is like we all went for the same kind of main themes, main
sort of characters, etc. I feel my originality leaves a lot to be desired. And
now I am boiling for another great book which will break all boundaries in
originality, something truly special, and I know I have that potential burning
inside of me. I don’t even feel like finishing my novel now, despite the fact
that I am so closed to the end, that a few drunken writing nights would do the
trick.
I wonder
if I should delete the last two short stories of Anna Maria and consider it
finished with its eight short stories. Might be worth considering. The last one
“Time Terrorists – The Hampton Court Colony” should clearly be for the next
tome, if ever I feel the need to write a second tome for whatever reason. And “The Box on the Seven Dials –
I would
have 136 single line pages if I delete the last two stories, that is 272 pages double
spacing, over 300 pages of a normal published book. Perhaps it is enough for a
book I no longer believe in. And I did think that “Ham III Time Paradox - The Uncertainty of King
George Varney” would end the book very well. Shit, what should I do? Is it just
laziness speaking? Should I get to work on it tonight instead?
Right, I
think I need to make a decision, and reach a compromise. I will delete that
last short story, because it is getting in some sort of tangent, it continues
the story of another one, “Ham III Time Paradox”. That is definitely more
suited for book II, it would insure continuity and develop a longer story line
for other short stories. It could be short story two of the second book. And
the short story one of the second book would be about the terrorists Anna and
Arthur confronted when they first met. As for “The Box”, I need to finish it
somehow, I have to force myself. I need to work on it this weekend, hopefully
finish it. Then I will be able to live with myself. I will not be able to
accuse my laziness from having massacred my first big novel in English.
I have to say that I stated the above thinking I had 200
pages instead of 300, and now I can see that even without The Box, I have a
full book, I don’t need that short story, especially if I can salvage the
beginning and incorporate it to another story. I’m afraid, I don’t think this
is a decision I can make tonight. The dinner is already way too long for a
short story, it is most of the story, and yet nothing happened yet. Either
“Seven Dials” will be longer than usual, or I will compress it beyond belief.
The only reason I could want to finish it is because the beginning is good, and
yet it can be the beginning of any of the other stories. It would be a shame at
this point to delete it. Without at least giving it another writing blast this
weekend to see where it could go. What frightens me, to be honest, is that I’m
not sure I can develop that many dialogues in that story, and hence, it is less
suitable for an episode of a television series. It would be more narrative. Unless
I get into dialogues in some of the days, doesn’t matter if some, like the
first one, is all narration.
Why have I blocked like this on that last story? When it
was the last one, and that all of it is already written, not once, but twice differently
in two different languages? Maybe because I feel that story should be a film
all on its own and should not be part of Anna Maria? Maybe that’s the problem
here. If overnight I had a lot of money falling from the sky and could afford
to shoot a film, it would be that story. It wouldn’t be possible if it was part
of Anna Maria and that book was published. But isn’t it what Anna Maria was all
about? Getting all my film script ideas into a novel no matter the
consequences, so they could be published?
I will have to finish it, I will finish it. But I delete
the last one, and forget the initial meeting of Anna and Arthur for now. Good
compromise, or else I will never finish that novel. And I better come up with
another great idea for my next book, which brings the question, French or
English, sci-fi or not? It all depends on the reaction of publishers and agents
to Anna Maria. If it is complete failure, as it is to be expected, then French
and no sci-fi. If it is not a failure, then it will be tome II of Anna Maris.
As it could take me a year to find out, I might as well consider French and no
sci-fi for the next one. Because if Anna Maria fail to attract any attention,
it is definitely the level of my English which is not good enough. Writing
another book in English would be useless. But if it does attract attention,
having written in French would have been a waste of time and energy, something
I don’t have in abundance at the moment.
Big risk. It is true that I never got anywhere writing in
French before, but this time around I would write specifically in order to
write a best-seller in French. It would be different from before. The next
French book I write, will be published, will be a success, I will make sure of
it. The question and the answer to the dilemma is simple, find a good idea
worthy of spending a whole year on, and then assess if English or French is
more suitable. Let’s see what the brainstorm will bring. In the meantime,
finish that damn Anna Maria! I should prevent myself from writing anything else
until it is finished. I have to give myself deadlines, or else I will never
finish it. My whole existence as an author hangs in the balance, this is how
serious that book could be to my whole destiny, it is time I realise it,
nothing else matters, especially not bitches working at Magistrates’ Courts. I’m
too deep into “Seven Dials”, I will finish it, and nothing else.
Dear me, where would I be without writing all this, I would
never figure out anything, I would never make any decision. It brings focus in
my life, and it is great therapy. Shit, I just opened my eighth beer already,
it is 2 am, I will be in a shitty mood tomorrow, it will take 30 seconds for
Stephen to find out and freak out about it. We will have a shitty weekend
again, I will be lucky if I can write a few pages. I’m now deep into the Moody
Blues, “A Question of Balance”, whilst my whole existence is going up in
flames. Perfect, just perfect. “I’m looking for someone to change my life. I’m
looking for a miracle in my life.” “Why do we never get an answer. When we're
knocking at the door? With a thousand million questions. About hate and death
and war.” Never been more appropriate for the times we’re living in. And now I
can dream the rest of the night away.
“And the Tide Rushes In” on that album has for a long time
been the favourite song of my dad. He was singing it virtually every Saturday
morning, blasting Moody Blues records all over the house for everyone to hear,
it was his day off. I’m not sure if to this day he understood the words, his
English was very bad then, as it is now. When I think of it, I feel that
despite all the shit I have to go through on a daily basis, my life is not as
sad as his was then. I don’t think I could have gone on to lead the existence
my Dad did. I think I did slightly better so far. That’s a result, but a small
one. I’m sure it never crossed his mind then that his son would be one day
working in a Crown Court in England, spending his days paying grad fees and
standard fees. I’m sure somewhere in this universe tonight he is really proud
of his son.
Shit, no more beers, I should I jump into the Vodka. Has
anyone got a gun? I would really love to have a gun right now…
31 July 2007
Would you believe that in this day and age, I still have to
fight bullies ready to attack me and make fun of me because of my sexual
orientation, this whilst working in a Crown Court? One of the Security Guard at
the entrance makes a stupid joke every time I enter the building or pass the
entrance, he pretends I touch his ass and then he makes a stupid woman noise
like: oh, don’t touch me, or something like that. I can take that joke once or
twice, but not 20 times every time I now has to cross the entrance. The first
time I laughed, after that I ignored it, today whilst leaving at lunch time, I
looked at him in the eye with an angry face hoping that he will finally get the
message and stop. What I saw in his eyes tells me that not only he will not
stop, it will get worse, as I witness hate, shear hate.
Funny that this man his actually a drug addict, and owes
money to my Line Manager and the Kid. So it is not like he was beyond reproach
in the first place. I would imagine that being a drug addict desperate enough
to borrow money from everyone who is known to take drugs working in a Crown
Court would be undesirable, since half of our defendants come to the Crown
Court in the first place because of drugs. And yet, I would never denounce him
or tell anyone about it, as it was said to me in confidence by the Kid, and I
wouldn’t want to get him into trouble.
However I still have to deal with that moron, as now I am
afraid of coming in or out of the building, or even pass the entrance to go to
the dead room where most of the court files are. If he couldn’t see in my eyes
today that I would no longer tolerate any joke at my expense, then I will have
to take my courage at heart and tell him to stop. I am not certain how I can do
this without him making another joke about it.
I could
go straight to my Line Manager and tell him to tell that bully to calm down,
but that would be like an official complaint. If I were to tell the Scottish
Guy, the issue would become so serious, he might lose his job. If I tell my
Line Manager who is finally back today from his back problems, then it will be
very informal. Even more informal would be to tell the Kid to let him know, there
are good friends after all, and it is obviously the Kid who told him I was gay.
I can’t
believe I still have to deal with that shit when I am 34 years old. The
difference is that I am no longer a kid, neither is he, and I have a recourse
now against that kind of thing, whilst when I was a kid in school I had none
and could only suffer in silence and witness the worst atrocities against me. I
will not let this situation deteriorate any longer, he will get the message one
way or another.
This
bullshit almost made me go for that interview for a Security Guard at
Shit,
every day now in this Court I am facing a new threat, a new situation that
ultimately gets me into trouble and adds to my file as an undesirable employee.
I wish it would all go away and I could be left alone to do my job in silence
in my corner without having to interact with anyone. Maybe I need to look for a
new job at the BBC or something, I had enough of these soul destroying jobs for
which I have absolutely no interest in and yet are a great source of stress and
pressure, enough to take over my entire existence that I cannot think of
anything else but my job and the problems that come with it.
Another
funny thing, I remember now that Stephen also had a problem with that same
Security Guard. For Stephen it is obvious he is gay, and so that Guard
immediately spotted it and hated openly Stephen, enough to cause him pain,
enough for Stephen to let me know that this Security Guard hated him. I don’t
think this is because the Guard saw me speak to Stephen in the Jury Room, as
Stephen reported this way before then. This afternoon I need to ask the
transgender engineer if she has any trouble with Security when she comes in.
Let’s see how far that bullying really goes.
I am back
home, it is now past 11 pm. I am back from the pub, it was the last day of
Cristina, the girl from Tenerife in the
Somehow
Cristina was my own employee to deal with, for the first time ever, you could
have called me her manager. And you know what, her verdict tonight was that I
had been so sweet with her, it tells me that if ever I become a manager one
day, I hope all of them could say to me how sweet I was. Because, in the end,
this is all that counts.
I called
her a miracle worker, and I only realised that I had never told her whilst she
was working for us. And yet, it has been on my mind from the very first week. I
wish I had told her much earlier, it would have made her feel better. Somehow
she has convinced herself that she was not that good for us, that she
complained a lot, etc. When it is so untrue, with me at least, but of course, I
was sweet to her, she has such a nice character, I could have been anything but
sweet with her.
I
stressed how important it was for me to say she was a miracle worker, because
in all my years working in all those jobs, giving 200%, when most people don’t
even give 50%, only once was I called a miracle worker, only once did they
recognise how great I was in my job, and it made me feel better about it. I am
cursing myself that only on her last day did I tell her that, though I am
pretty convinced she knew that I, and I alone, knew she was a miracle worker.
It also makes me realise that my Managers are obviously not blind, they must
know I am a miracle worker, even though they never take the time to let me
know. But then it does not matter really, because as soon as I make a serious
mistake or two, all that goes out the window, and I am back to square one,
trying to prove myself once again.
At the
table tonight, there was one Spanish, one French-Canadian, one Chinese from
I managed
to insult the Chinese guy badly, without it being my intention. I was trying to
understand why his brother and himself had so much trouble finding a girlfriend
in
In the
end, the Chinese guy is slim and highly attractive, and it makes no sense that
everyone in
I had the
same conversations with the Kid tonight, how despite being 21, every girl
rejects him because he seems too young and immature. I agree on that, but what
great sex it would be, that I don’t understand how difficult these European
girls can be. All their confidence is gone, when I would qualify them as the
best looking people I have met in quite a while. So what’s wrong with all those
girls out there? I don’t know, neither do they, I might add.
Sometimes
I think how nice it would be to be straight, because there are so many good
looking chaps and lasses out there, single and desperate for anything, that I
feel, with my great confidence, that I could reach them all. I know there must
be many gay people out there feeling the same, perhaps waiting for me, they are
just harder to find, as they cannot be met anywhere, in every single office out
there. And I am not willing to make the extra effort to meet any of them.
For the first time tonight some of my colleagues saw two of
my published books. I have been accused before to be lying about it, that it
was so unthinkable that I could be a published author and yet working as a
Civil Servant, they dismissed without another thought. Tonight the Indian woman
from the Listing Office asked me why I was working in a Crown Court, she looked
genuinely impressed. There you have it, I thought, I am spy, I am using you in
order to write a journal, and anyway, no worry, it will never be published. Why
am I doing it? It might make my website and my life more interesting, some new
experiences, and yet, that journal is not on my English website and will not be
for many years to come. I would probably lose my job over it, I know that much.
2 August 2007
I made a serious miscalculation about my way to a better
existence in that job at the Crown Court. First I thought that if I were to be
taken out the grad fees two months ago, I would not longer have to deal with
the Old Indian man who is the cashier or the Chief Clerk, both are a very high
source of stress to me and regularly get me into trouble. The other serious
calculation is that two months later the grad fees have become a monster that
no one else in their right mind would be willing to take over. It is now so
complicated, that the woman who has taken them over yesterday is highly
stressed and she is now venting her frustrations on me, her trainer.
I had not taken that into account, that now I would be
constantly fighting with her for her to do the job as I showed her, she is
fighting against everything and made it clear she will only do a half job. She
will override anything, neither Legal Aid, neither wrong Offence Codes. She
will not photocopy the grad fees we received and the letter we send back to
counsels so we can figure out what is going on when they send it again five
times afterwards in the coming month. Before we found the letter, photocopies
it, send the invoice back hoping that on the sixth letter they will get the
message that we cannot pay their claim until they sort out the problem.
She has gone into a full blown attack today about me
speaking French to the Engineer, right after another homophobic comment from my
Line Manager, that he somehow succeeded in getting her replaced by a proper man
this time, not a transgender. The Fat Bitch said we were rude to speak another
language in the office and now I am forbidden to speak French at all, whilst I
hear Indian all the time in this office. I said so, right, I was unaware I
could not speak French in the office, now that I am aware, I will no longer
speak French, however it must be the same rule for everyone and so, no one
should be speaking Indian in this office any longer.
So all these problems sort of fizzled out throughout the
morning, however I am now uptight, so unwilling to continue her training, and
quite direct and impatient with her, that I predict she will not inherit the
grad fees and that I will definitely be stuck on them forever.
She’s not
helping herself, whilst I am trying everything I can to train her and to help
her. One more attack and that will be it, I will certainly explode, she has to
stop venting her frustrations on me. I have been on these damn invoices for
over nine months now, what has she got to complain about? She will be on them
for only one month, after which time I will most definitely get them back, as
the famous rotation of who’s getting these things can only bounce from her to
me. In fact, I predict I will be back on the grad fees within 12 days, once the
Pakistani man goes on holiday, because then someone will need to do the
Post-Trial, she can, I cannot. I need to ask to be trained as soon as possible
before he goes on holiday, I will do so this afternoon. I’m glad I figured that
one out.
It is now close to midnight, it has been an exhausting day,
and week, and every new day brought another new serious problem, and I know
from experience that it can go on like that for a very long time indeed, until
something breaks. Today on top of everything, I suddenly receive a phone call
from the Ministry of Justice, they accused me of lying on my application form
because I told them I took no sick day in my last job in
Well, this was another big shock this afternoon and it
freaked me out again for at least an hour. I’m still worried about it, I hope
it will fizzle out as if it never happened. I hate this idea of reference
letters, reference from previous employers or teachers and so on, it is like
having a criminal record for the rest of your life, that you cannot go anywhere
in life without first having your whole background searched thoroughly, and you
should have seen the questionnaire they sent to my previous employers, it was
pages long with very specific answers, I have it here. This is discrimination
developed to an art form, coming from the Ministry of Justice no less. It is
simply not acceptable.
And
that’s nothing, I would qualify myself as a good boy who obeys everyone with
almost a minimum of questions, someone who could be considered respectable and
who never did anything that questionable, basically, I have never really done
anything wrong, and yet, insignificant details can easily destroy my career and
my future, I almost lost my job today, over a trifle. Can you imagine what it
must be for most defendants, never mind if they have been declared innocents
for whatever reason? Their future must be mortgaged, and if they once lie even
slightly just to make it look a little bit better, that is it, they’re screwed.
Big
Brother has access to everything and will eventually find out everything there
is to know about you. It doesn’t matter how small or insignificant detail you
might not have reported that they will find about, this will be considered a
crime and you will be thrown out, discarded, unworthy, some sort of sub human
being. Whatever you do in life, never lie. Because in the end, if you admit to
the worst crimes, they might just decide that as long as you told the truth,
you may be worthy of their attention, they may decide to give you a fighting
chance. Though it is unlikely and you would be deluding yourself for thinking
so. So there is no way out. The truth is only a phone call, an e-mail, a fax, a
letter away, and they will look for it, they will get it.
That’s
nothing, I thought it was BAA calling me, about that job at the airport as a
Security Officer. Their own screening process is now so complicated that very
few candidates actually get the job they are going for. As a result they are
now desperate enough to send me emails, text messages on my phone and now I
thought they were calling me at work, so I could spend a few months trying to
get a job I know in the end I would not even succeed in getting, and all that
despite the fact that I never even applied for that job in the first place.
They found my name on one of their old databases for a job I applied for years
ago, one that was paying three times more than what they are offering me now.
How stupid and desperate do these people think we are? Or how stupid and
desperate are these people really are?
Considering
how difficult it is for me to become permanent at my actual job for the
Ministry of Justice after nine months, I don’t even want to imagine how
impossible to get a job at Heathrow Airport in Security would be, after all
these fake terrorists attacks and considering that Heathrow is classified as
one of the main targets of this government sponsored terrorism. So fuck it. At
least they must know that there is no need to increase security anywhere in
England, but I’m not sure if everyone within the government is in on the secret
that the government is responsible for most terrorist attacks these days, and
so getting jobs there is impossible or not worth wasting the time and the energy.
I never
keep a job for more than a year anyway, all my ex-employers are getting bugged
by my new potential employers something like every year for a few months. Switching
jobs now might not be wise, I will alienate them all beyond repair and they
will not be helpful the day I actually go for a job that I really want (as if this
could ever happen anyway).
Tonight I
wrote the new introduction to my Shrinking Theory page, basically declaring it
dead. I thought of the day I would do such a thing, I thought after that I
could basically end my life, as there would be nothing else for me to live for.
However it is not quite what happened tonight. In a way I was pleased to
finally understand and realise that I was wrong, instead of it being the end of
it, it is a new beginning, as now I have so much more to live for, a totally
new physics to explore, to think about, to discover new things about.
In fact,
the only thing in the last few weeks that saved my sanity, is that I have been
able to retire to the bedroom and read The Final Theory of Mark McCutcheon, and
simply try to visualise that new revolutionary physics. I intend to write a whole
documentary about it and pitch the idea to one of my ex-employer, the one for
whom I worked so hard for about the Einstein and his famous equation, and yet
has been incapable of giving me a credit. Well, this time around if I present
to them a finished product, they will not be able to deny me a credit.
It
doesn’t really matter anyway, all I need, all I want, is to diffuse that new
physics everywhere as much as I can. It is my new mission in life, my new
purpose for existing, that I will get that book recognised for what it is, I
will help to turn Mark McCutcheon into the genius mind that I feel he is. Also
that I am not satisfied with the book alone and its little graphics. Such new
physics needs to be visualised in order to be understood, it would also help me
a great deal. To think that I could be the instigator of the first ever big
documentary about this Expansion Theory is truly something I am happy about. If
I had a few millions at my disposal, I would not hesitate to spend them into
that documentary, as the single most important documentary of all time, even
though I am aware that money would be wasted, since science documentaries do
not make money by definition.
I am also
well aware that Mark McCutcheon has failed to attract any attention whatsoever
in the scientific community, that not one single article was published about
his Expansion Theory in any scientific magazine. His book is also not exactly
published by a renown publisher, most likely it was vanity publishing. Selling
this idea to a production company will not be easy as these will be their first
questions, and perhaps final decision.
So if
they cannot first be convinced by the ideas themselves, there is little chance
this will go anywhere. I hope Mark McCutcheon has a list of theoretical
physicists ready to pledge in private that such a theory is very likely to be
true, even though they could not really admit it publicly from fears of
ridiculed. It is not everyday that we kill
I have
not yet told Mark McCutcheon about my intention to write a documentary about
his book. I would like to have something more concrete before I do so, also a
better idea of all his new concepts. It could be a big risk and a big waste of
time. I can think of many reasons why he would decline. First he might have
something already all prepared which could help me a great deal, the rights
might be sold already, someone else might be doing something about it, God
knows.
I can’t
take any risk now, because it is useless to give people false hope if in the
end you are not yourself going to do anything about it, or if you are still
months and years away from some concrete project. So at the moment I read the
book again, I get all my visualisations ready in my head, I will eventually
come up with the skeleton of the main ideas and take it from there. Maybe I
should contact him now, and see what he says. It might save me a year’s of
wasted work.
3 August 2007
I am so drained, I cannot do anything. For the first Friday
in months, perhaps years, I won’t write anything apart from this journal, and I
don’t think I will be writing much. There is nothing else that insightful to
say about what happened this week, except that training that bitch has not been
easy, neither for her or for me. I can sense she hates me, I can feel her
restraints, I can se how painful it is for her to remain calm and laid back, as
she probably just wanted to jump on her desk and throw the biggest strop in
history.
Though I couldn’t tell if her panic state was more about
myself, or the grad fees which must be giving her nightmares by now, or both. One
thing is certain, even though she is great at playing the game of pity me I
have inherited the worst job of the court, she has absolutely no compassion at
the thought that I have been stuck on that job for nearly eight months, two
extra one because she has been constantly on holiday. It probably never her
crossed her mind either that I never had a proper holiday since I started this
job, and so I am much more about ready to explode than anyone in there.
As usual, that I sacrificed myself for them holding on that
that job for so long before starting to squeak, should warrant me a medal,
instead, I believe I have destroyed myself in the process, and they may wish to
just get rid of me. I may have been annoying and demanding in the last few
weeks, but I would like to have seen any of the others coping with that
situation. You can be certain that if somehow the bitch remains on grad fees
for a full month, which I doubt because they have not started my training for
post trials and now the Pakistani is on holiday for two weeks, after one month
precisely she will not be doing one more grad fee.
I could
accept this, you know, if everyone agreed that she is a lazy worker who would
do anything to get away with doing nothing, especially after working there for
so many years. But the general consensus at the Court is that she is a very
experienced and efficient employee, and they fall short of saying that she is
the best. Well, if the best this Crown Court has to offer is that lazy
elephant, I must be at the very least a good employee for having coped with
something she obviously cannot. But the general consensus there is quite the
opposite, I am just a parasite that they are trying to get rid of. Not quite
true, my Line Manager does not want to get rid of me, but the HR department is.
Personnel
called again today, accusing me once again of lying on my application form. I
thought I had been brilliant yesterday at shutting them up, however they are so
disorganised that the seven sick days they were talking about were not
concerning my job in
But you
see sir, we received your application in February, and by then you already had
taken a sick day in December, so you have lied! For God sake! She would really
not let it go. So I used my big brain again, thinking as fast as a computer,
and told her that I had to fill out these application forms like seven times,
and after a while, you simply used the previous ones you’ve already filled, and
so what if I forgot to update the damn thing? Have you also thought that what
you had there might have been the original application for, I submitted before
I started working at the Court? And they simply sent it to you months later
when came up the time for me to apply again for my job?
You would
have thought that after all these arguments, and two hours arguing on the phone
over a period of two days, with the whole office listening on my conversation,
and me losing my cool with a brain dead woman from the Human Resources
department, she finally settled for me filling out yet another application
form, stating the truth this time. Can you believe? I will be working all
weekend on this, all so she would not get into trouble if an audit is ever
done.
I have no
idea what these audits are all about at the Ministry of Justice, but it
certainly seems to frighten the hell out of all of them. That such a minute
details can be so damn important, that you would think their life depended on it.
I have the same shit coming from the Chief Clerk, that she needs to be able to
justify every single little thing that the audit people would certainly never
miss. As a consequence, they’re driving us all mad and bury us under ever more
inflexible bureaucracy. I imagine the audit people to look like the monsters in
Doctor Who, that would explain a lot.
I am so
drained! Even though I sleep for two hours and a half upon my return tonight. Sometimes
I feel that if they continue to put pressure on me, one day I will reach the
point where I will no longer be able to decompress for the rest of my life, I would
be damaged beyond repair. I guess it would helped if I was as laid back as the
fat bitch, but I’m not, and we’re about to find out how laid back she really
is. I can already see the cracks.
Three
days I think that she has been on grad fees, and yet she has not gone to the
dead room once. She invented herself a doctor appointment this morning, and
arrived close to 11 am. She left before 16h30 tonight, a first since I started
working there. She’s now going for cigarette breaks every half an hour. She is
obviously struggling, even though so far it has only been raging inside. If she
can survive the first few days, then I guess she will adapt.
The only
problem though is that there is only time to enter the grad fees into the
system, at the pace that I have come to do it. That is one full time job. She
is so slow, I enter four times more than her in one day. Which means that at
that speed, this is four full time jobs. You see, already there she is set to
fail unless she learns to flip those burgers a bit faster, like they would
obliged to in McDonald’s. The second main problem is that entering the data
into the system is only half the job, you also receive a disheartening huge
pile of fresh invoices every single morning, and that needs to be checked on
the computer in five different places, and all those impossible to find files
have to somehow materialise out of thin air before the end of the day, or else,
you go under, you sink faster than the Titanic ever did (admitting of course
that the Titanic really did sink which we’re not too sure anymore). Finding
files is another full time job at the rate that I find them. At her rate,
considering that in three days she has not walked once to the dead room, it
could easily be between three or four full time jobs. So, now you understand my
problem for the last few months, and you understand her predicament. She just
inherited eight full time jobs in one day, you can imagine her state of mind.
And that
is not all, because even though for me it represented two to three full time
jobs, I was happy doing it until I suffered the wrath of the Cashier and the
Chief Clerk. That was just too much on top of everything else. Let’s see how
she cope with that. I’m sure she’ll be fine with the Old Indian man, but watch
out for the Chief Clerk, there will be blood all over the office, unless the
Chief Clerk decides to give her a lot of leeway because she just started doing
them, and also because she might be more afraid of that Fat Bitch than she was
afraid of me. You don’t show an old horse your teeth, or something like that,
and the Chief Clerk might just decide to do what everyone else in the civil
service do when they are confronted with lazy people, accept it, never ask them
anything, just move on and forget they even exist. Others will do their job. The
New Deal from the Ministry of Justice recognises that fact blatantly, as you
will no longer get a raise based on your endurance to remain in that office
years after years trying to do less and less every day, but instead on how much
you have improved since your last review. And despite that, I bet you I would
not get a raise, and they all would, as this is how really everything works in
practice. I have no friends there, it is unlikely I would have any by the end
of my first year. The people who’ve been there for years or got their job
because of the Top Managers, they have friends who will make sure they get
their raise year after year. I find it ironic that the nightmare I had to go
through in order to become permanent, the three job interviews, filling dozens
of application forms, still just casual after eight months, and so on, was all
put into place to prevent the friends and family to get these cushy jobs over
the people who truly deserve these positions. The irony is that so far I am the
only one working there who has gone through that hell and who was not placed
there by a Manager or another senior employee. In practice, despite the
monsters that the audit people might be, it never works. In the meantime, I am
disgusted by how hard it was to get that job, and how hard it is for me to hang
on to it before my first year is out. All of it for a job that pays well below
the poverty line.
Let’s
talk about something a bit more uplifting. If there is such a thing in a Crown
Court. A woman called today crying her heart out, because her son had just
walked out the door without his monitoring tag. She wanted us to move our ass
so her son could be monitored 24 hours a day by our wonderful police force, and
so he would not do another robbery on unsuspecting people on the street. I
spoke with her for an hour, whilst she was crying, telling me about how a good
boy her son really was, of good character, and that it was only the influence
of other bad boys in the neighbourhood that led him to a Crown Court in the
first place. All I could think about was that I was no psychologist, I have
received no training about that sort of thing, truly I was wiring myself into a
panic state because I was not working on my grad fees. I was trying to find a
way to get rid of her whilst still being the nicest person I could be, showing
understanding and compassion. At which point she said: do you have children?
This is when I disconnected completely and almost launched into a speech that
could very well have sounded like that: “No! I am gay Madam! And for me, being
gay might as well mean being sterile, because this society will never give me
the chance to have children, all right! I will never have children, so fuck
off! And anyway, thank God I will never have any children. From what I hear,
they are only trouble. You want me to show you compassion? I have some
experience about robberies, I was robbed once in
Despite
what I just said, I don’t really believe it, in fact I am more shock at the
idea that the woman was trying to get her son electronically tagged, I would
not even consider this option for my dog, let alone a human being. Anyway, the
phone call ended up with how such a nice man I was, and understanding and all,
she was happier that we would deal with the situation.
The thing
is, she called again something like 10 times during the day, and finally ended
up speaking with my Line Manager. At which point she was no longer crying, I
believe it was reassuring for her to be talking to all of us all day, she was
getting better. But then my Line Manager snapped at her: don’t worry, we’ll tag
him and he will no longer go around to rob people. Or something like that, but
it was shocking, I instantly knew she would start crying again, and sure enough
he had a lot of work on his hands to reassure her before he hung up the phone. How
insensitive of him, and yet I would not expect anything else from him.
I was met
by the same insensitivity when I went to the Clerks to get help. Despite making
it clear to the Clerk that I told the woman we would call her back within 30
minutes, she said she would not call her back. So I said that if she wanted me
to call her back to let me know. I have not heard back from her, and the woman
had to call back herself many times afterwards as a result. At the end of the day, we are so far
remove from all of this, mainly doing admin stuff, that it is easy to be very
casual about stuff that for the public is terrifying. Most of them might not be
crying, and yet, they must feel the same. Got to be careful there. Today was a
big eye opener, as I have grown more used lately to having wives calling me
hoping their husband will be going to prison for as long as possible.
I can’t
explain why all of what happens at the Crown Court leaves me completely
indifferent. I thought I was a compassionate and understanding human being, I
cry so easily when I watch a good movie. And yet, when the time comes to real
life, even a crying mother on the phone irritates me. It would be fine if I was
the only heartless person working at the Court, but I believe that we are all
hopeless heartless people, none of us gives a shit about anyone else until it
happens in our own home. This is how governments end up having all these
unacceptable rules and regulations that suffocate us all and no one ever gets
up to say enough is enough, because we all believe that none of it will ever
apply to any of us except a bunch of criminal immigrants that no could really
be expected to care about. After all, every other year we unilaterally declare
war on them and go about bombing them until only a few of them remain alive. Those
few remaining are probably the next refugees on the next boat ready to come to
live in
Today
though on the phone, with that HR woman, when she asked me if I liked living in
And now I
really ran out of things to talk about. I never thought I would have so much to
say about a normal boring day where nothing happened, just to show…
7 August 2007
After asking twice more to be trained on Post Trials, I
finally got my wish today and the Pakistani man has shown me for 1 hour this
morning what to do in Post Trials. To be honest I was expecting something so
damn complicated, with hearing dates to add on Crest and all, as it was the
only explanation as to why he avoided training me for nearly nine months now.
In fact, after one hour training, it feels my training is done, and yet
yesterday he complained to everyone that the Line Manager had requested that he
trained me, as if this was something unthinkable, such a bad idea, etc.
The other puzzling thing is that if I were to sit down and
do Post Trial at high speed, I could clear the whole six shelves within one
day, and yet the Pakistani Man cannot cope with it, it is always packed to the
brink and we get complaints from everywhere for being late, and it is all he
does all day. I understand there is a lot to write down, like the offences, and
he doesn’t type very fast compared to me, but yet, here is another one doing
nothing all day and didn’t want to show me the post-trial for one reason only,
so he could keep doing nothing all day, and also prevents him from being put on
grad fees after the bitch has finished her month.
He was afraid most especially to train me again because I
write down everything he says in order to make sure I don’t do any mistakes, he
hates that and asked me this morning if I would write another book on the topic
of post trials. Well I am, but here, not in my stupid notes.
Why are they so afraid of training when it took me an hour
to learn post trials, and barely took two days to train the bitch on the grad
fees. None of this required such careful planning over a few months period
before training finally took place. It is ridiculous, but hey, who am I to tell
them what to do, they’ve been managers in that Court for almost a decade.
My stupid eczema came out full bloom this morning, I was
bleeding from my hand, it must have freaked him out as they probably all think
that I am HIV positive just because I’m gay, when in fact, I certainly am not. I
put some cream on but then I couldn’t write my notes anymore because the pen
was slippery. Such bad timing that these fucking things happen at the wrong
time.
8 August 2007
It is 2h30 pm, I’m not supposed to be home, but I just had
a massive row with the Old Indian Man, about something as futile as adding two
subfolders to the Committal for Sentence files, and yet it is the fifth big row
we have about this detail. Months ago the Line Manager said we should now put
three subfolders instead of one, and today they were still saying that this
needed to be agreed by everyone. I said that I didn’t realise this office was a
democracy.
I can’t believe that I couldn’t keep my cool, it was
actually the first time in weeks that the Old Indian Man got involved in any
discussion in which I was involved, and see it turned out. We have done great
efforts to avoid each other, we don’t even tell each other good morning from
fear it could escalate into a huge fight. It is obvious the guy hates me, and
he attacked me so many times in the past, patronising me and check up on me,
that he has me on the verge of exploding every time he speaks to me now. However
now it looks bad on me, not on him, whenever something happens, people have
forgotten, or never knew how rude he used to be to me.
I wonder if there is a future for me working at the Court.
Today I was thinking, God, is there anything left that I am looking forward to
in this life? There is nothing in my calendar for months or years, there is
nothing left to be excited about. Now, if all there is left in my life is this
routine of admin in a court, I will seriously have to rethink if this life is
really worth living.
Oh dear, just as I thought, Stephen’s father just came to
pick up the dog, just when I was here when I am supposed to be at work. I
didn’t want to have to justify this. I better go back, I have been gone 20
minutes, ample time for the Old Indian Man to go gossip to everyone in the
office about me. He made it out as if he was the victim in all this, when it is
clear that I am the victim. The whole list office is on his side, he spent hours
talking to them about me in the morning before I arrive. I hope tomorrow he
will be sick, he is usually sick after a row with me. If these fights are
killing him, why don’t he avoid them by simply ignoring me, as I asked now
officially to the Scottish Man? Why does he still feel the need to attack me,
when there is no way I would ever get involved myself in anything in which he
is involved, as I do try to avoid him to prevent these fights. Sometimes he
just cannot help it, so if it kills him, it certainly has nothing to do with
me.
It is now nearly midnight, I am only happy about one thing,
tomorrow is the last day of the week for me, even though it is Thursday. I
guess one needs to cheer up about very small things, or else, there would
really not be any reason to cling to life so harshly.
I just finished writing another entry in my book
Destructivism, Truth, I’m quite proud of it. I never thought I could spit all
that before I started writing it, it is really coming out as I write it, as I
think about it, and think about what I wrote in the last few sentences. I’m
afraid the book is way to cynical and ironic, however it is full of little
truths about life, and probably many lies as well. I don’t think I would have
written that book had I not worked at the Court, but I can’t start thinking
like that, because I could have perhaps written something much better had I
worked for example at the BBC, or not worked at all.
I was so wired up this afternoon at work, I thought I would
spend the night drinking myself to death, but the second part of my training
late afternoon made me forget about the Indian man, and so I have drunk two
beers and I’m ready to go to bed at midnight.
I learnt something today though, I know now that the Old
Indian Man has been working very hard against me to the Pakistani Man, and now
I feel I can no longer trust any of them. I’ve been thinking carefully, this
afternoon the argument was not only between the Old Indian Man and myself, it
was equally with the Pakistani Man who took every opportunity to defend the
Indian guy. So much so that my final argument that the Line Manager had decided
it a long time ago and that this office was not a democracy that required their
input after a manager made his decision, was mostly in answer to what the
Pakistani guy said. And when I came back from my 20 minutes break to breath a
bit before returning to the den, suddenly many problems came out with me at the
centre of it, and all of it was initiated be the Pakistani guy. Something about
a bitch from a Magistrates’ Court who talked to me and apparently I told her
the wrong thing about Surety, and the Legal Orders that we apparently all read
wrongly as they mostly only covers solicitors without counsels when it comes to
Sentence cases, and something else that I can no longer remember. I remember
though how my name came out of the Pakistani Man something like three times in
conversations with the Line Manager about three different problems. Has he
simply gone out of his way to destroy me this afternoon when I left? I wonder
what he truly told the Scottish Guy in his office about the row I had with
another bitch at the other Magistrates’ Court, when this whole affair exploded
after she wrote a letter to the Top Manager in order to cost me my job. In
fact, when I returned into the office of the Scottish guy after he had his
meeting with the Pakistani guy about this whole affair, I didn’t sense that I
had been stitched up or helped in any way, but in review the Scottish man was
no more positive than before speaking with the Pakistani guy, and so if it has
all fizzled out, it is all down to me and my arguments, not the help of the
Pakistani man, and I do think now that he stitched me up, even though he may
have only told the truth from his own point of view. I know he said that he was
surprised by my tone of voice, which certainly didn’t helped me, he could have
said I was downright rude on the phone, but then again, I was not. So to the
extent of the truth he will not help me, he will tell it as it is, and so he
cannot be trusted, he works against me, he doesn’t really care if I lose this
job or not, which suggests that he may very well be happy if I lose my job.
I’m glad I’ve been able to see this now, before it develops
into something horrible and I only realise afterwards that I could not in fact
trust him. I can’t believe it, after all I have done for him to become the new
Line Manager within six months. I understand now that the day he becomes my
Line Manager permanently, I need to find another job. The Old Indian Man has
got the Pakistani Man in his pocket, I would have thought those two would be at
war for some weird reason.
He may
feel that he suffered discrimination for being Muslim for having failed four
times to become a manager in this place, and it is after one of the very senior
clerk heard me mention it that she talked to a few people and suddenly he is
acting manager and will become it before the end of the year, but if he truly
suffers from any other sort of discrimination for being Muslim, I have not seen
it, I have witnessed nothing to suggest that to me. In fact, I feel I have
suffered much more discrimination myself for being French speaking than he ever
did for being a Muslim. Probably though because it is not considered racist
whenever the person you attack is white, and so you can be more openly racist
then without anyone thinking anything more about it. Discrimination on the
basis of being a Pakistani or a Muslim cannot be done openly, and I suppose
there is a lot going on behind the scene that I am unaware of.
I am
pleased to report that the kid has decided to save himself and started to work
much harder at work. It took me by surprise and I am not certain how long it
will last. He is after all still arriving late every morning, something like
between at least 40 minutes late to an hour, and he is still in a dazzling
state for at least three hours in the morning where he does absolutely nothing,
but apparently he has started to work very hard in the afternoon, once he is
awake. He may very well do a full day’s work in a few hours from what I gathered.
And so the potential in that kid is quite tremendous, and I think I was the
only one who suspected it in the first place, because he reminds me a lot of me
when I was 21. We are so similar, I even looked like him at that age. I have
already said that before though. All I can say is that I am glad I decided to
do like the others and accept him despite being the most useless employee the
Court has ever seen in its entire history. I am equally impressed about how the
Scottish Guy has been able to bring him in line with a lot of different little
tactics that would have sent me off the wall, but apparently worked well with
the kid.
I would
have thought the Scottish guy would have given up a long time ago and sacked
him by now, I certainly would have if I had been his manager. But he gave him
every chance, he is still there after months and months, and may actually
become a more productive employee than any of those other losers in the office.
It remains to be seen though. I can only explain the behaviour of the Scottish
man about the kid, if somehow he was told by the Top Manager that he was on a
rescue mission here. The Top Manager brought that kid in, I think he knew that
he had been sacked from all his previous jobs and even the family business
could not stand having an employee doing nothing. So the kid became the Court’s
pet project to bring him in line. It would explain why I feel that if I had
been late 30 minutes for three days in a row I would be in deep trouble now,
when that guy can get away with it as if there was no tomorrow. This is all
fascinating, and once again, I’m glad it leaves me indifferent, because I could
easily have gone the other way and say it was unfair, favouritism, jealousy,
the old story.
I’ve been
thinking very hard about my next novel, I don’t understand to be honest, where
this desire to start a new novel comes from. The last one is not finished yet,
will not go anywhere, and yet I’m hoping to not only finish it this weekend,
but start a new one. Perhaps I should give myself a big break and not write
anything for a full month. I have written so much in the last few months, I
think I will break my last year’s record this year. I certainly wrote this year
more meaningful things than last year, at least one book that finally has some
commercial potential, if the level of English is any good. As I have no reader,
I might never know how much time I am actually wasting writing in English
instead of French. I think I have established anyway that in French I have no
future in any case as an author, so it doesn’t really matter what language I
use.
I don’t
really know yet what this new novel will be about. I know it is sci-fi, I know
my main character will be a woman very much like Anna Maria, I know she will be
a theoretical physicist, I know this book will be based on the Expansion Theory
of Mark McCutcheon, I know it will be based in England, I know it will be
written in English. Beyond that, I know nothing, and yet, I might start it this
weekend, and hop another year of my life will pass by before it is finished. And
all of this without any carrot being put in front of my eyes to motivate me in
any way, as I can already tell you it will be another failure. So why am I
doing it? I barely feel the need to push myself, I want to do it. Maybe I need
to see a psychoanalyst, maybe he can cure me and free me from this hell I put
myself into. Because there is nothing worse than writing four books at the same
time in parallel of a full time job and a full time relationship that are both
nightmares.
9 August 2007
Finally the end of the week, and yet I simply feel empty. I
live in fear that I won’t be able to control myself at work and simply snap at
people, I’m glad tomorrow I’m off, it could have been a disaster.
They had a discussion about culture, and then a light came
up in my head, yeah, I could talk about that in Destructivism, and then I found
I actually had nothing to say about culture, for once that they were having the
beginning of some sort of intellectual conversation, it didn’t go anywhere as
they never said more than let’s talk about it. They were trying to humour me,
as I did say that recently that I had more insightful discussions with the technician
who came to fix the computer than with them, when they were putting her down
for being a transgender.
Come to think of it, I don’t really have any insightful
discussions at home either, Stephen is hardly the intellectual type, plus all
he can do is moan and complain all day long about everything I do wrong, and
this is becoming so obsessive and maniacal, that I feel if money was not an
issue I be out of here in an instant. When I was in
God I’m
bored. Not only I’m bored, now that I have the free time to do something, I
prefer to do nothing and remain as bored as one can be. I’m not motivated in
doing anything, I don’t believe I have the energy anyway. I think I watched too
much TV recently, I have become mindless, I should delete everything I recorded
and move on.
Sometimes
I get really depressed, even though tonight I am not. But nights like tonight I
just kind of forget what my life was all about, everything I have gone through,
and I feel a deep sense that all was useless and I have accomplished nothing
worthy of a great life. Sometimes I feel like I am just a waste of time and
space. I feel like an impostor, like if I wasn’t meant to live at all, whatever
I have accomplished, it was pretence, I will never be good enough for anyone on
this planet, and why should I be special or different when there are over 6
billions of us. That number is so mind boggling, it is hardly conceivable. What
is one voice, one existence, amongst that many? And yet I am worth nothing. I
need another beer.
We all
have impossible dreams, and yet, you could say that barely a few hundreds a
year will actually achieve their lifetime dreams, maybe not even that many. And
yet, we all feel so close, so near achieving them, we all firmly believe that
we are the chosen one, the one with a great destiny all laid out there in front
of us. We can sometimes feel so strong, so unique, so powerful in our own mind,
when truly you wake up the next morning to find out you are a simple civil
servant pushing bits of paper all day long. When your mind is as large as the
universe, and you strongly believe you are alone within it, when you come back
to reality, it is damn hard not to simply let go of everything. I’ve gone
there, I’ve done that, here’s my extra long curriculum vitae, my extra large
diary, of a life not worthy of a void. Void, such a nice word.
Everything
has been an illusion, all those nights spent re-thinking the world, I thought I
could have quite an impact. I have lost faith in arts, literature and music, as
if it is not enough, it will never be enough, as it means so little it becomes
meaningless. I don’t know anymore what would be required to change the world,
even, I can’t even think of reason of why anyone would want to change the
world. If it is all vanity and selfishness in the end, then perhaps it is a
good thing that no one could sit down tonight and do something that could
change the world.
12 August 2007
It is now
22h27, at 4h21 this morning I wrote a paragraph here that was a celebration
time thingy, with virtual
Last night I finished Anna Maria, the novel, and altogether
it took me nine months to write, started on 16 November 2006 and finished on 12
August 2007. I was comparing this to having a baby when the computer crashed,
but now I can see the analogy was ridiculous. Having a baby is so much easier
than finishing writing a book (just joking).
Anyway, it came as a big surprise because I had lost all
motivation, I was telling myself I had to finish it this weekend, but at the
back of my mind I was thinking that I would prefer having a baby instead. But
there you are, I sleep a lot, drank a lot whilst watching the film
Marie-Antoinette, and then, instead of falling asleep I finished the damn thing
I was no longer believing in. Now that I finished it, I’m believing in it a bit
more, most especially because I have been thinking a lot about the next one,
and somehow I just feel it won’t be as good as Anna Maria.
I am so desperate to try to think of a great idea for the
next book, that I caught myself reading a book about how to write sci-fi
tonight, by David Gerrold, a book signed for me by the author. It’s not to say
that the man does not know what he is talking about, quite the contrary I
believe he is explaining all the right ingredients about how to write a novel,
but somehow it just does not work with me. It is all very well to tell me to do
this, and do that, it still leaves me completely blank about how to go about my
next book. It is like I intrinsically know what would be good, what would be
interesting or boring, and in the end there is only one thing that really
counts and will make me go for nine hours straight, it is a damn good idea. And
until I get that original and damn good idea, I’m not going anywhere fast.
Perhaps after all that is all that matter and the only thing we need to tell
any aspiring writer. Think hard until you find that great idea and developed
enough interesting around it in your mind, and then you’ll see, you will be
motivated and it will be great. That is about all I would say to any aspiring
author and Ì believe it would suffice. Unless you are a total virgin and don’t
even know where to start, then I suggest you read that David Gerrold book.
Anyway, if you can get one interesting thing away from
wasting a long time reading a book, one practical idea you can use, then
perhaps it was worth it. I have read a few things that I found interesting,
however I have already forgotten them, what a shame. Oh, another essential
ingredient for a good novel, I would suggest, is to get drunk, but not too much
that you will simply fall asleep before finishing your chapter.
I think I will forget my idea of a transgender as the
heroine of my next book. I will also forget the idea of a real long novel. I
think the format of many short stories linked together will insure that I have
enough interesting material for each chapter, just like for Anna Maria. Oh, I
remember now what I read that I will find useful, it was that every chapter has
to be a surprise, each paragraph has to be a surprise, each sentence has to be
a surprise. I’m not sure how in practice it can be achieved, however to keep it
in mind cannot hurt. And that is what I liked about Anna Maria, there was so
much stuff the reader could go through in each short story, surprise after
surprise, that they can hardly get bored before the end of the chapter. And the
way I was describing it myself was that it needs to be like an episode of the
Simpsons, Futurama or
It is one thing to finish writing the first draft of a
novel, it is another to correct it, read it again and again until it flows, and
then I guess this is the real test of it is something great or not. However it
doesn’t always work that way. The most obscure books I have written, the least
commercial of all, are always the ones I could read a hundred times without
tiring, and usually those books are flowing. This includes my dark and
provocative poetry, if one can call it that way, and so far no one seems that
interested in it. Novels, I’m afraid, I hate reading again and again and correct
as I go along. I spent months correcting my first published book, using a
ridiculous and slow application analysing every single sentence. I was in
There is only one book I would like to translate into
French right now in the whole world, it is the Final Theory by Mark McCutcheon.
And even then, it would be such a chore, it could easily take me nine months. I
would have to be certain I would be paid before embarking on such an adventure.
I’m not certain either I could find the perfect French words to translate
Theoretical Physics. It would require a lot of research indeed. I wonder if I
could devise some trick, like translating quickly by voice into a recorder, and
then it would become a transcription job. That may be the fastest way, but I’m
not certain.
Perhaps it is best to leave these things to professional
translators who can do it so quickly and so well, there is no need to pretend
being something that we’re not, and I’m no translator. I think anyway that
neither my English or my French is of a sufficient standard either for
It never crossed my mind that I could be recognised in
Québec anyway, so it’s not like I have a choice. Can you imagine? Writing about
a transgender woman who wish to get her theoretical physics ideas recognised,
fighting for it and sacrificing everything along the way, all written in
French-Canadian joual language? It would be the greatest failure of any single
author Québec as ever seen. No publisher would even look at it, and if somehow
one looks at it, they will print 300 copies, and I would be lucky indeed if
there ever was a second print of that book. A second print of 300 would mean a
best-seller for a population of six million. It is not even worth considering.
I may be a traitor, but I have good reasons for being so.
Not one publishers in Québec published one of my books, they all read it, I got
six published ones in
Anyway, it is well known that no publishers in French
publishes science fiction, none. It is unthinkable, extraordinary, shocking, I
can’t explain it myself. The French, as far as I know, never even produced one
sci-fi film, ever! And yet, I believe they are the third most productive country
when it comes to making films. It defies logic, it shows how restrictive you
have to be to make it in the French world. Actually, they did Biliki or
something like that, that was French, that was Sci-Fi, it was great, not sure
if it was a flop or not.
The more I think about it, the more my next idea has to
defy reality as much as the Matrix did. I have to come up with an idea as great
as that. But how can I? I am limited to the New Physics, which has killed
sci-fi altogether, Expansion Theory. And though you would think that a whole
new Physics might help tremendously in helping to create new sci-fi, well, in
the end, the physics is just a different interpretations of what we already
have, and though it means a lot on a global level, it does not give much more
to work with. It limits more than anything else.
I suppose that I could come up with the idea of shrinking
oneself or expanding oneself in order to travel very far, I could do that with
my own Shrinking Theory, which is also an Expansion Theory, and even that
inspired me a half finished novel I don’t intend to finish, as I’m bored with
it, and hence I don’t feel it would inspire anyone.
Actually, maybe I should get back to it, and modify it to
accommodate Expansion Theory. Maybe there is more future in that story than my
transgender fighting teacher at Oxford fighting to keep his/her job despite the
heresy of teaching that Newton was wrong. Actually this is not crazy at all. Especially
that I have so many pages already written. Let me go and assess that idea right
now. Will need a new brainstorm, extensive changes, but it might be my best
option. If only I believed it!
I had a look, I have about 100 pages of a normal printed
novel. Extensive modifications would be required, however I know exactly what
to write, I know what goes where, as this novel was originally to show to the
world my own Shrinking Theory, and could so easily be adapted to Expansion
Theory, it is ridiculous. The only thing is that I wasn’t sure if it would
truly be interesting, a ship going to another planet far from here and discover
that life there is the consequence of the first probe they sent in the first
place, and that humanity is now revered as a God. Actually, sounds pretty good,
and I’m sure I could stretch Expansion Theory enough to justify shipping a ship
to the other side of the universe, just like under the Shrinking Theory. I
think it may be my best option.
Dear me, I never thought I would finish that novel, and now
I think it will be hard to do anything else but finish it. Forget Vivianne and
her sex change, her dysfunctional nuclear family compared to the nucleus of an
atom, blah blah blah, I’m bored already. I wonder if I should simply forget all
about this and write Anna Maria tome II, I already feel the inspiration coming.
Unfortunately, it would be madness to waste time on a second tome, without
knowing if the first one was worth it to begin with.
One thing though, if I get back The Shrinking Universe
novel and rework it, first thing to change will be to switch the hero from a
man to a woman. In this day and age I feel we could connect more to a woman
emotionally than to a man. I don’t know, I think no one can sympathise with a
man anymore, we all know they are all bastards and they have crossed the line
too many times now. There’s no getting back to sympathising with any man,
unless he was emotionally and psychologically a retard. That we could fall in
love with. Hey, not a bad idea! A genius retard. I think that movie has been
made, it had Tom Cruise in it, and the other Jewish actor who was in Tootsie,
can’t remember his name now.
That’s it, I’ve got it, a retard genius kid, 12 years old,
that’s perfect. 10 is even better, I was 10 when I was thinking about changing
Physics as we know it. It’s even better than my transgender character. But he
won’t be autistic or something, he will simply see the world for what it is,
not knowing anything about
Purrrrrfect! The innocent mind of a child leading the way
to the next revolution in Physics. And yet, I don’t want him to be acting weird
or speaking like a spas, he needs to be normal but trapped in his own bubble,
he doesn’t speak for a start, until people start acknowledging his ideas, and
at the end, no one can stop him from talking. This will be his way out, his way
out of his cocoon. Like the kid in The Dead Zone, the one who is predicted to
die in a hockey game on the ice.
Yes, worth writing here tonight, I finally found the idea
that will motivate me to write this damn next novel. This is what everyone
loves, a retard kid, inoffensive and all, who is a genius at heart. I really
liked that film with Kevin something, can’t remember the title now, he was in
an asylum pretending to be an alien, but he actually was. In the end I can only
write something I like, and I liked that. Don’t care if no one bought it, I
guess if they had chosen a child instead, it might have been more successful,
who knows.
I don’t know, I don’t know anymore. Shit. I may have to
think some more about all this. I don’t know what I want to do next. It will be
another nine months to a year, I really have to be careful here, I cannot make
any mistake and launch into a hopeless idea. I can’t afford it anymore, not if
I want to get anywhere any time soon. I think I need to write a blockbuster
Right. Blockbuster
Shit, shit, shit… I’m stuck, I’m stressed, I don’t have to
think anymore, I have to start this new novel instantly, right now, before I’ve
got to go back to work tomorrow morning. Some damn criminals need their files
to be administered, their sentence clearly stated, so they will go to prison
for as many days as required, and fuck out free not one more second than
necessary. I need something wild, something out of this world, something
unthinkable, and right now I’m not certain if any new physics will be enough. It
needs to be loud, heavy, motivating, invigorating, inspirational, it needs to
break out everything on its path, wipe out everything else. That’s what I need.
Such an original idea that people will fall down to their knees and ask for
more. Somehow that revolutionary stuff needs to come out of my imagination, my
mind. I guess I’ve just not found the right idea yet. Perhaps if I watch the
first Matrix again inspiration will come. Put the sound so loud, and yet, no
distortion is heard. And we thought we had solved the problem with CDs, event
then it wasn’t that great a revolution, and then came MP3, and quality went out
the window. Best quality I ever had came from a sophisticated VHS VCR. I don’t
think I will ever witness that quality again, it was 20 years ago. Things are
getting worse all the time and we don’t give a shit. Where have I left that
VCR? What brand was it? Mitsubishi or something I think. I need to buy another
one.
I think I might be better off writing Anna Maria tome II.
And think of ideas completely unrelated to any of the existing stories, as long
as they are link to another part of
To be honest, when I look at Anna Maria, I’m not certain
how a second book could be better than the first one. And if I cannot write a
better book than this one, in my opinion, than that must be it, I have just
finished the best ever book I will ever write within my lifetime. In a way it
feels great that I was able to do it in the first place, but it is also
despairing that perhaps there is nothing else I should write about from that
point on. Shame it is based on the old physics, but the new one does not
inspire much, I have to admit. It would be quite a challenge to write another
one at least as good, and I certainly enjoy a challenge. It could not be
written in nine months however, it would require a lot of thinking for each
story. I had started another last short story about King George Varney, I need
to bury it, I need to forget it. It was based on what happened previously, I
cannot get into that sort of continuation stuff. I need fresh new and
completely unrelated ideas for each new story. Utmost importance. So let’s
think of the first short story I could write about a second Anna Maria book. Forgetting
everything else I have written up until now. I have my work cut out for me, I
know now what I need to do. Or do I?
I think I should be writing next about The Maida Vale Mystery,
Or Paddington Centre Point Breakdown Point, or something like that. That’s
where I landed when I first arrived in
And that damn new physics, let’s have it all in one short
story linked to a loser living in
And now I have been reminded of the reality by my
boyfriend, who asked me to go to bed. It is after all past 2 am and we are
working tomorrow morning. I have to go to bed.
16 August 2007
Finally Thursday, I’m off for three days. I wasn’t
expecting Stephen to be off as well, and now my intentions of reading again
Anna Maria and beginning my next novel are seriously in jeopardy, I was not
amused. Not only that, I feel a bit sick, or freaked out, like if it was the
end of the summer and the cold came back, with it all the past nightmarish
memories of going back to school. There is no two ways about it, studies have
really traumatised me, and I can see that if I were to live up to be 300 years
old, I would still feel a panic state at the end of each summer.
So tonight I feel I will be useless, I don’t think I will
write too much, nothing significant anyway, and won’t be editing Anna Maria. At
least I have come to terms with what I will be working on next, I will finish
that novel The Shrinking Universe, though it will now be called the Expanding
Universe. It is the best vessel by which I can present to the world Expansion
Theory, it is now my mission. The book will be a big flop because it won’t find
a publisher, and yet I need to write it and so I will.
Destructivism was an unexpected bonus, I never thought I
would be writing that, it was never planned, I never forced myself to write any
of it, it just happened by accident, too many boring nights whilst drunk, when
I simply could not concentrate on Anna Maria. It was also the perfect vehicle
to vent my frustrations from work. I always had my poetry to do this before,
and now I didn’t have that. Destructivism is the consequence of not writing
poetry. Which brings the question, why have I stopped writing poetry? Well, the
word poetry for a start puts people and myself to sleep. No one is interested
in poetry and I can’t blame them, because no poetry has ever been interesting.
The problem is I have never written poetry, it is not poetry, and yet, it can
only be classified as such, and so it would never go anywhere. People lose
interest and start puking before they even start reading it. Anyway, I just
repeating myself over and over again, the exercise was becoming useless even
though it kept becoming better and better. What I had not realised was that it
was a real need for me to write them, and hence this needs transformed into a
format like Destructivism, which is actually much better. I will either never
finish Destructivism, or will write another similar one soon, most likely once
I find a new job, not that I’m looking anyway.
Today at work I found out that the big resident queen, the
new usher, is in fact an executive producer and director of some 100 television
series and films produced in
From what I could gather from our short conversation,
despite the fact that he was all those things in the film and television
industry, his salary reflected very much the one he has now. The television and
film industry, somehow, succeeded in shooting itself right in the head, as too
many people were willing to work for free, and so now no one can have any
expectation to get any money when working in that industry. The result is that
many talented people simply cannot afford that lifestyle and end up working in
Crown Courts, the most talented go on to earn millions in Hollywood, but that
is about 1 or 2 a year who succeed at that. And the mediocre ones, with
apparently plenty of time on their hands and no talent whatsoever can fill
these places and produce crap programmes and films. Who cares anyway, the
success of shit programmes proves that what people wants is just that, crap.
And for the percentage looking for quality, I guess they can hope that somehow
some quality will be produced at some point in time and then start the search
for these rare gems really worth living for, they are usually not for profit
programmes, because no one on this planet seems to appreciate quality, standards
have never been so low. Probably because the population is becoming dumber and
dumber because of crap programmes, and now you see the vicious circle we are
in.
I could now survive on a salary of 10,000 pounds a year,
but for the two years I was off working in TV, I can assure you I could not
afford it. I’m glad I am no longer trying, except for the odd position at the
BBC once in a while, as BBC is still respectable salary wise. The rest of the
industry must be populated with people on the social benefits or students,
because no one could survive working for nothing. And stress levels are
horrific, even at the BBC as I have heard. Better be a writer then, I don’t
have to put up with that shite. Though I have put up with so much shite already
in the conference world, you could say I am well prepared to confront it if it
ever happens that I land a job as a runner one day. I would certainly never
treat anyone disrespectfully, that’s for sure. And for a decent salary and to
do what I want to do, I guess I’m ready to suffer any kind of hell. I suffer
hell anyway even in jobs at Crown Courts, so what’s the difference? The only
goal is to get the job done on time and on budget, get some results and move
on, forget it ever happened, just consider the results.
It cannot be a coincidence that the atomic world resembles
what we see in the universe today, the stars being orbited by planets,
galaxies. The very fact that we learn in chemistry that there are up to 8
electrons orbiting the nucleus of an atom, and that our solar system has 8
planets (since Pluto has been downgraded to a mere asteroid), is a big hint.
And yet, no one seems to want to come forward and say: shit, it’s the same damn
thing at another scale!
It is understandable that no one could venture to say that
before, the different models of something we cannot actually observe, as it is
too small for our technology, were completely off the mark. And yet again with
Mark McCutcheon and his Expansion Theory, we get another model of the atom
which is not an exact replica of what we see in the very large. Therefore he
must be wrong, because it must be the same damn thing. The fact that he has
come up with a new model for the atom has freed me somehow from the Standard
Theory, I am now able to believe no one knows, and therefore, it is the same
thing. It is just a question of time before we can verify it.
The big consequence of this, is that if the atomic world is
just the same as our galaxies and star systems at a smaller scale, then it is
conceivable that an electron is not the smallest indivisible particle there is,
that an electron is also composed of extra-small electrons composing it. And
the most likely candidate for what an electron is at a larger scale, must be a
planet.
The nucleus of an atom would be composed of many electrons
according to Mark McCutcheon, but I guess it is not as simple as that, our sun
is composed of, well, nothing like a particle we could identify, we call it the
sun, and hence, the nucleus of an atom is simply a sun.
So what is a galaxy then, when looking at the small scale
universe? This is crucial for my next novel. A galaxy must be a bunch of solar
system orbiting each other, and so a galaxy must be many atoms orbiting each
other to create molecules and cells, and eventually an object. And many
galaxies together must be a bunch of molecules composing objects. And I am
going to send two people to live on an atom, more specifically on an electron
which will resemble the Earth.
I’m sure the idea is not new, I have not after all read all
of science fiction, but I don’t care, I will write that story because it is mind
boggling and it is what I am interested in exploring. Expansion Theory gives me
all the new physics I need, it also justifies somehow that we can shrink
something, since the nature of all electrons, the smallest particle known to
exist, is expanding constantly at a rate of 0.00000077 metre per second. Well,
if matter can expand, I’m sure we’ll eventually find a way to shrink it, or
help it expand faster.
To shrink matter would be to bring it down one level, to
the atomic world. To expand it considerably in one instant, would be to bring
it to a higher scale of reality. When shrinking, my God, you are really going
to a lost place, because that is one atom out of so many, that no one could
ever count them. At a higher scale you could still think the same, we are
living in such a small place, one atom out of trillions and trillions, that no
one would ever think to look here for any sign of life and intelligence.
This universe makes absolutely no sense, what sort of
purpose could it serve? Has it been created or not, and if so, by whom, and
why? It seems to be beyond anyone’s comprehension, and I sometimes fear we will
never have any answer, as we are a simple by-product, a mistake that no one
intended to see exist in the first place.
What sort of huge big bang will we need to create to
attract any sort of attention in the universe is beyond anyone’s imagination,
and even then we might never reach out to anything or anyone else out there. Perhaps
people who spontaneously combust may be a sign of life of some civilization
living deep down on one electron in one atom of a part of the body that didn’t
self combust. And yet it puzzles us beyond belief, however we would never think
of wondering if somehow a civilisation living on an electron could have been responsible
for this whole universe self combusting like that. I guess they should have
thought of a way to expand themselves to our own size, if somehow this is
possible. I guess it is not, but it will do great sci-fi, considering that the
New Physics has killed all sci-fi in one fall swoop.
So let’s get back to basic, let’s forget parallel
universes, wormholes and other dimensions. There are no other dimensions, there
are no particle at two places at the same time, there are no black holes and
wormholes possible in this universe, there is no subspace or openings out of
space. There could be aliens though, so let’s get back to those Martians who
used to terrify populations at the beginning of the last century. Fools, we all
know there are no Martians, or do we?
You might find everything I have discussed in this single
day quite eclectic, especially that I am about to speak about possibly being
able to catch the conversations of bees and wasps over a mobile phone in a
minute, but this reflects my state of mind in one single day.
I have been thinking from one thing to another all day
long, and so one day in my life is never that boring that I would decide to
commit suicide right at the end of it. I think as much about the structure of
the universe as my daily boring job in one day, and thank God for that,
otherwise I would commit suicide right at the end of it.
The world
of Crown Courts has nothing to inspire anyone to continue to exist. If
anything, it could drive us all to self-annihilation instantly, self-combustion,
yeah, why not. That might explain people who self-combusts, they are simply too
bored with this existence, they must have been working in a Crown Court or be
some sort of civil servant, just like me. I wouldn’t mind self-combusting right
now, just to prove my point.
You know, I’m writing all this right now, and though this
is completely meaningless and uninteresting for most of you, there are some
students out there doing research and analysis on everything an author has ever
written, hoping that somehow some patterns will come out and they can finally affirm
that writer’s state of mind. Well, I am quite obvious anyway, and yet, I am
not. I am such a complex entity, how could you hope to resume my life and all
that I have written in a few words, even a damn book of 400 pages? You will
fail, you miserable low-life entity. Should you not start writing that novel
who always thought you would write one day? Or are you not worthy of such an
achievement? It doesn’t matter that it is crap or not, can you actually do it?
And actually finish it? That’s what I thought. So before judging, achieve it,
and then we can talk. I have finished another novel last weekend, it seems like
nothing to me, and yet, it could mean everything for some others. That’s the
sign of someone who was born to write, no matter how crap it is, I was born an
author. Are you? I wish I was born as a music composer, but I’m not, and I
won’t pretend to be a musician or a composer. Can I learn it and do it? I have
no doubt I can, given the freedom I desire so badly. So there is hope for you,
but get to it now, stop analysing me and every word I typed. I don’t care
anyway and whatever the impact or consequences of your analysis, I will be long
dead before it will have any sort of impact. I think it takes about 50 years
for universities to start studying any body of work. I had many students
contacting me saying they were doing a paper on me or one of my books, but that
is not like having an army of people over-analysing everything you ever wrote
and turn it into some sort of wisdom. Nothing I have ever said was wise, I’m
the first one to say so. However, not many things most of what others have ever
written was wise either. So go figure what’s wise and what’s not. What the fuck
does he mean by this? Well, perhaps I meant nothing. Nothing you could
comprehend, that’s for sure. Whatever you will ever write about me, you will
always be wrong. Because I have never told the truth, it was never the real me,
don’t you ever forget it, and do not fail to mention it in your essay. You do
not know me, you do not know what I really meant, what I was actually thinking
then. You have no idea, you most likely fell into all the traps I laid out for
you in order to make a point. I do not care to be remembered for something I am
not, as long as my point carries on. This is why irony and sarcasm is
everywhere in whatever I write, and so you could never be certain, because “Je
est un autre” (I is another, or, I is someone else), as Rimbaud wrote, being so
clearly aware of this. It is more true for me than any other writer. I’ll give
you a hint, I’m not an anarchist, and really, it doesn’t really matter. Say
that I am an anarchist, and I hope you fail miserably your grade, because then
you are useless at analysing authors. Irony is lost on you, it won’t be lost on
us. State that I am a Crowned Anarchist when it comes to literature, and I
might read your essay. Shame you can’t read English, you’re most likely writing
this thing in French. Then how bias will you be? I never wrote sci-fi in
French, everything I have ever written in English is science related. Maybe it
will take another 100 years for me to be understood, and really, who cares?
This is vanity, and yet, no one wishes to escape it, it’s
natural, it’s motivation, and you know more than anyone else how motivated one
needs to be to spend a year of his life writing a damn novel, so fuck off! I
have an excuse anyway, I’m fucking drunk again. My eternal excuse as a writer,
sorry your honour, I was drunk. I guess this is not going to work, as I was
drunk whilst writing most of what I have written. How can anyone hope then to
figure who I really am?
I won’t
stop until I have written the most incomprehensible book there is on this
planet, oh wait, I have done that, and yet, no one stopped to consider that it
might be worth publishing. In a society of fast food, I guess you are condemned
to write fast food, and yet, pretend to be proud of it, feel somehow that it is
an achievement, even though you know it is fast food. The chances anyway that
you will ever reach success are so slim at any rate, you might as well write
what you feel is right, be as obscured as you wish to be, be incomprehensible,
because it will not matter in the end anyway.
Maybe I
should get back to writing esoteric or metaphysic books, like Towards the Green
Fields and The Revolution. I am only writing for myself anyway, until such day
that I reach a few people who can appreciate it. And who cares anyway. I should
only write for myself, as I have always done, and as I always should do. I will
write something in parallel to that new novel, I am telling you, it will be
incomprehensible. It won’t be anything like Destructivism. It will be like The
Revolution. I don’t care anymore. I really ought to write what I want to write.
Forget the commercial side of it, it does not work anyway. Deep stuff, not
obvious stuff, is more what I am about. I will still re-write The Shrinking
Universe/The Expanding Universe, but in parallel I will be writing what I truly
want to write.
Shit, it
leaves me with another book to start writing. That’s a double bubble. What
should that new one be about? About nothing, obviously. I can start it tonight
if I want to. I wish it was that simple, but it’s not. Even the Revolution is
about something, even if no one understood it. Right, I have to think of
something out of this world… I wish I could just write a new version in English
of The Revolution, but it would be impossible. You cannot rewrite perfection,
and The Revolution was perfection, in the style I would truly like to write in.
I will have to thing of something else as big, as great as that. It won’t be
easy, dear me, it could be impossible. I don’t know what went through my mind
at the time, I’m sure I can repeat it, somehow. I don’t think I could ever
write anything as brilliant as The Revolution, but I sure can try, I certainly
have a need to. Who knows, I might just be able to do better. Might be wise
however to write it in French, the Revolution was very much about poetry, even
though it was some sort of novel. It was like a song, a medieval song in the
style of Tristan and Iseult, and The Song of Roland. I couldn’t achieve such a
feat in English, and certainly the translation of The Revolution will lose
everything in the process. Well, as I know that such a new book will never be
published anyway, I might as well write it in French. French has become such a
strange language to me after so many years speaking and writing in English, it might
be nice to rediscover it, the poetry of it. French as a language is at least
twice if not more what English has to offer, from my point of view, since I was
born a French speaking person. I wish I was born an English speaking person,
but it is not so, and I fear I can only play with a language if it is the thong
I was born with, even if it is as limited as the French of the old colonies. I
don’t really care at this point, who’s to say which French is to be used in
literature. Had Québec been has large as it has been in the past, covering a big
part of The United States, and if somehow there were now 300 million French
speaking people in America instead of English and Spanish, it would be a
different ball game. My French would be the only French that would count, and
Quite a
challenge >I have set myself tonight. Write something better than The
Revolution, in English, in the style of The Revolution. Can I? If you cannot
write something better than your last book, you might as well give up now. This
is the great mystery of people who have been capable of writing eternal stuff
in the past, and yet, have been incapable of doing it again. You just wonder
what the fuck happen. Imagination is always there, if you have the desire to do
something better, I’m sure you can. Dear me, it is going to be wild, I don’t
know yet what it will be about, or what it will look like, but it will be wild,
I can sense it, my imagination is in overdrive, I will come up with something
worthy of another book out of this world. That’s what I will be remember for
one day, hopefully. There’s no point in doing what everyone else is doing.
Writing another book about a stupid love story, or about a murder, you might as
well shoot yourself right now, the world does not need yet another book about
that.
I don’t
even have to think or plan such a book. I only need to write it and let it
define itself as I go along. That’s what I did after all for The Revolution,
and yet, it must be the most constructed book I have ever written. Shit, I
could start it tonight, let’s give it a try, I need more wine, and some Moody Blues.
18 August 2007
My physics classes are so far away, I had forgotten that an
atom can have between 1 and 8 electrons, and not only, seems to also have
variable amounts of protons and neutrons. Not that it matters anyway about the
neutrons and protons, there are no more charges in these atoms, no more
electricity and nuclear forces, just expanding things, and these things are all
electrons. That much I believe from Mark McCutcheon’s New Physics, but I don’t
believe his new configuration of the atom. It cannot be bouncing electrons over
the nucleus, it’s got to be the Bohr-Rutherford model, without the electric
charges, it’s got to be the Quantum Mechanics version, still orbiting electrons
around the nucleus. I don’t care if McCutcheon’s believe that it is too weak a
structure to sustain what we observe in nature, that atoms bounce each others
without destroying each others, and that the way they could link would be by
exchanging bouncing electrons. Sounds very logical, really true, but then
again, none of us ever observed that damn thing in the first place and it is
all guess work. There is no way it is not like a solar system at a small scale.
It could still bounce each others even if the electrons were orbiting, perhaps
they simply don’t bounce each others, maybe they just orbit each others for a
while and then via the slingshot effect move away. And whenever they glue
together, these atoms are simply somehow have all their electrons suddenly
finding the center of mass and orbit around both nucleus. Perhaps observing
binary systems in the sky might give me the answers I need. I’m so convinced he
is wrong, I will go ahead and write my sci-fi novel as if somehow the structure
of an atom is composed of electrons orbiting nuclei, as I believe nature would
not invent two different things at different scales, it would be the same damn
thing. If a solar system was about to hit our solar system, something tells me
that none of us know what would happen. A solar system is an object all in
itself, with its planet’s orbital rings expanding as everything else expands,
and so it is like this atom closed on itself, and I don’t believe either that
somehow space is different in there either, space is space, the atom seems to
act differently in there because we still don’t have all the answers. Up until
then McCutcheon had been convincing, he could prove everything, but his new
structure of the atom does not convince me, though I understand how he came to
think it, it supports everything else he says and observed when it comes to
electricity and radio waves and light. Anyway, if an atom is so strange that
somehow it has some sort of weird other dimension within, that it can expand at
such a higher rate of expansion, and yet, externally expand very little, then
it is a closed universe indeed the one of an atom, and perhaps orbiting
electrons can still be considered over the bouncing electrons. Chemical
bounding can still exist between atoms exchanging bouncing electrons or atoms
exchanging orbiting electrons. And it is not that I wish to adapt somehow
physics to my idea of a good sci-fi story, I really do think somehow that there
is no difference between the structure of an atom and a solar system, most
especially when the damn things are constantly expanding, and so the smaller
version could easily become the larger version, and will in time. It is so
logical, I cannot believe that such a brilliant mind as the one of Mark
McCutcheon, this fact failed to register.
It is the clear the universe is built up of the same stuff
whether it is at a small scale or a large one, and it stands to logic that the
larger structures we see are composing even larger ones, and the smaller ones
are also composed of even smaller atoms and electrons. This is like a fractal,
the same within the same within the same, infinitely, like a camera filming a
TV projecting the image the camera is filming, the multiplication of the same
image to infinity. Or like two mirrors in front of each other, projecting the
same image of a mirror to infinity.
Any solar system with only one planet orbiting it, is a
hydrogen atom. Any solar system with two planets orbiting it, is a helium atom,
and so on. Depending on the composition of the sun, or the size of it, then you
have all other elements of the Periodic Table. And whenever you see a binary
system in the sky, or even a system with eight stars glues together, then you
have a molecule, and depending on the composition of all these atoms or solar
systems, you will know what is the substance that this structure is composing
at a higher scale. I don’t understand why we even question this, or not more
clearly state it. This universe is composing something at a higher scale, and I
want to know what. And in my sci-fi novel, I’m stopping the expansion of all
the electrons composing a spaceship with two people within it, until the very
small catch up with them, and they can visit an electron capable of sustaining
an atmosphere, an electron orbiting the nucleus of an atom. I’m going ahead
with it, because I believe eventually we will have all the answers and will see
the micro-world for what it is, the same as the macro-world, it cannot be any
other way, not in an expanding universe. Now I just hope I have the right
answer about how to stop the expansion of these electrons and atoms, bombarding
them with electrons. If I could think of something else, I would, but right now
it is the only way I can think of about how to go about stopping the expansion
of an electron, of an atom.
It is clear that when such a situation happens, electrons
and atoms never simply stop expanding, the pressures builds up until the whole
thing explode somehow, hence a nuclear bomb, hence a Sun with many nuclear explosions,
hence a Black Hole spitting matter on both ends as if there is no tomorrow. If
somehow you could squeeze it all in without it exploding, as if there was
nowhere to go, you could in theory stop the expansion of matter, and if you
could stop the expansion of matter whilst everything else around continued to
expand, that bubble eventually would be as small as the atomic structure
composing it, composing the rest of the world at the scale it was in. And this
is how I will ship a spaceship to an electron, to a new planet orbiting the
nucleus of an atom. And down there, it is a it is on Earth. And there will be
people there, because a previous probe would have sent all the necessary
ingredients for it to happen, and the time difference between the probe is sent
and the ship is sent, will be enough that life would have had the time to
develop. Because there is still a time difference between two different scale
universes, it is still all relative.
As to how I could somehow expand matter at a higher rate
than Xa, than 0.00000077 meter per second, I will worry about that another day,
as it may not be possible to suddenly get matter to grow faster. Hence, the
ship I will send to an electron cannot come back, it is a one way trip, it is a
suicide mission. If somehow we could stop the whole universe, or the whole
solar system from expanding for a while, then we could go back to the very
large. But for that, you would need to be at an even higher scale than where we
are right now.
And as to Xs, the expansion rate of subparticles that
puzzles McCutcheon to the point that he will not venture an answer, it is
either the same expansion rate as ours, or the same adjusted expansion rate
from even smaller sub particles at another scale. Once we’re there, in the
infinitely small, that expansion rate will be the same as ours, but from the
point of view of us right now, that expansion rate could be either much smaller
or much higher. For McCutcheon it is much higher, even though atoms do not
expand that much. He needs them to have a higher expansion rate, I suppose, to
explain electricity and other radiation waves. Once these electrons expand
freely external to their atomic structures, they certainly expand fast whilst
in their electron clouds. They seem to double in size faster than the required
19 minutes that it takes for any object to double in size in this expanding
world.
Either orbiting objects slows down the expansion of the
nucleus of an atom, either orbiting planets slows down the sun of a solar
system, or this expansion rate is faster at a small scale simply because things
are moving much faster at that small scale then it moves at our scales. And
yet, they expand at the same rate. Perhaps there is still place for relativity
in our universe when we speak at different scales.
I understand none of this will make sense to any of you,
but anyway it will be moved to my brainstorm about my next sci-fi novel, and so
you will not have to suffer this conversation that could only make sense if you
had read Mark McCutcheon’s book. As I am certain you have never read that book,
and probably don’t intend to read it, you could never understand what I am
talking about here, even if you are a theoretical physicist. As if you are a
theoretical physicist, you probably never heard of Mark McCutcheon, and may
never hear of him. And yet, it has become my whole universe, my whole reason to
exist. It is my retreat, my escape, far from this so boring reality that it
would require suicide.
Funny enough, the 100 pages of my sci-fi novel I have
written before discovering Mark McCutcheon’s book will not have to change much
from its original premise. So much so that I may keep the same original title,
The Shrinking Universe, even though we are living in an expanding universe and
acceleration and deceleration does not change anything to the rate of expansion
of the matter composing us. It shows how close I was to the truth in the first
place, anyhow. I may not be a theoretical physicist, but I still managed to be
the only other person on this planet to see reality for what it was, expanding
matter. And if I thought it could shrink, well, we may still find a way one day
to shrink matter by simply stopping the expansion. And maybe one day we’ll find
a way to shrink matter and expand matter, and that day, God knows what sort of
technology we will be able to come up with. The next step won’t be to invent
television, it will be something completely out of this world. We could
certainly solve all transportation problems overnight, we could shrink
everything instantly and bring it back to normal once it reaches destination. I
could start a shipping business and make a fortune, because I could ship the equivalent
of a solar system in a small envelope on a plane, so it reaches the other side
of the planet by 8 am the very next day. What business are you in, they will
ask me, in the shrinking business I will answer. I will shrink every single
cemetery in this world, and bring a lot back to its real size whenever someone
suddenly feels the need to cry over the tomb of a lost one, and bring flowers,
which will immediately be shrunk back with the lot after the visit. I will
revolutionise the storage industry by shrinking every single storing room there
is. And careful, I might decide to shrink your brain if I feel it is already
too small to understand or accept me. I might as well bring it to its real
size, the size of an electron, the size of the smallest particle known to
exist. Nanotechnology will be laughable, because you will be able to built
whatever you want at any scale, and I will reduce it way beyond the nanometre
scale. With that I guess we will be able to cure cancer and a myriad of other
diseases. Shrinking a camera to film the infinitely small would be the first
thing to try, isn’t it? I can’t believe we still have not invented the
microscope capable of seeing what an atom looks like in the first place. And
yet we are building these huge particle colliders that cost billions. Would it
not be wise to invent the instruments capable of seeing what we’re trying to
look for in the first place? Why do I feel like I was born in the year 0,
whilst I somehow believe I live in the year 3000, in some sort of futuristic
age that never came? We’re so retard, that is all I can think of reading Final
Theory of McCutcheon. Dear me, I don’t understand how we were able to develop
so much technology whilst knowing nothing about the underlying laws of physics,
and can only wonder what we would have invented by now if we had figured this
out 300 years ago. And yet, as groundbreaking and convincing the Expansion
Theory is, no one took notice, not even one single article has been written
about it in any science magazine or other publication. It might die forgotten,
this whole truth about the universe we live in, it is unthinkable, and yet, I
can see it cannot fail to happen. I will die without anyone even recognising
that the matter expands, and somehow it answers every single mystery in
physics. This is weird, how a genius can go unnoticed. Unlike Einstein, there
is no need for proof in the case of expansion theory, as long as it answers and
solves everything, you have your proof. So why has it not exploded all over the
scientific world yet? I don’t understand. Maybe I will be the one to get it to
explode over the world in a sci-fi novel, and perhaps many subsequent ones. It
is quite possible, and in a way, it would be nice if somehow that was my
destiny and that I would be the one to bring McCutcheon to the masses. My only
regret is that my last Anna Maria novel was based on old deficient science, a
mistake I will never do again. There is no way I will ever write another sci-fi
novel using the old science. So let’s say what sort of impact I will have on
the literary and sci-fi world. I think I already had a sizable impact, even if
it could be all in my mind. If I’m not mistaken about that, I’ll be the one to
bring Expansion theory to the masses. So perhaps I wasn’t destined to become
the genius I hoped I would be, but anyway I can still have quite an important
destiny in view of teaching humanity about the world they live in. After all, a
genius is not a genius until he or she is discovered and defined as such.
Meaning that the person discovering the genius and helping him or her to be
defined as genius is after all as important if not more than the genius himself
or herself. Because without that agent in between, a genius could die without
ever being recognised as such. If somehow I am the catalyst to get Expansion
Theory accepted worldwide, I will then be able to claim that I was as important
if not more than the genius mind that came up with it in the first place. How
nice it is to dream, I can almost believe myself. Well at least I will be the
first sci-fi writer ever to take advantage of the New Physics, no one will deny
me that. Somehow it won’t help if I remain unknown. And what kills me is that
in my own Theoretical Physics ideas I came so close to it all, I saw it first,
and yet, no one will ever recognise that, that perhaps, just maybe, I had the
potential to a genius. Well, I might as well work at becoming a genius in a
different field then, as an author, as now I won’t be in theoretical physics.
Weirdly enough, if suddenly I have all the answers to my
eternal questions, to my satisfaction, then perhaps there is no other reason
for me to exist. I was curious, my curiosity has been satisfied, what other
reason do I have to continue? I think there are many more mysteries to this
universe to be uncovered, and maybe it is through science fiction that we might
get a glimpse of what is awaiting us. I cannot think of a better purpose to my
existence than writing science fiction in order to find out and extrapolate
what are our limits of understanding. But then, I am truly just at the
beginning, when I thought for so long that I was at the end. What is my future
preparing me? How far will I go? I would give anything to know right now, it
might spare me from killing myself one night, after drinking one too many beers
or glass of wine.
I have lost confidence in myself, when I used to think
after finishing a book that I was a genius and that this book was the best ever
boo ever to exist. I have gone to the other extreme that I feel now that Anna
Maria will not find a publisher and that it is crap. So much work that it took
me more than two to three years to think of it and finally write it. Where
could I now find the energy to write another one? The Shrinking Universe,
despite being mind boggling when it comes to expansion theory, could and will
most likely never find a publisher. It will be another year of my life wasted,
without counting the other year or two it took me to think it and write the
bulk of it as it stands now. I cannot see that future where these books could
be appreciated and find any kind of public. It is all very well to spend so
much time in that universe, in the end if it doesn’t help bring me to freedom,
the freedom to do and write whatever I want whenever I want wherever I want, it
is a waste of time. Life is not long enough to waste three years on a book that
I will be the only person to read on this planet. It is not helping giving a
meaning to my existence.
Am I so
desperate to give my existence any kind of meaning? This deserves to be the
first sentence of a new entry in Destructivism, an entry called Purpose. It
might give more insight about how I feel right now.
Have written it, fantastic, I’m pleased about it, and I
have understood once again something about this world, it has no purpose
whatsoever.
What I find much more amazing than the fact that there
could be no purpose to life, is that no one else around me ever stop to wonder
if they have any kind of purpose, or even if humanity has as a whole, they
simply take it for granted and go about their insignificant existence. That is
amazing, that no one whatsoever is amazed by this universe and stop to ask any
kind of question about it. It is amazing. But you would not expect a virus or
an ant to stop in its tracks and wonder about the universe and its possible
purpose. I guess there is nothing amazing about the fact that humanity never
stopped to wonder what its purpose could be all about, considering the vast
infinities in the sky and in the atomic world. What is amazing, is that I am
different, because I do wonder, it drives my whole existence. Sometimes I do
wish I wasn’t different, unfortunately I was born that way.
What is most shocking, is that I finally only got a glimpse
of the real physics at the age of 34, actually 33, as I read The Final theory
last year. What I find most shocking, is that I’m still wondering what a
fucking atom looks like, though we have known that the damn thing existed for
over 600,000 years. How slow must a civilisation evolve and learn anything
about the universe it lives in? Actually, what is shocking is what we all
thought we knew, all that we claimed as high and as far as we could that we
knew, when in reality none of it answered any question, and made no sense to
anyone intelligent enough to question it.
It was
the fact that I thought we knew so much, and then realising we knew nothing,
that is shocking. And then, how much more we don’t know about? Will I have to
figure it all out by myself, whist I have six billion other thinking minds
beside me, all completely useless in actually thinking, questioning, finding
answers, help me on my quest to knowledge? Do I have to do everything by myself
in this world? Took me only 34 years to come across someone who was thinking
like me, and even, develop it much further somehow, and I have come across him
completely by accident. There is still hope that I will find some answers in
this lifetime, but not that much hope.
Oh God, I
could easily just kill myself tonight. However I am drunk, and perhaps I would
not feel like that tomorrow. Especially that tomorrow I am not working at the
Court. Have had been working tomorrow at the Court, I think I might have just
committed suicide tonight, I’m drunk enough after all to realise that I have no
answer to any of my questions, and will never get any. Shit, I have no purpose,
this life, this existence, this world, has no purpose. What is the point in
living? Unfortunately, I am not pretentious enough to believe that I have any
answer. Fortunately I am wise enough to realise that I will never find any
answer.
All of this would be better suited for Destructivism, I
might consider moving it there. This book really needs to come to an end, it
has become a fourre-tout book, any topic, any style, nothing about Crown
Courts, and might mean that I am at the end of that stupid job for which I care
nothing about. I was supposed to re-read Anna Maria, so it could be presentable
and ready to send to some lunatic bastards out there for which their job is to
make things happen. Well, they better do their job now, because I do not
believe I can sustain myself much longer in that civil servant job at the Crown
Court. Somehow I just cannot believe it was my destiny to end up there forever.
And unlike many of my colleagues, it is not my style to get stuck in cushy
positions because I’m too afraid to get out there and confront what humanity
has worst to offer. It has not been a year yet, but it does not seem now that
one year is the usual limit I can suffer a job, I think nine to ten months
might be my new limit as I grow more and more impatient with life. I have now
passed the 300 pages, I am babbling about other stuff, maybe it’s time to move
on. I won’t move on, so something external to me must make me move on.
Anything, hoping, yes, should happen soon, I’m ready. I just don’t know if it
will have anything to do with Anna Maria, perhaps not, I find it unlikely. Maybe
I will have to do something in order to move on, perhaps I cannot just expect
it to fall from the sky. It has happened before many times, like moving to
20 August 2007
I just got an invitation to move back to
Could you imagine, leaving my job at the Court, leaving
Stephen for good, and announcing to everyone that I am going to become a
starving artist in
It is also that this friend in Los Angeles, dearly loves
me, and to be frank, he could be the last ever of my lovers as I do not feel
particularly attractive right now, I even thought it impossible for anyone to
fall in love with me ever again, even though I am only 34. I could go on a diet
and in six months it would a totally different story, however I won’t go on a
diet and so I have to face the possibility that he could very well be my last
chance. I feel Stephen still loves me, but he has a strange way of showing it
as he his driving me completely mad. The thing is, I would be replacing him
with someone equally annoying, as much a talking machine, which might not leave
me one minute to breath. Also that for both of them sex really is secondary, I
remember how Leonardo freaked out in
Shit, here I have a second chance to go back to Los
Angeles, without a fucking and draining job, and someone would offer me a
shelter and food, I’m sure there are other times and places where I would have
jumped at such an opportunity. It’s not like my relationship here is on solid
grounds, or that my career is blinding me, and who cares about my creditors? If
I was certain that within months I would have sold a story, it could be a
different kettle of fish, my friend is after all well connected (sort of). I am
however certain that despite my great imagination, my great potential, it
wouldn’t go anywhere. I have at least that much experience in my life.
I wonder is somehow I could incorporate the New Physics of
Expansion Theory into Anna Maria. I almost did, actually, I simply said that a
lot of what was going on should be impossible considering Expansion Theory. For
a start travel in time and parallel universes is out of the window. Yet, I have
a perfect opportunity here to adapt everything I have written so far to fit in
or justify everything from the point of view of Expansion theory. It would give
me a complete new book filed with short stories, completely fresh, renewed to
an unexpected level for any kind of second season, and would help with the
format of short stories.
Now, how can I justify parallel universes and time travel
in light of Expansion Theory? If I can do that, there is no need to waste my
time rewriting a sci-fi novel I abandoned years ago or writing something
completely new, a full novel. I think this might be my best idea yet, Anna
Maria II. I like it, I have to do it, I have to make it work. I will do what I
have done so far, I will recycle The Shrinking Universe into Anna Maria. So it
won’t be wasted, that was after all the point of Anna Maria, a vessel by which
I could recycle all my ideas, and so far I feel I have been quite successful.
Shit, I can feel the juice flowing, that is my best idea yet, I could start
writing within days. It could even be part of Anna Maria I, and then I will
have my 12 or 13 short stories I wanted to make a whole series if ever this
goes to television. The book might be over 500 pages as a consequence, but look
at Harry Potter. I look at that brick, and feel I could never actually finish
reading it. And yet, children all over the world have read it hundreds of
times.
It is now decided. Anna Maria will have to deal with the
new physics, expansion theory. It will require some editing in the first
stories, and some creative thinking about how to adapt and justify time travel
and parallel universes, but in the end if all I can say is that it should not
be possible and yet it is, then it would mean we simply do not have all the
answers yet. I would also feel much more comfortable to bring Anna Maria in
line with Expansion Theory, as I do not believe for one second that this New
Physics is wrong, it is just a question of time before it takes over the world
of Physics by storm, and then I would be a fool to have written a sci-fi novel
which does not agree with expansion theory. Especially whilst being a pioneer
in this field and probably the one who will first bring it to the world of
science fiction.
No matter the physics that we could come up to explain this
world, time travel does exist as there are too many accounts of people who
actually did travel in time and there is no reason to believe they were
delusional. Ghosts is another sort of example of something weird that one day
science will have to explain, the phenomenon exists, we cannot deny it. There
is however no account of people finding themselves in parallel universes,
though I feel I can change my future at will as if it was all virtual. I did
feel things had changed overnight and that suddenly everything was much better
than the day before, and miracles did happen after I wished for them, but then
again, I never experienced anything like living the same events twice in
different settings. I wake up the next day and things have changed, trees,
street lamps, buildings, suddenly appeared out of nowhere, or the writing on
the front of a building is different than it was before, but is that parallel
worlds that I switched to? Or I simply changed my reality as if it was a
computer game?
We believe in parallel worlds because of Quantum Mechanics.
Quantum Mechanics, unlike Relativity, Einstein and
Yeah, I can justify all of it. Expansion theory simply does
not have all the answers yet. And my doubts and worries, Anna Maria will speak
them aloud, I do not have to bring all the answers and to justify everything.
Holy shit, Anna Maria is far from being finished now. I
have to incorporate The Shrinking Universe/The Relative Universe into it, I
reckon that will be at least two short stories, or a long bonus episode of 28
pages at simple interline instead of 14 (60 pages instead of 30 of a normal
book).
I know now that I will die writing short stories involving
Anna Maria and Arthur Connaught. I have no idea if it could have been a Big
Bang on the sci-fi market without incorporating expansion theory within it, but
know I feel it will be a Big Bang in the world of literature, without giving up
anything old sci-fi had to offer. It’s got to be the perfect solution.
Tonight
might have been the most important night of all my existence, because I thought
of this idea. A Monday night, that is amazing. I feel I might not have had this
idea without drinking red wine, and I never drink red wine on Mondays. I will
turn Anna Maria into such an interesting story, such an essential one, if I
were rich I would produce a television series out of it. Without expansion
theory I am not certain if I would have taken such a risk, now there is no
question about it. I wish I could take a week off work to write the next 60
pages of Anna Maria, and the modifications to the other stories, to turn the damn
thing into the most revolutionary sci-fi novel ever written. As I cannot do
that, and could not guarantee having the energy to do so even if I were to take
a week off for that, it will have to be done on my own time after work. I just
hope I can achieve this fast enough for this novel to be finished before I die.
Where do
I start? When do I start? I could start with another glass of red wine, but I
would be dead tomorrow at work. It is not enough to think of something great,
one also has to turn it into a reality, make it happen somehow. I have a new
mission, and will now spend every single minute of free thinking time to make
it come true. Until I am ready to write it all down, hopefully before this
weekend or this weekend.
I need to
incorporate Expansion Theory as early as possible in Anna Maria, a big chunk of
it needs to go into Victorian Ignorance is Bliss. It wouldn’t matter after that
if it were not to be mentioned in anything else until The Shrinking Universe
story. That story will have to have
22 August 2007
At work at the Crown Court now, I feel like my colleagues
and I have all become defendants on trial awaiting judgement, where everything
we say and do is being registered somehow by the Scottish man and used against
us at multiple hearings. Right now I
feel we are all under deep scrutiny and the place has become no better than a
prison.
It has always been like that, but now I feel it more
deeply, as my Line Manager has been targeted so many times lately for his sick
leave, his lateness and work not being done, with many panel where he had to
justify himself, that today he said that as soon as he is given the money he is
owed by the Court, he will resign.
The Kid from Ham is in has much shit, and now he has
meetings with the Scottish guy on a daily basis, where he is being scrutinised,
questioned, reprimanded, and of course this is all an exercise to justify
eventually his dismissal which apparently will be going ahead in a matter of
days now.
I understand that those two employees have been taking the
piss, and have done so for a very long time. It is not surprising that the Scottish
guy would be moving ahead on them like that, unfortunately the impact of the
rest of us, or on me at the very least, is that I feel oppressed and cannot
helped thinking I will be targeted next. Now for the last three weeks it has
been really difficult, I have been trying to be on my very best behaviour,
never late, always working hard, as not to give them anything to use against
me. However it does not seem that I need to do anything wrong in order for them
to find something wrong, and all this week I could feel the Scottish bastard
breathing down my neck hitching at something, trying his best to get me into
shit, and so far I avoided it.
But today
it got too much and I went for a little walk, I also went to the toilet for 10
long minutes right after, and sure enough when I came back he was looking for
me. It doesn’t help either that I had a doctor appointment at 1h45 pm today,
and never came back to work. I was home at 4pm, I could have gone back, I
decided against it because I feel that if he calls me for a meeting in his
office, I will explode and might just kill him and a few others in the process.
However now I gave him ammunition and he has enough for a meeting of
questioning, and I don’t think I will be in the mood for hearing it.
I won’t
be bullied anymore, I am a good employee and if he cannot see that and feel the
needs to give me shit just for the sake of it, I will resign on the spot
without even thinking about the consequences.
I think
he is getting too used to give shit to everyone and gathering incriminating
evidence against the rotten apples, that he now do so for every single employee
whether they are excellent or rotten. And anyway, the morale is bad when you
work in an environment where everyone is
being targeted and eliminated around you. I hate it. It’s like the world of
conferences all over again, with the highest turnover of employees ever seen.
I’m sure
the Scottish guy had ample of time to flex his muscles in the last 15 years,
especially just around when I started working there, has something like four
employees all left in one go, and none of them on happy terms. I suppose it is
getting close to a year now since his last hatchet job where he somehow kicked
them all out, and he is ready for another round. If he felt any guilt over
that, it must have subsided by now.
I’ve got
a feeling it will be my turn any minute now, he will call me in the office for
whatever reason, very likely that the bitch Chief Clerk has been trying very
hard still to this day to plant a knife in my back on a daily basis. That every
time she shouts at me, as she shouts at me all the time, when I speak back she
feels I am shouting too, whilst I am merely trying to get heard. She reminded
me again yesterday that she did not like how I called her back to my desk,
after she threw something on it without explaining what the problem was, and
that it is the second time she does that, the second time people tell me what
to do, and yet, I was still doing it wrong and she would not take the time to
clarify the situation. I said I was not shouting back, because for me it was
meant as a joke, in a funny way, but she decided to take it personally and I
could see yesterday that she was hitching at getting into the Scottish guy’s
office to backstab me, but the big boss was already in there. I’m sure she did
it later on.
I think
it is clear now that I cannot win, because the game has become an unfair one
where they pick on you whether they are justified or not, and at that point it
becomes victimisation, favouritism, racism, homophobia, whatever you want to
call it, if it isn’t justified, then it must be something else.
I think
it is clear now that I would not be able to justify my point of view, could not
convince anyone that I do not answer back to the chief clerk in an unacceptable
manner even though she thinks so and by the way shouts at everyone on a daily
basis, basically I cannot defend myself and my days are numbered,
notwithstanding the fact that it has become impossible to work there as the
tension is filling the room. You would not believe how difficult it is to make
a few photocopies and do your job under these conditions. It would be like
having an astronaut’s suit on in zero gravity and trying to press the buttons
of a photocopier and picking up these sheets to the best of your ability all
day long.
It is
clear now that I need to find another job and I better start applying for jobs
soon. And I already know what my big conclusion to this book will be once it is
over, this office needs cleaning up and employees kicked out, those employees
are management, old style management that is no longer acceptable. The Scottish
guy and the bitch Chief Clerk need to go. They have been ruling over their
little empire for far too long with ultimate powers, and it is clear that the
whole place would benefit greatly in productivity if they were both sacked, it
would also be a much happier place. And I know a few thousands of defendants
who have been refused many things in the past like Legal Aid for no good
reason, finally getting justice for the way those two have been trying for as
long as they could to not pay the counsels, not pay the solicitors, not give
anything to anyway unless they truly cannot find a reason to do so, doing their
best to create the shit and bureaucracy humanity simply does not need and
probably lead to world wars.
I hope
having emptied my heart here tonight will prevent me from exploding tomorrow
when the Scottish guy calls me in for another session of torture and
psychological warfare. I hope I will be able to keep my calm, as I can only win
if I keep a cool head. As soon as I lose it, I am finished, I might as well
resign. Of course I would have no reason to lose it if I thought it was
justified, that I had done anything wrong and now needed to be punished as a
result. The fact that all this bullying is unfair is what will make me lose it.
I can feel it is coming, I felt it all week, I should not jump to conclusion,
as I have been so good, I don’t even drink the night before, I sleep as much as
I can, I work bloody hard. But now they’re turning me into an alcoholic,
because tonight I am, drinking and I have been two days ago as well. I tried
hard to be the perfect civil servant, I guess it is just not possible.
Oppression
brings repression brings depression brings all the eternal ugly problems of
humanity out in the open in its vicious circle.
I am really not happy at the moment, I wonder if it could
all be about work. It looks like winter, as it did all summer, but usually that
doesn’t affect me. Is it the routine then? It sounded more serious, as if I had
lost all will to live. I found myself asking this week, many times, if there
was any evolution in my life, or just stagnation. When I went for that quick
walk this morning, I caught a small glimpse of the Clock tower on Gillette
corner, I felt pain as I remembered how I used to see it every morning when
going to work for that alcohol company beside it. That was at least 10 years
ago, and I felt as if nothing had really changed for me in all that time. Suddenly
the argument that I had another book written under my belt simply didn’t do the
trick, thereought to be more to life than just be born, go to work and die. And
when you go home, you work some more. Not that I am gagging for fun either, I
don’t feel like doing anything or go anywhere. I just don’t see the point in
anything, and I am wondering if I ever did. Am I just buying my time until I
die? A day I don’t even care if it comes tomorrow or in 50 years?
My tortoise is laying eggs, I believe. The three she has
laid months ago are still not out of their shell, and there she is having more
babies, suffering and acting weird. Maybe there is a lesson there, but I guess
I am too tired to learn it, or even invent something just to make me feel
better. The miracle of life at the moment would turn horribly wrong in my state
of mind, overpopulation to breaking point, how many tortoises and animals can
this flat take on? All my money goes into feeding this zoo. I guess that was
Stephen’s answer to life, own a zoo, but it wasn’t mine.
Tortoises were my favourite animal when I was young, today
I wonder why nature would have created such an impractical animal. They can’t
move, they can’t do anything, having sex the way they do, I would be so dead, I
would think it wouldn’t be worth it. It is clear anyway that the female never
wants sex, she is constantly being raped by the male, and now she’s having
babies again, and that male was still raping her all day today and now is sound
asleep. She is desperate to get out, and I let her out a few times tonight, but
no more, now that I know she may have babies. She’s looking for a batter place
than her litter to bury her dead, I can’t let that happen. Well, for an
impractical animal, she is now a master at opening her cage and escape. I
thought Stephen forgot her out this morning, I know understand she escaped. It
is amazing what you can achieve if you’re determined enough. It is amazing how
little I have achieved in my lifetime, I guess I was not determined enough, or
that determination alone is just not enough, as I will soon make it impossible
for her to escape again.
I sometimes believe that if I was in prison as punishment,
and had no choice to be locked up all day in a fish bowl, working my ass off
whilst being bullied by everyone, it would be better. The simple fact that I do
it by choice is what depresses me. That I want so badly to open the window and
escape, and could, and yet I don’t, is fascinating. That I could be in prison
whilst I agree to it and obey like a prisoner feeling sorry for myself, is sad.
I am as obliged as a prisoner to go to work and remain there every second of
the day, do my job, forget my urges to escape by the opened window, as the
consequences would be horrible. We are all prisoners. The ones who do not have
the opened window in front of them to tempt them, is because they would forget
the consequences and simply walk out. Pettiness and bullying tactics by
managers would not work on them, that is the only difference. Of course I could
go on to Blackpool this weekend if I wanted to, but they robbed me of my will
to live, just like when I was in Los Angeles, and I end up doing absolutely
nothing. It is all very nice to have the freedom to do whatever you want, but
if you don’t feel like doing anything, then it is like having no freedom at
all. We’re all prisoners of this existence.
Maybe I should go to bed earlier, being less tired helps a
great deal in our capacity to accumulate a lot of crap without even flinching. Being
tired, and that’s it, that opened window becomes just too tempting, until you
snap and then you again no longer have the choice, they will kick you out
faster than you can think and will ensure your future is somehow a little bit
more mortgaged, making it harder to find a new prison to go to every day. They
always appear clean, white and proper in this destruction of our own lives,
when people should know that at the end of the day, they were the ones
responsible for making us snap. Go on to dig dig dig on everyone, and see what
happens. The ones still smiling after that, the ones you will keep on your team
forever, there must be something wrong with them, perhaps you were successful
in dehumanising them, they must be empty shells, at that point you would be
better of replacing them with robots.
Right, time to optimise my capacity to deal with bullshit,
my new definition of sleep.
23 August 2007
It seems that I may still escape the wrath, due to other
cases more serious than mine. The Kid was 2 hours and 30 minutes late this
morning, and they were preparing a pig style management move on my Line Manager
today. He has now been demoted and will be the lap dog of the Clerk’s office
until he resign at the end of the month or until he leaves for
Considering how all this must be horrible for all the
people involved, I am surprised that I feel completely indifferent. It must
also be how the management feel about all this, when in fact decisions like
that could easily drive certain emotional people to suicide. It will most
definitely send my Line Manager to drink himself to death tonight and this next
long weekend, and probably some hard drugs in between. What I can’t understand
is that the man has been in his position for nearly 9 years, why act only now?
Because it has more to do with the Indian girl wanted the job and being helped
by her best friend Chief Clerk, than how my Line Manager really is performing
at his job. So it is a double blow of injustice.
I particularly like the sneaky way by which they got the
Indian girl to learn the job of my Line Manager. On the pretence that three
courts were closed and that in order to avoid Clerks being shipped to other
courts for the duration of the construction, they shipped her from the Clerk
Office to the General Office. And on the pretence that she is on a fast track
programme from the Ministry of Justice to learn the job of everyone else in all
the Courts in England, for two weeks she has been doing my Line Manager’s job
in order to know what is required from the Magistrates’ Court when she goes
there for a week in September to learn some more.
I thought it was weird, I thought she was more like
learning his job in order to take his place, my gosh, I had no idea they could
be as bold as to demote him to place their friend there instead. If this whole
moved had been attempted for me, I am so paranoid by nature, I would have seen
it coming. It is fair to say that my Line Manager knew something was coming his
way, I think he expected to be dismissed, however they probably tried to avoid
further problems with a court case by simply wait until he leaves in December.
The effect on him this morning has been devastating, he spent the morning
surfing the Internet about travel websites concerning
29 August 2007
The whole management at the Crown Court is on the war path,
everyone in the General Office has been targeted, and only in the General
Office has anyone actually been targeted, because it comes under the Scottish
guy, and together with the Chief Clerk, it seems it is the only department they
can attack, as the Chief Clerk seems highly satisfied with all her staff,
unless she is giving them shit and we don’t hear about it.
So now the have transferred my Line Manager to the Clerk,
and I understood why, it is because at the end of the summer they will need to
ship at least three clerks to some other courts as they have closed three of
our court rooms whilst the expansion is going on. I didn’t have the chance yet
to tell my Line Manager that they must intend to ship him away somewhere else
any day now, as he is on holiday today and I only connected the dots yesterday
(I’m losing it, I should have foreseen this long ago!).
The Pakistani Man is so fucked off that he again was passed
on to become the Line Manager of the General Office, he is now applying to
become a Clerk in two other Crown Courts in
As for the British woman from listing now in the General
Office, she just fucked herself up big time. She went on holiday and today was
supposed to be back, she called in sick. Upon her return she can expect a
management panel where they will give her a hard time, because she is already
over her 5 days sick leave maximum, I believe she is well over 20 days now,
they will certainly not miss their chance to give her as much shit as possible,
and once again she will have to call on the union to defend her. She did say
that without the union, when she was sick for over two weeks a few months ago,
she would no longer be working at the Court.
At the moment, on top of targeting the Kid about his
lateness everyday, and the fact that he does nothing all day, with daily
meetings in the Scottish Guy’s office, they have moved on their attention to
the Old Indian Man. He now goes around the office apologising to everyone for
no reason, and say good morning and good afternoon to every single employee all
day long. No doubt their angle on him is that he is a rude bastard and needs to
change his attitude. On top of all his sick leave and numerous hospital
appointments which altogether makes him to be at work merely half the week.
To be honest, in that kind of environment of terror, I am
highly surprised they have not found a way to attack me as well, I am the only
remaining one to give shit to, and I know they are hitching to get me on
something, and last week they nearly found something when I disappeared from my
desk for more than 10 minutes. However, apart from that, I have been the
perfect employee, I show up on time, I do overtime, I have overtime
accumulated, I work hard all day, and I was sick like a dog yesterday and still
showed up to work without a word of complaint.
They are
leaving me alone for now, but I really don’t think it will last. They will
eventually find something to freak out about, because they are trying so hard
to find shit where there is none. In fact, they are spending all of their time
giving us a hard time instead of doing their job and letting us do ours. The
result is quite clear, we are so fed up, none of us are doing any more work, we
are too busy plotting our way out, to jump ship or figuring out what we will do
once they have sacked us.
The Pakistani Man is applying for jobs everywhere, the Old
Indian Man has stated that he may retire early instead of waiting for another
year, the Line Manager has decided to move to Australia with his wife to escape
the wrath, unfortunately immigrating takes time and they will get rid of him
before he moves on, and the Kid, well, the Kid always knew his days would be
numbered from the moment he started working there. He is quite ready to find
another job at a moment’s notice. Only the British woman will not look for a
way out or an escape, as she has been working there for over 15 years, and will
stand her ground with a union representative is necessary. As the psychological
mind games do not seem to affect her in the slightest, somehow, she feels all
right no matter how much they are targeting her. I wish I was like that, but I
am not, unfortunately, everything affects me a great deal, I cannot sustain
that kind of pressure for too long, even though I have gone through much worse
in previous jobs. The fact is, I got that job in the civil service in order to
avoid having to produce results and be told off if I didn’t produce them, even
though making money has more to do with the market conditions than how hard you
work, because I have always worked hard, but too often they simply gave me
conferences that everyone knew would fail before we even started doing them.
It is not easy to be the perfect employee, especially when
you know that it doesn’t matter, they will find a reason to cause me problems
anyway. Better go back to work, at least I should not give them an easy reason
to target me.
30 August 2007
I am right fucked off right now, that when the fat British
bitch decides she has done her month of Grad Fees, they accept it, but then
when they want to give it back to me and I say no, I have no choice but to take
them over once again, within a fucking month of getting them back, when not
only have we got a full complement of staff, we inherit an extra one on Monday.
I just left the office, I need to get back within 10
minutes, or else this little crisis will be used against me, and I would have
backed myself into a corner, so much so that I am willing to say: let’s discuss
my departure date, because I had enough.
They say they want the Fat Bitch to train the new girl, I
said I can train the new girl, there is no reason why the Fat Bitch should be
the one training her, especially when she just came from the Listing office,
and so I must know more than her about pre-trials, what most likely we will be
training her on. This is not acceptable, I cannot let them walk like that all
over me, just because they wish to keep the Fat Bitch quiet. She will not let
herself be bullied, I won’t either. I am not getting back the fucking grad
fees, I will leave over it.
This must be part of a larger plan to get me into shit, and
their plan is working so well, I am in shit right now before the plan could
even be put into place. I will revert back to working with the Chief Clerk,
who’s has been doing her best to backstab me at every damn opportunity, and now
she will have all the best chances in the world. So that is what they were
preparing for me. I knew something was up.
Shit, shit, shit, what am I gonna do now? I have no choice
but to accept the getting them back, with as little complaining as possible.
The most difficult part now is to get back into that fucking office whilst
still keeping face. I will not however be saying another word until the end of
the day. But got to be back to normal by tomorrow morning. Fucking bastards.
You know what is funny, is that us, human beings, barely
look at the sky, stop to consider what is it that we are looking at, the stars,
moons, planets. We rarely think in terms of subatomic particles and chemical
bonds in molecular structures, and yet, this is as real if not more than looking
at a can of beer or a lighter. None of these objects make any sense when you consider
the matter composing them, and when you see the night sky and understand that
if we were not stuck here in physical bodies, all we would look at all day
would be expanding balls in some black space.
However
when you start considering it deeply like I did these last few weeks in order
to escape my horrible reality, you can get nightmares about it all, where you
end up thinking and seeing in terms of expanding balls, no matter at which
scale, and trying to get them to expand more or less. I have to say it is a
nice change to having nightmares about my Manager giving me shit all day at
work. If I had to choose the reality which seems more real, and the reality I
would prefer to live in, it would be the world of expanding balls over the
world of the expanding human beings which I cannot stand, and yet I force
myself to go to work every day to receive more and more shit from them.
My plan has back fired. The Fat Bitch did very well with
the grad fees, no doubt because I gave her a clean slate to begin with, also
that the new scheme has cut the work in 10, and she never had to stop entering
grad fees into the computer once, also because I fought so hard to get it all
to this point. All in all, even though I never really saw her go and look for
files like I did, and even though she never did overtime and worked like hell
like I used to, she successfully did the job without complaining too much.
Maybe I have misjudged her, she may be after all the only competent member of
staff at the Court amongst those imbeciles. Or else doing grad fees now is
really easy. Never mind, she was on holiday for nearly a week, once again, and
now it has piled up, and so I inherit the damn thing with three full shelves of
files and a huge pile of grad fees for which files will need to be found. And
as it is the end of the month, this is another few days where nothing can be
done as the clerks need to clear their own backlog, ignoring that mine is just
getting larger.
I hate how so casually she was able to put her foot down
and say: I will no longer do grad fees, and suddenly I get them back. I hate
that kind of injustice, blatant disregard for other’s people feelings, it is
like treating me like nothing. She may have been better at it than I would have
given her credit for, she certainly hated every single minute of it, and her
last sick leave this week was no doubt in hope that upon her return the grad
fees would no longer be hers. So at least it proves one point of mine, that
this is such a horrible job, that even the most competent member of staff will
not accept doing it for more than a month, and could not get rid of it fast
enough. Do you think this at least could bring a bit of respect for me, who has
been doing the job for over eight months without even a word of complaint until
two months ago? Nope. Nothing. I’m the whore of the department, I will slave on
it without any recognition until I fucking die on the job.
3 September 2007
The quality of music has gone down the drain a lot in the
last 25 years, I think I mentioned it before. I remember listening to Blue Eyes
of Elton John on the first ever Walkman that came out in perhaps 1980, it was
Sears, I guess it came out right after the Sony one, and the sound in that
bulky walkman was so extraordinary, listening to Blue Eyes was an experience
then. Today the song sounds so bland, I wonder why I ever thought this was such
a great song. It is the only song of Elton John I can actually stand, perhaps
because then quality was good, and that was before CD, tapes, and most
especially MP3. I think I will ban myself from listening to MP3, and make an
effort to put the CD in, I might at least enjoy a bit more quality that way.
All I listen to I have on CD anyway, well, almost. I managed to lose most of
them in all my moves from country to country, especially all my Depeche Mode
remixes 12 Inches records. I know where they are at least, at my friend’s home
in
I was so proud of Anna Maria whilst I was writing it, I
thought it was great and all, I was motivated and enthusiastic. Now that it
could be considered finished and I sent it without results to some 20 sci-fi
websites, I kind of wonder if this novel was not after all a complete waste of
time. It is amazing how little objectivity one can have about all this, then
again I am no publisher or on a committee reviewing draft books, then I would
know instantly the good from the bad. This said, my second publisher in
How can I sit here tonight wondering if everything I have
ever written was simply a big waste of time? I sometimes wish I would know the
future, know with certainty that none of it will ever make a difference and I
can stop now, free myself from this chore. And most definitely writing this
actual book must be the biggest waste of time of all, as I already know it will
never be published, and putting it on my website for everyone to read could
gather more attention away from the fictional and commercial stuff.
Today at work I already started to feel the change that is
in the air. The Indian Girl has taken over the job as my Line Manager. I
thought we were friends, and even for the three weeks of her training, we all
laughed with her in the office. Today she already showed signs of turning into
a Master Bitch.
She
certainly is bossy, and oh, how quickly thy power gets to someone’s brain, that
she has alienated both the Kid and I today, and that was the first day. I’m
afraid, really afraid that I will seriously clash with her, faster than the Old
Indian Man will come back from holiday, and before she can clash with him
first. It would be of great help to me if she were to clash with someone else
first, then I could say she is the problem, and I know she will clash with the
Old Indian Man, he openly hates her, always talks against her, and clashed with
her in the past.
When
someone rang at the counter, and that there were about 12 members of staff
between me and the counter who could all have gone to the counter, whilst I was
right in the middle of doing a complicated grad fee from the new Scheme 4
Regulations, and that the Indian Girl turned around and ordered me to go to the
counter, when I knew very well that it was for the list office and not the
general office, as it is always, and so going to the counter is always a waste
of time for me to go to, I really felt rage coming into my heart.
I tried
to rationalise my deep and unexpected feeling, since I accept it kindly when my
ex Line Manager told me to go to the counter or answer the phone, his tone has
always however been nice, as if asking for a favour, not a direct order as if
we where in the army, making me feel like a pet or the newbie runner of the
department. It was that lack of respect, her patronising way, her tone of
voice, all of it together made me want to snap back to fuck off, or hit her
hard in the face as the Kid would say as a joke. Sometimes ABH and GBH can be
quite justified, and I feel that in a Trial I could get away easily with
hitting her in the face. Not quite, but you know what I mean.
The
problem is that I am on Grad Fees now, and as I am doing the job of at least
two persons, the rule is that I should be left alone to concentrate on Grad Fees.
I bet it will take her a day or two before giving me an NG form, copying a
whole file for the Court of Appeal, something that takes three hours
altogether, including finding the file that usually hides in the most
unexpected places, when you can find it at all.
So at the
moment I’m not sure how it will go, I feel awry that it might go horribly wrong
and I could lose patience with her. I don’t want to clash, but I might, and
that is what worries me. And what didn’t help either was the smile on the face of
the Fat British Woman, who corrected me many times today that the new girl who
started was not British, but was in fact English. Right. Not only she had a big
smile on her face when she gave me a huge pile of grad fee claims, on top of
the fact that half the bookshelf was already full of files and claims awaiting
to be entered onto the system, but it is a miracle I didn’t lose it then.
Well, you
could say I have adapted very well to the new regulations about the counsel’s
claims, and I eliminated in one day all the files, though I finished at 18h30. And
tomorrow will be even worse, because I have to attack all the other claims for
which the files need to be found, about a thousand of them, just that.
What
fries me is that her incompetence, the easy and casual way she decided to go
about doing grad fees, no one will ever notice. I however noticed today as I
had to call at least five Chambers to get claims they had previously sent in
the past that we had no copies of anymore, because she was too lazy to keep a
copy of these claims, when it was obvious that one day we would need them, as
we were awaiting Legal Aid orders for these files. Two hours wasted on her
laziness today, and it will only continue tomorrow. In one month she left me
quite a backlog. So I can now confirm she was useless at it, even though I am
the only one who knows it.
The new
girl, there is something really wrong with her, though I cannot exactly
pinpoint what. I made a big mistake by asking her where she was from, since she
was “English”. It is obvious she is Indian or something similar. When I asked
her origins, to explain such a weird name that I could not pronounce it, she
said that she didn’t know, perhaps it was Indian. The perhaps tells me a lot,
as I knew it was Indian, I just wanted confirmation, and that was my mistake.
The
problem is that she has rejected her origins, she hates the fact that her
parents were Indians and perhaps even lived in
Her
psychological problem is however much more serious, as she is wearing those
weird dark blue contact lenses when it is obvious her eyes are of a dark brown,
as someone who looks like her, always has dark brown eyes. If there was a way
for her to wear coloured contact lenses without her looking so weird wearing
them, then why not, but at the moment she looks more like Data on the
Enterprise, she looks like an android. What doesn’t help is that she is very
thin, with round little breasts that look more like small tennis balls, and she
was wearing a white tight shirt matching her shape. And when she started name
dropping, and telling us that her best friend was a gay guy that was on Big
Brother five years ago, and as a result most of Big Brother participants of
that year were her friends, and that she is VIP and go everywhere classy and
upmarket, and whatever, I thought, gosh, another one for which you would just
like to pick a shovel and with it detach her head from the rest of her body.
And then go back to work in peace as if nothing happened.
I should
be nicer really, I should give her a chance, she after all shouted in the
office today that all gay men where the best friends a girl could have, and
that was before she knew I was gay. And now that she knows, I think she will
become a good friend of mine, and then I will regret having been so mean about
her. The thing is, she is more like someone with a personality by-pass who
clings to half baked celebrities like a slug, and to be honest I have no time
for that kind of shit. Well, we will see, won’t we. Every gay man needs his fag
hag, she might become it, at work at least. The Scottish guy already has is,
the Chief Clerk, assuming she is not a Hot Lesbo Action to begin with.
Dear,
dear, dear, I am really mean tonight, but I have got every right to, I am back
on the damn Grad Fees from Hell, crowned by a new Master Bitch which cannot
fail to make my life a real misery. I am about to lose with little nuclear
family which is about to go nuclear any minute, with my Line Manager moving to
the Clerk’s office any day now, and the Kid being kicked out any day now. So
better get the chemical bonds going and become one with the new girl, so we
together we can form a more solid molecular structure and be prepared to face
the music at work.
I thought
a change would be coming soon and I would somehow get another job or something,
now I can see that perhaps that kind of radical is not necessary if everyone
around you changes radically at work. I can see that I could easily start a new
book about phase II of this ordeal. I cannot see how different it would be or
how more interesting it could be compared to everything I have written so far,
but I have to be ready to accept that it may be what it will be, and I could be
stuck in that job for a while longer, as I am not prepared to find another job
at this time. I say that, and yet, tonight I almost registered on the old
famous Job website for the entertainment business, and I think I will this
weekend, once we have sorted our finances and discover that I have an extra 100
pounds to burn. Not that I believe that I will find a job there, even though
this is how I found my only contract in England working on that film about
Einstein, but hope is what drives this world.
7 September 2007
Today I have sold Anna Maria, the novel I sweated on for at
least five years, beginning with when I started writing the film script ideas
that went on to form the bulk of the novel. Would you like to know how much I
got for it? I believe this amount of money is about the standard in the industry,
that you can almost kill yourself over writing a 350 pages book over five years,
and in the end, the big reward, what I am now being offered for it, is 25
pounds.
A contract will be established where I will give up all my
rights for it, will have to take it off my own website and get rid of all my
film script ideas and other film scripts related to the novel, in return my
book will be sold on a cheap sci-fi website in the UK as an e-book, for one
pound each copy, for which I will receive 25 pence per copy sold.
You would think I would want to commit suicide right now,
but it is in fact cause for celebration. I sent Anna Maria to 25 sci-fi
websites and magazines to probe the interest. Out of that I think half of them
rejected it out right because it was too large a book or they simply didn’t
receive the email because the file was too large or their inbox was full. So
all in all, maybe 10 organisations might consider Anna Maria, and one of them
offered me money for it. It is encouraging because until you get paid for
anything you have ever written, you’re considered an amateur. I have been paid
for my French published books, but not for English stuff I have written. So it
is great news in the sense that the first interested person said yes, and getting
a yes is usually nearly impossible. So there could be some interest in the
novel out there.
I will of course declined the offer. I will send a series
of questions designed to frighten the publisher, and ultimately will propose to
forget the money and offer my e-book online on his website for free. I will
however keep all my rights and will keep it online on my website as well. And
once a serious offer comes my way, he will have to take it off his website.
Adding three zeros after his own figure would be more like it, even four zeros
after it would be perfect. This is how ambitious I am. And that made me
understand something quite important. A critical question. To what sort of
offer would I actually say yes to and sign a contract for?
I realised that perhaps I should not waste any time
targeting publishers, but should only target agents, as it is the only and most
direct way to big publishers. Any small publisher will not be able to offer me
more than I can actually achieve all by myself with my own websites. Selling
Anna Maria online for a pound, I could do that from my website, I would be
lucky to sell five copies this year, and no one would ever know the book even
existed.
Science fiction publishers are not exactly big in nature,
and might not even require agents to reach. But would I sign with anyone, even
the smallest one based perhaps in Tulsa, Oklahoma? To be honest, from
experience, I would be lucky to even find a small publisher, because a miracle
is required to find a publisher. So ultimately I would not say no. But perhaps
I should start big, agents only, then important publishers, then smaller ones,
then when they would al have said no, as it is to be expected, I will simply
keep it online for free on my own website.
Just listened to a bunch of Nine Inch Nails albums, read
the history of Trent Reznor, I feel energised.
Two hours later, now reading about Depeche Mode, and
listening to Dangerous, one of my favourite songs of DepMod (which, by the way,
has been my pin number for over 20 years for all my credit and debit cards), I
am too drunk to use this energy in order to write anything worthy of a genius. Just
read that DepMod sold 91 millions records worldwide. I met one of them in
London one day, spoke with him, shit, I never realised the fucker was so damn
rich! It would have intimidated me. He must have been the richest man I have
ever spoken too in my entire life, and yet, he looked as if he was poorer than
I ever was, with my 75,000 pounds debt. It could be true. If I somehow had 100 million
pounds, it is highly likely that I would have debts in the range of 500 million
pounds. Of course, I would have bought by then half the Moon, ready for
colonisation. I understand the Americans have started to sell lots over there.
Well, if I am not to write any genius stuff tonight, I
might as well at the very least spell out a genius idea for future use,
whenever for some reason I might read this again in a few years time. I
recently hatched quite a genius plan to have the most successful play ever
produced in the Province of Québec, making instantly one of the best known
author of that lost Canadian province. It is a diabolical plan, one that no one
working in theatre could ever turn down, and hence, it will be an enduring
success forever. As long as I can make it is as funny as this requires. As long
as I am drunk enough and completely off my head enough whilst writing it, that
it will be the funniest thing ever produced in Quebec for decades to come. The
title needs to be provocative enough, I need to think of it right now,
something like: If I ever hear of Michel Tremblay again, I will kill myself (Si
j’entends encore le nom Michel Tremblay, j’vas m’tirer une balle dans tête (If
I ever hear the name Michel Tremblay, I will shoot myself in the head)).
It will have to be impressive, involving explosions and
special effects all the wrong times, as if to demark explosions and critical
moments in Michel Tremblay’s art, I need to ridicule his work to the core. By
bringing altogether his dysfunctional characters from many of his plays, into
one mega play. If it were ever possible to caricature his characters ever more,
it would be a miracles, and yet, that is exactly what I need to do.
Sorry, you probably have no clue about what I’m talking
about here. You see, Michel Tremblay is the most celebrated author Québec has
ever known, it is definitely the most successful playwright Canada has ever
known, and unfortunately he bares my name. He also enjoy so much success
writing boring stuff, whilst I enjoyed no success at all writing highly
interesting stuff, I need to destroy the man in order to take my rightful place
in Québec’s firmament of best authors. I need to make myself heard, to explode
all over the province, and that diabolical idea is what I came up with a few
days ago whilst walking to the Crown Court, one morning, after smoking my roll
up. Brilliant, genius, that is what I will concentrate on after Anna Maria,
after writing the Shrinking Universe short story. Though I don’t have to wait
for anything. However I will need to read all his plays once again. Which
means, I need to buy all his books, 40 of them at the last count, perhaps more.
Shit. How am I to achieve that?
Other good titles, more to the point, would be Michel
Tremblay Remix Version 2.0, or Michel Tremblay 2.0. You see, this needs to be
as much about me as it should be about him, that is the master stroke. I am
Michel Tremblay version 2, the successor, asking for my rightful place in my
own culture. Or Michel Tremblay Version 2.0. Direct, to the point, it says it
all.
A mix of Albertine in Five Times, the Suspended Ceiling,
The Sisters in Law, The Real World? and Saint Carmen of the Main. That is about
all I can remember of Michel Tremblay, and of course, the Fat Woman Next Door
is Pregnant.
Fat kids and fat women better learn to start walking and
acting upside down, as they will be acting from a suspended ceiling, in five
different times, all being fat and pregnant and or fat and gay or fat
transvestites, and ah yes, all whinging until your ears can hear no more. I
will bring the world of Michel Tremblay to the breaking point, show to everyone
how sad and futile and meaningless it all is. I will destroy the impostor, I
will destroy the cunt. It will be my masterpiece, it will be me being born to
my nation. Michel Tremblay the Fat Queer Kid, Michel Tremblay
Shit,
that would be another wasted year of my life. And if it doesn’t go anywhere, it
is really not worth it. Have I got the courage, the time? Do I want to sacrifice
writing Anna Maria II for this, or another great English sci-fi novel? I have
so little time left to myself. Perhaps I should start by reading whatever plays
I have of him right here in London, and see if any ideas I can come up with
that will be dead funny. At the end of the day, most of the jokes will be lost
on the public, it is to the people of the theatre world that this will be
written, for all teachers in Québec for years to come to analyse it in class
with their students. They will be the ones pushing everyone else to go and see
my play, as they will be the only ones to get all the inside jokes.
And now I
am dead, really dead, if one more stupid idea comes to my mind, I swear, I am
likely to explode.
I have
not even spoken about the week from hell I experienced at work with my new Fat
Indian Kid Girl Manager. The fact that the word manager comes back every other
sentence or so, is a good indication of how bad a manager she truly is. Her
long speech about working as a team, team working, and how she hoped to bring
us all together working as a team, almost made me take a gun out of my drawer
and shoot her in the head, and the other Kid confessed to me afterwards that he
nearly puked all over the place whilst she made that speech.
I tried
to make her understands that the worst word you can use in this day and age as
a manager, is the word team, and that team working was so 20 years ago, you
would have to be mad to made any reference to it. It is clear that by now every
single employee has caught up with basic management skills, and none of that
bullshit will work, it is more likely to create riots and murders when one is
witnessing such stupidities. Everyone knows by now that there is no such thing
as team working, the very words makes everyone sick to death and rush to resign
from their post. And the fact that she needs to remind us every minute that she
is a Manager and as such deserves respect, understanding, and every single
right that no one has in this office, is one more argument against her. Must be
her insecurity, her desire to reaffirm herself as the bitch in power, which
brings her ever closer to becoming the Master Bitch we all suspect she is.
I do have
to mention this, I once again had a major fight with the Chief Clerk, where she
once again spit in my face, explaining to me how incompetent I was and even
impolite, direct, and whatever else. After she reminded me that she was a
Manager, and three bands over mine (whatever that means), she never let me
justify myself. I was so angry, in three hours I cleared both bookshelves of
Post-Trials files, something that the Fat Pakistani Man would take a week to
do. I whinged the whole time I did it, destroying the miracle I was performing
in the process, but two days later as the dust settled, the Fat Indian Kid said
tonight: I can’t believe you cleared those book shelves, and so quickly at
that. My answer was simply: Me neither, I don’t know what happened there, I
doubt I could achieve this ever again. And we both laughed all heartily. The
fact is, it was simply a miracle, and to be honest I was so angry at the time,
I don’t remember doing so much work in so little time. It was amazing, I simply
took all the files and entered all the data into the computer and printed all
the orders at such a speed, before the end of the day I had achieved a miracle.
And as I said, I may have whinged, shouted and been unbearable, the fact
remains I have done something no one can explain. I trust the Pakistani Man,
who witness the achievement, must have been dying inside horrified, whilst I
was proving that what he achieved in one week, could actually somehow be done
in three hours. I enjoyed every freaking minutes of it. What I have been doing
for months with the Grad Fees, that no one could actually notice because they have
no idea how many thousands of these damn invoices I have processed in the last
few months, was suddenly completely visible in the fact that I processed and
cleared something like 500 files in three hours in post trials. My only regret
is that all those last few months of hard work, no one will ever realise that
it was a much more impressive miracle, and so it was all done for nothing, as
the Chief Clerk is convinced I am a lazy bastard who does not do his job,
ignoring that of the whole General Office, I am actually the only one doing any
work, doing everything, as I have proven this week by processing every single
claims of Grad Fees and Standard Fees, but also eliminating all post trial
files. There is not one single employee at the Crown Court right now who could
have done all that in one week, getting us completely up to date on both grad
fees and post trial, both responsibilities at the same time. Never again would
I ever have such a chance to prove how a miracle worker I am, no one could have
passed that, everyone is now aware of my capacities and potential. I have done
in one week what I have been unable to do in ten months, despite the fact that
I do not believe I have worked any less this week than any of the other weeks.
So you can understand my frustration, how when such hard work was finally
measurable concretely, they recognised the fact that it was beyond the capacity
of any civil servant to achieve such an amount of work within one week. And the
Indian Kid knows it, she is under high pressure every day to clear the post
trial shelves, it was an unsolvable problem for her at the beginning of the
week, as to how to do all this work whilst no one was available to do all the
work (despite the fact that we had a full complement of employees, the Old
Indian Man being on holiday, but having the New Girl in).
And if
the Kid proved to everyone how great I was as an employee just for being such
an incompetent one, it was not exactly clear in everyone’s mind, as they
quickly dismissed him as a bad apple that would be sacked at the first
opportunity. But even him took only two days of training to get into the
routine of doing pre-trials, whilst it took me only one morning and already the
Pakistani Man was losing patience with me as he thought it was taking too long
for me to learn. Well, after a week, the new girl is still struggling like
crazy, and the Fat British one sat all week next to her repeating over again
and again what key to press on the computer in order to enter one damn
committal for trial into the computer. One full week! How long does it take to
train a loser to become a civil servant, on the most basic thing that employee
will need to do in that office? If that has not proven to them how quickly I
have learnt everything and adapted to their menial tasks, I don’t know what
will. It took a long time, but they finally get the message, and I didn’t have
to quit and be replaced by a string of incompetent morons for them to
understand six months to a year later. Shit, is there finally some justice in
this world? Could fucking hard work finally be recognised for what it is,
eventually, maybe? The world certainly does not learn very fast about these
things, and it is a shame how people with great potential will never get
anywhere in this world because management is too blind to recognise what is
really going on around them. I guess they deserve what they get, mediocre
people obviously can only spot mediocrity, and can only perpetuate mediocrity
for the rest of their life. And that is nothing, I don’t even think I am a
miracle worker, I think they are simply all a bunch of incapable losers, and
that anyone I ever worked with in the conference world would have been as good
as I have been working there, and probably none of them would have been
recognised for it. I really worked hard there, I really gave it 200%, and
perhaps only this week have I finally proven that, and maybe not, we’ll have to
see. Bad management tends to quickly forget about great achievements, to
desperately pursue other futile events which are much more incriminating in
recent memory. For example a woman called from a prison two days ago, asked for
an indictment, as per the policy of our office, I told her she had to request
it by writing. The phone call lasted 30 seconds, she never told me it was
urgent for whatever reason, blablabla. Two hours later the Top Manager of the
Court came to me, blasted me, telling me that she knew her well and she called
him to tell him how unhelpful and difficult I had been with faxing her a damn
indictment about a dying prisoner of them that they were suddenly trying to
help get out of prison. Shit. In a 30 seconds phone call, I had destroyed all
my previous achievements, this is how long it takes for anyone to destroy their
promising career. I may wish to add that I was polite, I quoted her our own
policies, and so she had nothing to complain about in the first place. And yet,
the bitch tried very hard to get me sacked, probably trying to save her own ass
and proving to the world she was trying everything she could to save some
prisoner they had who was, somehow, dying in their custody for unknown and
suspicious reasons. And I ask you, as the Scottish Man stated afterwards, what
the fuck could she do with an indictment to try to save this prisoner for whatever
reason, it was useless. Sounds more like desperate measure to do anything to
save their ass, costing me my job in the process by any means available to
them, so afterwards if it ever hits the news they could somehow say: we have
done everything to save our prisoner, we even desperately tried to get that
unhelpful French-Canadian working at that Crown Court sacked in the process!
Does it not prove that we have done everything in our power to save our
prisoner? Yeah, but what has this French-Canadian working in a Crown Court got
to do with your dying prisoner? What is it that in a 30 second conversation
that French-Canadian did to kill that prisoner you could not save? And finally,
why was this prisoner dying exactly? Would he have died if he had not been put
in your prison in the first place? How incompetent you people truly are? Fucking
bullies who would go to any length and extent to blame innocent people for
their own mistakes and incompetence. Unfortunately for her, she hit me in my
shining week, and so I think for once all my managers took my defence with the
Top Manager. I had, after all, cleared the damn post trial shelves, whilst
being on Grad Fees. Eat that bitch, and make sure no one else dies in your
fucking prison. With the week I had, I would have had every right to be rude to
you on the phone, and be as unhelpful as one can be, and yet, I was not, and
that is the injustice. Another one, I’m so used to it by now, I don’t give a
shit anymore. It is clear the Top Manager of the Crown Court believes I am a
rotten apple, two bitches complained against me in the last month, and I’m sure
he thinks the Kid he himself placed at the court, my totally incompetent
colleague who does nothing all day, I’m sure he believes he is the greatest
employee the civil service has ever seen, since no one ever complained against
him. I really don’t give a shit anymore. When you are none existent, when you
are drunk and stone on a daily basis, when you never answer the phone in the
first place, I guess it is easy to remain a non-existent entity. Well, I answer
50 phone calls a day on top of everything I do, so whenever the shit hits the
fan, I am always at the centre of it, because I am the only active employee of
the office, I’m the only one who picks up the phone.
Now you
can see how World Wars start, you can understand how under so much injustice
people pick up a gun and start shooting at random. Because this is just how I
feel right now, shoot al my colleagues, start a World War. Somehow it would
make me feel better.
9 September 2007
Whilst I went around sci-fi website, considering their
pages and pages of guidelines before any submissions could be made (which in
the end discourages me so much, that I click to the next website), I read
something a few times which made me think. The one thing they didn’t want,
amongst hundreds of other things, was a political speech or rambling. And
truly, if we felt the need to talk about the political situation which is so
obviously going down the drain, we either had to subdue the tone of our speech
greatly, or write an essay upon the subject.
I felt bad because there is some sort of political content
to Anna Maria, however I would say it is subdued, as I was aware of that
potential mistake, and like they suggested, I did write an essay upon the
subject to vent all my thoughts of seeing democracy, all rights and freedom
disintegrating before our very eyes, whilst no one in the population is doing
anything about it.
What I hadn’t realised, is that it is on everyone’s mind,
and every single author on the planet must have gone out of his or her way to
denounce a few things in whatever it is they were writing. To the exasperation
and breaking point of these small publishers who are tired of reading on the
subject.
And hence, we can all sleep soundly tonight, there is an
army of writers out there denouncing our governments and making the whole
population aware of the menace and tyranny we are facing. In fact, everything
George Bush and Tony Blair/Gordon Brown have done so far, is a god sent to
every single writer on the planet. Nothing significant happened on the
international scene since the day I was born that could inspire or motivate
anyone to write anything. And suddenly we have a new reason to exist, something
to fight for, stuff to denounce, to make people aware of. There is no better
inspiration out there, suddenly no one has a writer’s block and no one is
traumatised anymore by the syndrome of the blank page. Thank you Bush, Blair
and Brown! You have finally given us something substantial to talk about. There
is no point talking about freedom and liberties when you have those things and
do not fear you will lose it any day from now. Suddenly, dear me, this is all
we can talk about., the most basic human rights, back on the agenda, fore
front, the new war to be fought to regain all that we have lost in less years
it took to win the First and Second World Wars. I’m expecting censorship to
become law next month, we can all feel it, I have already thought of censoring
and deleting stuff from all the books I have written so far, just to be on the
safe side. I haven’t yet, but I may still reach that point where suddenly I
will have to be highly creative indeed in order to state the things that will
need to be said, but can no longer be written in such a direct way that it
would make me a target to all those government agencies out there.
However, it also made me realised that if everyone else is
talking about it, it would be unwise for me to do so. I even wondered if I
should keep my main hero and narrator the Director General of MI5, as it would
not make much difference if he wasn’t. It is so unlike me, and yet, I think the
worse of these government’s policies is to come, and at that time it will be
useful to me to have a main character being the head of MI5, it will help me denounce
a few things. I would of course use reverse psychology, by denouncing the
denunciations, defending the government’s position, as I already did in Anna
Maria, in the York’s Resident Ghost.
The funniest thing is that for me right now, being a civil
servant, makes it illegal to talk about politics and express any sort of
opinion about it. Funny that this law does not seem to apply to the highest
ranks of the civil service, and as long as they have permission, they can go
into politics and talk about it as much as they want without consequences. Just
as the Top Manager of the Crown Court I am working at has proven, by presenting
himself in some local elections as a Republican, sorry, I mean Conservative
(extreme right anyway, ready to walk all over our rights), even though in this
day and age in England this feat has actually been achieved by the Democrats, I
mean Liberals, I mean the Labour Party... I’m all so confused now, I don’t know
who to trust anymore, perhaps it is good that I trust no one, since they all
seem to follow the same destructive path that will surely lead to the Third
World War, and I suspect it is this fear of the proliferation of Nuclear
Weapons which makes them act now rather than later, as the world has never been
so closed to extinction in its short history. The problem is that any more
pre-emptive strikes will surely bring about the end of this world, but who
really cares about that? Not me, that’s for sure. My life is so damn boring
right now, surviving the aftermath of a nuclear war would seem like something
worth living for. Even Bird Flu would do the trick. Then maybe I would have
something worthy to write about, I’m afraid, this is now how I define my
existence.
My parents have been in panic many times before, as I was
in Paris when all those bombs exploded, I never told them that whilst I worked
at Heathrow Airport in London, they found four bombs in the ceiling of the very
shop I was working in every day, planted by the IRA I believe. None of us were
really afraid, the IRA was more about frightening people than killing people,
they were real terrorists as per their real definition, to bring about terror
without being murderers more than it was necessary. They used to call ahead of
time so the authorities could defuse the damn things in time. We never thought
for a second that it would explode.
These
rules have changed, only because the real culprits are no longer terrorists, as
it is now all government sponsored terrorism, our own governments, and they
truly do not care about how many of us die, unlike real terrorists who know all
too well, that if they kill too many of us, they will lose all our sympathy,
and then their cause would certainly be lost before anyone could give it a
chance. How else would you explain that Americans have always been on the side
of the IRA in their war against Britain, it is because they never crossed that
threshold which would have made it impossible to support them in the first
place. No one could support a cause killing thousands of people, hundreds is
already going too far. One innocent killed here and there, a dozen innocents in
a decade, we could still support such a cause as the one the IRA was pursuing.
I have to
say that I know nothing of the IRA, I assume perhaps wrongly that what these
people have been fighting for must mirror what Québec has been fighter for, for
many decades now, against the English Canadians. Problems inherited from the
times of the colonies of Great Britain, about 300 years ago. I guess time never
heals anything, and none of us will stop until we are all dead. Must be a
worthy cause, somehow, though I can’t see it, and that makes me a traitor to my
people, to my nation. I better succeed as an author in England, because it is
clear now that I will never be recognised as such in my own country, being the
traitor that I am living here in London, and actually enjoying every damn second
of it. Bastards!
I
understand that English Canadians used to tell French-Canadians to speak white,
even in Canada, even though we were whiter than thy. Well, I speak white now,
so you better listen to me. Bastards!
Did you
see the contradiction? I called the French-Canadians bastards, immediately
followed by calling the English-Canadians and by extension British Royalists
bastards. The conclusion is that we are all bastards, and so, I have no
allegiance to anyone, you can all die in hell as far as I’m concerned, because
all your bickering never concerned me, and will never, ever, concern me. I spit
on history, I am only considering the future, and that future is so far removed
from the one you are constructing right now, I couldn’t care less if all of us were
to die tomorrow morning, let alone if peace is possible at all. I don’t know
how I have reached that point, I guess I was so disgusted by everything I have
heard from all of you, that maybe I feel the answer is total eradication of the
human race, that perhaps the only way we will experience peace on Earth, would
be if none of us survived the next World War. Peace at last, that is all I ever
wished for, whether any of us is still alive to appreciate it or not. If that
is what it will take, then let’s do it. I don’t care to die, do you? It does
not seem like you care either, that is not what I have observed from everything
we have done so far to insure that war was the only answer to everything. None
of us seems to care to die, and so it shall be, that we will all be dead within
decades, perhaps years, hopefully days…
Perhaps
it is time for me to remind you that the word irony is the word used by a few
journalists in the past to describe my whole body of work. Though sometimes I
do wonder if it is irony… I’m being ironic here, just in case you missed that,
once again. Am I ironic just to mark a point, or do I believe what I say? I am
drunk after all, perhaps I do think it then. I’m being ironic. Am I? I will let
you decide. Better be quick, you might not be here much longer, and that fills
me with joy. Is it irony? I really don’t know. And who cares anyway?
I cried when the two Twin Towers in New York fell down in
2001. Knowing then what I know now, I would not have cried, I would have been
outraged, as I am now. I wish I had not been so blind then. In order to find
the truth behind the London Bombings, I had to first stop believing that what I
was told was the truth, the truth I was being fed every day on the news. Only
then did I do a search on the Internet for the alternatives, the real truth,
and I found it beyond belief. I will no longer be taken for a sucker. I will no
longer believe the truth I am being told. I will no longer trust any government
or any news channel, I never did anyway in the first place.
I
understand now that you will never get the real news from the usual channels,
only a deep search on the Internet will eventually, hopefully, get you to the
real truth. Better be quick though, these sources of information are all about
to disappear, soon there will be no way to find out any truth, all that will
remain is the certitude that all of it is just a big lie. And if no one out
there still exists to say so, and prove it to you, then at the very least do
not forget that it is still a lie. I will never cry again, I will think instead
and draw my own conclusions. Am I being played for a fool? Yes, most likely.
What am I going to do about it? I won’t trust anyone anymore, I won’t cry for
anything anymore. The world is much uglier than you could ever imagined, there
is no need to cry over it, just disconnect from it all, just have no more
opinion about anything. That might bring about some results, who knows. How
could you have any opinion without any of the real facts, especially if you
cannot trust any of the usual news sources?
I guess
we studied all too well everything that happened in Russia in their darkest
years of history, and now our governments are playing the same trick on us, but
we know better, we not only know we’re being lied to, we still have some rights
remaining in order to say so openly, instead of keeping it all inside as the
broken men and women of Russia did in those days when they knew all too well
they were being lied to.
13 September 2007
Finally something exciting to report. Today there was a
lack of a French Interpreter at the court and all attempts to get one to come
down instantly failed. So I was called in the Cells to help as an interpreter.
I find it astonishing how this African man who speaks French, I can understand
everything he says very well, to even understand what he means between the
lines. We have such radically different cultures, he is from so far off where I
was born, and yet, it is undeniable that not only we speak the same language
and understand every single word we tell each other, even the expressions he
uses are familiar to me. Considering this fact, it is amazing that there are so
many radically different languages in Europe from country to country, most of
them separated only by an imaginary line. There is just no way these people
would all speak a language sensibly derived from the same roots, and yet, their
languages could have gone so astray, unless of course this was ultimately a
deliberate attempt to create new languages in the first place, and why would
you want to do that?
I feel for the defendant as if he was my own brother, even
though it is clear he sets up some African women to come to the UK with drugs
and they go to prison for him whilst he cash in on the money. My knowledge of
the Court helped me greatly. I thought as I never was an interpreter before I
would be at a disadvantage, on the contrary, I was able to extrapolate a great
deal to help him understand the half baked minimalist comments the counsel was
giving him as she was pressed to go to court to defend him whilst she probably
has dozen other cases on the boiler.
The Cells are large, it looks like a real prison on the
other side of the little door in that corridor filled with similar doors. No
one would suspect, and I never suspected, what could be behind that door.
Frightening, I had no idea these was the equivalent of a real prison at the
Court. It is so different as well from the rest of the building, they went out
of their way to make sure it was all made of cement and looked as depressing as
it could be. After the expansion is finished, I would think that not only
everything will look luxurious on one side of the door, and perhaps even worse
on the other side of the cells door.
This afternoon I will go to Court, in front he main Judge,
to interpret. I have learned a valuable lesson this morning, not to translate
more than what is said, and perhaps try to make it clearer, but not to add
anything. No one tipped me off, I have learned that for myself. And when the
guy asked me a question for which I know the answer, as I work at the Court, I
need still to go back to the Counsel and let her answer the question. I reckon
I would be an excellent interpreter, in fact, I thoroughly enjoyed it. Just as
well there were not that many grad fees to do today, I was wondering how I
could waste time because I knew I would quickly eliminate them all. This was
destiny.
About that, one point the defendant was not happy about,
was how every time he met a counsel, it was a different one. He likes to pray
to God to help his counsel and himself, but if the counsel on that day is a
different one he never met, how could he ever influence his future for the
better? One other problem though for me, is that these British people have all
learn a bit of French in school and somehow always manage to understand a bit
of French, and so they can tell vaguely what is being said, and so I have to do
a great job to make sure I stick to what is said and choose the exact right
words to translate everything as it should. I have to go back now. I have to be
careful not to use colourful expressions of language, I said this morning that
the counsel would try to get the case to explode, I meant to crack it and get
it thrown out because of a lack of evidence. He asked me puzzled what I meant
by an exploding case. I really have to be careful, he might think for a second
that he is also being accused of being a terrorist.
15 September 2007
I’m a bit depressed, that perhaps none of what I have ever
written might be worth nothing. That my latest Anna Maria might finally just be
a bunch of meaningless wah wah. I received two feedback from people claiming
they read the book, one said he would not consider it, the second that none of
the stories grabbed him enough. I wonder if we read the same book, I thought
initially, and then, now I wonder, if perhaps compared with the rest, Anna
Maria is perhaps not that great a book. Since I have barely read of the rest,
maybe everyone out there is capable of writing better stuff than I. Hence, I’m
not motivated in writing the last short story, I’m not even motivated in
reading the book again and start searching for an agent. I don’t feel like
writing any more fiction at all, just perhaps this journal, and only for
myself, as therapy.
At work on Thursday night I spoke with the other Queen at
work, the Executive Producer who worked for every single big series in
Could I not just calm down, stop thinking about creating
stuff, and just enjoy what others, more competent people, created for my own
enjoyment? I wish I could. I really wish I could. Maybe it is time for me to be
selfish, and stop thinking about creating things for others who care nothing
for what I create for them. Maybe it is time I give up and simply enjoy what
others have created for me instead. I wish I could. Life would be so much
simpler then. It is not like I am under any kind of pressure, no one is
expecting or demanding anything from me. So why do I feel pressured? Where is
this unexplainable need comes from? Why am I still trying to write all those
books for little if no result at all in the end? How can I even explain that to
myself? What is my problem? What is this disease I have? I should really give
up now, there is truly no reason to continue. I have given it my best shot with
Anna Maria, it is clear that it won’t go anywhere. Not one single word need be
added or written on my part until that very book is published and declared a
success. As if it is the failure I think it will be, then there is no point in
going any further.
I need to free myself, I need to stop this bullshit. I will
never an author, I will never be a writer, I will never succeed. How long does
it take to finally get the message? How many failures must one endure before he
understands and gives up? Is it a hopeless battle in my case? Will I try until
I succeed, even if it takes me another 25 years, 50 more books? Is it the kind
of determination that is sleeping inside of me? Looking at the last 25 years of
my life, you would think so. What does it matter, really, if I achieve success
or not? As the Executive Producer at the Crown Court said, I am very
accomplished already, success or not. Does it matter if millions are reading me
instead of a few thousands, hundreds, a dozen, or none at all? I guess not, or
else I would not have spent so many years writing stuff that I knew were not
commercial in nature at all. Like Destructivism for example. Though this was a
real need for me to write, nothing else, I never thought for a second it would
be published or even read by anyone. That is really me, isn’t it. Anna Maria is
after all my second novel or work of fiction ever, after Denfert-Rochereau, the
only French novel I have written. How bad is that for someone who has been
writing for nearly 28 years? Only two works of fiction. No wonder I could never
consider myself an author and never reached any kind of success, despite the 30
plus books I have written in my lifetime.
It is clear that my drive, my motivation, my enthusiasm,
has nothing to do with succeeding commercially, or being read by millions. So I
should not by any mean ever become frustrated at the lack of success. I have
chosen my path, I now need to live with it. There is every reason for me to
continue to write, to answer that need to write whatever I feel needs to be
written when I write it. What bothers me, really, is the lack of freedom, to
write full time, that is all. I have an infinity of projects I would develop
and work on if I didn’t have a parallel full time job in a Crown Court right
now, that is what bothers me, the fact that I am prevented from working on
these projects. They might not go anywhere, and yet, I feel the need to work on
them. Somehow, this weird determination that no one could identify where it
comes from, must be admirable. I wish I will always be able to follow my own
intuition, instead of whatever publisher or producer will ask me to write for
whatever potential commercial success it might or might not have.
I think it is time for me to understand that I am in a
better position than any other successful or even published author out there. I
after all have total freedom to study and write whatever I want, no one is
expecting anything, no one is demanding anything. That is perhaps a greater
freedom than one could hope for in life. I have little doubt that if Anna Maria
was to turned out to be a great success, the public and publishers would be
asking me to write more and more of these short stories until the very day I
die, just like they did with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Sherlock Holmes. And
yet, it would be better for me to have a full time job writing Anna Maria short
stories for 40 hours a week, and write whatever else I want in parallel in my
free time, than working for 40 hours a week in a Crown Court and write whatever
I wish in my free time. This argument does not stand. I would be quite willing
to write Anna Maria’s short stories until the day I die, if it was successful.
I need to succeed as a writer, it is the only way to gain my freedom. I need to
be doing what I enjoy most in this life, writing, or else this existence is not
worth it. I know this is true, inside, this is why I spent so much energy
writing Anna Maria. What I’m realising now is that it might be enough, it might
not be good enough. The ideas were great, they could not have been better. They
were the result of five years of thinking. If it leads nowhere, more writing
style must be bad. I need to revert to French. I was reading two days ago my
book The Revolution. I understand now why this book could not reach anyone in
Once
again I try to rationalise everything. When writing for me has never been a
question of rationalising. I have always gone and write what I felt was
appropriate at the time, in whatever language I thought was appropriate at the
time. I feel that it is maybe how I should continue. Though I cannot deny that
writing Anna Maria was a deliberate attempt at doing something which went
somehow against my nature or what I would have felt like writing. I don’t know,
I really don’t.
Gosh! I
have no clue! Perhaps I should just write that last short story for Anna Maria,
perhaps my most important one, and then I can advise or decide what I will do
next. There is no need right now for me to think about that. I admit that if I
were to convince myself that if Anna Maria would be the last ever thing I would
ever write, it would motivate me beyond belief. And that is what I need right
now. Not to think about my next project, but finish the one at hand. I have
read once again The Final Theory of Mark McCutcheon, I have no more reason to
prevent me from writing that last story. I need to do it, finish it, even
though, and that is my problem, that as it stand, Anna Maria could be
considered finished. It has over 350 pages already, there is no need to bring
it to 400. And yet, I need to, I have to, I need to finish it. That is the only
concern I should have right now. I should concentrate on that only objective.
And I will. Glad I could finally find some focus in my life. Now I need another
glass of Rosé, it is not tonight that I will start writing that last short
story. When then? It is a mystery. I better do it soon though, the novel has
already been sold for an astonishing 25 pounds. In the days of Sherlock Holmes
and Hercule Poirot, this might have represented a sizable sum of money, but
today it barely buys you a few pints of beer. I need to tell that guy to fuck
off, that Anna Maria is not for sale at any price. She is mine, and mine alone.
There is no way I would so early give up any rights to her, I created her, she
is my last hope, the crowning achievement of a career spawning 27 years, and as
such, I will only let her go for a much more sizable sum of money. Until Anna
Maria can buy me a house in a place like
I think I
will write that last short story of Anna Maria, and then put a final point to
it until it goes anywhere, if it ever goes anywhere. I will need to come up
with a similar idea and project and develop that new project from scratch, in
English. I’m thinking that a film script might be a better idea, but I think a
novel with as much dialogues as it is possible, just like I did for Anna Maria,
is the answer. I’ve got my work cut out for me, I have think real hard for
something even better than Anna Maria, and think up the seven to ten short
stories that will compose that new book. I think it is the best solution for me
under the circumstances, for my next project.
So there
will be a next project, it will be another novel of short stories in English,
and will not need to be composed of any old rehashed old ideas, it will have to
be all new stuff, and yet, better stuff than with Anna Maria. I have my work
cut out for me. I better start thinking, though it will be acceptable for me to
start thinking only once Anna Maria last short stories is finished. I need to
do that, I need to finish the damn book, soon. Perhaps I could start tonight?
It is only midnight after all. I could have six hours before me to write, even
though I’m already quite drunk. Who really cares?
I have been working on that last story tonight, got about
15 pages, mostly already written from before tonight. Still, I have now
established that this abandoned beginning will be the right one, modified for
the purpose.
I have
been listening to Tori Amos tonight, specifically one song which really reaches
home for me, A Sort of Fairy Tale With You. I still don’t know what the song is
about, I just know it is filled with nostalgia, that she was living in
Why am I
now thinking of him? Perhaps we should have been friends, perhaps we should
have slept together if he had been outside the closet, perhaps it was never
meant to be, perhaps he was there ultimately to motivate me now. I think back
to this venture as a whole dream, as if perhaps it never existed in the first
place. And yet, I have written books about it, I was there in
It came
to me yesterday that wherever I have lived in the world, I have always been
highly suicidal, and
17 September 2007
Tonight I have done the unthinkable. It is his fault, the
Executive Producer working at the Crown Court. He said I was very accomplished,
and somehow I felt I was much more accomplished than what is stated on my
websites. So I finally got the guts to put it online, that very page which for
a long time I had not put online. The previous version was only on my French
Website, even though it was in English, I was hoping no one would find that
page, it was even zipped to prevent those damn spider bots from referencing it.
It is too late now, it is all online in HTML, with links to every single film
script and synopses I have ever written, what has been hidden from everyone for
such a long time.
I will probably be sued within 24 hours, I know from
experience that it is all that is required from web monitoring companies to
find out about anything slightly dubious about your copyrights, but I’ll see.
For that same stuff that went online years ago for less than a month, some
agent contacted me and asked for 100 pounds for me to leave a biography of
Einstein I had taken in a book, stating clearly where it came from. I wonder if
five years later they will find it as quickly. I’m not even sure if it is
actually online, I just reactivated everything as it was. We’ll see. I’m bound
to attract big fish, but who cares at this point, I’m not going anywhere, and
they’re going everywhere on my own ideas, better that I can tell the world where
it came from, perhaps they will see me in a different light. How could they sue
me, after they so blatantly stole my ideas? I welcome anyone suing me for that.
I will be on Legal Aid, I will draw the order myself, whilst they can spend as
many millions as they wish on the case, I will still prove them wrong in the
end. Let’s see what happens. Now I am truly accomplished, even though I made
sure the link on my website was a lost one, someone would need to be determined
indeed in order to reach it. I don’t care, it is now online, let’s see what
happens, I bet nothing will happen, and I worried all those years of putting it
online for nothing.
22 September 2007
It didn’t take me long to delete all those files I worked
so hard putting back online, including the links to the film scripts I have
written and other synopses. It took me less than 24 hours.
The
reason had more to do with humility, the page it was on was all about what I
could have inspired, whether it was obvious or a coincidence. I felt that there
is no way anyone could read that and feel that I was delusional, as it is
difficult for anyone to believe that someone who never reached success in the
first place could have inspired anyone. The only image that could have come to
their mind was that I had a huge Ego and was very pretentious indeed, and so
this page, I have decided, will never go back online.
However,
all the other film scripts and synopses will go back online, all the work I
have done for the film about Einstein and the sci-fi television series for NBC.
These should have been online a long time ago, and the page I deleted got me to
finally find the files, upload them to my website, and now they are ready to be
put online. So it was not all wasted after all, I just wonder when I will take
the time to put it all online again on a different page. My main concern is
that though I am the author of all this work, the damn initial ideas, what is
copyrighted, does not belong to me, I was not the one who wrote the few initial
lines or the ideas on which I went on to work for months to bring to a certain
reality, and so I could get into trouble for putting it online. And yet, at
some point, I have to take the risk, in order to show to everyone, what I am
really capable of. I cannot think of any other way.
1 October 2007
Only one
thing to report that has happened to me recently. I was contacted by a young
political candidate in my own borough, on some “meeting friends” website,
obviously someone who works very hard at gaining votes and not afraid of the
new technologies to reach its constituencies. I’m quite impressed, I suddenly
feel important, though I am nothing, will never be anything, and no one should
waste any time on me whatsoever, and yet, we have started quite a
correspondence, as long as I have not frightened him with my last email. Quite
good looking too, my imagination is already running wild. But I should forget
all that.
Here is
the edited version of my discussion with that promising new politician:
Hello,
I note
that you are living near me in X, and work at X. I live in Isleworth and work
at the Crown Court. How did you find me, do we have a friend in common?
Nice to
get to know people from around here.
Roland Michel Tremblay
Hi Roland,
We
haven't met and I'm not sure we know anyone in common .....yet! I’m a local
councillor in Hounslow Borough exploring whether local people would like to use
(some website) to raise issues/ ideas with me. You can find out more about me
from my profile or check out X.
Anyway,
please let me know if anything comes up you'd like to discuss. I may well
organise a social gathering in a few weeks for local people to meet each other.
I'll drop you a note nearer the time on that...
Best, X
Hi,
Well, I
wish you good luck in getting elected, you seem like someone I would vote for,
unfortunately I cannot vote at the moment and to be honest I would not vote
even if I could.
I have
read your page about your great ideas, being green and all, the new religion of
the young, and yet it might impress many people, but it does not impress me (I
would however still vote for you, because others are even less inspiring). But
are you just re-hashing what everyone else says?
I
understand that if I were in your position, I might not be able to think of
something better, however I have something that may help you understand my
point of view about politics and what we truly need to fight for, in my
opinion. You can read on my website a book I have written this year, it is a first
draft, and don't worry, I am not asking you to read the whole book. Just the
first few pages about democracy, the first entry of the book:
http://www.anarchistecouronne.com/destructivism.htm
It might
help you identify what I am going through in life, after living in Isleworth
for over 15 years. Well, you wanted to know how your constituents feel, I have
my whole diary on my website, my actual one, it is hard to find because I don't
want the people at work to find out about this blog, it is accessible only from
my French website:
http://www.anarchistecouronne.com/madhouse.htm
Other
poetry/diary from recent years when I was working in
http://www.crownedanarchist.com/workinginwestminster.htm
There,
hopefully that will help. Unfortunately the diary I have written whilst working
in
Hi,
An
interesting read. You may be intrigued by a slightly more optimistic view and
the tools I advocate using to affect change. See: X.
I have
been applying these on the X High Street project. See X.
My views
of the problems with politics today (and need for change) are well represented
in this article by X: X.
You raise
an interesting question as to the need for political parties, which I have
often reflected on myself. I believe local manifestos add some real value to
the democratic process - if they are well produced by the local team of
candidates and then actually implemented... or fought for from the opposition
benches. (This is by no means guaranteed.) I have no objections to independents
but if they do not produce a decent manifesto - and have no decent websites -
it is very difficult for the average voter to know what they are voting
for.....
You ask
whether I am re-hashing what everyone else says on the environmental agenda. I
have actively campaigned in this area since 2000 through X and I have a MSc in
Development Management - some of my specialisms were Environmental Ethics and
Environment Decision Making....
Best, X
Hello,
I am
beginning to fear that we could go on a very long correspondence that would eat
away all my time and keep me away from writing my books in the little time I
have allocated to that. And this lost would be even more felt on your side, as
I would believe you are most busy and need to rally and communicate with as
many people as you can, and cannot waste too much time on someone like me, who
cannot vote and will not vote in any case, and will never get involved in any
political party or meeting or whatever else that has now become your existence.
And yet,
this potential discussion between you and I could help me tremendously, as it
is the first time I communicate with some potential MP, and probably this is
only possible because you are not in power. If you were, you would be too busy
for that kind of thing. It would help me when I write, get a different view
about what politics is all about, because as X stated, we are all highly
disillusioned with politics, and I wonder if we will ever recover from that. In
a way, with a title for one of his books like: “X”, perhaps Mr. X is as cynical
as I am, as this could also be the title of my book “Destructivism”.
And yet,
it is also possible that from me you could learn a few things. I am blunt and
true to my thoughts and with people, I say it how I feel, it may hurt
sometimes, but it makes me feel better as my message went through. You can call
it the French honesty that most British mistake for being rude, when it is
simply honesty. However I am French-Canadian and I have more in common with
British people than French, it is the result of a successful assimilation political
programme that we witnessed in history, and today I don't really mind all that.
So, let’s talk for now, and whenever you or I become too busy, then we can stop
for a while and get back to it later and see where this goes.
Your
message sounded more like a brand making exercise, an ad, of you trying to sell
yourself than actually being a human being at the other end of the
communication channel. It doesn’t fool me and it won’t fool anyone else. I am
an author, I have six books published in France, I also have to promote myself,
I have to write books in which I have to be very careful about how people might
perceive me or what I say, and most importantly, I cannot even mention any of
my past successes because then it is viewed as being vain and pretentious, I
need to hope somehow that someone will go and find out about it on his or her
own, and that is very unlikely.
There is
one thing X said in the link you gave me that I felt was inspiring: “We have to
put into effect what we say we believe in, whether we're elected or not.” The
rest of his article was about branding for the (political party), how people
perceive politics and the party, and how to change it in order to win. In
effect, it is an article for the people of the party, and not for the people. I
noted that in his constituency he came third with only 12% or so of the votes.
I guess he is not getting through, even though as an author of economics he is
high profile.
The truth
is, there is nothing you could do in order to interest people in politics, get
them out of their flats to attend meetings, consultations and other borough
initiatives, or even to get out and vote. The plain truth is that we are way
too busy with work and other problems including bureaucracy, to have the energy
or the will to get involve in anything else but our own lives, and the least
politics, which the single mention of it makes anyone wishing to puke all over
the place.
After all
the deceptions and lies of Blair and Bush, perhaps only a civil war would get
people interested in politics again, after the war. When they will feel that it
might make any difference and that perhaps it is a necessity. At this time,
unless any of my opinions could be heard as I sit here at my table of my
computer, I’m not interested, and even then, God knows what would interest me
in politics. And yet, after all that happened recently and even before, I have
written extensively on the topic, even though it was much more general, global
issues.
After I
told you about my book “Destructivism”, I read again all the first part
about politics, and I thought, yeah, that is exactly what eats me inside, that
is exactly what I would want the politicians to read and understand. I don’t
care about being green, recycle and saving trees, neither anyone, we all take
it for granted that this is important and that the government will deal with
these issues, as it is expected from them, and no matter how much I could get
involved, I wouldn’t want to, I have other more pressing issues I am worried
about. If this issue was so important, the Green Party would be more popular.
As it stands, they can only win a few seats on any elections.
People
are much more selfish than you could ever imagined, they all but think of
themselves and their family, that is all. Who would vote for someone because
that someone wants to become green, to reduce CO2 emissions and
save a few trees? No one. What is it that people are worried about? Especially
in Hounslow, where a large percentage of the population is actually immigrants
or foreigners, most of them without any understanding about internal politics,
with no desire to learn anything more upon the subject?
Well, I
believe they may be worried about what I am worried about, and if someone in
politics was actually capable of speaking straight to me about these issues, I
think I would go and vote for once, as long of course as I could vote over the
Internet or via my Sky Digibox (as long as I don’t have to go online and pay),
because going to some place I have no idea about, to go and vote, is passed
date, I will never bother, I don’t have the time or the energy.
As I was
reading “Destructivism” again, for the first read after
writing most of it whilst I was drunk, I truly understood what are the issues I
am worried about.
I am
worried that I spend all my money in the first few days of the month, and that
for the rest of the month God only knows how I survive. I worry that I do not
have any assets, all I have is a computer and a Renault 5 from 1989. I am
worried that I can’t afford the MOT, the taxes, and the insurance. I am worried
that I may not be able to keep Sky Movies any longer, as my bill is now 50
pounds per month, including Broadband. I had to get into an IVA a few years ago
(you do know what is an IVA, do you? Individual Voluntary Arrangement with your
creditors, in order to avoid bankruptcy) because somehow, just for survival, I
managed to accumulate over 60,000 pounds in debt with monthly payments of 1200
pounds per month. Now it is my partner who has reached that point, and getting
a new mortgage has been a long and painful process for the last 3 months, to
the point that we are now barely talking to each other.
I am also
worried by the alarming rate at which policeman and policewomen seem to be
appearing on the streets of the borough as a result of terrorism. And instead
of inspiring protection, they instead appear to be turning against us. I never
got a ticket in my life, and in the last three years I got something like 20
contraventions mostly involving parking my car. Same for my partner who is a
courier driver, he lost so many points for average speed because of these
cameras, that he nearly lost his job and only kept it because he went to court
to plead with the JPs. I would like someone in power to say enough is enough,
to cut back more than half the police force and the parking attendants in the
borough of Hounslow and decide to get rid of at least 80% of all the security
cameras. This sort of surveillance and entrapment has really got to me, to the
point that if I could, I would get out of this borough and get as far as I
could from anywhere near London. No one needs such a Big Brother society, no
one wishes to become criminals because somehow at some point they went a bit
over the speed limit, or rushed out of the car to drop a bag at the dry cleaner
within 30 seconds without paying for the car park. In fact, this obsession of
park meters is becoming ridiculous, that every single street is now plagued by
them, accompanied by an army of parking attendants, and now new cameras are
sending you tickets through the post. This borough has now become a place no
one wishes to live in.
I will not
even mention that now a train ticket for central
Now I
have one big worry, is to get my British citizenship, and somehow the law just
changed and I had to take that ridiculous test about British ways and history,
which I now have done. But it would not only cost me 700 pounds I don’t have to
apply for my citizenship, but the shear horror of the bureaucracy involved has
discouraged me so far from going ahead with it. I have finally decided that I
need a solicitor to apply, just in case somehow I miss a detail somewhere and
do not get my citizenship. After all, being gay in a gay relationship has
highlighted way too clearly how difficult and bureaucratic this whole process
of obtaining visas and the lot is. Just for that I think that if I could go
back in time, I might have reconsidered deciding to move from country to
country, your whole life becomes this bureaucratic process of immigration, and
costs a fortune in solicitors. This is now 2000 pounds I need to come up with
in order to get my citizenship, a lot of forms to fill out, a lot of papers to
provide, and a lot of patience as it could take them up to a year to even
acknowledge my existence and give me an answer. Whilst all this time they will
again have my passport and I will not be able to visit my family in
Don’t mention
Citizen Advice Bureau to me, every time I went to them, and ultimately
afterwards went to an expert solicitor on immigration and especially gay
immigration, I learnt how wrong they were and how they quickly would have got
me kicked out of this country.
Other
worries are how the work environment is simply untenable, how everyone is just
backstabbing as much as they can, how management and Personnel are trying very
hard to simply accumulate information about everything we do wrong for the day
they will finally be able to sack us. It seems it is not possible to be happy
in a work environment, and this is even more traumatic when your salary is even
lower than the people cleaning the streets, and yet they expect from us to be
so educated, bright and knowledgeable about the most complicated things, it is
amazing.
I wanted
to be a teacher, there is a big shortage right now, I would need one or two
more years of studies, I can’t afford it, I can no longer study any more. If a
Master Degree in Literature is not sufficient, then so be it, I won’t be a
French teacher.
Apart
from that we have problems with our neighbours, they will find any pretext to
start wars, they will cut all our trees and plants until none remain, they even
sent the police to my door a few years ago, accusing me of destroying their
car, when I don’t even know what their car looks like. We’re living in a
building filled with mad people, and every few weeks something like 10 police
cars show up for whatever reason we are never told about, and every time we
wonder if they are not here for us, since trying to be as perfect as one could,
it is just not possible, and somehow, God knows, maybe they could have
something against us, who knows.
I
understand that there is little you could do about all this, but these are a
few examples of the real issues people are dealing with, and you have to admit,
it seems that politics is really off the mark when it comes to any of these
issues. There is no one or no party I could vote for who would, or even be interested
in any of these real issues we are dealing with. If being in politics at the
end of the day is to make sure the garbage bins are being collected, that
recycling is being done, that whatever street that needs to be paved is paved,
then perhaps we don’t need elections for that, civil servant could deal with
it, and ultimately it is of no concern to anyone.
If we are
talking national elections, then it is even more incongruous. None of these
issues really concern me, unless they were to talk about being against gay
people, or wanting to go further with their wars with the rest of the
Middle-East, or if suddenly a yet bigger clamp down on immigration was imminent
and would make it totally impossible for me to get my citizenship after being
here for 15 years, with great difficulty. Now you understand my delusion with
politics and why I have little time or interest for it. Also that they say one
thing, you elect them, and yet they do nothing about it. You can get caught a
few times, but now we know it is useless.
Wow, I
would like to apologise for all this. I didn’t think I was going to become so
moralist. However, now that I have spent so much time writing this, it cannot
go to waste. If that is all right with you, I will copy and paste it in my blog
“Crown Court Madhouse”. I will not post any of
your own writing in there, and I will delete any reference to your party. It
will be a message sent to a potential MP. I will put an X instead of (that
author). Anyway, that blog is low profile as I said, I don’t want anyone at
work finding it, I would be sacked on the spot, another of my worries, that we
do not really have any freedom of speech. After that, my other concerns are all
more global, they deal with freedom and liberties, and other rights, as
discussed in “Destructivism”. I encourage you to read more of
it.
When it
comes to politics, there is only one MP who has truly made a difference in this
world and showed spectacularly that he truly believed in what he was saying,
that there was never any subterfuge to uncover in order to find out what he
truly believed in, and if what we were fed was not an exercise in getting elected.
We truly felt that if such a man would come to power, there would be a
significant difference. Unfortunately, just like for your party, they were
third and so will never have any chance of getting into power. His own party
felt threatened by his growing popularity, they refused to elect him as their
leader, and if they had done so when only six of them were in parliament, they
would have won the next elections. He is gay, he is extreme, he faced going to
prison more times than I can count, he is truly something to be remembered. His
name is Svend Robinson:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Svend_Robinson
If you
ever achieve 25% of what he has achieved, without his party ever coming into
power, you would have done great per British MP standards (they could never be
in power, since they are per definition anti-French, and without the French
part of
His party
in
I was
unaware your party existed until only the last elections, and only because all
three potential Prime Ministers of the three main parties were on the cover of
the Royal Institution of Chartered Surveyors’ magazine, when I was working in
Westminster. I didn’t know you existed until you contacted me. I think you have
the right idea with your website and contacting people like you did with me, I
would be more likely to vote for you now, just because I know your name. But,
please answer these questions truthfully:
-Are you gay?
-Would you openly admit
it if you were?
-Have you thought at
all about speaking on immigration issues and how you can help such a large
community of Indians and Muslims at times of war with the Middle-East? I have
not read one word upon the subject on your website, and yet, I would have
thought it would be one of your most important issues to deal with, to ally yourself
with them, their little communities within the larger British one. So many
issues could be talked about, identified, you may wish to consider going
further than being Green, something no one truly cares about.
-You seem very squeaky
clean, with a few photos showing you with a bunch of losers old women that seem
to have nothing better to do than go from one cause to another just for the
sake of it. Do you actually have a personal life, do you go out? If so, where?
Who was your last girlfriend and why has this relationship not worked? What
music do you like? What do you think of our new Prime Minister and his
policies? Would you criticise them openly? Who are you really behind that
squeaky clean image?
(Thank
God I am not writing your speeches, it would be controversial indeed, but
believe me, they would hear of you all across the country, the only way to
reach your constituents really, since who reads regional newspapers?)
-Do you have any
opinion of your own about politics? Would you venture to write articles and put
them on your website about politics of the actual party in power and even your
party, whether it is positive or negative? Of course, there is no need for it
to sound like an ad or a PR campaign, it would defy the logic of the exercise.
If you cannot talk openly against your own party about its shortcomings, then
perhaps this is not for you. How strong are your convictions, your
determination, your beliefs? For that matter, what are your convictions and
beliefs apart from the environment?
I think
that if you can truly answer these few questions, I would be closer to knowing
the real you, and then perhaps instead of just being a PR tool for your party,
I might respect you a bit more. You might wish to become more personal on your
website, I still know nothing about you apart from the fact that you seemed to
be active in the community, you are very young (how old are you?), you are
quite good looking (which helps tremendously in politics), and that I wouldn’t
mind having you for a boyfriend (then you have my vote).
Somehow I
wonder if I am not achieving more than you could ever achieve by speaking my
mind so much in all my books, I do have opinions and I am not afraid of voicing
them. Because I have nothing to gain or to lose, I don’t even need to be
politically correct (though I am). What about you? Perhaps this is the kind of
answers that would give you more credibility and would give you at least a
fighting chance in the next elections. At the moment you are only surface, we
know nothing about you. No wonder we could be suspicious. Perhaps you should
start a personal blog, really personal, that cannot fail to win you votes and
win you sympathy.
After
reading a bit further, I see that you have opinions and wrote about stuff, and
got involved in more than a few issues. I am sorry if I seemed to misjudge you
as a consequence of the little time I have in order to assess you.
In a way,
perhaps we are working for the same goals in our own different ways. I hope
this has helped, I apologise in advance if somehow it hurts. It is not
personal, I feel it could be asked and said to everyone else who is a potential
candidate in your own party.
Regards,
Roland Michel Tremblay
Isleworth
http://www.crownedanarchist.com
Note: I
am not an anarchist, only a literary one, in the context of literature, because
I write against the mainstream, and then again you would not think so reading
my latest novel Anna Maria.
3 October 2007
I’m on holiday, my first proper holiday since I started
working at the Court, and since I have only 5 days left this year and three
need to be taken at Christmas, this will be my only proper holiday this year. I
had lot’s of plan, contacting the solicitors, get the ball rolling on the
Citizenship thing, take care of both my taxes in England and the U.S., and
that’s about all that I set myself to do apart from finishing Anna Maria, but
mostly the other stuff is more important right, especially that I am stuck for
the last short story of Anna Maria, I don’t know yet how I will shrink my ship
into the infinitely small, and all the technology required for that short
story. I however intend to edit the book tonight, read it again and correct as
I go along, after I finish doing the same for Destructivism.
I feel really bad tonight, like in some sort of panic
state, I cannot explain why. There must be a reason, I’m trying to think, it
may have something to do with the fact that the holiday is almost over, or that
it is cold outside and it reminds me of those traumatic return to school times.
That is why I will work on my books, when I am freaked out like this, this is
the only therapy for me.
Today the parrot, Mr. Barnsworth, managed to destroy my
2000 pounds portable computer. It still works, but the whole screen monitor is
cracked at the top and there are many lines on the screen now. It may actually
die on me in the next few days. This parrot will end up costing us 5000 pounds
in damage in its first year alone.
I thought
because he could speak that he was intelligent, I understand now that his brain
must be way too small for any sort of intelligence, all he can do is destroy
everything with his powerful beak. Granted he seems quite clever at spotting
the most expensive thing around before deciding on what to destroy, and he
always finds a way to get under the layers of protection we put over these
expensive things in order to achieve his evil plan of destruction. And I keep
feeling sorry for him because he has only two legs, his two hands being his
wings. I can see now that this bird is better equipped than any human being
with his two legs and beak, he can pretty much do anything with that which life
may requires.
He also
will go crazy in his cage if we don’t the door to let him free, neighbours have
told us they can hear him two blocks away and often wondered if someone was not
actually mistreating an animal. I confess that sometimes I wish to kill the
bastard, of course I would never dare hurt him. I have never seen an animal so
desperate for affection, that he needs to be on my shoulder all the time. I get
peace only late in the evening when he finally goes to sleep on the pole over
the counter.
I don’t feel like correcting my books tonight, finally. I
would play an adventure game in order to forget my state of mind, but I played
Nancy Drew adventures all evening, and so I’m no longer in the mood for that. I
don’t know what to do. What should I do? Read more Agatha Christie? I feel
guilty about that, because I leave Stephen alone in the other room all day long
while I read in the bedroom. Anyway, I read four and a half of them now, I
wonder if there is any point in reading any more.
Tonight is the kind of night that if I had been alone in
10 October 2007
It has been a while since I had any serious problems at
work, but today something has happened which will change all that and I am now
entering the war path. The new manager of the General Office is the total
opposite to my previous manager, I shouted at her today that we were used to
him, who in months never said a word, and her, she says something every five
minutes. And today this has been truer than usual. She has been nagging and
nagging for days now and today I reached full capacity of bullshit I can take,
and I freaked out. It’s not the first time, but this time I think she will not
be able to let go, she will push this attitude problem of mine to the limits
and I can expect to be called into some sort of meeting to discuss the
situation. She called me a disgruntled employee before, but now I think we are
passed that point, and I don’t want to know what adjective she would use to
describe my insubordination.
It is not exactly insubordination, as I do everything she
asks, and not only that, I work damn hard, in fact, I am the hardest worker in
the general office, and perhaps even of the whole office. You would think she
would leave me alone to do my job, instead she constantly criticises and
complains that things need to be done this way and not that way, and whatever
she always have this direct and authoritarian complex of showing she is the
boss and spend most of her time humiliating us and reducing us to drones. Today
I said this place was worst than a prison. Prisoners can watch TV all day, they
can read, they can write, they can walk outside, we can’t do any of this, we
work work work like mad, we are chained to our desks and cannot leave it for
more than 3 minutes at a time, we cannot go outside except at lunch time, but
then it is a course to do whatever we need to do during lunch time, and when we
come back from work, we are so exhausted, we need to sleep the rest of the
evening.
Tonight in bed I was so freaked out, for the first time
since I left Los Angeles did I feel that bad about a job, it brought back even
my deep feeling of agoraphobia, to the point I wanted to remain sealed in the
bedroom in the dark and not move at all. I can see now that this deep
psychological problem of mine will never go away, and whenever both I and my
boss cross the line in a working relationship, I go right back to my deepest
fears about the world.
I don’t know in how much shit I am now, if somehow tomorrow
I will called in for a meeting. All I know is that tonight I will drink a lot
of alcohol, I will update my CV, and I will apply to at least one position. It
is going to be hard, because this time around I really need to find the perfect
job for me. I thought I had found it with a job of civil servant with such a
nice manager, I had no trouble at all, almost, it was bearable, we were all
happy. But give me a bossy manager any day, and we’re bound to clash, because I
cannot simply remain still and silent whilst someone is doing its best to
alienate me completely.
So, not only I need to find a local job, but it needs not
be in the commercial world, and it needs not be in an office shared by 5 up to
30 other employees, with usually 3 to 5 of them being your managers, managers
managers and directors, and it needs not to be with a fucking bastard of a boss
always on your back and giving you shit for no good reason. How am I to find
such a job, does it even exist?
Dear, dear, dear. Here I am once again at the same place
one always finds himself within a year of working anywhere. Something breaks,
the point of no return is crossed, and it is time once again to move on and
find another job, hoping the grass might be greener somewhere else, it is never
the case.
I need to find the dream job, no matter how much it pays. And
I reckon I have time since my situation is not yet desperate. But it could
become desperate quite quickly. So I need to act now.
My only bit of good news, and it is at the same time bad
news, is that the BBC is about to cut 2800 jobs, and they cut 3780 three years
ago. The good news is that if I did get that job at the BBC a few months ago, I
would most likely be on the street soon. The bad news is that there is no way I
will now be able to work at the BBC, as they prepare to sack every single
employee working in
It is very simple really, there is no need to cut any job
at the BBC, when we could instead cut jobs at the Her Majesty’s Courts
Services. I know many people who doss around all day where I work, it must be
the same across the country. Those are the people who really would need to go.
Somehow bitch managers always manage to leave them alone, even though we all
know they are rotten apples. The ones who worked hard are targeted and hence
are the ones who leave, insuring that everyone working there are totally
useless.
Just had a massive argument with Stephen, who was asking me
again if the dog went for a pee tonight, since it appears that she peed for
over 5 minutes. I exploded, and I shouted: “I don’t need to hear yet again the story
about the Mystery of the Dog who Peed for 15 Minutes!”
I am working on my CV, it is a real nightmare. I have over
10 versions of my CVs, and the only one I really need to work on, I think, is
the dumb down version of it, not even stating that I have any sort of
education. What is a man reduced to in this world to get a job where peace and
happiness can finally be found, that he needs to say he is nothing, has no
ambition whatsoever, and probably could not find a door handle if stuck in a dark
closet. Who would employ such a person? In this day and age, you need a Master
Degree in order to be a refuse collector, as proven by all the Polish people
cleaning our streets, most of them with PhDs. Perhaps I don’t need to dumb
myself down, I only need to stress that I am an immigrant from some obscure
country, and that as a result I have no hope of finding a job. I don’t know
what to do. Should I update all ten versions of my CV? It would take me a week.
Somehow I have to do it, tonight, and I will.
All right, let’s calm down. I am perhaps drinking my third
glass of wine, but it is only 9h30 pm. I have plenty of time to update all
these CVs tonight. Let’s start with the version that has 25 pages (just joking,
but just). This time, no lies whatsoever. I think I will limit myself to one
version only, with my URL and in bold characters that I am gay, highlighted. Who
knows, for once that might be the argument that would get me a job? I can see
that I am already too drunk to work on my CV, when I am thinking about telling
the truth from the start and open up to any future employer what I am really
all about. I can just imagine my future Director reading my website for three
nights in a row, and finding exactly all that he would need to find to think I
am the worst candidate ever for that particular job, which probably does not
require any sort of previous experience or education anyway in the first place.
Funny, I just got a horrible thought. I was wondering what
kind of job would be ideal, outdoor, no colleagues around, no boss over my back
telling me what to do every second of the day, and truly, cleaning the streets
seems to be the ideal job. Not only that, it would pay more than being a civil
servant in a Crown Court. Would I dare? Why not? I may even work with a bunch
of immigrants who suffered terribly, whenever all their family was killed for
whatever reason. It might be the perfect job for me, and I don’t mind cleaning
the streets. I am so low right now being a civil servant for the British
Government, it seems to me that cleaning the street cannot be any worse. Somehow
I believe I am too lazy to apply for such a job, because I know that the
Hounslow Council would require from me to fill out a 40 pages application form,
with reference letters and all, and that is simply too discouraging. It might
explain why all the street cleaners have PhDs, it is the minimum requirement in
order to have the courage to fill out the application form and go through the
interview process. And only immigrants who cannot find jobs anywhere else
because of discrimination would dare to go for such jobs. At the end of the
day, this must be better than working in a McDonald’s, because in a McDonald’s
you must still have a bunch of managers and directors on your back all day
long, failures who suddenly appreciate way too much the little power they got
over a few miserable human beings, employees become then the slaves of their
small but inflated Ego.
Maybe I am going about this the wrong way, as usual. Every
time I looked for a job, I was desperate. I needed a job instantly, or else I
stand to lose everything. This time I can choose, I have time. And since any
job will turn out to be a nightmare, might as well choose wisely. And wisely
for someone like me, would be a job that writing a whole book about would
actually be something interesting to read. I know I will write a diary or blog
out of it, might as well be something someone might be interested to find out
about. Like working for Microsoft for example, or the Prime Minister, the police,
or MI5. Yeah! Let’s go crazy! Let’s not apply to any job for which there is
actually an opening. Let’s apply out of the blue to the organisations I truly
would like to work for, to find out, to denounce, to write about. Something
worthwhile, something that needs to be denounced for posterity about how they
go about things, when we thought they were going about it another way, the
acceptable way. In that case I need a full blown CV, need to impress. I think
most bastards looking into candidates, forget way too easily that the person in
front of them, despite all their great experience and achievements, has no
desire to get the job they offer or any intention to keep that job within the
year. They think, wash! that one is for me! I know, I went into that job as a
civil servant with some sort of full blown CV, and they still hired me. Yeah,
let’s not dumb myself down too much. I need to shine amongst a bunch of losers,
not look like all the other losers out there.
Funny, I have now wild ideas of reworking my ultimate CV, I
think it would be highly innovative, as it would be poetic and philosophic. It
would contain only two lines. I wonder what the reception of such a CV would
be. Should I give it a try? “I am a lost human being on this planet looking for
something to do. Are you the one able to help such a lost soul?” That might do.
Or what about: “I worked everywhere, I have done everything, and now, by some
weird twist of destiny, I am knocking on your door. Let’s see where this new
working relationship will take us.”
This would not get me anywhere, however the idea is still
there that I feel I no longer need to have a CV reflecting what all those books
out there are telling us is the proper way to go about it. It is all very nice,
but if 500 candidates out of the 1000 who applied for my job recently all had
within their letter something like: “I look forward to hearing from you”, it
becomes very tiresome indeed.
There would be a way to be different without being
anarchist. In the details. No final salutations, no dear Mr and Ms, dear me,
can I re-invent the CV right now tonight? Go wild? Perhaps I am drunk enough,
it is my fifth glass of red wine after all.
What is the purpose of a CV anyway? They want to know who I
am, what I am all about? In that case, there is only one thing I need to
provide, the web address of my website, that is all. If there is anything else
they require, it can be discussed at the interview. I am now in a position to
provide the ultimate CV, a CV of over 100,000 pages long in two languages. Is
that what they require from me? Or just one page? How could I possible resume
100,000 pages in one? It can only be done with one line, not one page. Could it
be done in one word, the word resuming all that I am? And what would that one word
be? I wonder, assuming I wouldn’t be lying here. I can only think of one word
right now, irony. That would be me, irony. Shit, can I die now with that one
word qualifying what I have all been about? Better be irony than bastard or
fucker, at any rate.
There is one thing I would not mind to be, it is a
journalist. I know they all require a degree in journalism, just to insure
probably that all journalists are virtually the same, but maybe I could get
lucky. When I was about 20 years old, I showed myself in the offices of the
daily newspapers Le Droit in
Could it be that simple today? Could any editor in chief
meet me and offer me such an opportunity? I doubt it. These were simpler days,
times when anyone could become a journalist, as simple as Miss Marple becoming
the brain of Scotland Yard. Today I’m afraid it is not as simple. But maybe it
is. There will be only one condition though, no training, no extra courses in
journalism, you take me as I am and you accept it as I write it. I guess I’m
deluding myself.
Can you see how a society can be so out of touch with its
citizens, that someone like me is actually looking for a job as a street
cleaner? Can’t you see that any great society should have identified by now
someone like me as having some abilities and potential, that I should be found
and put to some sort of good use warranted by all that I have proven so far
that I could do? What is wrong with this society that I should be a civil
servant right now about to become a street cleaner, whilst I have written over
30 books and that I have a Master Degree? My last job was Management Consultant
in conferences, for god’s sake! I could teach people how to jump start their
conference start up company up until the last detail, and make it a success. And
yet, I am now looking to become a street cleaner, as perhaps the last resort of
a job where I might find some sort of peace and happiness. What have you done
with this life? Why have you turned it into such an ugly place to live and
evolve that someone like me wishes to be a street cleaner?
If I was in charge of hiring anyone, and I found myself in
front of a kid barely 35 years old with such an achievement behind him, I would
kill in order to employ him. I would not even care if that kid was to waste his
time all day, I would feel I was still justified in hiring him. Because that
kid is working for a higher purpose. He is working at telling posterity what
life and the working life was all about for a certain period of our small
minded humanity. And God only knows how his mind works, what he is thinking
right now, how anything that happens will be described for posterity. He might
not show it, it might seem not to affect him, but what if 30 pages are written
about that single little event that happened today at work? And that millions
eventually will read all about it? How should have I acted then? What should
have I done then? Well, you did poorly. You were blind. You were a fucking
bastard or a fucking bitch, and quite frankly, the world would do better
without you. That is what I had to say really, and I do hope millions of people
eventually will get to read about it, fucking bastard, and fucking bitch, that
make my life such a misery when there is no need to, when I am already giving
you 200%! Fucking Crown Court! Fuck you! I will become a street cleaner, and
you know what? There will still be problems to deal with, there will still be
shit and shitting people to deal with, because I’m afraid, it is the nature of
humanity, and there is no hope for humanity.
I am
determined now, I will be a street cleaner one way or another. And let’s find
out how much shit a street cleaner really needs to deal with, on a
psychological level, apart of course from picking up the shit of everyone else
on the street on a daily basis.
Oh dear,
how low will I need to go before this is all over?
I think I only need one CV version, the one with 25 pages.
And you know what? It is with that very version that I will successfully become
a street cleaner. Just watch me go, I bet you I can achieve that much, out of
this miserable existence. This is what life was in the year 2007 when you were
living in
Dear me, is it possible that I could be such a queer
person? So queer indeed that everything I think and say and write, is simply
out of touch with the normal ways a normal brain works? Is it possible that
everything I do, everything I think, is simply so far removed from everyone
else expectations? Could my brain be wired completely differently from how
everyone else’s brain is wired? Could that be the explanation to all my
problems? Do I think differently somehow? Is everything I think is simple
common sense completely alien to everyone else? That could go a long way in
explaining why it never seems that I could fit in, in anyone else’s little
bubble universe. Is it that somehow I think so differently than them, that they
simply cannot connect with any of my ideas and what I am all about?
I am from
I have little faith that somehow it would be better back
home. That by some weird twist of faith they would all be thinking like I do,
acting like I do, and understand everything I have been killing myself in
trying to explain so far. What seems to be common sense to me, could actually
be an alien language to anyone else, who knows?
Maybe I
am ready to go back home. Maybe I am ready to try to observe, analyse and
critic my own nation. Maybe I am ready to write not only in French, but in
French-Canadian, in joual (slang). Perhaps this is where my future lay, it is
possible that these people think like I do, who knows? I obviously don’t fit
in, in any society I have lived in since I left Canada 15 years ago, maybe it
is back home that I will find what I am truly looking for, where I will meet
people like me. I doubt it, but who really knows? Perhaps I am not that queer
after all. Maybe the rest of the world is queer. Perhaps my nation thinks just
like me, and that if we were to separate from the rest of Canada, together we
could achieve greater things than I feel the rest of humanity could never even
come close to. How deluded would I need to be to believe such a thing, I leave
to my own discretion. Maybe I am ready to go home. But what if I discover then
that I am queer indeed? And that I am alone in my own bubble universe thinking
like I do?
Dear me,
someone really ought to shoot me right now. I despair.
12 October 2007
There, I have put the last nail in the coffin for me at the
Crown Court. There will be one more complaint about me from the Magistrates’
Court, that will be the third one, and it will also be the third one from the
only remaining Magistrates’ Court which had yet to complain against me. I would
love to say that they waste any time complaining to the Top Manager against me
whilst remaining idle all day and not doing their job, but from three different
Magistrates’ Court? Perhaps I have a problem with my attitude. How could I not,
when I am doing the job of at least five of my other colleagues? I am so
exhausted, despite sleeping all the time… I only said the someone on the phone
that the person he was talking with at the Magistrates’ Court was lying,
incompetent and that he should speak to her manager, because fines from the
Crown Court have to be paid at the Magistrates’ Court. You can understand how
this will cost me my job.
I have to go back for the last hour of the week now, I will
tell them as my defence that I had enough, that I will start looking for
another job actively, and that once I find one I will then resign. I have no
choice, I’m running out of arguments, and anyway, this job is worse than any
other job I ever had in conferences, because when they find a fish as I am,
working his ass off to get everything done yesterday, they simply pile up all
the work on his desk. As a result, the nightmare of the conference world does
not seem that bad, because at least in the private sector, everyone has to do
his own job and will never have to do the job of his five colleagues around him
dossing around all day.
I had enough, shit, there are two hours left, not one.
Plenty of time for another disciplinary meeting about my behaviour. Shit, shit,
shit. And when I left the office, I banged the door and a big huge heavy board
fell off. That is perhaps the last nail on my coffin. I am really tired of this
life. I’m going to drink myself to death tonight, and I’ve got to be careful, I
will most likely be thinking of suicide.
I’m back now, and yes I had another disciplinary meeting. I
played my three cards, one I’m under a lot of stress because of new management
and she was giving way too much to do, two that I was still on Grad Fees after
all this time giving me more headaches, three that they didn’t have to worry
about me anymore, I would look for a new job.
That last card should never be played, because you can
easily put yourself in the corner. They could easily turn around and say: fine,
here’s the door. Especially if like me you have become a disgruntled employee
and hence unmanageable. That employee might as well leave then. I however work
so damn hard, and they know it, that I could afford to play that card, but I
can only play it once. So when you play it, you have to look for another job.
However it did defuse the situation, and in the end, I understand that the
situation wasn’t that bad after all. I only told her she was lying and that she
was incompetent. I have now to write a letter of apology to her on Monday,
where I will state that what I said was not as bad as the third party claimed
that I said (when in fact he repeated exactly what I had said). I also made a
critical mistake, I have sworn in the office, twice I have said “fucking”, that
guaranteed me a well deserved reprimand and brought the whole meeting to
another level, it was now a highly serious offence. I was told that they were
hoping it would the last time I would find myself in that office because of the
way I speak to people on the phone. Fair enough.
I told them that my previous manager was the best manager I
ever had in my entire life. That didn’t go well. He was qualified to me as a
hands off type of management style, where the new girl is 100% hands on (a
control freak would be a better qualification). At one point I did admit that
the new girl was a great manager and that she was exactly what this office
needed (so the others will start doing some work for a change). That went well,
actually it is the only thing I have said that will save my neck, because there
would have been no way for me to be able to work there with her again if I had
not stated it, and in truth, I wasn’t lying when I said it. I just don’t need
that type of management myself, as they said, it seems I work better in a hands
off management style.
So now, for my next job, I need to find something with a
lot of hands off management style, and no customer service of any kind. I
cannot deal with customers, I don’t have the patience. I cannot deal with
management either, I don’t have the patience. Basically, I cannot deal with
having a job, which is why I never keep one for more than a year, and now any
potential employer can read it between the lines, one year is the maximum I
ever kept a job, which might explain why my CV has 25 pages, I have been
working in complicated and demanding jobs for 25 years.
I am not angry anymore, I am peaceful, perhaps because I am
simply too tired. All of it was my fault, even though the woman obviously
didn’t know what she was talking about, you cannot however tell them the truth,
you have to diplomatic, professional, you have to tell them to fuck off in a
very nice way, and then you can get away with murder. And she must have been
lying, or else she must have started the day before, how in the world could she
think that fines from the Crown Court were to be paid at the Crown Court? Maybe
just like me she was trying to get rid of a disgruntled customer in a polite
way, and hence, she must have been lying to him. I know, they lie to me all the
time these people at the Magistrates’ Court, in order to avoid doing their job
and provide me with the legal aid orders and bail applications. They have tried
every single trick with me, but I know better, they’re just a bunch of lazy
bastards, and they get paid more than we do. I am however perhaps even worse,
because I take no shit from anyone, I don’t take prisoners, I shoot them dead
right there right now, to hell the consequences. Sometimes I wonder what sort
of manager I would be, perhaps I would be the worst bitch ever known to
management history. One thing for sure, what the people under me couldn’t do, I
would certainly do it myself. Managers don’t even answer the phone unless it is
theirs, they don’t go to the counter unless they are specifically required to
do so. Managers are simply checking and delegating, and annoying everyone else
around them. What sort of management style is that? I’m not sure, I think it is
called hands on.
And now I will spend the weekend reading, just to change my
mind before the war on Monday. I don’t know what to expect, all I know is that
it is my birthday, and instead of expecting a cake from them, I have to buy
pastries and bring them there on Monday morning for everyone to profit from my
birthday at my expense. I don’t understand this idea that the celebrated person
needs to bring the cake, but it is how it is done at the Crown Court. I won’t
even get a birthday gift because we have no money, I didn’t get any for the
last 15 years. I won’t even get a card, I never got one in years. This is the
price to pay when you decide not to give gifts or cards to anyone else around
you, and to be honest I am glad I won’t receive any of that crap, because I
don’t need to be bothered with birthdays. It is always someone’s birthday, it
is time we calm down and see these days as nothing that important after all. I
will be 35, not a critical turn, I’m still young until I reach 40, I wonder if
I will ever reach 40. I never thought I would reach 30, funny enough. I have
written a lot in the last five years, I could write a lot in the next five, in
fact, I could write my best work yet, I have to, I have no choice. So maybe it
is worth signing a new contract of five years with the devil and continue this
miserable existence for a while. If only I could find a way to find happiness,
free myself from these jobs and managers, find a way to write full time. That
is what I need to concentrate on if I want to live to be a hundred.
I could always become HIV positive I suppose, being gay I
am at high risks, but my sex life is inexistent, and nowadays AIDS is like
diabetes, you can now live another 30 to 40 years (finally the 100 billion
dollars we spent on that disease in the last 25 years has produced some
results). I could always have a problem with this high level of platelets that
I am apparently suffering from without even be able to know unless I have a
blood test. The fact that there is no reason for it, is puzzling indeed. It could
develop into something more serious, leukaemia for example, bone marrow
diseases, but what the heck, I am more likely to die in a car accident, from
cancer or suicide before these platelets become something that I should truly
worry about. For now I will just smoke and drink myself to death until I fall
asleep, while I can still afford it from a financial and health point of view.
I’ve got to be careful, I am getting old now, 35, shish, I am nearing the end
of my existence. I also have to be careful not to end this life whilst being a
civil servant, because I’d rather never have been born than to read on my
tombstone my name along with who I was, a civil servant. Funny enough, in death
you are simply a name, a date you were born and the day you died. At that point
I guess this is all the remaining identity that is required by law, you don’t
need to say where you were born, everything you’ve done, what jobs you had,
reference letters, who you were married to, and were your kids, if you had a
criminal record, if you ever declared bankruptcy or lied to anyone on an
application form, or if you told a few bitches from the Magistrates’ Court to
go fuck themselves. Thank God! There is a light at the end of the tunnel, I
think.
If only the Crown Court didn’t have to deal with the
Magistrates’ Court. And when I think of the defendants who may be innocents,
and yet have to go first through a Magistrates’ Court, then a Crown Court, then
appeal to the Court of Appeal, frankly, I am so discouraged for them, I believe
I would do anything I can to avoid getting justice if I thought someone had
done me some wrongdoings. It wouldn’t be worth it, I don’t have two to three
years to waste and a million pounds just to see justice being done. The justice
system is a disaster, and I am not proud to say that I am part of that useless
and horrifying expensive bureaucracy, especially when I know no one at the
other end is interested or doing anything to insure the minimum amount of
problems, and that anything that is done to remediate that huge bureaucracy
problem, cannot but fail. The result of the solution is just more agro and more
depressions on the civil servants side. I could think of a better solution, but
it would be so radical, no one would accept it.
Now I need to assess my situation, my life, what is it,
where I am. I feel sick again tonight, and it is frightening me, because that
kind of sickness is psychological, it is mental. I think the agoraphobia is
only the tip of the iceberg, a by-product or a consequence of something perhaps
deeper. I feel fear, deep fear inside, fear of the world, of everyone around
me. It makes sick, it makes shrink like an old man, it is paralyzing me, I can
barely walk. I experienced that feeling this week, after my fight with the
manager at work, and today’s events has deepened everything. My crisis appears
to be self-made, self-inflicted, it is time I consider that perhaps this won’t
go away. Maybe tomorrow I will be fine, and I hope so, but at the moment I
cannot even entertain the idea of speaking with Stephen, all night tonight I
lived in apprehension that he may talk to me, shout at me as he usually does,
for stupid and unjustified reasons as well. I am already elaborating in my mind
ways by which I could have the quietest weekend ever and not talk to him once.
Maybe he is the source of my illness.
Only at the deep end of my crisis in
I have three solutions. The first one is to see my GP and
ask for some pills. This is out of the question. Second, I need to see a
psychologist. I never had much faith in them, I never thought they could
actually help me in any way, but let’s face it, I never before struggled with
my mind to the point that it could affect my physical health. And yet, I will
need to feel like I feel tonight much more than two nights before I make any
kind of move about seeing someone. So that is also out of the question for now.
The third
solution is that I need to radically change my lifestyle. I will need to set
myself some rules and obey them. For example, I can no longer go to bed past
1am. And already at 12h30 I have to get ready to go to bed, as it takes me 30
minutes to finally be ready for bed. I also need to be at work on time without
struggle, and never take more than an hour lunch in order to avoid more
problems with the manager. At work, starting Monday, I will no longer stress if
nothing gets done, I have to stop this obsession of trying to clear all the
work on my desk on a daily basis, it is just not possible and I have to accept
that. Somehow I also need to change my attitude, I need to smile and laugh
more, lately I have been a walking zombie in a constant bad mood. That might be
the most difficult part of this new deal, however if I go to bed before 1am, it
might be easier.
The only
remaining problem is Stephen. What can I do with this situation? Trying to
avoid him all weekend will only alienate him more. I think he wants me to share
more time with him, go to places, walk the dog with him. That cheers him up,
even if most of the time we simply argue about nothing and everything. So
instead of shrinking back into the bedroom to read, maybe I should spend the
weekend with him, it could go a long way to restore what’s left of this broken
relationship. Yes, at the same time, in the state I am now, I feel this weekend
might not be the right time to start fraternising more. I feel like remaining
in bed, hiding away, for two days straight. I’ll see how I feel tomorrow
morning.
I just
spoke with Stephen, I told him that tomorrow we should do something together
with the dog, like going to
I didn’t
think I would be able to tell him that somehow I feel instable psychologically,
people don’t take that sort of thing seriously, even though it is not uncommon
that people will be off work for a while because of mental instability, but for
that to happen, you will first need to suffer a crash or some sort of serious
breakdown. For example, when I am sick, I need to go through a return to work
interview and fill out a form explaining my illness. They are tough on that,
absenteeism appears to be their first line of attack. Usual reasons won’t do
for the Crown Court, they either need to see clear sign that you are physically
sick, and not faking it in any way possible, or back problems and food
poisoning might be your last defence, as no other reason will do. I cannot
imagine for one second that if I were to write down on that form: unexplainable
agoraphobia and deep sense of fear, which makes me want to crawl into a ball in
a sealed off and dark room, would do. I don’t think depression would be
acceptable unless you are already someone identified with mental instability,
for example if you are already seeing a doctor and taking strong drugs.
So I will
first need to breakdown or suffer a crash, and today it sort of happened. Could
have been much more serious, in a way I am fortunate. And now remains to me to
take the means to get better, peaceful, happy, somehow…
One way I know would solve all my problems. They detected a
gaping hole in the universe a billion light-years long, where there is nothing.
Sounds like the right place for me to be, right in the middle. In fact, solving
the mystery of this void would go a long way to answering what it is that we
actually see when we look at the night sky. If this void does not destroy the
Big Bang theory once and for all, nothing will, apart of course from the fact
that galaxies appear to speed away from us at ever faster speed which could be
described as faster than light. But that is just a misinterpretation of the red
shift test, light is not like sound apparently, a red shift would be no
indication of how far is a galaxy. We still have a long way to go to figuring
out this universe, I tell you. I’m even losing patience with science, I will
end up like Nietzsche if I am not careful, completely alienated by everything,
even the simplest detail. My brain is already in overdrive, and has been for way
too long. The only Big Bang this universe has seen, was my birth, and the only
Big Crunch it may ever hear will be my death. Mind you, I say this in all humility.
(I’m kidding.) Perhaps I am still strong after all. However I was talking in
terms of different scale universes, I was referring at the small bubble
universe that my body actually represents. I didn’t think I would need to
justify all this, but I might as well, just in case.
I have just spent two hours surfing the Internet about
Indochine, the celebrated French rock alternative band, probably the best and
only rock alternative band
I am
pissed off, greatly. I just found out that the singer Nicola Sirkis must be
straight, he married twice, some bitches woman I don’t want to know anything
about. How is this possible? How can the perfect man on this planet, the only
French man I ever admired, with such intelligence, sensibility, intellectual
and all, cultivé and knowledgeable about literature and arts, how the hell can
he be straight? I would marry the man tomorrow morning if I could, never mind
how old he is. But it is impossible. Why would his songs reach me so deeply?
Why is it that it is the only thing reaching me right now, when I always
thought that most of his songs were about gays struggling to survive… the man
is straight? I thought all those stylish woman pictures on the cover of the
Indochine albums were just a pretence, art, maybe not. Damn French men, that
even straight they can be more gay than the best of us. This only adds to my
depression, I’m afraid, I was so convinced. They did write a song called the
Third Sex, clearly about gays, and One Day in our Life, also gay. What’s going
on? I am as disappointed as the day I found out for sure that Depeche Mode,
every single member they ever had, were straight. But at least Depeche Mode
never led me to believe in their songs that they may be gay, even if they
looked the part for a while.
I suddenly feel very much alone, for some weird reason. Elton
John has never been a model for me, thank God, and I’m starting to wonder if
perhaps I am not alone in this world. Because not only am I gay, but it seems
no other gay person on this planet is like me, thinks like me, or like what I
like. I wonder, am I some sort of alien?
Indochine was the very last tread connecting me to the
French language. The last thing which made me think that writing in French was
perhaps not a waste of time, as French can be such a poetic language, you can
do much more in French than in English, assuming it is not because English is a
second language for me.
If I was
so certain that one of these big publishers in Paris would publish my next
weird and incomprehensible book, I would write it, but publishers these days
are only motivated by commercialisms, and in France commercialism does not
necessarily means a commercial novel, it means that the author is already well
known in some sort of disconnected manner with literature, probably television
or music. Literature in
I will
admit something tonight that I believe I have never admitted before. I started
my writing career thinking in terms of The Song of Roland and Tristan and
Iseult, both translated from old French to contemporary French by Joseph
Bédier. That weird French he came up with, some sort of compromise between the
old French and the new one, what was mainly my motivation and style in my early
work. There were also two poets I was really deep into then, Arthur Rimbaud,
feeding all my dreams of going to
Well, I
was deluded enough in those days to believe I could write books even more
incomprehensible, and yet, clearly stating something, the word is actually
“poésie en prose”, meaning poetry turned into novel. I thought this was so
revolutionary, I would instantly be recognised as a great author. When this did
not come, as I should have known it wouldn’t, I thought that like Rimbaud and
Nelligan, I would only be recognised after my death.
It may
seems like nothing to you, to read this right now, but for me, for many years,
it is the thought that motivated me big time to continue writing even though I
wasn’t going anywhere. Yes, six of my books are published now, but the
reception was hardly what I was dreaming of, I am no Arthur Rimbaud or Émile
Nelligan, iconic figures of poetry and literature that go way beyond whatever
it is they may have written. What truly remains of them is an archetype, an
idea of freedom and liberty, of walking on green fields with no responsibility
or obligations whatsoever, but just this desire to be alive, just celebrating
being alive with nothing else.
In my
mind, writing such weird books as Towards the Green Fields and The Revolution,
I thought I would only be recognised after my death, and I felt justified in
writing stuff no one would ever wish to read, or at least, that no publishers
would ever be ready to publish. And yet, for me, this was real literature, it
was new, it was revolutionary, I felt powerful writing these books, so
powerful, I don’t think you could ever understand how I felt then. For that
alone I always thought I was a real author, I was the real thing over everyone
else. And all the shit I have written since then, is not even worth talking
about. And yet, this is what has been published, this is what is commercial. It
is still me, my style, weird, unconventional, but nothing with what I initially
come up with as my true signature, some great author I thought I was going to
be, that I deserved to be. And God knows if that had been a success right then,
what else I would have come up with, something even better, revolutionary
indeed, that was the word. Real new literature, for a society deeply in need
for something new.
I am
still soul searching, I am still thinking that this is the literature I need to
get back to, pursue those initial thoughts I had, and see where it could lead
me. Real new literature, something almost unthinkable in this day and age, when
we think we have seen everything there could be under the sun. It is not true,
it is far from being true.
There is
only one main big obstacle in that fresh and young way of thinking. I thought I
would only be recognised as an author, a great one, after my death. I have come
to understand in time that if Arthur Rimbaud and Émile Nelligan came to be
known as such, it was more due to luck and a fluke than anything else. And that
for these two poets alone, hundreds if not thousands must have been equally
good but never reached anyone. And that ultimately, it was very likely that
even my death would not bring about such different literature to the world, I
would die forgotten. Which is why, I suppose, in time, I walked away from that
style which I thought was real literature. And now I guess, all I am doing is
normal literature, what is expected from any author in this century. And yet, I
can’t even get that work recognised. So all of it, my whole existence, has been
a waste of time, a waste of what a true author could have been.
I thought
somehow that I first needed to reach some success before I could get back to
what I initially thought was literature. Now that I understand that success
will never come, and even that success is not actually worth it, perhaps I
should consider getting back to my initial thoughts.
I have
never forgotten where I came from, The Eclecticism was part of that school of
thought, it was written in the same spirit, and it was actually published in
It is not
the first time that in my babbling I make this reference to the fact that I
believe the best book I have ever written and might actually ever write is The
Revolution. I feel the very end could have been done better, but I don’t think
I could get back to it now and rewrite the end, and so it will remain as it is.
Not once in my entire career as a writer, if someone could call it such, did I
get any feedback from any reader of the Revolution. So, for me, this is simply
strong convictions that this is a great book, and perhaps the only one I
wouldn’t mind be remembered for after I’m dead. I have never changed my mind in
25 years, this is still the book that stands as my best work ever, along with
perhaps Towards the Green Fields. Today I can wonder why. I can especially
wonder if I could write stuff I could eventually consider better or at least
equally good.
I’m
afraid I may never be able to. That such books could only be written once, at
an early age, when one is still innocent and ignorant, and struggles with all
this new information that reaches him somehow, about this world, this universe,
and what it may all be about, if anything. I have lost that innocence a long
time ago, even if I have grown to become such a cynical human being, as if
somehow I had never accepted it, accepted this life. And yet, still unable to
get back to that initial innocence.
No doubt
this is why for a while I thought I had already written everything I ever
wanted to write and say, and that there was nothing else I needed to do on this
planet. No doubt I thought then I could never do better than I had already done
when I was barely a teenager. Now I wonder, perhaps I can do better, perhaps
there is still time for me to get back to this literary style and do better. And
I wonder, could it be done in English? And what form and shape will it take? And
how drunk will I need to be to even start writing such a book? Even, what drugs
would I need to be under the influence of? Drugs are quite out of the question,
and if I could think and start and finish such a book without the need of
alcohol, it would be even better.
Is it not
typical of me, that whilst I stand over my life standing in ruins beside me, my
professional, social and personal life is going to hell, I can only think of
the next book I will write, as some sort of salvation, which would make all my
existence worthwhile? Could I even start writing that book tonight? It is only
3 in the morning after all. And I had the day from hell. Perhaps that kind of
new literature I am thinking of, does not requires one to think too much about
what he is going to write about. There is beginning, and there will be an end,
and by the time you reach that end, you will see, the whole think will be
complete, will be something whole that makes sense, many senses, to the point
where once again I will wonder, have I written that book? It is so ingenious,
how could I have written it, when there was no planning of any sort, no thought
about any kind of plan or structure, and yet, here stands before me the best
thing I thought I could ever write. How do you explain that? I can’t. But I
know a great book starts with no thought at all, just inspiration, a desire to
write something great, and then, it happens. Come to think of it, it is how I
have started writing every single book I have ever written. Or else I instantly
had a great idea and felt the need to write it all down instantly, and
developed it further in time, after thinking more. The latter is more about
everything I have written in English, not in French. In English I just needed a
great instant idea, in French I needed inspiration building up one night, a
greater idea that didn’t make any sense, and yet, it was there all my mind,
something surreal, that could not be described in words or in a few lines, but
then again, became books.
I need to
get back to that. Two years ago I proudly announced on my French website that I
would not write another word in French, and I have been faithful to my word.
Today I wonder if perhaps writing in English was not a mistake. And now, I
wonder, could I actually write and think in French once again? It has been so
many years… Maybe I should not think too much tonight. Perhaps it is time for
me to go to bed, so I can actually go to
One thing I should sleep on, this lack of success gives me
a unique opportunity to write whatever I want, as if I was writing for readers
who might only be interested after my death. And so I should concentrate on the
style and what I truly want to write, instead of what I feel the masses want to
read. I care not for the masses, I never did, and they never showed any
interest anyway, so why should I care? With this thought, the question is, what
would my next book be about? Well, a defendant in the Crown Court right now,
his name, or her name, is Pop Hristic. Somehow that inspires me…
I was
just visiting my own French website, where I have clearly stated all that I
have written in 2005, 2006 and 2007, this actual year. I have always believed
that no matter how much shit I go through in my life, in the end, it always
turns out that the last year was always better than the previous one. And so
far I have never been proven wrong. Last year should have been the highlight of
such a mounting adventure, since I was actually in
14 October 2007
Today I have written my two most esoteric entries in
Destructivism and Anna Maria, entries that I truly believe in, and yet, they
are not part of this world or whatever it is we came to believe the limitations
of this reality may be. This kind of thinking might be the real source of my
existential crisis, the underlying truth about this universe, which makes all
of it a useless waste of time.
When you start thinking in those terms, where you begin to
question reality, and your own thoughts take over the reality you thought you
were living in, there is no turning back, and the result from your point of
view could be seen, I suppose, as alienation, madness, and yet, in my mind, it
can only be the truth, another understanding, reaching to something you might
never understand, where in the end, from my point of view, you are the
alienated ones, the small minded ones.
Isn’t it true that if you think too much, eventually, you
will find yourself in a totally new universe? With different laws of physics,
altogether new laws governing reality? I think so.
I sometimes believe I have become mad, a nut case. When I
start to believe firmly in whatever my own imagination was able to come up
with. And yet, there is no reason to believe that this might not actually be
the real reality we all evolve in, or the one reality, the only one, that truly
exists for me.
At this point, either I am right, or dear me, no one in
this world could help me get back to this reality. I will be too far gone by
then, as I already feel I am. I no longer believe in reality. I make it, I
imagine it, I create it the way I want, the way I feel, for whatever reason. It
is either a limitation of my own imagination, or a need to go through some sort
of nightmare, which got me stuck in a reality no one would be happy to evolve
in, in the first place.
I can
change it overnight, I can make out of this life, this reality, whatever I
want, instantly. And yet, it seems, my desire is to suffer, everything there is
to suffer, in such a world. Granted, none of it is useless, I do learn from it,
I do write about it, and yet, there is no need for any of it. I can change
everything overnight, by thought alone. And even, to a certain extent, I can
change my life overnight without even some miracle. I could leave my job, I
could leave my partner, I could leave this country. And yet, I don’t. How do
you explain it? I can’t.
It is also possible that somehow I feel I can’t do any of this,
for whatever reason, and that creating this mad world in order to escape
reality is all I could come up with in order to make this existence bearable.
In my madness, I would have come to believe it, as some sort of comfort. As if
nothing in this world was actually real. How nice would that be? How
comforting? A grand illusion. A grand delusion, and the better if you get to
believe and see it as such.
This world is made out of concepts and definitions, about
what it is that we feel we can see and feel. None of these concepts and
definitions are set in stone, we are free to redefine everything as we see fit.
To whatever would make this existence bearable, acceptable.
I always
knew I was a philosopher, what I didn’t know is that being a philosopher means
that you are completely insane. And when you get to the point when you actually
think that the rest of the world is actually insane, and that you are the only
one left with any kind of sanity, this is when you need, I suppose, to
disconnect, and understand that you have a serious problem, not the rest of
humanity.
I’m sorry, I cannot see it that way. I believe I am quite
sane, I am a firm believer that you are all insane, in your own ways, your
beliefs, whatever else, your reality. I will have no part in any of it, none of
it concerns me, you see, you are insane, I am not.
How could
I be insane? There is only me in this world, all of you, only exist in my mind,
it changes daily, I can change everything at will, none of you exist then, I am
your creator, I imagined you, you do not really exist, do you? I don’t think
so. I have developed my own internal logic to explain everything, you have done
none of that, you never gave to me convincingly some other reasons to explain
this state of affair. So who’s mad? You or me? I wonder.
I think that from your point of view, I am insane. And that
from my point of you, you are all insane, if you exist at all, and are not
simply the fruit of my own imagination, like a dream. So maybe we’re all insane
and incapable of understanding what this reality is actually all about.
What if somehow I was able to understand something about
this world that you have not understood? What if we are not all the same, and
that in our differences, I was able to see further about any underlying truth
about this world? What if you are wrong and that I am right? What then? Who is
mad then? You or me?
Even though that for all intent and purpose it seems that
I’m going insane, in actuality, I think I am finally reaching the truth, that
in all actuality, I am finally becoming sane. And I don’t think I will be
wasting time here for much longer. It’s time for me to move on. It’s time to
move on. Move on!
Funny how if somehow you are suggestible, and can get to
believe yourself or any other charmer out there, you can easily get to the
point of believing that your own death will bring about something great, more
wonderful than anything you have experienced so far. And then, if you can so
easily convince yourself of anything, then why not convince yourself of
everything that is possible and even impossible under the sun? We can after all
convince ourselves of anything in this world, this is the power of psychology, of
our own minds, as if somehow nothing that our five senses could register needs
necessarily be any sort of truth, or even, it all depends on how you wish to
interpret this truth.
And if you are desperate enough, that you feel that this
existence has nothing else to offer you, that none of it has anything appealing
to you in the slightest, why would you then decide to see it the way everyone
else sees it? What would be the point in that? What would then motivate you to
continue? To go to work tomorrow morning? Nothing. Might as well rethink the
universe as we know it, your only way out, my only way out.
I am mad, I am insane, am I not?
It is disturbing for most of us to get to understand that
somehow we are not quite right, that we somehow do not see or explain reality
the way others do. It is frightening, and yet, it is true. My problem is that I
do not find it frightening, I find it desirable. This reality, this life you
have all laid out for me, I do not want it, I never wanted it. It is my vision
of hell. And as such, anything I could invent in my own mind, anything I could
actually come to believe might be, which is far removed from this reality, is
welcomed in my mind.
I will
believe anything, I will invent anything, I will create anything, and I will
somehow believe it, embrace it, accept it as my only reality. And if I am
insane for it, you have only yourself to blame, because you have made out of
this existence, something no sane person could or should want to live in. At
that point, life must be something else, existence must mean something else,
otherwise, might as well commit suicide. Now you understand my state of mind.
15 October 2007
I was watching the Dragon’s Den tonight on the BBC, where
people with small businesses show up in front of those millionaires, if not
billionaires, and exposed their futile and frivolous business plans, asking for
100,000 pounds, and hop they might actually go and make millions out of these
half baked business plans when they don’t even knew how much money they would
make in a year.
I can understand, how in hell how you supposed to know how many
fish out there will bite at your line in the next year, I guess the key is to
be conservative in your numbers, and yet make it look worthwhile. Well, as a
result I re-installed my Making your Business Plan software and loaded my old
business plan I started in
I eventually abandoned the idea for a few reasons, it might
be wise to reconsider them today, on my birthday, since I can see that my life
is going nowhere and that I am simply incapable of working in a office filled
with managers and directors and other backstabbers. I cannot see myself working
at the Court beyond the one year I initially set myself. This book is finished,
it is over 450 pages now, even though of course more than half would go if ever
a crazy publisher is prepared to publish that crap.
I have to be realistic, once again. It is possible that
Anna Maria will get published, if ever I have the energy to find an agent, but
even if it were to be published, there is no 25,000 pounds that will suddenly
fall from the sky to encourage me to write another one. I think I can at least
bank on this. In this kind of climate and thinking, writing another book would
be a simple waste a time, something I could afford if I embark for a second year
contract with the court, and yet I would find myself next year in the exact
same place. Nowhere.
I spoke with my mom tonight, she told me she bought a new
computer and no she wants to talk to me over the Internet. She has taken a
course in order to figure out how the damn machine works, and I realise that
even my grandfather is now on the bandwagon, connected to many networks, and I
spoke with him a few times already.
Well, the conversation went that I didn’t have a house,
didn’t really have a car, I had nothing and no real prospects, whilst my sister
and my cousins are buying houses and apartment blocks all over the place, just
because they live in Canada and over there, it seems, money flows and falls
from the sky, whilst England, with houses costing now 2 millions in average, is
quickly becoming a Third World when most employees cannot even dream of buying
a high definition television set. Reminds you of something? 1950’s perhaps,
when people could not afford a black and white TV? History repeats itself.
Well,
what are the reasons exactly about why I felt the conference company was a bad
idea? It is pure capitalism, it is mercenary, it is an endless strings of cold
calls to convince people to attend a conference they don’t give a fuck about in
the first place. I’m no salesman, I could not convince people to buy chocolate
coated peanuts from me at a zoo if that required from me on a television
programme. I would have ditched the product in a bin and bought the whole lot
from my own pockets, so I would have looked good even though I would have been
useless.
I didn’t
want to spam people, disturb them with phone calls for products they don’t
want. I am anti-sale and anti-marketing at heart, I wish to see it all
disappeared from our life, how could I then start a business? And of course I
am not even yet talking about getting the money and making it a success.
I thought at the time that this main stumbling block was
too much in itself, and I lost interest. I find that I may now have to walk
over my last remaining moral and ethical fibres, walk over my pride, and take
the plunge.
There are however a few more rules I need to set. I will
not ever be calling anyone in a cold sale type of thing, I will have people do
it for me. Anyway, the administration and production side of conferences will
take all my time. Even the marketing, as I feel I will the one doing it. Which
means, unless I can get a sales team from the start, a sponsorship team right
away, I will need to count on Stephen for all that, and I have no doubt he will
be excellent at it. So at least this can ease my mind.
I have decided to finish the business plan. And unlike what
I was thinking initially, that all of this could be done without any initial
input of money, and hence the business plan was more a security just in case I
needed it at some point, instead, this is a proper business and I will use the
plan to get an injection of money initially, as large as I can possibly go for
in order to survive for at least three years without any profit. That’s the
goal.
I need to plan three conferences the first year, giving
myself a whole year from start to finish. I need to establish the topics, write
the programmes, identify the speakers, the potential sponsors and marketing
alliances, and marketing possibilities. I need to first think of the subjects,
and the first conference needs to be a business conference, less risk, then a
medium risk like something I find lacking in the market which is not exactly a
an identified successful topic, that no one is actually doing to death, and the
last conference will be one of my hobbies, like perhaps conspiracy theories, or
other controversial topics, perhaps even something no other company would risk
doing because of the controversy or the sheer horror of the topic itself. I
don’t care if I have to cancel two conferences in the end, if one of them works,
then the whole thing starts and will dictate the future direction.
Shit, I could work on this all night if I didn’t have to go
to work tomorrow, and if I didn’t set myself new goals of going to bed before
1am, that is in less than 30 minutes.
Somehow I have to make this work, I have to finish that
business plan and visit all the local banks in order to get the loan I need,
under Stephen’s name, since my name is already bankrupted, even though before
that it wasn’t worth much anyway, since I am an immigrant at any rate. And that
is one thing I found out about a long time ago, in 1994 to be exact, that being
Canadian in
And now I will go and read the half business plan I have
already done whilst in
I think I should have a general telecom conference, a new
energy event, and a conspiracy theory one. Paranormal would be nice, I guess it
can be incorporated into the conspiracy one. I think the paranormal event can
wait, I feel it might not be as successful as I initially thought. I am not
certain about renewable energy one. Telecoms was the rich department of all the
conference companies I worked for. True there was a crash and it was never the
same afterwards, and yet, it picked up afterwards. Renewable energies was the
highlight of the company I worked for in
For the first two business conferences, it will be easy.
Just identify all my competitors, steal their speakers and programmes, charge
exactly twice cheaper than any of them. They are so greedy, it will be easy,
they are now charging up to 3000 pounds per delegate places. I could charge even
a quarter of what they charge, steal all their delegates and still make a
fortune.
Remain that last remaining problem, which is key to this
whole enterprise. The venue. The cheapest as I can find, not a 5 stars hotel at
a cost of 20,000 pounds. A place where I can bring my own food, slashing
another 20,000 pounds it would cost me otherwise. I will cook for my delegates,
and to be honest, not only it will cost me next to nothing, I feel it might
actually be better than these hotel menus. Who knows, I might even ship my
mother and/or my grandfather from
I think I am all set. I may wish to even have three
business conferences to start up with, in three different domains. The
conferences my competitors are all charging 3000 pounds each for one delegate.
By charging only a thousand, and as long as I can reach them, the market, I
think it cannot fail. And let’s keep the fringe and the hobbies for the
following years, once I am established.
I need to do this, I have to do this, I have to free myself
and save my relationship. I dream of the day we will both wake up in the
morning to go to work, in our own little snugly office near here, where we will
be the bosses and work towards success, in the happy family that all our
employees will form. And believe me, I think my management style will be quite
hands off, though to be honest, god only knows, maybe I will be highly hands
on, except that somehow I feel my management style will not alienate anyone and
believe, they will be happy to work for me. Above all, that is perhaps my most
important mission. And if I make a fortune, believe me, they will also profit
from it.
And now it is 1am passed. Either I go to bed or read my
business plan. You can guess what I will do, I guess.
17 October 2007
The business plan is far from being finished, I guess I
kept all the hard parts for the last, the marketing and the finance section. I
was wondering how people can guess how well conferences will do if they never
did that conference before for something like a few years in a row, the only
way to have some idea. This is something I always struggled with before in my
previous jobs, since directors and managing directors are only interested in
projections, and projections can only be wild guesses. Not only that, I at
least knew how much I would charge and the topics of the conferences, at the
moment I have no clue about even the basic information, including if I can find
a venue for almost nothing.
As well, I had another kind of discouraging feeling when it
came to think of producing conferences on subjects I have no interest in
whatsoever, like SDH Networks in legacy Telecommunications companies. I don’t
know how I would find the heart to promote such conferences and even attend
them without falling asleep at the back of the room, no matter how much money I
could make out of this. The fact is, I don’t do this for money, as long as my
survival is insured from year to year, that would be enough for me. I might as
well produce conferences on what interests me, even, which could further
society and the people by tackling controversial subjects which otherwise might
not see the light of day.
I talked with my colleague today at work, mentioned
possible topics like Conspiracies and Government sponsor terrorism, and even
AIDS does not exist kind of thing, he freaked out, saying it was a lie! And
then I thought, well, it is controversial enough then, it is the perfect topic
for my first conference.
However I spoke about it to Stephen, who just finally
succeeded yesterday in negotiating a mortgage for 40,000 pounds, and now all
his credit cards are cleared. Perfect timing to discuss once again the idea of
a start up company. He would not hear of it, freaked out as well and confirmed
that he will not put one penny on his credit cards towards these conferences.
So it seems the idea of freedom and liberties, to no longer have any bosses or
colleagues around, all that is not that important to him, and that he prefers
going from job to job until the heat is too much and that they sack him or make
him redundant. Which has been the same scenario for him in his last three jobs.
Suddenly this morning, five minutes before I had to go to work, he wanted to
talk about it. I said no, I didn’t have the time. So maybe there is hope there.
And if the topics are controversial enough and about subjects I have a great
interest in, then I will be motivated, and that is important before anything
else. Or else it will definitely fail.
Controversy might be my saviour, since I have no money to
invest in marketing and I have no database. Word of mouth might be my only way
to success, and that could only happen if it is controversial and the possible
delegates and speakers all have a passion about the topic, whether they are for
or against the initial premise of the conference title, which of course will be
as controversial as it can be. I have already established a list in
I wonder in how much trouble I could get myself into once I
start attacking governments and other powerful organisations and associations.
How far will they be willing to go to prevent me from testing the freedom of
speech laws which grant me the freedom to organise these conferences? Well, I
will have to make sure they can’t get me on anything, pay all the taxes, make
sure I am 100% registered, and that everything is above board with complete
transparency. As to my past, having two websites and a book with the word
anarchist in the title, we’ll just have to confront this if and when it comes.
Thank god I have nothing to hide and would quite willingly speak about anything
I have ever done in my life, no matter the consequences. Even if somehow they
were to succeed in kicking me out of
19 October 2007
When you don’t go out at all except for going to work,
meeting new people is quite something impossible to achieve. Especially if the
people you may wish to meet must meet your first requirement of someone
interesting, which is being gay. I have gone out twice in the last few months,
to see doctors, the first about my asthma and eczema, which I know disappears
as soon as I move to
What is more unusual, is that both times I have met gay
doctors, the first one was from a weird country which I cannot remember now,
what is
Today however, my new doctor which is only there
temporarily, wow, dear me, he was good looking. He is from Poland, and somehow
I was pleased to finally meet someone from Poland who was more than just a
street cleaner, of course Britain has such a shortage of staff in the medical
sector, they actively recruit overseas. Well, they didn’t make a mistake with
that one, tall, slim, pleasant, intelligent, blond, I bet he has a huge dick. I
almost fell on my knees asking him to save me from this hell my life has
become. He has two flats, one in
Of course, I would never have dared asking him to go out,
or something like that, I am in a stable and long relationship, and he was
quite blunt when he told me that in my condition of blood vessels which could
clog up, even though the danger is more after I am 40 and getting closer to 50,
I should not be obese. Obese? I’m not obese! I have put a bit of weight, and
yes, I know I can lose it easily if I feel like it, at the moment I am not
highly motivated you see. After he told me that, my dreams were shattered, of
course he wouldn’t be interested in me. And yet, he asked me if I had any
children, that was the alarm bell of any gaydar. I said I was gay. Not three
sentences later he managed to tell me he was single, all alone in
I wish I
had now the confidence I once had, where I would enter a club in all my unique
beauty of the best looking kid on the block, would look around once, spot the
best looking one, and go straight to him. And what I wanted was clear, and what
he wanted was clear, there was no wasting time like straight people do, dinners
after dinners to finally end up in bed a few weeks or months later, the very
thing the kid at work is struggling with at the moment with all the potential
girls he wishes to sleep with, when it is quite clear that what these girls
want is the same damn thing, and yet, they have to do their little dance before
it happens, and when it happens, often, it’s over.
Oh, I
forgot to say, something quite funny but sad at the same time. It is of course
a misunderstanding, but I wonder. I wanted to know if he knew about the new
gene they found which is connected to my over productive platelets, I was
tested for it the last time, I wondered if I had the gene. So I asked quite
indelicately if in
I know he
was just stating a fact, even though it truly disturbed me. I have become
British, you see, I am sadden when I see the state of the health sector, the
standard of living, and what else the British have to live with, like their Big Brother and Nanny
State.
I think
And yet,
you have to admit that they are aware of it, they are working towards changing
everything, and I have seen an extraordinary achievement in the last 15 years.
My hospital is now much better, my Crown Court will be top notch within a year,
as construction has started this week actually. And most Underground trains
have been refurbished, most trains are new, etc. Of course, it seems inflation
has gone out of control, and that now everything cost three times more than it
used to, but given a few more years I think
I
sometimes wonder if Canadians realise what they’ve got. That with so many
natural resources, being so rich and educated and all, and still without being
as capitalist and merciless as the United States, with all the free top notch
social services available, they’ve got the best of both worlds. Shame it is so
cold in winter, and that winter seems to last forever. Perhaps we should all
move to
30 October 2007
Time is passing really fast, I have not written much
lately, in any of my books. I guess I can be forgiven, for having written so
much in the last year. And yet, none if it matters if you don’t finish the
book, that is the first law of a good writer, someone who can finish what he or
she starts, this is where in the end so many people fail. I have this gift to be
able to finish the damn things, but sometimes it is really hard to get
motivated. There is nothing like a deadline and a publisher, an agent and a
whole team on your back to motivate you, since I have none of those, I find my
motivation in a bottle of
I drank one yesterday in a record time, didn’t write
anything, but I was still puking in the toilets at 4 am, then I went to work
like a Little Miss Sunshine. I lasted three hours until lunch time, then I
called in to say I wanted the afternoon off, and I sleep for five hours
straight. Perhaps I need new motivations. Perhaps I should abandon the last
short story of Anna Maria, and perhaps I should abandon the idea of finishing
my first sci-fi novel Scale Universes (previously called Shrinking Universes).
As if I am blocked right now, it must have something to do with the fact that I
am not ready to write that same story in both books. I had already declared
Anna Maria finished anyway, why do I wish to suffer some more to write another
one on top? I need to correct and edit it, that alone could take forever, and I
certainly don’t have the courage. In fact, maybe what I need is to cook up new
ideas for a new book, I have been exposed recently to so many good ideas in
books I have read, maybe I am ready for that to unblock me. I have to admit I
do enjoy my time off writing, I still have to put all my 10,000 photos online
on some websites, I think I will go to bed before my brain splash out on the
wall, or ends up in the devil’s toilet bowl.
31 October 2007
Dear, dear, dear. Where the fuck am I? What is it that I am
doing or even trying to achieve? Why is it that I feel I that I have the
potential inside of me to make a million bucks overnight, in my sleep, and yet,
I am dying in this fuck all place of a Crown Court, the place people go to work
before they die because they have nothing better to do and no more ambition
whatsoever, once they have lost all inhibitions or desires to achieve anything
out of their existence? Dear, dear, dear. Something’s gonna happen soon, and it
better fall from the sky, because I appear to be useless at making things
happen for myself. Have I lost touch? Have I forgotten my dreams and my force
of character in order to provoke the events? I wonder.
Was it worth it for me to take that job to write a long
blog about it? I no longer think so. Yes, it gave me the chance to write a lot,
gave me more than enough time to work on my personal projects, and it certainly
could for another year at least, but then, I wonder, is it enough, is that all
I can do and achieve in this life? Where else could I be, what else could I be
doing, which would be so much better, so much more fulfilling and everything,
dear me.
Something needs to happen soon, sooner rather than later,
as I don’t want to do a full year in that godforsaken place. Small minded
people thinking in terms of this stupid idea of management of any kind. I can’t
stand it, I can’t stand any of it. They’re so useless at it, I appear to give
it ten times more thought than they ever did, and yet, they are management and
I am but a pawn. And I will no longer accept to be just a pawn in that fucking
game of life. I think it is time for me to dictate, to create on a massive
scale, to construct something so huge, it will ring back into the next
millennium.
That’s
what I think, that’s what eats me alive, that’s what I have yet to achieve,
somehow. And I will, somehow, I can confirm as much. And yet, I am at point
zero, nothing yet, nothing, but all the potential in the world to create such a
stir, such a crisis, that no longer will I ever be ignored. I will knock this
world down in such a way, I will irretrievably change it forever. This is no
small ambition, and yet, I better plan for this, what am I going to do about
it, how will I make this happen? What form will it take, what form can it take,
for a start?
You could think I was sitting here tonight, hoping that a
rich bastard somewhere would read this, and suddenly cover me with millions,
telling me, go for it kiddo, do what it is that you want to do, I’m sure you
will make millions, and change the world in the process. But it does not work
like that. If you have the potential within you to change the world, you do not
need money to do so. All you need is your damn brain, your imagination, your
determination, and yes, a damn good idea. Am I not supposed to be full of them?
Better start thinking then, find that next great idea that will change the
world.
Funny, what great ideas in the past have actually changed
the world? Maybe it is not in terms of ideas that this needs to be assessed,
but in terms of people. Elvis Presley, The Beatles, Marilyn Monroe, Madonna,
Michael Jackson, I want your sex George Michael, and which authors… already
more difficult… Sir Arthur Conan Doyle? Agatha Christie? Shakespeare? Let me
puke here for a minute. I’m talking about changing the world here. Any Nobel
Prize winner then? What about all the literature Nobel Prize winner then, have
they changed the world? And how would they go about it?
It is no longer just a question of being modern, we are all
modern now, nothing stupendous about it anymore. Sex liberation, woman’s right,
gay rights, transgenders’ right to exist, none of this can possibly have any
impact anymore. What’s the next level then? What’s wrong with humanity? What
way of thinking could possibly bring us to the next level? How can someone
change the world after the new millennium? And is it at all possible?
It is not
like abortion or the right to use a condom was any of our concern anymore. Wow!
Can this world be changed anymore in any shape or form, is there anything else
which needs to be denounced? For a while we thought so, with the advent of a
brainless American President and his lap dog British Prime Minister. But the
Prime Minister is now dead, and the tyrant American President will be on his
way out within a year or two, and never will we ever have to denounce him or
even talk about him ever again. So that’s dead.
To be truthful, and I do need to say this right now, George
W. Bush Junior and Tony Blair may have appeared as tyrants, but I sincerely
think history, or the underground history, will remember them as the two men
who saved America and the United Kingdom for a while longer, in this day and
age.
Of course
we could not possibly agree with the means by which they achieved that, and
yet, you have to see the global picture, they saved us all from utter failure
and poverty, us, the rich countries. Yeah, yeah, by stealing from others, by
killing everyone else from these other countries, and yet, they saved us all. I
couldn’t write one more negative word about them, and I won’t.
Except if
they were, ever, to say anything against gay people, then of course, I would
have no choice but to wish their death. But it won’t come to that now, Blair is
dead and Bush is on his way out. What about Brown in the
Thank you
Bush, now you can die! Peacefully at that, as I do see what you have done, I do
understand, and yes, it was the right thing to do, even though it was the most
immoral and unethical thing to do. It needed to be done, it has been done, you
have done it, you are highly unpopular for it, but you saved your country and
your countrymen from disaster. I can only but admire that. Well done. But now,
just go and die somewhere, preferably forgotten, I don’t need to think anymore
about how immoral and unethical this whole necessary business was.
Should I
dare say it? You were a great man, but you do need to die now, and not be
remembered as a great man. What a great sacrifice for such an important man to
do! Well done. You will always be welcomed in my house. For me, you will always
be remembered as the last great man this planet ever had, even if you go
against everything I actually stand for.
Despite
the appearance, I’m not stupid, neither are you, apparently. Sometimes this
world requires its little Hitler in the making, who will actually succeed in his
subtle ways, and that is remarkable, admirable, it is undeniable. And if you
don’t agree with this, you are but a hypocrite, you will enjoy still many years
of richness and capitalism, prospering years, on the account of the actions of
one man, George W. Bush Junior. It was ugly, it was immoral, it was impossible
to accept, and yet, it was the only way to save
So do
enjoy what
The old
battle from the past are far from dead, it is just fought at another level, and
yes, they still require wars, I’m afraid, because this is the only language of
diplomacy, especially when your intention is to take over and reap all the
profits for yourself. You could learn a lot from today’s world by studying how
we went about things in the 17th century, because ultimately, under
the pretence of diplomacy and enlightenment, we are doing the exact same thing
as we did then. We just go about it in a more clever way, and it seems like
democracy, the will of the people, but it’s not. And thank god, because most of
us are completely useless at even managing our own miserable existence. Can you
imagine if we were to plan our ultimate destiny as a country? We would fail
spectacularly. Better leave all that in the hands of the usual tyrants, they
know how to reach the ultimate goals which is required in this so called modern
age.
I had a
long conversation tonight with one of my publishers, somehow trying to save his
ass from declaring bankruptcy within 3 or 4 years, can you believe? Do a
business plan, I told him. It will save you! What bullocks. The man needs a
vision, at the very least, dreams that are larger than life, for a start,
larger than America, how else could he achieve anything in this life? He has
the means, I don’t, and yet, I am the one with the potential, the desire, the
ambition, whilst he is dying slowly and already accept that he will be dead
within three years. How sad. At least I am not worried he will be reading this
blog, unlike my actual employer or my colleagues at the Crown Court. If you can
count on one thing, is that your publisher never reads anything you actually
write. How re-assuring this is. What as this world come to. I just know he will
never read this, I can state right here right now that my publisher is a moron,
with the entire confidence that he will never read this. Isn’t that wonderful?
Whilst I go to such lengths to hide whatever I am writing right now from all my
friends, Internet new friends, and employers, and even potential future
employers?
Well, I
hope he will sort himself out, I hope he will adopt a larger than life ambition
for his projects, I hope he will get there. I am no small thinker, if I create
a thing, it has to become the biggest thing ever, a monster which will take the
world by storm. I cannot think in small terms, I will never be satisfied by
regional dying projects. I can only think global, I can only see global, I can
only become immortal for posterity. Anything less would be such a waste of time
and not worth living for. I need to take over the world by storm, whilst
everything is still hot and ready to be reap and exploited. Like a true
capitalist. Let me steal you money before it even reach your bank account, that
the way to think to succeed in this world. And since I have never succeeded at
succeeding at anything, perhaps you should not take my word for it. You can
however adopt my way of thinking, my obsession, my compulsion to succeed at any
cost even if I have to die in order for it to materialise. I would die in a
minute if it meant that those bastards would hear my name past the year 3000,
no question about it, and yet, better write something worth of being heard in a
thousand years. Can only think of philosophy right now, can’t be history, or
even actuality. Boring novels sending everyone to sleep, what else.
I’m not
worried. I am more likely to be heard in the next millennium for what I have
already written than for whatever I could write in the future. This is actually
re-assuring in a way, it is also highly motivating. It leaves me many more
years to beat it, to do better, to write more eternal stuff, and I will,
believe me. Write stuff out of this world, open to multiple interpretations,
incomprehensible stuff, because that is what defined me then, and is what will
define me in the future. No matter what I may have written in between. Great
literature, great author, that is me, that must be me, and it might even be me
in English, a second language, as I will find a way, I will achieve it,
somehow, I will.
And if I don’t die as the most extreme and
incomprehensible author there ever was, I will have failed, so I better get to
work. And forget any idea of succeeding commercially. Which means, many more
years dying in the civil service, dear me, I wonder if instant death is not
preferable. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind, that if I were to work in
this crown court for as many years as my colleagues, I might as well commit
suicide right now, I don’t care about grand project I may have concocted in my
mind, dying is far more preferable and dignifying.
Shit, I
should be reviewing right now ways by which I could terminate this existence, I
care little for my life, I care not at all. And I have drunk enough whisky tonight
to have reached that point, where suicide could be such a salvation. So
irresistible, I’m not sure what to do to stop myself from thinking in those
terms. I really don’t. And my big problem, is that I am not certain if my
greatness resides in what I have yet to write, or if it is not in the past, in
what I have already written. It can make a world of difference in my mind, not
sure if you could understand any of that. I don’t think you have ever been
where I am right now. I am confused, I just don’t know. I think I will however
go to bed tonight and get up tomorrow and go to the Crown Court and do my daily
job. For one more day, at least. I don’t think I am that desperate tonight to
actually make such a grand decision. I was in
2 November 2007
Sometimes you wake up with the greatest idea of all, you
can no longer sleep even though you know you should, then you get up full of
ideas and inspiration, ready to write your greatest achievement yet, and then,
just in case, let’s first check out the Internet and make sure no one thought
of it first. And there you are, in 30 seconds you realise that many people
thought of it first and went on to do just that great idea of yours, and yet,
since you never heard of them before, you have to admit, it must have been a
damn stupid idea after all.
That great idea was that I was going to create my new
religion tonight, my new church. And not only that, I would have had to write a
Bible in order to do so, I would not even have needed a Church, places to meet
and pray, and all that bullocks. Because my new religion would have been one
offering total freedom to believe and do whatever you want, and most important
of all, you don’t need to register, you don’t need to give a penny to anyone,
you don’t need to pray or go to church ever, you don’t need to be faithful,
there are no specific laws or rules to follow, you believe in and follow any
rule or law you wish to, and doesn’t matter what previous religion you had, you
can keep it. Is there a God and Heaven? You decide, you believe what you want.
You may wonder what would be the point of such a religion,
since virtually you could state that you are of that new religion, and in
effect, it wouldn’t change anything at all to who you are, to your beliefs, to
your values. And that is the point. A religion so unthreatening, so free in
every way, that no one would care whether they are part of it or not, and yet,
such a religion is right now of the utmost importance.
The main problem humanity always had to face, is religion.
Each religion always had that big dream of converting the whole planet to their
beliefs and values. Unfortunately the rest of the world never saw it that way
and most of them are willing to die, to the last one of them, in order to
either keep their own religion, or the freedom to choose your own religion, or
even your decision to free yourself from any religion.
Of
course, the other main problem with religion, is that for some weird reason
that seems sometimes hard to understand, people do seem to need a religion. In
this day and age, in most modern countries, it wouldn’t be that hard to abandon
your religion and declare yourself free from any religion, even if you still
have to believe in some sort of God independently from any group, which is
another thing people do seem to need, some sort of God. And no one would think
that badly of you if you decide to move away from your religion, millions are
without religion, millions have switched religion, so why not you?
The other
main problem is that this world might never be united and peaceful until the
very day that there is no more religion or concept of God, or, that there is
only one religion worldwide. And that is the religion I was going to create
tonight. An empty religion, a meaningless religion, just a title to crown
whatever you are, without changing anything you are. Something that if you are
clever, you will understand does not threaten you in any way, oblige you to
anything, change anything to your nature, and yet, it might save the planet.
And you can start taking as your own religion any day of the week, whilst still
keeping yours, and yet, you can drop it over the weekend just to re-adopt that
new religion the next Monday. And if the whole world was ready to accept that
unique and meaningless religion, then perhaps we would avoid a few more world
wars.
I have no
doubt whatsoever that the Muslim world is on fire right now, after what the
Americans and the British did in Iraq, and what most probably they are about to
do in Syria, Iran and some other places in the Middle-East. This will end in a
Third World War, and the longer we wait before that Third World War, the more
destructive it will be, because by then the Middle-East will most certainly
have the capability to annihilate us all. It is perhaps why
When I
said that people already thought of my idea of a single religion to top them
all, universalism I wanted to call it, it is exactly true. They have created
such a religion, or theology if you wish, but it still has God, it still
believes what most religions believe in, and it is still open to endless
debates and bloodshed. So they missed the point, and now they will prevent me
from starting my own useless religion which, let’s face it, would have been the
only way to save the world. Because even though religion is not the basis of
most wars, it is often the pretext or the pretence by which we go to war.
I would
even have extended my concept of a new religion, which would have given you the
freedom to be a die hard scientist not believing in God at all, to the
political arena. Something I realised reading 1632 and 1633 by Eric Flint,
where a town of West Virginia from today is shipped to 1932 Germany, is that
democracy is not much different from the political world in those days, you
still have powerful parties trying to take over the world and control
everything and get richer, and yet, it is done in a more subtle way in order to
avoid unnecessary wars and killings. By not alienating the people you control,
you stand a much better chance to insure trust, insure people will obey
whatever law you put out there, hopefully if they can prosper, they will bring
in more money for you. For more about this, just read The Prince by
Machiavelli.
So
politics is no better than religion, politics is after all what cause us to go
to war in the first place. And despite our democracies, once a few men and
women decides for millions of people that it is time to go to war, no matter
how much the majority can protest, we will go to war. So that’s not truly
democracy in the end, is it?
Another
example, many governments in the past decided one day to suddenly imposed new
out of proportion taxes that everyone knew would cripple everyone to the point
of starvation, at that point, you are no better than Germany in 1632, you might
as well kill them all at that point. And despite all the protests and the
violence, these taxes have always gone ahead, and they never disappeared with
any new government afterwards. New governments can raise more taxes, decide not
to raise existing taxes, they never eliminate taxes. In memory, only one man
achieved such a thing, the Prime Minister of the
As I
identified in Destructivism, is that the solution to these governments is to
eliminate the parties. By eliminating the parties, you don’t vote for a Prime
Minister or a President, you vote for the person in your own locality you feel
is the most apt. What if I am not a Republican or Democratic, what if I am not
Liberal or Conservative? What if I am extreme right, extreme left then or
completely centrist? Then I fit in no parties whatsoever, no one who thinks
like me could ever win a seat in any assembly or parliament. Things are no so
black and white, I could be a Republican, and yet still abortions and gay
people (since we often put both these issues in the same bag, as horrible
problems that we simply never go away).
So the
political party I wanted to create, since I realise it may take a long while
before we decide to move away from parties, I thought, needs to be equally
meaningless and not prone to any kind of ideas and beliefs. So, within that political
party, you could find all variances from the left to the right, and there would
be no general consensus on any topic. It would then become important to find
out who is running in your area, and based on that, you decide if you want to
elect that person. In no way should you look at who is the President or Prime
Minister that will take power to make your decision, because then you elect
someone based on someone else, and ultimately this is electing someone for the
wrong reasons.
A Prime
Minister or a President at the head of such a party composed of a variety of
opinions on different issues, could not so easily take over the government and
insist that everyone should follow the party line, since there would be no
party line. Within the party everything, every issue, would have to be voted
separately by everyone. There could be a future for such an idea.
4 November 2007
I have to admit, I am sucker for checking out on Google
what my name and a few other key words will turn up. Of course, I am always
pleased to see that finally Wikipedia almost always turns up at the top, I
didn’t thought that as a consequence of being on Wikipedia, I would suddenly
appear everywhere else, like on a website as huge as answers.com, for people
who might eventually ask the very question about who I am. But that is just the
tip of the iceberg.
When I am
deeply drunk and depressed, nothing cheers me up like doing a search on my
name, such an unusual one at any rate, and discover how much I am talked about
all over that virtual world, if nowhere else.
I can
then dream that I am actually someone who had some sort of impact on this
world, this planet. It should be comforting, however, as you might have guest,
it is far from being enough. By that, I’m not certain if I mean that I would
wish to become global, or if in the end, to have so many websites and so many
people talk about me, is of any consequence at all to me.
In a way,
yes, I would wish it to be global, to reach out beyond belief, that instead of
a hundred websites talking about me, it would me millions. At the same time, I
think I am immune to that kind of thing, and that no matter how popular I may
be, it makes no difference to me or my life, and I wonder how it could possibly
change anything one day.
At the
moment, it is very much all my mind, isn’t it? Who really knows that so many
people and so many websites talk about me and my work? No one. I am even
worried about my Manager suddenly deciding to put my name in any search engine
and discover to her astonishment that it turns out 275,000 hits. All right, I’m
not stupid, most of those have nothing to do with me. But consider this, when I
enter the name of my managers on Google, I get no result whatsoever. It is like
these people simply don’t exist. I’m afraid, I have become so delusional about
this existence, that if Google does not turn up anything when your name is
entered, then you might as well not exist at all, because if you die tomorrow
morning, no one would care if you ever existed, they would not even know you
ever was alive at all in the first place.
I don’t
know anymore how important that stuff is to me. I’m sure there was a time when
achieving immortality as an author was crucial to me, but now I think I am more
concern about when I will die, and hopefully that will be soon, and never mind
all that bullocks of being an author and how many pages all over the Internet
talk about who that human being I was once might be.
However,
I am still alive, and I still do searches under my name in most search engines,
whenever I am depressed or bored out of my mind. And I still love to see how
far reaching I am, and how far whatever I have written might have gone. It
cheers me up when I need it most, even if for most of the time, I don’t even
give this a second thought. Only when I am drunk, I believe, I do sometimes
wonder about that. Not sure what that means.
To be honest, I wish so much would amount to something
concrete really, and as far as I can tell, it amounts to nothing, except that,
perhaps, I am alive, and I have already left some sort of mark on this world,
even if at this time, I have no idea how big a mark this is or will be, and I’m
afraid, that perhaps, it will all be in vain and insignificant. And yet, am I
truly worried about that? I wonder even if that is something that truly could
inspire and motivate me, as somehow, I fear, I have lost the will to live a
long time ago, and perhaps nothing will change that kind of state of mind, once
one has reached it.
6 November 2007
God I don’t know what to do.
I am in some sort of panic state tonight, probably because
I just awoken from a deep sleep after my return home from work, and I did need
that sleep badly. Also because once again a crisis happened at work today, and
as usual I am being blamed for it. All I did was to pass a phone call to the
Chief Clerk, however that phone call was the worst one possible, it was a bitch
who previously complained about the Chief Clerk and has recently done so again,
about a stupid grad fee claim of over 60,000 pounds.
I had not been told anything about that crisis, the words
about that claim were that there was an issue about it, from there I was
supposed to understand that it was sensitive enough that anyone dealing with
grad fees was standing to lose his or her job over that claim. That obviously,
if someone is to lose his job over this, it will be me, even though I have nothing
to do with the decision of the Chief Clerk to pay that counsel only 40,000 out
of the 60,000 they claim they have a right to.
How on
Earth a claim could have reached that high is a mystery, I had never seen such
a high invoice before, I tend to believe the Chief Clerk is right in her
judgment, though, what do I know? Anyway, what could possibly have cost so
much, what have they done to this defendant apart from the three trials? Get
him to smuggle weapons of mass destruction to a weird country, and now they
wish to bill the British Government for a job well done?
And this new episode happens at quite a critical time, as I
am considering applying for a transfer to another Crown Court in order to
become a Clerk. There are three such positions available not too far from here,
not
There are such positions all over Central London, but I
draw the line there, that I refuse for now to work in
There are other factors which make me think it is time to
move on. This book is now going nowhere, after a year, it is finished. Either I
write part two, or I radically change my life and start a new one. I don’t want
to be stuck at the same place for more than a year, in my case, for some
reason, it is not acceptable, though I admit stretching anything to two years
is not that bad.
Also that my track record at my Crown Court isn’t that
great. I have lost patience more than once, have already three or four official
complaints to my name, I was sick for seven days in the last year, and that, I
am about to find out, will play a crucial role in me getting my promotion, and
what else. I am certainly about to come to blow with my new Line Manager, as it
happened two weeks ago, when I told my other Main Manager how incompetent she
was, right in front of her no less. How much guts one needs to have to do such
a foolish thing? Or, how insane one needs to be? I have no future there, that
much is certain. It is very difficult to work with control freaks, and there is
no doubt I could possibly work with worse than them in the other Crown Court,
but I guess starting fresh with new control freaks, without any history, might
be better than trying to maintain oneself after so many screw-ups. Also that
most potential screw-ups, from what I could gather, do not require me doing
anything wrong, one phone call from one angry bitch is all that is required,
and no matter how helpful you wish to be, it can so easily end up as a major
complaint to the top Manager of the Court, it is often completely out of your
control. Better the bitch with whom you have no history, than the bitch who has
already everything she needs to use it all against you in a Court of Law, and
certainly willing to annihilate your useless and insignificant career.
So, it seems that I have already decided that I will be
applying for that new position. And I have not even considered what it would
actually mean, there is one main argument that I have forgotten. I will be in
court all day for a change, I will hear the cases, that is bound to be
inspiring and interesting. That alone tells me that I should go for it. One way
or another I will get the application form ready, and even if I have to wait
until the very last day before I send it, I somehow feel that more crisis until
then will absolutely convince me that it is time to move on. So if I am not
convinced now, I will be by the time I reach the closing date. I am almost
certain of that.
By the way, I am not the only one in the General Office
applying for that job, the Pakistani guy is also applying. As a Muslim who
feels that he has suffered much discrimination in the last 8 years of his
employment at the Court, like me he is looking for a quick getaway. By the end
of the year we both stand to be working at the other Crown Court, while our
youngish colleague has already been told that he will work no more than another
month there, and I bet that it will be the straw that will break the cow, the
other old Indian man will probably finally retire, skipping the last remaining
10 months he has to do before by law he has to retire. He was sick for three
weeks this month, and even though somehow I could feel responsible for the
nightmare he is going through (we are no longer on speaking terms, we do not
even say good morning to each other), it is clear that his problem is more with
the new Indian Line Manager. I have no idea what happened between them and
higher management, but hearing all his sarcastic comments about our new Manager
tells it all. Thank God I am not the only one with issues with the little
“Figure Montante” of the Court. That 24 year old girl is so ambitious, I doubt
she will remain manager of the General Office for long, she will probably be
promoted to the Court I will be moving to.
God I don’t know what to do.
I have another big decision to make. One which will eat
away the next year for me, all my free time, all my thoughts, all my energy, my
next project, the new book I will write. I have thought of little else in the
last three days, from the very moment the idea came to me. It also has many
layers of deep considerations and thinking involved, and many problems to solve,
it could easily be a two year project instead of one. It is about history, you
see, research and reading will be required, a lot of it. Though I can probably
managed and might actually benefit from staying away from too much history,
which is bound to taint the book. In other words, with a great imagination, I
can stay away from actual events and invent everything. Invent a past history
for my people? Why not, this is fiction, isn’t it?
Two years ago, perhaps even before that, I made the
decision to put on my French website that this last book I was finally putting
online would be the last book I would ever write in French. I understand now
how stupid it was to state such a thing, dramatic as well, and I admit that it
was some sort of a dig at them all, that if I had no more any wish to write in
French, they could not possibly blame me, since after writing over 20 books in
French, I was still not recognised as an author, and there was no reason at the
time to believe that this would change anytime soon. Yeah, six published books,
but that means nothing if they are not published by a large publisher with
marketing money and with all the connections with journalists.
Moving to English gave me a second life, a new hope, that
perhaps I would not be so misunderstood there than I was in French. The truth
is, I have never actually written a book in French which could actually sell
massively or be commercial in nature. When you study French literature, you get
a somehow distorted view of what is great literature, through the study of classics,
none of which would actually find a publisher in this day and age. Well, I
simply actually never wrote something in French which could actually reach them
right through the heart. Something I intend to correct right now with my next
book.
I will
give the French world something big to swallow, their pride, some pride to be
French or French-Canadian, so much pride that they will feel the need to choke
on it. It will be like those ridiculous American films and books about how
great it is to be American, how wonderful we all are compared with the rest of
the planet, and finally how without us the whole world would simply die without
even having lived before.
There
will be that great moment of those two American soldiers in the desert, one
White, one Black, walking towards the President of the United States and his
wife who has just been saved by the wife of one of the soldiers (Independence
Day), but, they will be French, and they will save the planet from certain doom
(without having to kill an alien invasion, though believe me, they will be
killing many alien invasions, the British, the Spanish, the Portuguese,
anything that went out there to populate America. Because you see,
I wonder
if someone should not right now come out of the wood work and simply shoot me
before I write such a book. And yet, I can no longer deviate from that purpose,
I have to write that book, for my sake and the sake of my people. Québec, in
Québec at least, is about to become a whole lot bigger. And this is the only
way I will ever be published in
I am not certain if I should be admitting all
this here, however, by the time anyone in Québec actually gets around to read
this very passage on my website, and feels the need to denounce me as some sort
of traitor, it will be too late, for that I would first need to become a bloody
success in Québec.
Because,
you see, I have a devious mind, I am all about irony. In the Canadian debates
of French against English, I have never taken sides, I was never a separatist,
neither a federalist, and so, who better than me to write the most separatist book
ever written? Who knows, I might even get caught at my own game, and start
being a separatist for good. It must difficult to remain neutral when you start
reading such a depressing history of the one of the first French colonists to
the
I am
under no illusion, the whole literary world in Québec is about gaining
independence and create our own little country away from the horrible English
rulers who made our existence such a miserable one over the centuries. If you
are not a separatist, or if your books are not about it, you have little chance
of getting published in Québec, since for them it is an obsession, and they cannot
see anything beyond that.
So I will
give them that, I will give them the ultimate nationalistic book ever written. However,
it will be filled with irony, because ultimately I don’t care to make us look
like we are purer than pure, innocent victims, and so perfect, like good
Americans. I intend to push their idea of a separation from the rest of Canada
to the limits, show them what it will look like in the future, how big a treat
we could become to Americans when they might feel we have become the new Cuba, and
then, ship a few of them back to the past, far enough that they can change
history and turn the place into a French one instead of a British one. And
let’s see how better they will do, if in the end it would make any difference
at all.
I will
however be very subtle, none of this will be clearly stated, but yeah, they
will go around killing everyone, just like the British did, and the Spanish,
because in the end, if you truly wish to see the America of the future wear
your own colours, well, you have no choice but killing everything that moves
which does not wear your colours. And ultimately, this whole concept of
nationalistic pride becomes ridiculous, because it leads right to another World
War, the very last one humanity will ever witness.
So I
still need to be a philosopher, but I need to hide that fact. It is going to be
quite a challenge indeed. For the duration of this project, I will be a
pro-separatist. I will be that completely. And once it is over, God only knows
what I will revert back to be, I’m still living in London after all, and by
then, I certainly hope to have become a British Citizen. After an absence of 15
years, how am I supposed to feel? I’m only pleased I have moved beyond all
that, as it seemed to me that you could not open a newspaper or a book without
having that old story pushed back into your face until you could only puke and
request that they return to you your sanity. Political self-obsession is not
exactly what I intended my life to be. There is something else beyond all that,
and that is what I have discovered through my international existence, and
through my literature which never or barely talked about the only subject
eating alive everyone else from my nation, and that, since forever. I just want
peace, you know.
So this
next book will be my last gift to my nation, some sort of reconciliation to
prove that I was not that insensitive to their plea, and that ultimately, all I
wanted was something more than that simple obsession of theirs. By all means,
let’s create our own little country, I’m sure we will be highly successful as
countries go. By all means, let’s change the future right here right now, let’s
become the greatest nation on the planet. By all means, let’s also change the
past and make our little nation the nation it could have been in an alternate
history, the
I am
devious indeed. And Americans have always been alienating us anyway, so to give
them some of their own medicine might not be a bad idea. Not only Americans in
this world can be proud of being who they are. Other nations have invented and
adopted democracy and freedom and rights and capitalism, even, much before
Americans did, in fact. Of course, no one was crazy enough to push all of that
to the limits, to the breaking point, but then again, no one’s perfect. And in
the end, such extremism is about to be proven to be a real bad idea, and will
also be proven to not be so immune against corruption and totalitarianism.
Oh,
sorry, have I already given away too much of the book I am about to write? Have
I already said too much? Don’t worry, tomorrow morning I will be back to my old
job as a simpleton Civil Servant for the British government, which by law, is
not allowed to have any kind of political opinion whatsoever (except of course
the higher end of management, which is quite free to go into politics). Another
irony of this existence.
Oh God,
have I got the courage to write such a book? Will I actually see the end of it
before I die? I have no reason to believe I will die any time soon, but being
as suicidal as I am, there is a realistic chance that I won’t survive the end
of this book, especially if I have to write it between 1 and 4 am every night,
before sleeping 2 hours and then go to work as if my life was the most ordinary
one there is. No doubt such an enterprise will bring me to the brink of
insanity, history always does, and I am about to read a whole lot of it. It
could very well change my mind about a lot of things, I have to be prepared for
that too. It will definitely be one hell of a psychological adventure, like a
journey in one’s own mind, a virtual world of the past, of what has been and
will be.
I feel
very powerful right now, I can get that book to state whatever I want, I can
let it go as far as I want, I can do whatever I want, and it will be like
rewriting history, presenting one possible way of how it could have been. And
knowing my nation, there is a great chance that book will be published, win all
the awards and become a French-Canadian best-seller. I doubt such an explosive
book could go unnoticed. But I wonder.
Gosh.
I’ve got to be very careful here, and not take anything for granted. This needs
to be a real piece of French-Canadian literature, the best book ever written to
come out of the French province amongst the English island it survives in. It
has to be it, I have no choice, and so I will have to give it everything I’ve
got. Which means, a lot more thinking will be required about the way I go about
it, the level of the French language I should use, how deep in the joual or
slang I should go into, etc. Important questions, it could make the book or
break it.
Ah, this
is quite depressing in a way. I have to think about these publishers who will
read it, and what they could possibly criticise, or decide to reject it because
this or that. Will I write this with them in mind or not? I think not.
Ultimately there is only one person to please with this project, it is myself,
and if the book is condemned to my website, so be it, everyone will be able to
read it forever then, unstopped by every imaginable copyright law.
This book
still needs to be a great piece of literature though. Any kid these days can go
on and write a piece of crap about that very same subject and put it online on
his blog. Shit, I haven’t gone that far, and achieved so much, just to end up
being confused for such a kid. In the end, this book needs to reflect something
not many people could actually achieve, considering that one needs to work and
feeds himself and his family, and that a lot of determination and motivation is
required to start and finish such a work of art.
A lot of
thinking will be required indeed, before I can start writing. How can I achieve
the unachievable? How can I stand out so completely and write the ultimate
novel? All that whilst I fight all day long with my manager at work, and then
come back home to fight all evening long with my impossible and out of his mind
boyfriend. To get this book written, a few murders or radical changing life
events might be required. As to the nature of these radical life changing
events, I better not think too much about that right now, I have enough on my
plate. Moving to
And after
such a speech, I wonder, could there not be a better idea for my next book?
Perhaps I should think some more. One thing for sure, I need to finish that
Anna Maria as quickly as possible, and if I don’t have the courage to write the
tenth short story, then I should quickly delete it, edit and re-read the book,
and consider it done. I can no longer waste any time on this novel. It has been
one year now, in two weeks actually, and I need to move on. Might have been the
greatest book I have ever written, however, in doubt, I need to forget it as
quickly as it so suddenly became my whole life for that last year. I have an
oeuvre to leave to posterity, and I cannot for one second get stuck on an idea
that will never go anywhere, as I have every reason to believe Anna Maria is
destined to be, even though I have barely started to try to gauge the interest
in it. I have no time for that, my whole time is required for writing, that is all,
and I don’t care about anything else.
I am so
angry, so unhappy with my life at the moment, I can see that I actually need a
radical change, one way or another. I can no longer stand this job, that is
one. I can no longer stand my boyfriend, that is two. Return to Los Angeles is
out of the question, not only it would be impossible to do so legally, but I
don’t think I have any need for it, as I was so depressed there… so that is
three. It leaves the question of
I am
tired, I am so tired, if I don’t set myself new realistic goals, I will shoot
myself. I cannot wait for success or celebrity, these will never come, I have
to find ways to do what I want independently from money. Money is not
everything, it is not freedom. Before it can be, you need to be able to make
radical decisions. If you are not capable to make those without money, there is
little chance that you would ever be able to make them with money.
I am
tired. Tonight I would be ready to move to
One quick
search on the Internet told me everything I needed to know,
One thing
for sure, in
God I’m
bored out of my mind. Some Prince Charming will have to save me somehow.
God I
don’t know what to do.
Well,
perhaps a few words about the writers’ guilds in
Since I
make no money out of
They
never thought of giving me a contract, I never dared to ask. Will I ever make
that mistake again? Nope. Let’s see if I will ever write again something on
demand for free, fuck you suckers! I prefer to take my chances as being an
undiscovered author who will remain so for the rest of his life, than ever ever
be again exploited by such vampires. Any young writer out there, I am telling
you, if it is too good to be true, then, don’t bother, it isn’t true. Write a
book instead. Once you’re really worth something, it is with a contract that
they will approach you, and then, be merciless, because they will fuck you
every step of the way.
I am amazed
that with such a small experience with
I have no doubt that this strike could last indefinitely,
simply because writers in Hollywood and all over the U.S. cannot survive on their
salary, and write all those shows and films you see during the night, before
going to their normal jobs during the day. Out of the 12,000 in the Writer’s
Guild of America, I wouldn’t be surprised if there was only 1% actually living
out of it and working full time as a writer. It might explain why so many shows
and films are simply plain crap, after two dozens writers have given it the
finishing touch, taking over from the others who are unaware that such a
travesty happened in the first place. It might also explain why some shows and
some films are so great, out of misery can come great things, and such misery,
I tell you, is the life and bread of every single author in this world, except
perhaps for that 1%, and perhaps it is more like 0.01%. God, they do need to
sort themselves out!
That’s it, I just found my title, for my next book, and it
ain’t anything to do with
14 November 2007
I am so annoyed! Someone called my mobile twice, phone
number goes back to a switchboard in
Then I thought about that magazine in Brighton who did a
big article on me, and it is distributed in the
It would be so perfect as well, I took the day off today. I
would have ample time to fuck about on just about anything. And I thought the
morning was so boring, you never know what could possibly happen on any day. I
feel so isolated and miserable in my little bubble universe, I tend to forget
that I am out thereon all those websites, I am talked about in many places, and
I have a full article on me on that magazine right now about my novel
Denfert-Rochereau published some years ago in French. With photo, excerpt and
all. It is possible that people will contact me. It never happens, or did not
happen for many years now, but you never know. I am in a much better position
today then I was years ago when I had no experience at all working for
television. Maybe it is time I pay my subscription to this TV and Film job
website, maybe the reception will be different now. The BBC is not the only
place someone can work on this planet, even though from my point of view it
seems like the only place I could work. That will never happen until at least I
have achieved some success elsewhere, and then again, they just fired a few
million employees lately. This army must have now filled every single job there
might have been anywhere else. They’ve got the great experience of the BBC, you
see. Bastards!
Something will change for me soon, one way or another. I
was thinking about it this morning whilst I was pondering on applying for this
job as a Clerk at another Crown Court near here. I was wondering, really, would
I choose to make it easy for myself and keep that miserable job around the
corner instead, for another year at least, until the construction is over and
that I can become a clerk then? There is no doubt that if I can sustain myself
in this job for a while longer, I will get what I want, I will be a Clerk
around the corner and the salary will no longer be so miserable. It would make
my creditors happy. Then again, I could easily burn myself, have a huge fight
with either my Line Manager or the Chief Clerk. This is so likely, and perhaps
I have already damaged myself beyond repair, that one reason I might decide not
to apply for that new job is because I need all three of my managers, from the
small one to the big top, to write comments about my performance in that
application form. I have no idea if they could decide to be spiteful, then
again, it would be a perfect opportunity for them to get rid of me if they wish
so.
My Muslim colleague cannot wait to get out of his job, he
is also applying for this Clerk position in the North-West of London. He too in
the last 10 days never found the time to fill out the 100 pages application
forms, unlike me he didn’t have to fill these out something like six times
within a few months at the beginning of last year. I will be doing a lot of
copy and paste for mine, however, the main section which requires a five page
essay, needs to reflect management work, so this needs to be rewritten. I
worked hard initially to tone myself done and pretend I was just an assistant,
or else I would never have got the job. Another problem.
I also learned, and that is wonderful, that my new Line Manager
had a huge fight with the Old Indian man, and right after he went sick for
three weeks! He said it before, when they were freaking out because he was
virtually never at work, he affirmed that he only need to speak with his doctor
to get three weeks off, since he is anyway so sick, he should not even be at
work. And he did it, and now it looks good on me, cos I am not the only one
with trouble with the new Indian Manager.
I also got a confession from the Pakistani guy, he said
that his way of dealing with her, was to make it impossible for her to have
anything to say against him. He says he does his job as quickly as he can,
never so much as answering her back whenever she goes on on her litany of
bullshit, and so far I’d say he has been highly successful avoiding her wrath.
However, this come as a price, the man is but just a sheep or a robot, take
your pick. Not sure if there is a human being behind that face anymore,
hopefully he comes back to life once he leaves the office at the end of the day.
And the kid, the kid, he is on his last mile. They have now
accumulated so much evidence against him, through these multiple meetings they
have with him on an almost daily basis, writing down everything that is being
said, that now he is damaged beyond repair. That also helped me a great deal,
it shows how great I am that I am always there every morning, doing my job,
even if you can’t avoid the occasional crisis. As soon as the kid is gone, that
is it, they will concentrate on me full time, because this what Managers do,
create problems, making sure you don’t have any time to do your job, and get
you so crossed, stressed and angry, you no longer wish to live anymore.
Fortunately they can’t attack everyone all at the same time, so I’m next on
their list, and boy, I’m sure they will find lot’s of evidence against me and
build up the case of the century for the prosecution. I can already read the
indictment in my mind. It will all be details, insignificant skirmishes, but
add them all together over a period of a few months, referenced them all to
perfection as they do to make it look as bad as can be, and you have the
strongest case ever.
I am still on grad fees, these invoices from counsels, and
it won’t change now. I have moved to another level, I am already now doing the
job of a Clerk, I am a real determination officer. I had not realised there was
quite another dimension to these damn things. Now when it comes out with
mistakes (all the time), I have to find the problem and correct the bill. It is
so damn complicated, I wonder if there is one single Clerk or Counsel in
England who could claim he understand anything about these codes. The proof
being that whenever we get one claim without an error on it, we cheer in
amazement! These added responsibilities get me closer to becoming a Clerk, even
if I lack the required management experience within the Justice system.
However, that experience is vital, and it might be difficult for me to become a
Clerk. It has rarely been seen at my Court, that an administrator will move to
become a Clerk, the Pakistani man has been trying for 8 years without success.
And anyway, I now prefer doing the grad fees at any rate, otherwise it would be
post trial, and I hate post trial. Too many orders of all sorts and paper work
to fill out and print and photocopy and distribute. DVLA is the worse, whenever
I see a driving offence, dear me, I choke. There must be a fine to pay, then
other forms to fill out, it is never ending. I thought many times of losing
these files, in the bin. Confiscation orders are actually the ultimate worse,
but I won’t get into that now.
I have been a busy bee this afternoon, did two loads of
washing to supplement the one I did yesterday. Today it was the bed and the
sofa. It was smelling really bad around here, as you can expect from having a
zoo around here. I have also started copying all my files, my four websites are
moving to another provider, I will end this horrendous amount of money I have
to pay every month to maintain four miserable websites that cannot by any mean
be called popular, and yet, two millions visitors a year are crippling me to
the limits of my small resources. I should save something like 95% of what I
used to pay. And it was not even reliable, every month I would go over my
bandwidth limit and one to three websites would go offline. So much money down
the drain, it is about time I make the switch. My laziness will have cost me a
great deal in the last decade, I know no one who actually pay anything for
their own website, and their websites are much more popular than mine could
ever be. Minus the French Literary Forum, which seems to have gotten a life of
its own, with so many postings, and yet, none of them apparently seems to be
aware that I exist, or else, surely I would be halfway across to Paris by now,
via the Channel Tunnel. Thank you, thank you for providing such a great and
lively literary forum, but who the fuck are you? I must have helped so many
poor French students all across
French in
And look
who’s talking. This idea of writing in French again has brought a panic in my
heart, that I could not even remember this week the past tense of verbs in
French, I might have to get back to my grammar books. Yes, French is not the
easy language around here, easily forgotten too, but hey, I strongly believe it
could be ten times more poetic than English. Or my English is too limited to
see the extent of the poetry I could write in that language, and if my English
is still too limited after 15 years living in
Yes, I
guess, I might as well admit it. I am proud of being some sort of French
person. Yes, I wish I was born an English speaking person, might have been
easier for me as a writer, but I am proud of my origins, of being from Québec.
I love Québec, I love Québec people, I perhaps more proud of being
French-Canadian than I could ever have been being French. Not sure if I could
have been proud of being American right now, or even British. If only I could
have been born in Québec, but then move to
Both my
French and my English will have been great, now, both are halfway there. Is it
possible that I can’t write anything good enough both in French and English?
Because I was born in Québec instead of
Have I
not proven how capable I was? How I might deserve a job better than being a
civil servant? Who the fuck goes out of his way to write so many books in two
languages, no less, and still is nowhere? What’s wrong with you? Can’t you
recognise someone who may be worth something, at least a bit more than others,
when you see such an achievement? At that point, it wouldn’t be important if
all 30 books were all crap or badly written, it is still there, it still
exists, someone has spent decades writing it all, how can you be so blind to
that? And you wonder why I can be so suicidal after such an amount of work that
has amounted to nothing. I might as well just kill myself! There’s nothing for
me here, there never was and there will never be!
I am sad
for you. That you cannot recognise talent when you see it. I feel that if you
had two children, one extraordinary, capable of achieving so many wonderful
things, rewrite the Constitution and all, you would still prefer and spoil the
other who has done nothing and could never achieve anything. Perhaps because he
is straight or something, whilst the other one, the extravagant one who does
not touch the ground anymore and is halfway across the ocean by now, is gay.
Maybe that’s it, isn’t it? I wonder.
There was
a time when I felt I would prove them all wrong, that I would make my mark on
this world beyond any doubt, and that suddenly these people I once knew who
could never be proud of me, suddenly would be beyond hope. I don’t think I care
anymore for such folly. I was plain stupid to even wish for that and hope.
There is only one person who needs to be proud of me, and that is me. I can die
happy now, I feel I have done as much as I could do, even more than I ever
dreamt I could be capable of. I can die now a happy man. And yet, I can see
that I could so much more, and so I decided, sometimes, that I will achieve
much more, that perhaps, I am still just at the beginning.
I could
easily write for another 50 years, 50 more books at least, and who knows, maybe
one of them could go on to become a classic. Perhaps this is what all this
amounts to, for me to write that one classic that will transcend the centuries.
It is possible, I feel it is within me to write such a thing. Not sure what it
could possibly be about, but I may find out in time. I suppose it will be a
love story superimposed over a war story. I guess this cannot fail to become a
classic. And yet I wonder how much luck an author and a book would require in
order to become a classic, as it seems to me that most classics have been
imposed upon us, whether they were great or not, how else would you explain how
such boring books as Albert Camus wrote, won a Nobel Prize? Are most classics
simply manufactured, marketing gimmick? I believe so. Which explains why I am
an anarchist when it comes to literature, underground, and perhaps this is
where I belong. I already have a fan club, let’s see how far they will go, how
far I can take it. I won’t stop, if I need to live another 50 years and write
50 more books, I tell you, no one will be able to ignore me upon my death. And
if they do, so be it, I will still feel like I have achieved the impossible and
that I can be proud of that achievement. And I am proud of myself, I truly am.
Try it, and then you might realise what is involved in achieving that kind of
thing. At the very least, I should not be a simple starving Civil Servant. For
God’s sake, I even foresaw the new Physics before Mark McCutcheon came up with
such a better explanation of it all in his book the Final Theory. I must have
some sort of brain?
17 Novembre 2007
Déprimé cette nuit, est-ce qu'écrire en
vaut vraiment la peine?
Il y a des choses que
j’ai oubliées de dire. Il existe des choses que j’ai oubliées d’être. C’est une
renaissance. Je suis même prêt à accepter que peut-être, à quelque part, je
suis Catholique. Un aveu monstrueux, lorsque l’on considère tout ce que
celui-ci a dit sur le sujet. Oui, c’est monstrueux, et certes, ce n’est pas
exactement ce qu’il dit. Une appartenance, des symboles, on n’a pas le choix à
un certain niveau, d’appartenir à sa nation. Quelle est-elle cette nation? Le
Québec ou
Il y a tellement de
choses que j’ai oubliées, et je me demande, qui suis-je vraiment? Français?
Canadien? Canadien-Français? Et qu’est-ce que ça signifie vraiment? Quelles en
sont les vraies conséquences? Les conséquences, en sont, que je suis maintenant
à la limite d’être britannique. Comment expliquer ça? Merde! Si j’étais en
position de demander ma citoyenneté française à l’heure actuelle, pensez-vous
que je demanderai ma citoyenneté britannique? Si je pouvais vivre dans le sud
de
Que je me souvienne
comment écrire dans ma langue, sans recourir à une grammaire française,
tabarnack!, j’ai une maîtrise complètement inutile sur le sujet. Combien de
mois et d’années ont passé depuis mon dernier livre en français, que j’eusse
déjà oublié qui je suis vraiment? Pourrais-je jamais être pardonné? Oh oui,
considérant que la reconnaissance n’est jamais venue, je serai toujours
justifié. Quoi d’autres aurais-je pu faire, dites-moi?
J’ai longtemps été en
christ, contre la planète, contre vous, contre moi-même, en crise
existentielle, ce n’est pas nouveau dans mon cas. Je suis en christ, et en
crise d’identité. Non! Je ne suis pas Michel Tremblay, je ne suis pas né à
Montréal. Et mon premier livre n’a pas été instantanément publié, ouvrant
devant moi une carrière brillante d’écrivain. Non. Pour moi ça a été le chemin
tortueux, d’une vraie littérature qui vient du cœur, et sans doute, de la tête,
avant même de penser au produit, au marketing, aux ventes. J’ai toujours pensé
que la vraie littérature venait du cœur, et non de quoi que ce soit d’autres.
Je ne me permettrais pas de parler ainsi si
je ne pensais pas avoir déjà accompli l’œuvre d’une vie, si je ne croyais pas
que la mort n’était pas juste au prochain tournant, et que la chance de
terminer un autre livre était indéterminée. Certes, j’ai ça en moi, je peux le
faire, je vais le faire, mais chaque fois, encore, j’ignore si j’en viendrai à
bout, et même, si ça a aucune importance. Se motiver dans ces conditions,
requiert un miracle.
Et c’est mon inquiétude, que ce miracle
finalement disparaisse. Les idées, l’enthousiasme, le désir, ce désir de créer
quelque chose par pur besoin, alors que la vie pourrait être si simple sans ce
désir, que je me demande, maintes fois, il existe peut-être un vaccin contre
cette maladie d’écrire, et combien je me sentirais libéré de ne plus jamais à
avoir à écrire un seul mot.
Et ce serait une triste histoire, parce que
je sais, moi, que rien n’est vain, et qu’il importe peu que j’en reçoive les
gains durant cette existence. Il est fort probable que je mourrai oublié.
J’aime croire qu’au contraire, ce sera une renaissance, et j’ai le droit de
garder cet espoir, après cette existence infernale, de misère, après cet
accomplissement qui n’est pas donné à tout le monde.
La poésie. La poésie n’est rien sans la
musique. Je me demande souvent si je suis un poète. Je me demande souvent si je
suis un écrivain. Je ne l’ai jamais vraiment cru, et c’est vrai ce que je dis
ici. Et pourtant, quand on regarde les évidences, ne suis-je pas un écrivain?
Je ne l’ai jamais cru, et pourtant, en même temps, j’ai toujours cru que
j’étais l’écrivain. Donc pas un écrivain, mais l’écrivain. Je doute que vous
comprendrez la tournure de cette phrase, but I don’t care to explain it right
now.
Je
vais être excusé de toutes les libertés que j’ai prises. Je serai pardonné pour
ce cheminement bizarre qui m’a conduit à accomplir des choses inexplicables,
impardonnables. Vous auriez pu penser que j’étais un traitre, vous comprendrez
plutôt que vous été aveugles, et que vous avez provoqué ma vie, mon existence,
ce cheminement, et que seuls vous pouvez être blâmés pour les conséquences.
C’était mon excuse, ça l’est toujours, je
ne pourrai rien regretter de ma vie, j’ai simplement suivi le chemin là tracé
devant moi, et ce chemin, vous avez certes aidé à le tracer pour moi.
Autrement, en ce moment, je serais ailleurs, où l’on parle français. Si tu te
trouves dans un magasin, et que tu découvres rapidement qu’il n’y a rien que tu
puisses acheter ou vendre dans ce magasin, combien de temps resteras-tu dans ce
magasin?
Ne rien pouvoir vendre est une chose. Ne
rien pouvoir acheter en est une autre. Et je dois l’admettre, je vais
l’admettre, je n’ai rien voulu acheté dans ce magasin, et je puis l’expliquer.
Pourquoi? N’était-ce pas ma nation, ma culture, tout ce que j’étais supposé
être et représenter? N’était-ce pas mon drapeau à l’entrée? N’ai-je pas
rencontré à l’intérieur tous mes voisins, mes amis? Qu’est-ce qui me poussait
vers l’ailleurs avant même d’être rejeté complètement par ces voisins et ces
amis?
Je me demande si je devrais l’admettre ici
ce soir. Sans doute que oui, parce que c’est clair de toute manière dans tout
ce que j’ai écrit. Et pourtant, ça n’a jamais été dit aussi clairement que ce
le sera maintenant. Je ne suis pas Martine St-Clair, je suis Céline Dion. Je
pourrais arrêter maintenant, et je pense que vous comprendriez exactement que
je vais dire. Mais je vais l’épeler pour vous, pendant que je suis encore
complètement saoul, quitte à l’effacer demain matin alors que je réaliserai la
folie de l’avoir écrit.
Conquérir le Québec pour moi, ce n’est pas
assez. Il me faut conquérir le monde. Martine St-Clair et Céline Dion, pendant
des années, c’était la même chose, toutes deux ont atteint le Québec entier,
une cependant est morte au Québec, l’autre a été conquérir le monde entier.
Céline Dion, c’est ce dont un Québécois peut et doit aspirer d’être. Je suis
Céline Dion, j’ai toujours été Céline Dion, et même si je mourrais cette nuit,
sans même avoir été reconnu ni au Québec, ni ailleurs, je serais fier d’avoir
tenté cette chance d’atteindre le monde entier.
Cet espoir que j’écris plutôt pour la
postérité, l’humanité, plutôt que pour une nation quelconque. Et personne
aujourd’hui ne peut cracher sur Céline Dion et affirmer qu’elle est une
traitre, personne. Parce que le monde français est fier d’un tel exploit, que
pour la cause du français dans le monde, qui se meurt, soyons honnête, Céline
Dion a fait plus que n’importe qui d’autres, et elle n’est même pas française.
Et il n’y a aucun doute que si j’avais réussi au-delà de toutes ces espérances,
moi aussi j’aurais été un fervent défenseur de la langue et de la culture
francophone dans le monde.
Je parle au conditionnel imparfait ou
quelque chose du genre, au passé en tout cas. Est-ce que je crois maintenant
que je ne réussirai plus à percer un jour, peu importe quel marché? J’aurais pu
parler au futur. Si je ne croyais plus que je réussirais un jour, je n’écrirais
plus. À avoir continué à écrire en français, j’aurais certes déjà arrêté
d’écrire, puisque ça m’a mené nulle part, après six livres publiés.
L’anglais ma donné un second espoir de
réussir, après que j’eus été convaincu qu’en français je n’irais jamais nulle
part, pour peu importe les raisons, be it que je n’aie aucun talent d’écriture.
C’est peut-être possible, un jour peut-être je l’accepterai et arrêterai
d’écrire, mais pas avant d’avoir tenté ma chance en une autre langue, en un
autre marché, un autre public peut-être plus réceptif que le public
francophone.
Il est vrai que je n’ai jamais vraiment
tenté d’écrire quoi que ce soit de commercial en français, et que peut-être que
finalement je suis à blâmer pour cet insuccès. Alors, que je pense que je
devrais être reconnu aujourd’hui serait vraiment pure vanité, prétention. Tout
à fait vrai. Mais je n’ai jamais eu l’intention de me prostituer, et Dieu sait
que j’en ai maintes fois eu la chance, et même, qu’aujourd’hui je regrette de
ne pas m’être prostitué alors que j’avais cette chance. C’est tout dire.
Je suis à blâmer, aucun doute, ces
principes. Et ce qui doit être blâmé, c’est ma prétention d’être quelque chose
de différent. D’avoir pensé que d’écrire quelque chose de nouveau, de marginal,
devrait être reconnu à un moment donné.
Certes, j’ai toujours eu cette capacité
d’écrire un grand roman québécois qui aurait été un best-seller au Québec. J’ai
encore cette capacité en moi. Je ne l’ai jamais fait, je n’ai aucun désir de le
faire. Sous prétexte que j’écrivais pour l’humanité, et non une nation
quelconque. Que j’écrivais ce que mon cœur me disait d’écrire, ma raison,
plutôt que la raison d’un département de marketing d’une maison d’éditions
quelconque.
Et pourtant, en anglais, ça a été tout le
contraire. Oui, et non. Cette année. Un roman commercial, mais un autre essai
impubliable, et une série d’autre textes non publiables. Je n’ai pas changé.
Sans doute parce que j’ai constaté avec le temps, qu’il n’est pas nécessaire
d’atteindre les masses commercialement afin d’être lu et entendu, et certes, je
crois avoir atteint un certain public avec l’Internet, et pas juste monsieur
tout le monde. Je sais que j’ai déjà eu un certain impact. Ce n’était pas
exactement ce que je souhaitais, mais c’est tout de même fort encourageant, que
le tout n’a pas été tout à fait inutile. Mon impact a été marginal, même si je
sais qu’il a atteint plusieurs personnes importantes dans le monde artistique.
Mon impact est underground.
Je parle comme si j’en étais à la fin de ma
vie, comme si une œuvre ou deux de plus, et ce sera fini. Je donne à croire
peut-être que je souffre d’une maladie incurable, comme le sida, mais ce n’est
pas le cas. Je n’ai aucune raison de croire que je ne vivrai pas encore 50 ans.
Pourtant, j’ai sans cesse cette impression que j’en suis à la fin, car je n’en
suis certes pas au début. J’ai déjà toute une œuvre derrière moi, et ça n’a
rien donné. Oui, certes, je vais continuer à vivre, mais peut-être que je vais
arrêter d’écrire, et c’est cette mort que je ressens, que je sens venir.
J’aurais déjà dû arrêter d’écrire voilà
longtemps, mais je ne l’ai jamais fait. Sans doute je vais continuer, mais
alors il me faut trouver une motivation. L’anglais en était une voilà quelques
années. Mais je vois que peut-être cela aussi ne donnera rien. Je n’ai pas
encore tenté de faire publier Anna Maria, mais je vois que je n’en aurai pas le
courage. Ça fait longtemps que je n’envoie plus mes livres aux éditeurs, dix
ans de rejet te guérit d’envoyer quoi que ce soit qui ne soit pas sollicité,
alors tu espères que le hasard sur l’Internet te mettra en contact avec les
bonnes personnes.
Alors, vais-je écrire ce nouveau livre ou
non? En français ou en anglais? Et le sujet, l’idée, la motivation…? Ou
peut-être est-il temps que la prosecution states that it has raised its case? I
wonder.
Je me demande. Je ne crois pas que je vais
arrêter d’écrire mon blog, mon journal, ma vie. Mais de la fiction? Anna Maria
m’a redonné courage, ce roman de science fiction anglophone, qui a comme
redonné un sens à mon existence, à ma vie d’auteur. Que je pense déjà à mon
prochain livre à écrire, de fiction, en anglais ou en français.
Il me faut juste continuer, ne pas trop me
questionner, écrire ce qui me semble juste, au moment où la décision doit être
prise. C’est tout, oublier tout le reste, construire mon propre univers. Ce qui
doit être écrit, se doit d’être écrit, et jamais il ne me faudra me forcer, que
cela devienne une corvée. C’est là mon secret, ce qui a toujours été mon
secret, pour un public aléatoire partout dans le monde. On ne sait jamais qui
s’arrête pour lire sa propre histoire, là est une certaine motivation.
L’alcool amène les bilans, alors que sa
propre existence est remise en question, mais il existe une deuxième existence
en parallèle, celle de l’écrivain. Aucun bilan de vie ne devrait remettre ça en
question. Mais voilà, lorsque l’on en est encore et encore à penser à la mort,
tout s’éteint, tout se termine avec ce dernier bilan qui servira à décider s’il
faut continuer ou non. Car c’est de tout qu’il faut décider, la vie sociale,
son emploi, la vie personnelle, son chum, la vie professionnelle, l’écriture.
Laquelle est vraiment importante? Laquelle est vraiment sérieuse? Dieu seul
sait.
Un écrivain a besoin d’un partenaire
compréhensible, parce qu’un écrivain perd la majorité de son temps à écrire,
durant la nuit. J’ai seulement eu deux partenaires dans ma vie, et cette double-vie
d’écrivain a certainement détruit mes relations personnelles, à tel point que
je pense maintenant que si je désire vraiment continuer à écrire, il me faudra
être seul. Et j’en rêve. Si j’avais l’argent, j’achèterais ma liberté, comme un
esclave qui désire se débarrasser de ses maîtres. L’amour, le sexe,
l’affection, la tendresse, ça ne compense pas pour l’écrivain qui n’a qu’un
seul désir, celui d’écrire, peu importe s’il écrit au paradis ou en enfer. Pas
de compromis possible.
Au diable le monde entier! J’ai quelques
pages à écrire, et il n’existe rien de plus important au monde. So get out of my way! I
don’t give a shit if you’re dead or alive, not tonight anyway whilst I am
writing away all night long, never mind that I have to go to work tomorrow
morning.
C’est pas facile, mais c’est possible. En
autant que l’écrivain soit capable d’envoyer chier le reste de la planète
lorsqu’il le faut. Et il le faut. Peu importe les conséquences. Peu importe les
conséquences. Pour un écrivain, une seule occupation compte, celle d’écrire.
Combien d’entre vous ressentez ce profond
désir d’écrire, comme seule raison à l’existence? Au point où tout le reste
peut et doit être sacrifié? Suis-je le seul? And what have you got to show for this
life of sacrifice?
21 November 2007
Sometimes I do feel lost, and find myself re-assessing
everything about my life, everything I do, if I should do it or not, and
finally, what is my motivation after all? I can really reach rock bottom fast,
don’t even need alcohol for that.
There
must have been something in the air today, everyone was a little boiling pot
and everywhere it has exploded around me. Thankfully I wasn’t part in any of
it, but I’m afraid when everyone’s an exploding cooking pot, it splashes
everyone around without exception, and we then all become cooking pots which
will explode on another day, tomorrow perhaps, unless I can be doubly careful,
because I can sense I am about to explode as well.
It was supposed to be the return to work interview of the
Old Indian man today, after his little stint of taking three weeks off and
making it clear it was retaliation. Such a great opportunity for management to
torment an old man could not be passed by, and so they went on to question what
the note from his doctor. The result was a huge opened fight in the department,
ending threatening that he will soon be sick again for a whole month! Boy, and
I thought I was in trouble. Except that he is in no trouble at all, they will
not sack him for that, they won’t do anything. As the British woman told me
long ago, no one gets sacked from the civil service. Once there, you’re there
until you die, it is like the papacy. You can kill a lot of people, and
tomorrow it is all forgotten.
Today however you will suffer the torment, the mind games,
the bullshit of management. The stuff that do actually make you sick and
suicidal. That is a more serious offence than serial murders, when it is
widespread everywhere in the world and that it goes on on a daily basis. And I
learnt something, no matter hoe many threats they do, how many mind games they
play, in the end, it is just that and nothing else, empty threats. Why they do
roll themselves in that shit then? Especially when most crisis in this job
happens as a consequence of all that bullshit they’re playing at? I guess after
25 years in the service, it has become their existence, their reason to exist,
to scheme, to fight, to stir trouble, they make us all as miserable as can be.
They’re must come a point when you actually enjoy backstabbing and shitting on
people and make their existence a real nightmare. Petty world for small minded
people. If it was not so depressing, that sentence could be a great title for
my next book, it would also do for my epitaph, though I don’t want one cos I
want my ashes thrown out at sea.
So after that blow that went horribly wrong, they had
another victim to attend to. A long meeting of two hours with the Kid. After
all that they asked him to leave for ten minutes whilst they considered his
sentence. I have not heard the sentence yet, we were disturbed by a woman and
we could not talk about it. I will know tomorrow what is his faith and how
quickly it will come. I guess you can be dismissed from the civil service after
all, until you are actually permanent, which I am now, but the kid isn’t. And
yet, even though it was clear after the first week that one more week would
have been enough for him, they dragged it for a whole year, and even now they
are still not doing anything about it, they simply wait until his contract runs
out in two months. What we wanted to find out is if they would actually decide
not to wait and kick him out one month early, just so they don’t have to pay
him paid holiday over Christmas and the New Year. The kid is so used to that
crap and bullshit, because he is so laid back and not caring about anything,
and either too stone or too tired anyway to care, that it rolls over him like
water on an arsehole. I suffer for them, terribly, even the old man, and I am
under no illusion that it will be my turn once they’re finished with them.
Then I come home after such a stir at work, and it is the
turn of Stephen in his job. It exploded as well, he ended up in the office of
his boss, with the other bitch who has consistently backstabbed him for over a
year now out of jealousy because all the clients love him and they all hate
her, and the whole office could hear. I don’t know how it is going to be for
him tomorrow at work, but here it ended up in us having a huge fight and, once
again, I feel like shooting someone or kill myself. Either would be acceptable
to my predicament.
We’re both completely wired and stressed out by small
minded people in shit jobs, and so this relationship has become untenable. And
I no longer know what to do to escape this dire reality. Reading science
fiction books, playing adventure games, writing pages and pages of whinging
here, no longer suffice. I can no longer escape this kind of existence. I cut
off the television completely, I have not watched it in months, neither when I
was in
I’ve been trying to switch from one webspace provider to
another in the last two weeks, it is quickly becoming more tiresome than
getting a mortgage or being refinanced, or getting a new citizenship, something
else I need to do after collecting on all the too much taxes I have been paying
both in the U.S. and in the U.K. in the last three years. Something I might never
do, getting back that money, or ask for my citizenship. I’m afraid at some
point I will crack and just get out of my life so quickly, I might erase all my
websites and my unpublished books in the process, one drunken night.
At the
very least, the fact that I am switching hosts, made me think that it was time
for a major update of my website, an update that will finally once and for all
move me away from the word anarchist, something that never characterized me, as
it is hopefully obvious, but might be responsible for all these vans outside my
flat constantly spying on whatever I might do tonight, wank perhaps? Better
call the
Shit, too late, I mentioned it now, I will talk religion.
No matter how much I read about the Catholic and the Protestant faiths, I
cannot see any discernible difference. To me it is the exact same thing, give
or take a few minor and unimportant points which could be argued is the
difference. That difference is only that you have a different boss, and enjoy
more freedom being a Protestant. As such, if I had to choose, and thank God I
don’t have to, I would choose Protestantism. Shame millions of people had to
die in order to understand what the real difference is, something I have still
to figure out (the difference, and why so many people had to die for this small
difference). I suppose Catholicism went too far and too wild at some point in
history, and some people finally woke up and severed themselves from such an
inflexible and overwhelming faith. Shame they simply did not give up religion
at that time instead of going on to create worse on their own. Must be God’s
big plan, I guess, whatever that plan is. God’s big plan must be the total
annihilation of the planet, that is what anyone can gather from reading the History
of religions. I wonder if I will end up on some religious hit lists for stating
such things, I hope so, it would be good publicity, wonderful PR. One can never
think too much about marketing and sales these days. Once it was a question of
survival, as it is in my case, for others it is a question of greed whilst more
millions come their way. (My God, I am the little anarchist, am I?)
Right now I am only thinking about one thing: How to drink
myself to death tonight whilst surviving tomorrow at work. Another great title,
or epitaph. If anyone out there has any solution to offer on that little
conundrum of mine, which I go through so many times every week, please contact
me immediately.
One previous girlfriend of mine found me recently on some
website, yes, I did have girlfriends in my youth, whilst I tried so desperately
not to be gay in order to escape your wrath, and she put me in contact with a
friend of hers that she felt was similar to me. Well, apart from the fact the
guy is young and astonishingly good looking (the bastard), it turns out that he
is heavily into philosophy and has written a few texts on the subject, along
with other opinions and convictions he has.
Normally this kind of thing would have gone right over my
head, I would not even have spent a minute on anyone else’s website because
someone told me that this person was worth a look. After all, the rest of the
world is a hostile place, it is foreign, and I’ve got things to write myself.
But there you are, he is French-Canadian, and as such, where I am right now, I
feel that he is like my brother (and wish secretly that he was my husband). So
I spent some time reading him, and was quite pleased when he announced that he
would read my book The Eclecticism. Why would I care when I have millions of
visitors on my website anyway, I do when it is one isolated good looking
French-Canadian who could be and perhaps is my brother. I would like him to
read the book and tell me that he is impressed, and that would be more powerful
than anything else that could be judged great in my life, which truly didn’t
not affect or reached me the way it should have.
We have totally different writing style. I can tell that
the kid just got of university, three degrees no less, that every single thing
he has written seems to be the words of another great thinker out there. Many
citations of many great authors, many analysis and other works, and some final
arguments, just like essays. And written in such a clinical style, you can
still smell the carbon tetrachloride after reading it. (I’ll save you the work,
tetrachloromethane (a synonym) was widely used as a dry cleaning solvent, as a
refrigerant, and in fire extinguishers. However, once it became apparent that
carbon tetrachloride exposure had severe adverse ill and health effects, safer
alternatives such as tetrachloroethylene were found for these applications.)
It re-assured me to read him. Don’t ask how and why, but it
did somehow. Perhaps because for a long time I remembered how I was writing
whilst in University, and now that this is far behind, I write completely
unlike if I were in university. I was afraid it was a bad thing, I understand
now that it is the best thing, because then you are not a parrot just repeating
what everyone else said, adding your few lines of conclusion at the end. And
you writing in a completely clinical and uninteresting style, you can be
comprehensible and actually mean something which can reach someone somewhere.
No doubt he would stop talking to me if he were to read
this, and it would be a shame, because I feel he’s got great potential, and
capable of leaving his idols behind and think for himself for a change.
Especially that his idols are Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Montesquieu and
Jean-Jacques Rousseau, please give me a break, I’m surprised that Karl Marx was
not on his list, and actually the fact that it isn’t is interesting. However,
his biggest idol is a poster called “Power to the People!”, in English no less.
I guess he is more the little anarchist than I will ever be, I feel like puking
right now.
Why? I don’t know. I feel so out of it, so out of this
existence, that I truly do not care about anything my fellow citizen feel or
believe in. For a long time I thought it was pretence, that somehow I thought
that there was only one thinking machine here, me, and no one else could input
any idea or philosophy into me but myself. I realise now that it is just that I
am so uninterested by anything that is going out, out there, that it also
explains why I feel nothing when people mention to me about a genocide of half
a million people somewhere in Africa. It is not that I am careless,
insensitive, it is just that I simply do not feel alive at all in the first
place, so how could I care about any genocide? I had a dream, and that dream is
my life. Another great title, or epitaph.
In the
sense that I feel my whole existence is just like a dream would be, perhaps I
would go as far as comparing it to a virtual world inside some sort of computer
or thinking processing thingy. I have never felt anything was real to begin
with, and getting motivated in that kind of thinking, is damn hard if not
impossible. And yes, I felt like that way before the movie The Matrix came out.
I learned
something else that is important, reading that kid (who is actually just five
years younger than I am, but I feel so old already), it is that I have no
idols, no great political or philosophical thinkers I could consider my idol.
Of course I have favourite authors like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Arthur C.
Clarke, but this is entertainment, escapism from this nightmarish reality which
I never thought truly existed in the first place.
And it is
not like I have never read these great thinkers, I have read them, and
certainly enjoy reading Bertrand Russell for example, but none of them really
had any impact on me, certainly not to the point that I would be declaring them
my idols. What they have done, I can do for myself. All they do for me is to give
me food to develop my own ideas further, they do not replace or give me an
entire new set of ideas that can sit comfortably in my brain, and up I am now a
revolutionary guy who will make sure everyone else on the planet will inherit
the same set of ideas. If anything, I am a great believer that everyone should
develop their own set of ideas about who they are, their place in this world,
what this universe is all about, and whatever meaning one could or should apply
to it. Total freedom, and that includes, no brainwashing of any sort.
I don’t
admire anyone on this planet, I don’t admire myself either, I know my place in
this world, I am the centre of the universe. Only because the rest of the
universe is but inexistent, that it only exists in my mind, and in the end, I
am the only source to whatever it is that hits me in the face or that I go
through every day. I am the God of my own universe, you are all my creation,
and shit, I chastise myself everyday, how can I lack imagination to such a
degree that no one in their right mind would wish to live in such a universe?
And so,
in my mind, such delusion of grandeur, or godlike figure, is not pretence,
since in my mind, in this world, only me exists. So yeah, I am God, but at the
same time, I am the only one here who’s actually real, and even that could be
debated. So no, I don’t feel pretentious, superior or better than anyone else,
there is no one else. The better you realise this for yourself, the better you
will feel about yourself. There is only one God in the universe, creator of
everything and everyone, it is yourself. And then have a look around, and see
the mess you’ve made of this place, of your universe. You have only yourself to
blame, just like from my point of view I have only myself to blame, and so,
there is only thing to do, think a better world and work towards it, until
things become at least bearable around here.
Funny, I
actually do believe that bullshit. Perhaps it is another escapism for me, some
way to escape this reality I can’t stand. Every single written book, every
single piece of music, every single movie, every single human being out there,
you created it in your own mind, you are the source of all that you can see and
hear. That Nietzsche’s book you despise so much? You are the author, you
created it, just so you can despise it and that it can give some meaning to
your frivolous existence. And that Mozart opera, which is definitely the best
thing any musician ever composed, and these weird theoretical physics ideas
from Einstein and others, and even these laws of nature, you created it all. It
is all in your mind, it is all your dream, this great capacity to invent, on
demand, and to think the unthinkable. You can give yourself more credit than
you feel you deserve, everyone in this world is but the fruit of your
imagination.
And now I
think I am truly ready for the asylum, because I do believe what I just said.
And not only that, I believe that many people who will read this, will actually
believe that it is true, that intrinsically inside, they will feel that it is
true, somehow. I cannot explain why, I just feel it is true. I admit it could
be escapism from this reality, that I have created my own kingdom in my mind
and that my father is the King and my mother the Queen, and now I will take my
rightful place from Prince to King, but somehow I don’t feel that decades of
therapy could cure me. I am well aware it could all be an illusion, and yet, I
choose to believe my make belief world, because it is only on those terms that
I will accept to continue living in this world of yours which only can incite
suicide. If I am right, and perhaps I am, then it is not a world of yours, it
is all but a world of mine, in my mind. And then, I must have some power over
it, I can change it the way I want, I can make it liveable and acceptable. And
I have been pretty successful so far and making this world liveable, with no
means whatsoever. I have been highly successful at overnight changing this
world to make it a place worth living in. And so, I will need a lot of therapy
indeed to convince me that I am delusional. What is more likely is that this
whole existence is but a huge illusion and you can influence it at will, as
much as you want, as long as your are determined to do so. That’s all.
And now I
am peaceful and happy again, until the shit hits the fan again, but there is no
reason why it should, or that at the very least, it should affect me at all.
And now
that I have drunk myself to death, how am I to survive tomorrow at work without
exploding and killing a few managers? Damn good question. Well, I guess I
better dream myself a better existence to wake up to tomorrow morning, once I
go to sleep tonight. Yeah! Tomorrow is a great day! I will wake up somewhere
else, something better, full freedom to read, think and write, I will. And even
if I fail miserably in this simple exercise, because we are so trained to
believe we cannot affect reality, at the very least I can still extrapolate on
this miserable existence. Tomorrow I will receive this magazine distributed at
thousands of copies all over
And now,
if I don’t go to bed, there is no way I will be able to survive tomorrow at work.
It is one thing to suddenly be the most celebrated civil servant for one long
minute all over the country, it is another not to tell your manager to go fuck
himself or herself when he or she comes close to you to tell you such bullshit
that God himself must be crawling and spinning in his or her tomb, wherever he
or she is buried.
I would
so love to analyse this last entry of my blog in a university course paper. I
feel I would have a lot to say about the true meaning of it all, and what it is
that the author truly wished to say, especially an author so ironic at all
times, that you can never tell when he is sarcastic or not. I just hope that I
won’t wake up tomorrow morning, once I am sober, and delete the whole entry, as
I seem to be doing a lot lately. One could start to wonder what it is that I am
so afraid of, when it is actually so clear that whatever I may be writing here,
it does not have any impact whatsoever in this world. Yes, it could possibly
give you the wrong opinion about me, eat some of my credibility, and what else.
Am I worried? If you have read so many pages already, and still are prone to
any kind of final judgement, then why should I care?
I could
be on the Moon tomorrow morning, if I truly wished it. I guess I don’t, or else
I would be. But perhaps I could be halfway across the galaxy right now if I
truly wished it, and that I truly do wish, so I better sleep well tonight and
thing hard convincing myself that it is true, and so it shall become the truth
about this world. Did I say halfway across the galaxy? I meant halfway across
the universes. As to the nature of these many universes… now we’re talking.
Read,
think and write, all I ever wanted, and ended up with no time to read, think or
write. The result is that I am completely alienated and delusional, and still
write, but wild stuff out of this world. I guess I can only blame myself.
23 November 2007
When I read any novel, there are always parts that bore me
to death, and other parts that I could read forever. A good writer, I guess, is
one capable of only writing these bits that people could read forever. The
other major problem is the reader, since one could care only about cheap love
stories, whilst the other could only care about politics, and the other about
religion.
In this actual blog, I am uncertain what will turn out to
be what I would like to read forever, and the other stuff I will find highly
painful to read. And what about any other potential reader? I could make a wild
guess, that if you have lasted that long, what might particularly grip you is
any kind of confrontation with my Managers. Well, tonight you will be pleased
then, because I went for a drink with my Line Manager, and she lasted all
night, for the drinks and the food. I don’t know yet everything that I have
said to her tonight, how damaging it has all been, I will only find out once I
wake up tomorrow morning, perhaps at 5 or 6am, once I wake up, and suddenly
everything rushes in and comes back to my mind, everything I have said, which
whilst still drunk, I have no idea.
We were not supposed to talk about work, and I would
certainly not have brought it up if they had not. She couldn’t help it, she had
to brought up my big mistake of this week, as I do one main one at least once a
week, unfortunately for this big one, I felt justified, I felt like I had to
it, if only to be efficient in my job. It is however the job of any manager to
be blind to that sort of thing, and to be honest, had I been the Manager, I
would also have been blind to this mistake.
It is true that I have spent a whole day auditing every
single file there are in the building, and making a list of where every single
file was. This could be considered a big waste of time, and yet, we spend so
many hours, every single employee, tracking down files every day, ultimately it
saves us all a lot of time to have a list telling us where every single file
is. I had to do it, because I still had a thousand invoices on my desk, for
which I had no idea where these files were. After wasting a full day making my
database, it took me two hours this morning to eradicate my pile of old
invoices. Not only that, I helped everyone tracking down every single file, and
saved the whole court something like hours of blind search, and will do so for
at least two weeks, after which my list will no longer be up to date and will
be useless.
So it is a big gamble when you have to ignore the orders of
your line manager and do something forbidden in order to be efficient. And if I
had to do it again, I guess I would, but I also suppose that I won’t be doing
it again soon, unless I do it one day that she is not there. Well, that was her
big thing tonight, how I wasted a whole day doing nothing, and emptied her
heart about it, whilst giving me no chance to even justify myself. And I was
clever enough not to insist, even though I insisted more than I should have. At
the end of it all, if this is all she has to complain about concerning me is
that, then I guess I’m safe, considering the other problems she has with the
others, so nothing really to worry too much about.
One important has been said though, she asked me why I was
giving her a hard time. To which I naturally answered, why do you give me a
hard time. There is always two sides to a coin, and yes, I would agree that I
am not an easy person to deal with. I had trouble with management for as far as
I can remember. I have an attitude problem, I am unable to be a sheep and to
blindly listen to orders. And I always felt that has long as I was working real
hard at any rate, I should be left alone to do my job. Some philosophy no
manager in their right mind could actually live with, I have to admit.
So the
only question remaining is can we make it work? Probably more than I was ever
able to do with any of my previous managers, that I have to say. And not only
that, it seems to me that within six months she will be out of there, will have
found a better job and up she will be becoming rich on the management wild path
of the world. It seems to me that I might actually be, for once, there for the
long haul. I have by-passed this unique chance to become a Clerk, whilst there
were 10 positions available all over
I don’t
regret. The whole point of this job, is that it is around the corner. To
suddenly get a promotion in
Nowadays,
I reckon, the only way you could still be respectable being a civil servant,
would be if you lived in
Dear me,
In a way,
I’m glad. History is not over just yet. Your read the horror of the past, and
you think, well, at least these were somehow great times, with powerful
empires, moving about to conquer the world. And you turned around to read the
daily news, and thought, shit, has anything interesting happened lately for the
books of history? Well, yes, we’re building a new empire, we all know that it
will lead to disaster, however, it ought to give us a few good paragraphs for
the history books of the future. Something is happening, at the very least.
In fact,
for the security council of the U.N., for all these other countries fighting to
get in and have their word in what next country to annihilate, I think we
should deny them access. Moreover, I think we should eliminate the five
countries already controlling the planet, these countries being the
I am
often inflammatory, conspiracy theorist, anarchist, and all, but this time, I
bet no one could actually give me any arguments that could actually convince
anyone that I am not right. And what is even better, is that
I can
vouch quite easily for all of them, that any of them would die before being
responsible for anything that could be judged immoral, unethical, and even, one
death that was not justified before an International Criminal Court. I am proud
to be able to state such a claim, and I wonder, how many of you could actually
say the same thing about your own country. And don’t mention Switzerland to me,
their neutrality has never been a real one, when this neutrality has only been
motivated by financial gains, and the fact that one third is German, one third
is French and the last one is Italian. It is already explosive enough without
anyone saying anything in order to destroy that kind of weird peace they have
enjoyed for so long. Maybe
I guess
it could be called a weakness, and I suppose it is easy to take advantage of
us. However, I think anyone can learn quickly about this world, and that you
can only be fooled once. I don’t think we’re stupid, I don’t we’re weak, and if
it came to it, I think we could be once again right at the forefront of any new
World Wars. Hopefully, only after assessing if we have not been played for
fools by Americans and British, but I think we’re wise, we didn’t go to
Viet-Nam after all, and had no part in taking over
I think
I don’t
think people realise just how far reaching whatever they say actually is. State
anywhere at any time that you are displeased with your government, and even
though no one might hear you except a few dozens, you can certain that you’re
government will hear you, and will be influenced by it.
So in a
way, you have the potential to be much more powerful than you ever dreamt you
could be. And it don’t matter if you have only three readers on the other side
of that miserable website you have painfully built for yourself, I know that
you’re government, quite high up, is reading everything, and certainly more
often than not, it reaches the top, at the very least, it does reach all the
people that matter within that government.
The
Internet universe is not that big. When you do a search on one specific
subject, it is rare that you will get more than 10 pages of 10 relevant results
on any search engine. And if you speak about anything specific, you can be
certain this does turn out on any search engine after ten pages, and your
government goes much further in its search of anything that is said about
anything, to guide itself in what to do next. Because, public opinion is
everything, if not the only thing. It is true that it seems today that neither
the American President or the British Minister seem to care about public
opinion, but those are exceptions, and you have to wonder why they would forego
that public opinion in order to continue their personal agenda. Since any
government that no longer cares about public and international opinion, must
be, by definition, a government not fit to rule and should be impeached
immediately. It is obvious then that these governments no longer act for their
people in some sort of democratic society, they went on to ignore everyone to
pursue some agenda which makes no sense to anyone. In this day and age, no one
should find this acceptable. Civil war is the only answer if impeaching has
failed. And civil war is perhaps what this world needs right now, to remind
leaders that they cannot pursue personal interests or hidden agendas, bringing
such horrifying consequences that any citizen in his or her right mind, could
say: I am proud of my country and my leaders and I could trust any of them to
the last, just like I just did for my own country, Canada.
I think
you can trust all Canadians, after you verified that their orders come from the
Prime Minister himself or herself. I’m afraid that right now in the world,
whenever you meet Canadians, they may be under American’s orders. And so, I
think that there may come a time, and I hope it is not already, when you might
no longer be able to trust Canadians. Though right now, I think this is not a
worry. Americans hate Canadians at the moment, because we have not reacted as
they did to these dubious terrorist attacks. This is a healthy sign that we are
still in control of our own country. If that changes, then you can worry.
And at
that time, another clear sign will appear on the horizon,
I was
asked a very insightful question this week by the Kid from Ham at work, the
very one who has already been technically sacked, who should have been sacked
months ago, and yet, I appear to be the only one to truly realise how much
potential he has for the future, despite the fact that he is but a moron right
now. He asked me quite out of the blue, are all Prime Ministers in Canada
French-Canadians?
You can see
how such a question is a question that no one in
So as
such, any Canadian Prime Minister cannot be but hypocrite, and quite a liar in
order to get to the top. He has to convinced both side that he is the one who
should lead the country. As such, I reckon you could still buy out a Canadian
Prime Minister, impress him or her with visits to the top of a Pyramid in
Mexico accompanied with the American President and the Mexican President, where
the leadership of the Americas will be given to one man, the American
President, but you could never buy out a French-Canadian Prime Minister. Never.
They wouldn’t be impressed by anything, just as I would never be impressed by
anything. Too much history and fights dictate such things. So it may come a
time when only
Funny, I
think the future of
Which
means anywhere else but
And far
away enough for me would be beyond the solar system. And believe me, if I don’t
commit suicide prematurely, I can assure you, I will be the first man to be
shipped outside this solar system eventually, even if I have to figure out how
all by myself, and re-write all physics in the process. I can no longer stand
any of you, no discrimination, as simple as that. I do need to get out of here,
and by here, I do mean this planet, whether it is doomed or can be saved, I
don’t really care either way, and I do mean it. I never felt I had anything to
do with you anyway, I have always been but a witness to your downfall, your own
self-destruction in every single detail. I have come to hope for it. By all
means, press the damn button of self-destruction, this is all any of you has
ever been taught to do. We’re not civilised yet by any means, I doubt we could
ever be. I have not seen any sign that somehow we could be salvaged as a
species. And again, just like you, I don’t really care. I only care to get out
of here and have nothing further to do with any of you.
Weird behaviour puzzles you. It also puzzles my animals, in
the zoo I am living in. If I do anything weird, my parrot looks at me like if I
were some sort of weirdo. He doesn’t need much to begin puzzling about me, just
like I don’t believe you would need much to begin puzzling about me.
I may be drunk, I am still able to assess my situation.
There are truly two personalities inside of me. The sober one, the drunken one.
Someone wrote an eternal book about it, it was called Jekyll and Hide, and that
took place in
Right. I can see that I am not normal, that I am marginal,
not that I am extremist or anarchist, no, but certainly mentally sick, as soon
as I am drunk and only then. It appears that I wouldn’t care if everyone and
everything on this planet were to disappear and if I were to be the only remaining
living thing left behind. I’m sure that by now this disease has been identified
and a Latin name given to it. It is just not normal, and it has nothing to do
with being gay, since most gay people are not that extreme. So what’s wrong
with me? Yeah! What’s wrong with me! Is there not a drug out there that could
cure me instantly? Is there not a drug out there curing your very soul and
existential crisis? I believe there is, but only a fool would take that pill
and gobble it up as if it would solve all humanity’s problems.
The truth is, I have nothing to complain about, no real
good reason to be freaked out about anything. And yet, I am so freaked out
about everything, I cannot explain it myself. Yeah, I have no money, I can’t
eat to my satisfaction every month, but I don’t really care about any of that,
I always felt I was very rich and eating way too much, following the idea of
the American Dream which states that even in poverty and uselessness, we could
all dream that overnight we could all be filthy rich and powerful. I’m a strong
believer in capitalism,
I was
never hungry even when I was, because there was always hope that tomorrow
morning it would all be different. So that’s not the real problem here,
especially that I had great jobs in the past, I was kind of well off, and could
still be if I wanted to, and I gave it all up because ultimately none of it
made me happy. I could easily have been rich by now, I could still start my own
company tomorrow morning, and I have no doubt whatsoever, despite all my
doubts, that it would be highly successful. And yet, I have no real interest in
any of it.
I
certainly have the brain to do anything I damn want. I could go into politics,
and as hypocrite as I would dare to go, I could go very far. For me there would
only be one end to all of it, it would be to write about it and report back for
some weird reason everything I would witness in this lifetime. There is always
an ulterior motive to everything I do, the purpose to report back something
worth reporting, be it the most single useless reaction of the first loser on
my path, confronted with the big monster than I am depicted to be (which I
probably am, because I will never go down peacefully, I have never a sheep and
will never be, I’m afraid).
I don’t
think I’m sick, but I do understand why people might think I am, and would not
stop at anything in order to cure me from this disease I have. I have to be
brought back in line, I have to become that white sheep that everyone else is,
I need more brainwashing in order to be brought back to order, no doubt about
it.
I am not
worried about any of that. What I am worried about, is how extreme I can be, in
everything. If there were a whole field filled with sheep, I would be the black
one kicking out the door opened and leading all those peaceful people to chaos
and perhaps destruction. After all, the fence was only there to protect them
all from the M4 motorway, wasn’t it? It is clear that none of them has any
brain to figure out that if you cross that door, death is certain. Who could
ever doubt it when cars are going at a whopping 30 miles an hour?
I didn’t
mean to be more sarcastic. I meant to truly figure out what is wrong with me.
After all, I am suicidal, and could easily end my life any night that I drink one
glass too many. Surely such a person has a sick mind, even if he would never
admit to it. So what is it that I thought I could decipher about that now?
The
origin of it? I was born with it. I can’t deny it, there is nothing humanity
could do, which is worst than whatever happen in history, that could me to such
disgust that I would wish to kill myself. And no genocide so far has ever got
my heart to flinch one bit, unless that genocide, of course, was to happen in
There was
something insightful I thought of, I can’t remember it now. Shit, and I thought
that for one long second I had figured it all out, and now it is out of my
reach. I think it had something to do with what you were projecting, saying, as
revolutionary and controversial it could sound, ultimately it had nothing to do
with your own internal crisis. That finally, you must be misreading so many
people out there, that you cannot pinpoint the real problem out of all the
consequences and headaches they cause. I’m afraid, a psychologist here might
not be of help.
The thing
with me, is that I never actually found a cause to fight for, because I was way
too disinterested in everything around me. So I have never been political or
ecological or religious, or whatever. I am a rebel without a cause. Can you
imagine the problem? As soon as I wrote it, I knew I had heard that one before.
It is a book, it is film, nothing is new under the sun. And yet, I guess this
is me, I am a rebel without a cause. And it makes so much clearer that I have a
deep psychological problem, and that perhaps I could never be cured. I guess my
only cause is existence itself, for which somehow, for some unexplainable
reason, I find offensive. The whole concept of it, perhaps because somehow I
feel there is something else, much more concrete, though I can’t put my finger
on it, and could never do.
I
wouldn’t mind being cured. I do mind about the result, what it would look like
to me. I don’t want to be cured if it would mean becoming such sheep I have
seen, no ambition, no question to ask, perfect slave. I would prefer in that
case to lose all my jobs within the year than become institutionalised, to the
point that no one could spot you out of a dead room, the archives.
Why are
you making it so difficult to me? This is what she said to me tonight, my Line
Manager. Why are you making it so difficult to me? I answered. Why are we
making it so difficult to each other, then? Good question. It might have
something to do with free will, free thinking, the whole concept of manager and
slave, that we all know that management would prefer to run over computers
instead of human beings, and that slaves would much prefer that too, though
we’re not there yet.
Perhaps
it has something to do with humiliation? Patronising? And I wonder, am I not
over that by now, having been a slave all of my life? I certainly do accept it.
Who does she thinks she is? Yes, I do tell myself that quite often, and yet,
can answer the question, she is my boss. I don’t know. The fact that she is 24
years old does not seem to matter much to me, though she loves to repeat it
every single day. I don’t judge people on how old they are, I only judge them
on their personality, and their actions. I would have no problem following a 4
year old, as long as I thought he or she was right. And the fact that she is a
woman? Makes no difference to me. And the fact that she is Indian? Makes no
difference to me. I really do judge them over their personality and actions. As
long as I could get along with my Manager, I wouldn’t care if it was an alien
from outer space, this is after all, all that I am asking for, not to be
depressed, to be happy. And fuck, this seems to be too much to ask from anyone
on this planet.
But this has nothing to do with why I have decided to write
more tonight. I was to figure out why I am the way I am, identify my sickness,
and suddenly find solutions to all my problems. Which could explain why I am
suicidal, why I wish to see everyone disappear instantly, my agoraphobia which
I have identified that I suffer from whenever too many managers bang me on the
head for whatever reason, and this desire to get out of the solar system, and
even this desire to re-write all of physics in order to make it come true.
And dear
me, if I were you, I would worry, because I have identified the physics that
could potentially get me out of here now, I wouldn’t need much to start
experimenting with weird instruments in order to make it come true. As soon as
I identify the chemical reaction which could actually stop electrons from constantly
expanding, that’s it, I’m out of here!
I have to say, there is something sweet about a delusional
man who actually is intelligent enough to make his wildest dream come true. I
might after all get out of here. Still, the question will remain as to the why
I felt like that, why I was so completely beside myself about anything about
this world. I’m afraid, the machine needs to shut down. Perhaps I am not so
much a slave, but a robot or computer, or an extension to a computer, inputting
numbers all day. And even computers need management, dear me, there are ways to
enter numbers into a computer, and there are ways to enter numbers into a
computer, and there are ways to enter numbers into a computer. This is the key
to figuring out what management is all about. The all many different ways
machines can actually enter numbers into machines. This is the key.
Well, this machine has to turn itself off. And I’m sorry if
this machine has forgotten what was so insightful about the bug burning it to
the ground, not so efficient or impressive machine after all.
I think I am neurotic, I don’t think there are many other
authors out there who are that far gone. So, I should rejoice, I am different,
I am marginal, I am anarchist. Surely I am some sort of a bit of fresh air
amongst the all eternal boring stuff out there? I sure hope so. So at the very
least, it wouldn’t be wasted. I am no longer connected with this world, that
much is clear. But God only knows what I am connected to, if not simply completely
disconnected from everything. And most of time, I would have it any other way,
because to be honest, there is nothing worth connecting to out here.
Phew! Whenever I feel it is the right time to come out
naked into the street in search for a gun to point at my puny brain, I
sometimes find enough vanity left inside of me to go a do a search under my
name on nay search engine out there. I just did now, concentrating for once on
the French universe of
I realised a few things. I’m embarrassed by the books that
have been published and that are talked about. If this is all that would remain
after I’m dead, I’m fucked. I have found many websites of many weird people
that frankly, I can only be proud when they state out of the blue their ten
best authors, and my name creeps up in there somewhere. And then I’m wondering,
what is it that they have read exactly? What is it that made them think I could
be one of their top 10 authors? How this came to be anyway in the first place?
Shit, top 10 authors, think about it, I’m thinking Nietzsche, and… Nietzsche
(please now, don’t go read Nietzsche on my account, I have never read the man,
I only like the idea that he went completely mad just before exploding onto the
world, and here it sounded grand). And look at the crap I have written for so
many years, the only stuff I could truly be proud of, the only thing I feel
would deserve to have my name on their list, has been, let’s just say, my
biggest commercial failure, and perhaps they only thing that motivated me to
continue existing. It might not seem to be much for you, but I don’t want to be
remembered for any of my published books, except The Eclecticism, and it was my
biggest failure.
What I
mean to say is that perhaps it is better to remain true to oneself. Living its
own grand existential crisis in style, instead of writing puppet shows for
whatever reason. I seem to be reaching out anyway at any rate, so why should I
worry? I don’t think I will write that stupid French-Canadian book now. I
should concentrate on stuff like Destructivism. I should write another one like
that, or perhaps completely different, but something I can be proud of when
someone on his or her website states that I am one of the best. I feel it
should at least be justified, and writing bullshit does not qualify. Maybe it
is time to get into philosophy in full gear. I could only truly feel justified
to be in their top 10 if I had written something worthy of this world.
My next book needs to be so out of this world, I need to
try to read it back and wonder, what the fuck was this all about! Then perhaps
I would truly deserve to be on their top 10 list of best authors of all time.
That is
one of the kids I am most proud to have as my fan, and he is only 17 years old:
He
said: - Écrivain favori : Tolkien, Anne Rice, David Eddings, Bernard Werber,
Baudelaire, Roland Michel Tremblay, Froideval ...
There are many others out there who talk about me, and name
me, but that one really impressed me. And dear me, what has he read of me? God,
I hope it is not one of my blogs. I suppose I could make a wild guess. Tolkien
is fantastic, monsters, and Anne Rice are all about vampires, Beaudelaire, that
is Les Fleurs du Mal, anarchist poetry via Arthur Rimbaud, and Froideval is all
about Dungeons and Dragons, so in all it is fantasy.
Right, I
guess what he read is my poetry, The Anarchist. Something I am actually quite
proud of, and it is published. Yeah, that fits the bill. This is what he must
have read of me. Otherwise, I guess we both Like Nine Inch Nails, and maybe he
does not even know that Type-O-Negative exists, and then, we have nothing else
in common whatsoever.
Perhaps I
should send his photo to my publisher, their PR and marketing department, and
tell them: this is your target market for that particular book. What do you
think? I am obviously joking, in case all my sarcastic comments go right over
your head.
I wish this could motivate me somehow, I wish I actually
cared about that kind of thing, that I could have some vanity. Somehow it only
works for the few minutes I go online and do a search. It changes nothing to my
existence, it is like, it is all virtual or a dream, and I always wake up the
next day and, god, I have to continue, to go on.
And right
now there is only one thing I am afraid of. Is to go to bed and waking up
sober, and realising all the damaging bullshit I told my Line Manager tonight
in that pub. To be honest, I am not certain if I will survive the shock and horror
of what I was capable of stating whilst I was drunk. Frankly, I might not
survive it.
30 November 2007
Just been watching all the Indochine videos tonight, it is
Friday after all, and I have been sick like a parrot all week, gastric flu, off
work for 4 days, still, unable to write anything for all that time. Today’s
Friday, I am still sick like a cockroach, however, if I was okay enough to go
to work today, I’m still okay enough to drink myself to death tonight and write
whatever comes to mind.
This blog
has become anyway a long whinging cry for any kind of help, and I could not
care anymore about anything. If I have to leave any sort of témoignage (witness
account) of my existence at the turn of this century, then I guess I cannot
simply censor myself freely once I become sober. There will come a time after
all when they will censor me themselves freely, they being whatever authority
deciding what is acceptable or not in this day and age, forgetting that it was
very much acceptable for centuries before they were born.
Drinking myself to death however might prove difficult. My
partner has drunk just about all the alcohol we had left in the flat. So I was
reduced to searching for old bottles of stuff we never thought was drinkable in
a million years unless of course a civil war or some of other world war were to
make alcohol not so readily available anymore. And then, these bottles would
reach such a high price on the black market, that there is little doubt that we
wouldn’t be drinking them. I had a choice between Gin, Pernod or Ricard Pastis
de Marseilles, with water. The smell of all of these makes me sick to my
ganglions, and so the choice was most difficult indeed. I decided to try the
Gin, I am already sick, God only knows what Pastis would do to me right now. I
have to say, Gin is a vile drink, but I have no choice, I will drink myself to
death tonight one way or another.
Today at work I brought the magazine which had an article
about me, and my books. Funny, no one was that interested in any of it,
especially managers. Not that I really care one way or another, I suppose we’re
all living in different universes, mine already far away from here.
Isn’t it
amazing how quickly one can adapt to undrinkable drinks? I might actually get
to like Gin. The taste of it, I can only describe as if one would try to drink
a pine tree, with the pine pike thingies at the end. Well, it is near Christmas
after all, might as well get into the spirit of things. I sure will be puking
pine trees at around 5am this morning, but in the meantime I might actually
write some worthy pages, if only I were to move away from this blog for a
start. Oh shit, I take it back, I almost just vomited on the spot this very
minute. Maybe I’ll switch to Pernod for my next drink. Or is Pastis more
drinkable? Great idea in any case, Gin is vile. Still, you have to admire how
one eclipsed job 15 years ago provided me with the alchohol I needed on night
like these, where I was desperate enough to drink whatever I could find. Still
have six bottles I think, amazing. I guess this is the best job I ever had, and
to be honest it actually was. I was a miracle worker in this job, and yet, I
was just a secretary. Makes you wonder, perhaps these crème de la crème secretaries
they are all raving about are actually poor substitutes for people like me,
when I decide that being a secretary is not below my station. I am a civil
servant after all right now, a job nowadays which could only be described as a
McDonald job whilst you are waiting to bounce back into a great job. I almost
said a career job, but there is no such thing anymore. No one can remain in any
job for more than a year or two or three at the max. This is the way of things.
This is how long it takes any HR department to finally gather enough damning
evidence against you in order to kick you out without fears of being sued by
any work tribunal.
Being
sick for four days has given them a lot of fuel for their little scheme against
me. I have now been sick 11 days in the last 12 months, 5 number of absent spells,
whatever that means. They even invented their own vocabulary, to make it more
confusing to all of us, so we can no longer figure out whatever it is they’re
talking about whilst they plan our destruction. Unless 5 spells is some sort of
weird reference to Harry Potter? And then, it is completely understandable to any
younger generation? Somehow I doubt it. This is not Hogwarts, this is Isleworth,
though sometimes I feel it might be the same thing, it certainly sounds the
same to me, and the old train they used in Harry Potter must be stored around
where I live, because I have seen it passed many times on the train tracks of
my station whilst waiting for the train for Waterloo. Very surreal, which makes
things even more confusing to me. Perhaps I do live in the world of Harry
Potter after all. If only. Perhaps there is a way for me to convince myself
that I do live in that fantastic universe. I have been trying very hard after
all to convince myself that I was living in some sort of science fiction
universe.
It is now
may hours later, since I wrote that last paragraph. What I have done in that
time? I wrote another email to Indochine, to Nicola Sirkis. If I consider it a
waste of time to write here instead of writing fiction, I certainly consider
writing emails to pop stars who will never read them, instead of writing here,
a double waste of time. And yet, I did take the time to waste so much time,
just in case they might actually read it. Anyway, if I write enough letters to
him, enough to fill a book, I will then put it online as a book in its own
right. So perhaps it will not be so wasted. Whatever I spent the time telling
him something about, might not be as important as the whole world reading what
I have written to him without him knowing anything about. I don’t know how I
came to think like that, but this is so now. I don’t really care if he ever
reads my messages to him, as long as the rest of the world gets to read them.
The only thing that truly matters.
So I
guess I am at a point that I can write to anyone on this planet, and put it
here online for everyone else to read. And it won’t matter if the person it was
destined to reads it or not. Fascinating. In the end, my message will reach
through in no uncertain terms, in better ways than it might have otherwise been
if only the real receiver had received it and forgot it instantly. Great, you
no longer need to reach the people you truly wish to speak to. You only need to
speak to them but send your letter to everyone else. Eventually perhaps it
might get to them and they might finally get the message. I suppose this is how
revolutions are made.
It may
not seem like it, but this paragraph might actually be quite important. I need
to remember it. I believe there is a name for it in English, it is called an
open letter to whomever. A letter that everyone will read except the person it
was destined to, since that person is most likely out of reach now, being so
self important and all. But you can bet that by then they will read it, it is
an open letter that everyone else has read after all… and even then, the
destination at this point is no longer important, as long as you know you can
reach out, and at the very least, I know I do.
This is
quite a statement, I know, but I know that I do reach out. Who I am reaching is
a good question, and I won’t elaborate here before everyone starts saying that
I am delusional, but I know I am reaching out. Who? Everyone, important or not,
and it is perhaps in the individuals without any kind of power that it is truly
significant. Because to be able to reach many individuals is where the power
lays, ultimately.
Influence
the people, showing them other ways to think, things they might not have
considered, and so on. I wish I cared, perhaps I feel I have nothing that
significant to communicate to them, and yet, I have that communication channel
in order to reach them now. The mighty giant fell silent when put on the spot.
And perhaps this is good. I am not a revolutionary guy after all, well, perhaps
I am, but it is only in the overall achievement of a lifetime that it will
speak volume, perhaps not right here right now in this paragraph. Phew. I don’t
need more obligations or responsibilities right now, I just need to survive the
next few days, that’s all. And fuck the rest. I don’t need to save the world
tonight, though I am quite aware that this world needs saving. From politics
for a start. And stupidity, which I am afraid to say, is plaguing this world
right now. This lack of common sense, where we’re all human beings sharing this
world, and somehow, we’ve got to make this place a liveable one, where everyone
can be happy to actually be alive. Right now I wish to commit suicide, I had
that wish for 35 years. How much does this tells you about your rate of
success? It speaks very poorly indeed. Everything you do, everything you say,
seems to make me wish to die. Surely you can do better? Change something, I
don’t know, fundamentally change somehow? See the world the way I see it? Can
you? Or is despair the only thing I can and we can all expect to meet along the
way? Desperate I am. Grasping at straws, finding some sort of way out, anything
will do. Or is this truly a hopeless world? I think it is, I think there is no
hope. If you think otherwise, please do contact me to let me know how this
wonderful existence of yours could make it all look so bright, when it is so dark.
The future is not bright, the future is not orange, I’m afraid to say. The
future is depressing and there is no bright light on the horizon.
And I
guess it all starts with the small mindedness of my managers who could not even
inspire a snail on the sidewalk on their way to work. At least, hopefully, they
will not get that snail to become suicidal just by their sheer presence? I
always hoped somehow that snails were oblivious to the sort of miserable
existence us humans have made for ourselves. The future is not bright, it is
doomed. Because happiness is not allowed in this world, and it was such an
important and simple concept to grasp in the first place, how did we just
forget all about it, I wonder. I am not happy with this world, I wonder who
could. I think we have to create another one. I have been working hard at it
for many years now, I do hope I have make a small difference.
9 December 2007
It was a mad week, I feel bad for everything that happened,
things I have written that I don’t even think or believe, and yet, it was
coming out of my fingers and perhaps some altered mind state, that I truly
certainly was someone else. Now I understand how these stars in
Thankfully, my big marketing PR stint, in my case, will
have no consequence. And nothing that I have stated is that bad at any rate, my
career could only suffer from it years to come, if ever success knocks at my
door and someone clever gets their hand on it and use it against me. Much more
efficient and damageable than a Crown Court judgement.
I learn a few things though, about myself mostly, it really
made me think. I am such a funny and nice human being in real life, but when I
drink all by myself late in the night, to the point of even developing a taste
for Gin, then I can become a real monster. The worrying thing is also that a
lot of what I have written really comes from there, and I am getting worried
now that most of my writing is down right anarchist in nature, someone I always
claimed I was not, with reason, but eventually one will have to wonder how true
it is, if this is how you are when you drink, and only write when you are
drunk.
For a
moment there I thought it might have been a mistake to change the title of my
website from The Crowned Anarchist to The Marginal. I don’t think they would
let me get away with it, because what I have written can be so extreme, that it
truly needs the backing of a title that states so quite openly, so you have
some idea of what you can expect, and then it will be more acceptable. If I
were to change my website’s title for “White Flower” right now, with nice
images of saints and virgins, and people were to start reading, they would have
a heart attack. Because it would be the total opposite of what they would have
expected, and would have quickly move away from a website called Crowned
Anarchist in the first place, and hence, I would have spared myself a few
headaches.
After
all, if Marylyn Manson was to say that he hates every single one of you and
would be willing to kill you all, you would not bat an eyelid. Because in a way
it is expected of him to state such foolish words. If Céline Dion was to state
the same thing tonight, I think it would be worldwide front page news tomorrow
morning and her career would be finished overnight. However, it is unlikely
Céline Dion would drink a bit too much one night and say such a thing, and if Marylyn
Manson states such a thing, you can bet it is a calculated move and comes with
his PR department’s and record company’s blessings. I have no such excuse.
This is
quite an important decision I am making right now, because I was about to
eradicate the word anarchist from all that I have done so far in my life. I
already did get rid of the offending word on my main website, but now I wonder.
I thought it would prevent my chances to go mainstream, especially when most of
my books have nothing to do with anarchy or revolution or anything like that,
but now I wonder if the mainstream could ever be ready for me. Without
realising it too much, I think I am quite provocative in everything I say,
whether I am drunk or not, as perhaps I found it to be the only way to make a
point when you do not have a voice in this world. If everything I were to say,
like Céline Dion, was to be splashed the next around the world, only whispers
would be necessary for me to make any kind of point, and believe me, it would
have the greatest impact. Otherwise, I guess, you have to shout to be heard,
and hope someone will listen. Because without journalists to over amplify
everything you say, and be scandalised by the most simple sentence, which could
easily be considered inconsequent in the first place, then you could never be
heard.
Which
brings another question, do I want to be heard, how important is it to me? I
don’t have any kind of message to get out there, there is nothing I feel so
strongly about that I would need to get a microphone and start crying about to
the world. For anything I may want to say, hundred others in far better places
and better connected than I am do so, and in better ways than I could ever do
myself. And so I found that it was not necessary for me to add my voice to
theirs, they don’t need me.
So what
then, I am just entertainment, a bit of fun? I must be if I am not strongly
motivated by anything, political or other, or a strong message to get across
out there. And I certainly do take myself seriously in every way, I do feel
what I am doing is important and will add up to something concrete one day, and
then, what is it all about then? Good question. Nothing that specific I guess,
I just do what I do, like I feel like doing at that time, and that is it. If
any message comes out of it, it is perhaps more or less of an accident.
Do I want to go mainstream and make a lot of money out of
my books? Or do I prefer to remain marginal and continue to do as my heart
tells me to do? Is it preferable for me to cut myself out from most of the
world by remaining under some sort of revolutionary banner like Crowned
Anarchist, or should I spend time and energy to move away from something which
I never felt represented me? And what about The Marginal, in itself this is
already out of the mainstream, but certainly more readily accessible. The truth
is, any grand-ma who would read my website is likely to choke on her own bile.
Might as well keep her away from me by sending all the warning signs right up:
anarchy, revolution, serial killers, annihilation of the planet, wow!, she would
not dare enter my world then and I won’t have to hear her complain about me,
someone should shoot her right now!
Even what I just said could be misconstrued, judged
heretical, scandalise a few people. I just can’t help it. I simply find it
funny, it is all sarcasm, I always have a big smile on my face when I write,
laughing my heart out, as I find it quite funny. Unfortunately at the other end
people miss that irony, that sarcasm, they believe firmly that I am serious,
deluded, sick, and would certainly need to be interned into some mental
hospital. They too need to be shot, I’m afraid (I’m just being sarcastic here).
And now you must be wondering what was that crisis this
week which brought such a turn into who I am and what I wish to move towards.
Well, I would think you would think that I did something horrible, but I did no
such thing. It was quite innocent, and started with the best of intentions. It
never works that way in my case. I always write way too much, and there are
always a few lines in there that seems to send everyone completely insane!
I just wrote four letters to my actual idol, a French
singer from a French band, and put the letters online on a forum. Instant
crisis, thousands read them, hundreds expressed how scandalised they were, and
then my answer was so radical and out of mind, that I ended up completely
alienating them all. Only me on this planet could achieve such a thing, writing
letters of admiration to someone, and end up creating a big stir with thousands
of people freaking out in the background and all instantly wanting to kill me,
all in 24 hours. Somehow, I have to admire that as well, I must have, without
knowing it, a great sense of PR. And this can only work as long as my website
is called something that justifies being such an extremist. So in the end I can
tell them all to fuck off, and still be in my character, as if it was expected
of me to do so, and so I did.
How
controversial. And so perhaps I should not shy away from this state of affair,
I should embrace it, just like it seems I did when I chose my website’s titles
so many years ago, before I had even written anything controversial. I knew
then what I was like, that I couldn’t be control, and that in the end, you
might as well just embrace it. It could very well be my last and only line of
defence. Perhaps it will be a good thing for me to never reach the mainstream
after all, or perhaps only reach it once I’m dead. Because then everything is
said and done and no one will get another word from me, I will never need to
defend myself about anything.
All
right, so that was what I learnt about myself, so now let’s see what I have
learned from others. Before the Internet, before the forums, I would think it
was quite difficult to feel and understand what most people thought about
anything, and how strongly they can feel about anything. Now you can have it
all to your face instantly, and let me tell you, it is ugly, because they are
opinionated about everything, as much as any critic, and are even less afraid
to shit all over your face when I feel that you don’t even deserve it. They don’t
need much to go into overdrive, any detail can tick them off, they’re like time
ticking bombs, an accident to happen.
A lot of
courage is required to get such a raw feedback from anything you do, and you
need to be strong, or else, they can so easily send you off the wall and in
deep depression, it is amazing. They did for me, but only for one long night.
The next day I was peaceful again, happy go lucky, even, if I have to admit it,
proud of this self-made crisis I was able to manufacture, even though I had no
intention for it to become as such in the first place.
Any
publicity is good. And as long as you are pretentious enough to think that you
are superior to them all, and I am obviously only talking here about an
internal sense of feeling, because it could never be justified in real life
whatever your accomplishments, then you are ready for confrontation and the
consequences.
It must
very hard for these little new artists putting a record or a book out there,
after a big record company or big publisher decided to trust them (it wouldn’t
matter if no big record company or publisher took them on, no one then would
ever talk about them). And then suddenly everyone turn against them, criticise them
to death, kill everything they are about and worked so hard for.
I think I
have reached the point where I can be immune against it after my initial
outburst of freaking out about it, which lasts maximum a day. However I would
not have thought so when I started, because I am so emotional, paranoid and so
on, the smallest offend can send me into a spin, and getting down from this madness
is certainly difficult, because it does hurt beyond words could express, and in
my case, I jump right up to the idea that I might as well commit suicide on the
spot. So it is hard indeed to get back down from such crisis. You certainly
need to be strong, and whatever you could think, you can never be that strong,
and it will always take some time to calm down, forget, move on. And then, no
be deterred by it if you still feel that you are on the right track and that
you made the right decisions. If you don’t feel that way any longer, well, time
to re-assess yourself and move into new directions. It is not the end of the
world... yet.
The truth
is, you have only one decision to make in life. Either you decide to remain a
mute for most of your life, and so you will never be attacked and destroyed,
but then, you may wonder, are you alive at all or just an observer of life and
what is going on around you? Or you decide to speak, and as soon as you speak,
of course you will be attacked and destroyed. And then, you can only try to
deal with it the best way you can think of at that time. In either case,
somehow I feel you will live a most fulfilled existence if you decide to
confront the world, even if it has to be on their terms. In the end, you are
still alive, you are still standing, you are still free to do whatever you
want, you are now in a better position to plan your next move, and that next
move is what is important. One has to do what he or she has to do, at any rate,
in any case, nothing can be stopped by whatever a few disgruntled bastards
might say or do. Ultimately you are building something, for posterity, and “la
racaille” does not matter, can not stop a train from reaching its destination. S’il faut être un écrivain maudit, soyons un écrivain maudit jusqu’au bout.
Now, if I
only knew about the destination, I would feel much better. But I guess I am
only building it as I go along, and anything that happens in my life, must be
helping shaping it.
Finally!
I have just spent 2 hours reading everything about Céline Dion, and I have
found what I was looking for, the perfect human being that she is, is not
entirely perfect, for once in her life she did express one opinion, a feeble
one at that, and she was ostracised for it, and it created perhaps her only
controversy. From Wikipedia:
“Dion is
rarely the center of media controversies. However, in 2005, following the
Hurricane Katrina disaster, she appeared on Larry King Live and tearfully
criticized U.S. President George W. Bush regarding the Iraq War and his slow
response in aiding the victims of Hurricane Katrina: "How come it's so
easy to send planes in another country, to kill everyone in a second, to
destroy lives? We need to be there right now to rescue the rest of the people."
Shit,
this is something I could have easily said, without any consequence, and yet,
it was her controversy number one, and only one. After that she learnt her
lesson, the hard way, and never ever again expressed any opinion of any sort.
Still from Wikipedia:
“She
later claimed, 'When I do interviews with Larry King or the big TV shows like
that, they put you on the spot, which is very difficult. I do have an opinion,
but I'm a singer. I'm not a politician.’”
Dear me,
what a bad boy George Bush must have been, in order to get me to talk about
politics, something I had never really done before, and now, even Céline Dion,
who never before expressed any opinion about anything, suddenly became all
political. And then, the machine went to work, she was criticised, she backed
off, she apologised, even though what she was saying was so damn true that even
most Americans agree with it, and now she will not speak again.
Well, had
it been me, I would not have apologised. I would not have said I’m just an
author, I am no politician. If we live politicians to deal with international
affairs, all we can expect is a Third World War. We all need to say what we
think, and no need for apologies. How come it is so easy to send planes in
another country, to kill everyone in a second, to destroy lives? And when a
flood is coming our way, we are unable to send even one plane to rescue a few
of the thousands that died.
There is
only one conclusion to that true statement. The human race has become master at
killing people, but we are still useless at saving one life. We excel at
exterminating people from other countries, the better if they are from another
religion, but we are incapable of protecting our own citizens. We can only
think of death, plan for it extensively, spend billions for it, we never
thought of thinking about life, or spent any significant amount of money on it.
You see?
I am just like everyone else. I also only think of death, never the living. I
also think that we easily kill everyone else, just like I am also thinking of
killing everyone else myself, and no one truly cares about life or living or
saving the planet. Just like me. So I am not an absurdity, an oddity, someone
weird, I am the product of my nation, Canadian by the way, I guess they are not
as perfect as one could think.
I am just
like everybody else. Sorry if I sometimes actually say something, express
myself, state an opinion. And frankly, if it is your desire to silence us all,
well, we have to fight you, and we need to speak louder. Today we are not just
farmers, singers or authors, we are all politicians, and we will all express
our own opinion about what is happening out there in this world.
Go for it
Céline! Tell us all about George Bush! We want to know.
I am
incorrigible. I am witnessing the whole of the gay literature going bust within
the next year, talking with my publishers and some important authors, and I am
almost playing them, as I am again drunk. Well, I have never read a gay book
intellectual in nature, it is all about quick sex, and if we can throw a few
murders in the mix, then this must be publishable, the only thing that will
actually be published. It seems that intellectual books about homosexuality,
that was reserved for only two authors, and only in two books, André Gide who
must have financed Gallimard, the biggest French publisher ever, and Marguerite
Yourcenar. After that, or before that, it seems that no gay author was allowed
to be intellectual, or serious. Not that I particularly care about such things,
with all my pretence. And how intellectual am I when I can only think, at this
very moment, if I should go to sleep or get myself a whisky, after those four
large Kronenbourg I just drank? I wonder. Well, that author will probably never
speak to me again, I guess I deserve it. Until the very day I am all alone in
this world, with no friends left. To be honest, I would actually celebrate. I
don’t want friends, I don’t want anyone in my life anymore. I just want to be
left alone. I don’t have that many decades left to live, and they do pass
quickly. I cannot waste too much time on anything.
15 December 2007
Just went for the pre-Christmas due tonight, down the Thai
pub, everyone was there, including all the Managers who made a point to come
and eat. I was careful not to drink too much, just in case suddenly I went mad
and started to tell them the truth and insult them all. As a result I was bored
to death, I might as well have drank myself to death. I haven’t insulted anyone
though, however I doubt I would have. To tell the truth, I don’t hate these
people, they are not making my life a misery, a living hell, where at the end
there is only one outcome, commit suicide or find another job, and is there a
difference? Quite the contrary, they’re a little click, and somehow, if you can
succeed in being part of it, then there is hope for you. Not that I would say I
am part of their click, far from it, however I do not feel excluded, they are
reachable.
Normally by now I would have ripped their head off, but not
this time. It has been a full year now that I started working at the Court, and
to be honest, I think I am comfortable there, I am not thinking like in all the
other jobs I ever had that it is time to move on, as I have been burnt too many
times and virtually destroyed myself over the months. Perhaps there is hope for
me after all.
I have
avoided every single crisis for weeks now, simply by obeying every single rule
there is, never giving them any reason to freak out at me or call me in the
office for yet another mistake which deserves extended investigation. No doubt
it could easily become ugly, and it sure will in the new year, because it is
not possible to be 100% perfect all the time, but it may be bearable as long as
I can maintain my status of the miracle worker and model employee. I just
wonder how many bottles of Gin this lifestyle will require over the next year.
I have only three bottles left.
I don’t hate them, I believe my last two drinking sessions
with them in the last month, and the Christmas party next week, will seal the
deal. These are people I can work with, these are nice people, perhaps, maybe,
I have a future there. The Chief Clerk made it clear to me tonight that soon
there will be 18 Clerk positions available, there are eight right now. I didn’t
ask if she meant in one or two years, or within months.
Usually
any talk of promotion goes right over my head, since I know I could never
maintain myself in any job that long to actually expect any kind of promotion. After
all, that first year was all about learning about listing, the general office,
and there is a second part of this job which I still know nothing about. Being
in the Court room itself, working for the Judges, listening all day to the
cases, writing notes and all. I would love to become a clerk, it would be like
a totally new job. And they would be mad to not make any effort now to keep me
on board, since I know almost more about graduated fees than anybody else in
the building. I know because since I am now allowed to be a real determination
officer about taxation and payment of counsels, I can see all the mistakes the
others do. I haven’t yet had the courage to read the whole book about that very
topic, it seems that learning bit by bit every day is okay anyway. After a
year, you really get to know the stuff, and I have to say, it takes at least a
year to get to learn about it, it is that complicated. I cannot imagine how
being a specialist of tax returns could be more difficult than this, that not
only all the info about the hearings on the computer are wrong, but all the
clerks from all these chambers claim completely incorrectly as well, add to
this that none of the senior clerks at the court know by heart all the
regulations, and you have an explosive mix indeed, where incorrectly paying the
counsels and the solicitors is simply to be expected. It could all change one
day if they upgrade their software, and God knows it is long overdue, at that
point we might actually no longer have to learn the regulations, and the
computer will be able to finally figure it out for itself. So my actual skill
is good for now, but might not be in the future. It doesn’t matter, I would
have proven myself by the time they upgrade that old system.
Wow! I cannot believe what I just said. Coming back from a
Christmas due, still completely drunk, and yet, I am saying nice words about my
bosses? And it took me only a year to reach that point? Shit, I so hope that
nothing nasty will happen next week, the last week before the holidays, for me
to do a 180 degree turn on this. I need to at least finish the year with that
kind of mind frame. Let’s wait until next year before the bullshit comes in all
over again and that I start looking for a new job.
In fact,
it seems to me that it is time to find a new job. It appears that I have learnt
everything I had to learn there. I went through hell and came out in paradise.
What else is there to learn in paradise? Nothing. Usually when you reach that
point, life throws you right back into hell, so you can learn some more, see
new horizons, explore this world and what this life is all about.
And that
kind of entry in that kind of blog, means usually that it is coming to term. I
could easily see myself write “The End” and move on. I have finished writing
all that I set myself to write this year, I am now on a hiatus. It does not
seem like I will finish that last short story for Anna Maria. I think it will
be too much anyway, it is fine as it is. Let’s not over do it and destroy it in
the process. And anyway, that last short story, should and will be a whole book
on itself one day, but just not now, not next year.
I don’t
know what I am going to write next, but I can at least admit that it is getting
heavy on my shoulders, I have this need to write a new book, and once again, I
don’t know what and in which language. I tend to think that it should be in
French, I am just not sure about this time travel story about the
Yeah,
some authors are really special, they have something more, and that little
something more that no one could really tell you what it is, their style, makes
a whole lot of a difference. But then again, the distinction between them and
the others is so small, people could easily bypass it. Which explains my need
not to become a great author, but instead, to become an author that is so
distinctive, that no one else could have written that but me.
It does
not seem that hard when stated like this, but believe me, someone could drive
himself crazy thinking about this. It would be like a musician at the turn of
the 1980’s trying to figure out a new sound, which came via new synthesizers. A
musician today trying to figure out a new sound would be quite lost I would
imagine, it is not like a new generation of synthesizers with a whole new bunch
of sounds will suddenly burst into our life, everything has already been done,
tried and tested, there is nothing new under the sun.
What you
are left with is your own imagination and your own skills, to recreate a new
world with the tools at your disposal. And tools for me are words, sentences,
style, tournures de phrases, however, not grammar or vocabulary. I don’t think
any author will now revolutionise anything concentrating on grammar and
vocabulary, all they could do is to lose everyone. I suppose it is some sort of
form of hermeticism, and perhaps it cannot hurt to explore these avenues,
however a genius will require much more than that in order to revolutionise
anything in literature. And will probably need to die in the process before
anyone notices his or her existence. But who cares about that? It is the price
to pay in order to be revolutionary, in order to move away from the main path.
I love it
when I think like this, it really is an eye opener and get my imagination
running wild. I feel free to get on a new project that not even I could predict
where it could start and where it could end. But it is exciting. I think it
will have to be in French, but something that no one would ever have read
before. If I felt confident that my English was good enough for me to start
playing with words and phrases, I would surely go for it. However, I wonder if
right now this could only be achieved in French. I wonder. Am I that confident
that I can distort the English language to such an extent that it would bring
clever results? I wonder. I guess I can only find out once I start writing the
book, which could happen at any time now, on one drunken night.
Out of
place, out of context, vague references, a whole book about nothing, indefinable,
and yet, with a great content which can hit right at the heart. And definitely
about something, even though, nothing obvious. I could easily get lost out
there, got to be careful, stay focussed, remain on topic and style no matter
where such an adventure will bring me. Remaining faithful to the whole, until
the very end. Ne pas sauter du coq à l’âne, de la truie à la
morue, de la rivière chenue à la ouananiche grillée. Very important, as in
such a project, one can easily get lost and lose sight of that so important
illuminating initial vision.
For
example, right now I am drinking Pernod. I feel the need to talk about it,
because it is disgusting, but that’s all I have left in the flat. Well, I made
that mistake before, I talked about Pernod for pages and pages in my book
Eclecticism, and all these pages are in great need of being deleted. Except
that now it is too late, the book has been published and is now in the French
grand bibliothèque de France in
Moreover,
I guess I made that very mistake here, I did talk extensively about Gin a few
days ago. Well, for God’s sake, Pernod and Gin have nothing to do with the
final result of an author’s work. These are things happening in the process of
writing, but should not, cannot be mentioned, as it is clearly external to the
process of giving birth to an oeuvre d’art.
I re-read
The Revolution lately, I spotted something like a third of the first part out
of three that should immediately be deleted. I am the only one to know or to
notice these things, the difference in style and writing between what needs to
be deleted and what was originally written as a whole, because most readers are
blind to these things, but it bothers me greatly, and I know it is responsible
for being the one book I have written that no one can actually finish reading,
they give up before the end. If they had read it the way it was originally
written, they might have actually have finished reading it and appreciated how
different and new this book was.
And that
book is not yet published, and I can assure you, it will be edited before it
goes anywhere near a publisher. No, this book has not seen more than ten
publishers in Montréal something like 15 years ago, when I was 17. It was
rejected forcefully, I never tried again. I have no doubt however that one day
I will be recognised for such a book, more than for anything else I could ever
achieve in my life. And this is what I long for, that I need to get back to.
Fuck, how
disgusting is Pernod, no one could suspect it until they tried it, and develop
some sort of masochist taste for it, which I am doing right now. I hope you
won’t miss the irony here. I feel the need now to constantly tell you when I am
being ironic or sarcastic, because one thing I learnt over the years, the
readers almost always miss it altogether, they prefer to think that the author
is a moron who doesn’t know what he is saying. So be it, I always thought I was
a moron, and yet, I also know that the simplest books ever on the market could
only have been written by the most intelligent of us, and that somehow, that
intelligence does not come across within the books themselves. Overall you
realise that only a genius could have written it. That is what I aspire to be
and to do. And I will achieve it one day. In fact, I could die right now
satisfied that I have already done better than I feel I could ever reproduce.
But perhaps I can do better, and I ought to try.
Writing
Anna Maria and Destructivism this year truly opened my eyes that there is much
more that could be done, that I can potentially do, as I did not feel that I had
the imagination and the energy to write such books, as they are quite out of
character for me. And then, it is perhaps that there is no limit to what one
can achieve, if he gets on with it and finishes it.
I started
writing in a very hermetic style, and I was proud of it. Since then, every new
book was more reachable, understandable, commercial, mainstream. To the point
that I ended up writing what everyone else write. I understand now that there
is no longer a need to have a publisher and get your books published on paper
in order to reach out. My books have always been downloadable integrally on my
websites, and these websites have become quite popular over the years. So now I
can slowly move back to my initial vision. Something new, something different,
something original, something I can be proud of and read over and over again
without ever tiring of reading it. A literature from the heart.
I do seem
to take myself seriously. I always did, from when I was 10 years old and
started writing my first short stories. How could you spend so many years of
your life on such a futile enterprise without taking yourself seriously, no
matter how insane the enterprise is? It is a big risk, the ultimate one in
fact, of an entire life being wasted away. If you didn’t believe in it at all,
you could never find the energy, the resources and the time required to the
accomplishment of such a dream, of succeeding in being recognised one day for
such a sacrifice. I don’t know how you could be so motivated and enthusiastic
for so long without some degree of pretence and superiority complex. If you do
not believe that you are the best out there, even if you do know that you are
not and could never be, frankly, why bother at all? Why continue for so many
years? You couldn’t, you wouldn’t. This kind of determination requires special
fuel, which cannot fail to turn you into an oddity of a human being, certainly
a dysfunctional one at the very least.
And then,
how could you think so differently than everyone else if you were not
dysfunctional yourself in the first place? The Bible has already been written
once, there is no point in writing it again and again on a different theme
until the end of days. We all know how that story ends, in utmost disaster. At
the same time, if you feel that you could write a new Bible, and that somehow
it could be imposed on everyone like the first one was, God knows, it may be
worth writing it. A certain Monsieur Smith certainly did, only took him ten
years, it was met with some sort of success, the end result being the Mormon’s
religion.
I am not
that deluded yet that I wish to become a prophet and create a new religion,
maybe in my old days, and then again, it will most certainly be my last ironic
and sarcastic statement, and yet again, it will go right over their head.
It gives
me some ideas, perhaps I should write a new Bible. Already done that though,
when I was 17. Not that you will ever read it, it was in French, and it has now
been deleted. I don’t know why I deleted it, I guess it was too extreme, just
as it could be expected coming from me. The irony and the sarcasm were too
obvious, perhaps this is where I failed. Should have made it believable and see
the fools create a new religion out of it.
Everyone
is so eager to follow any kind of religion and give up their existence for it,
might as well be for my own self-made religion and my own philosophy of life,
than any other more destructive and soul destroying one.
You’ve
got to be totally insane in this day and age to follow any kind of religion at
all. You are the only God of your own destiny, you control it completely, you
just don’t know it. But what the heck, let others exploit this in you, for
their own benefit. Let them control your destiny for you. If that makes you
happy, who am I to tell you that you are but a brainwashed idiot, and will be
so for as many years that it will take you to finally understand it and realise
how a fool and taken advantage of you have been? I guess there are things you
truly have to go through and learn for yourself.
21 December 2007
Right, where do I begin? It goes in every direction, and
all over the world. Today, I was in investigative mode, I existed as a writer,
in search for people stories, in order to bring it here tonight, and my God, I
have learnt a lot.
It had
been a while since I left the house and thought, yeah, tonight I am going out
to learn something about my fellow men, and report it back here, just like a
journalist must do, I imagine. Well, I have a lot to report back, where do I start?
At the beginning, even though the latest events are the
fresher ones in my mind. Today was the last day at work, and I was late by 20
minutes. Never mind, my Direct Line Manager was also late, and arrived seconds
before me, so she couldn’t say anything.
Her, that overweight Indian girl, 24 years old, who has
become my Line Manager, who somehow has become the most important figure in my
entire existence, that I so depend on her, I have to say, there is no one else
in the whole world who exists for me, but her. How in hell a 24 year old can
become so bossy, is a mystery to me. How she managed to alienate us all in such
a short time, is also a mystery, thought a bit less. Lack of experience, no
doubt, and now we all wish we could kill her in our dreams.
It was the traditional Christmas dinner today, traditional
because it is my second time around. I sat at the exact same place as last
year, one other person was also sitting at the exact same place close to me,
his name is Peter, but I have only learnt that tonight. One year it took me to
get to know the name of that Usher. And now it does not matter, I have
alienated him completely and he will hate me with a vengeance for years to
come. I will talk about that later.
Right, so there we were again for that dinner with all the
Judges, and I have to say, I still only knew one of them until very recently.
How can someone work for a whole year in a Court with only eight Judges, and
still only know one, is a mystery to me. The one I know is the main one, and I
have to say, I have nothing negative to say about him. I would have thought
that after a year I would have been able to dig something, however I never
truly had a real conversation with him in all that time. So he is a stranger to
me, I have no idea what he is about. He is good looking, despite the age, I
would marry him. He almost looks Republican, perhaps he is, or Conservative,
since we’re in
I succeeded once more at being drunk, and yet, being
civilised, diplomatic, which means, as hypocritical as hell. Didn’t get myself
into trouble. But the kid did. On the very last day that I will ever see him as
well. The Court Manager showed up, and started to talk about drugs, and all the
places where drugs are usually taken, and how it seems that he went on and took
many drugs himself in his lifetime, and yet, never go so much as to admit it
outright. It was obviously a trap, a big one, and the kid fell for it. It took
him less than five minutes to admit that he was himself no stranger to drugs. I
almost exploded right there. I had to tell him that he needed a cigarette, that
I would go with him, and let’s go right now.
Once outside I told him he fell into the trap of the Court
Manager, and went as much as admitting that he was not a stranger to drugs. I
told him that in whatever situation he might ever find himself in, he must
always deny it, even if they have proof. Deny, deny, deny, don’t say anything,
never, ever! I knew it was now gone, this job, for him, but he needs to know
for the future.
As it turned out, my ex-Line Manager was with us, and I
learnt that perhaps this was not a trap as such, the Court Manager has been
taking a lot of drugs in his past, and was even completely stoned one night on
the sofa of my ex-line Manager, some years ago.
What? Yes! The top man at this Crown Court, which sends to
prison everyday at least a few people caught with drugs, is no stranger to the
world of drugs, that he even admit it so openly at a Christmas dinner in front
of all the civil servants. That he took drugs does not matter, a high
percentage of the population does, that he is the main guy responsible for a
Court sending so many people to prison for crimes he is himself guilty off, I
can’t even begin to freak out about. Society, is hypocritical. As simple as
that.
I was there, but dear me, I don’t think I really was, and
God knows where I was. When we were finally able to leave, I went back home,
drank three bottle of beers, and decided to go on, reach the leaving due of my
ex-Line Manager who is leaving for Australia, and meet more of my colleagues
there.
It was in Old Deer Park, right after
Strangely enough, tonight has been the closest I have ever
been to the Chief Clerk. We went outside for a cigarette and even a walk, with
another woman from listing. I didn’t want to, but I was kind of forced to,
almost as if this was some sort of job interview before I could become a Clerk.
Well, I think I past with flying colours. And if I have failed, at the very
least, I can say that she has passed my own test.
The woman
is truly remarkable. She has a unique personality, a strong one, she should be
an actress. She has inspired me a character in Anna Maria, my novel, and I told
her so last week. She asked me how I named that character inspired from her,
and said that I had not changed the name. She was herself in there. Adding her
character, I feel, was one of the great ideas of that novel. In a sequel she
would go on to become much more important, but at the moment I do not intend to
write a sequel to Anna Maria.
And that
is the woman I was virtually at war with for the whole last year. She is
merciless, she is a nightmare, and she says so herself, she does not have a
boyfriend because no one would have her. That I can still respect her despite
all that, speak on those terms about her, and turn her into a main character in
my novel, I have to say, is beyond my own comprehension. It is like, I do not
take this job seriously at all, like if I felt so disconnected from it, after
all that I have gone through in my life, that I take all of this as a joke, a
game. I even sat down with the Old Indian Man tonight, and told him that I
liked him, that I always did (despite all our fights and the fact that we have
not talked to each other one word at work in the last six months).
The thing
is, despite all our problems, all our fights, for the first time I am actually
able to remove myself from it all, and see them for what they really are, nice
people that I actually truly care for. Even my new Line Manager. All three of
them are Indians. To be honest, this job has taught me one thing, Indians are
really good people, I believe that they may have more integrity than most other
nationalities I have met in my life. It may change quite soon, however, at the
moment, I think I could more readily trust an Indian than anyone else on this
planet.
If the
Indians I know are a reflection of what Indians are in
I seem to be fascinated by the Indian culture. It is a
miracle in my case, believe it. I never thought for a moment that I could
actually admire another race which is not Canadian, British, American or
French. I’m not afraid to admit it, I am full of prejudices. Yes, I did admire
Chinese people before, but I was never truly put into such contact as I was
with Indians. I love in Hounslow, you could call it the Second India, and yet,
no one on their right mind could compare Hounslow to
Well, anyway, there tonight at the Old Deer Park at the
Well, good thing I didn’t go back to talk some more, I
think we had exhausted everything by then, since he would not open up and tell
me more about himself, and I had to guess it all, and I certainly guessed
right. The art of reading between the lines, is an art I mastered centuries
ago.
When they left, I told her that I intended to speak more
with her husband, I don’t think I said anything more than that, and yet, she
instantly understood what I meant, she stated something like we were on the
same wavelength. It was speaking in codes, since the Chief Clerk was there with
us, and we had to talk and understand each other, and yet, make sure the Chief
Clerk wouldn’t understand. I was basically telling her that her husband was the
only light bulb in the place worth talking to in the place, and she answered
that he too thought the same about me. And all this conversation took place
under the nose of the Chief Clerk, and yet, I don’t think she understood, even
though she is quite bright herself. Maybe she did understand, I hope so anyway,
she is to become my next boss after all, it wouldn’t hurt for her to understand
that the only bright man at that soirée, thought I was the only other bright
man there, at that soirée.
It may seem highly pretentious for me to talk in those
terms, but you have to understand… well… civil servants… anyway. I wouldn’t be
surprised if I get a call in the new year, from him, offering a job somewhere
in management. I will refuse it of course. He will be puzzled by my decision.
It doesn’t matter, the man cannot understand what I have gone through so far,
and where I am going. Though I am sure he would understand if I explained it to
him, or if he were to read my books, but none of this really matter.
His wife is an Usher. Ushers in a Crown Court are the
lowest of the low, they are perceived as brainless people. Some of them are,
and yet, most of them are actually much more experienced and clever than the
others. God knows how people end up being civil servants, and in what position
they end up in. The last one to join our ranks is a television producer, highly
respected. He just turned down The Bill, once again, because he wants peace in
his life, so he can start to live again.
Some ushers though, are totally brainless. There was one
there tonight, the one who was sitting exactly at the same place at the
Christmas dinner, as he was last year, just like I was. I ended up sharing a
cab with him tonight, along with the Old Indian Man no less, charming. Thank
god I was already so drunk by then that it seemed to me to have been a breeze.
Something that would have easily been my worst nightmare without alcohol.
Well, that usher had his own business for over 25 years, he
was a butcher, quite successful at that. So perhaps he is not so brainless
after all. I told him that I was vegetarian and have been so since I was 15
years old, after I actually worked for a butcher, cleaning all the machines and
the floor, and witnessing what goes on in there, I was disgusted for life.
Well, it turned out that our cab driver was from
Would you
believe that I actually asked that question? Shit, I was drunk, or else, how
could have I ever make a link to Americans and British in that genocide in
However,
that is not the real problem here. My main mistake, a gigantic one at that, is
that I have proposed as the guilty party not only the Americans, but also the
British. And there was one British man in that car. He didn’t like it at all,
he was angry at me, he said only one thing: “How dare you!” And that was enough
for me to understand the extent of my mistake.
For this
butcher of 20 years, ushers for another 10, for that British man, to actually
come to say those words: “How dare you!”, well, a whole lot is required. The
man never said a word in a year, the man cannot express any opinion whatsoever,
we often wonder if he is actually alive! And then tonight I seem to have
awakened him, he finally reacted to something, and that something was something
I said.
I thought
he was already dead, and if not, well, he might as well just die, since it
didn’t seem to me that this world had any need for him (I guess this is how
genocide starts). And now I have given him a new reason to exist, and that
reason will be to hate me and destroy me at the Court. After all, how dare I
accuse the British for being responsible for some genocide on this planet in
the last 50 years when they apparently had nothing to do with it? Yeah, how do
I dare? Well, I was drunk, and I was talking bullshit. And considering
everything that was at stake today, I think that if this is my only mistake, it
is one I can live with. Since the only one I have alienated is an usher who
never so much as squeak. That might change now, however I think it does not
matter in a Crown Court controlled by Indians. Who would care if the British
caused a genocide in
Who
cares? No one. They are just Africans after all, aren’t they? Is that not what
everyone thinks? It is not like if they were actually Americans or Brits or
Canadians. That would have been a totally different story, a story we would
never have heard the end of. Well, I have not seen or heard anything about that
genocide in recent years since it has happened, in fact it is damn hard to find
anything about that genocide, it is as if it didn’t exist. However that cab
driver confirmed to me tonight that it was still going on to this day, the genocide
is far from being over. Maybe we should bomb them to kingdom come right now, so
their nightmare would finally be over. That is how we solve our problems these
days, since we all know that diplomacy and embargoes just don’t work. And how
could they?
I am
tired of hearing about
How dare I, accused anyone? How dare I? Well, I dare
accuse, and I accuse you, since you have done nothing to stop it from
happening, and you are still doing nothing to stop it from happening now. I
accuse myself, not many genocides happened whilst I was alive, so I must be
responsible somehow for having let them happened, and for letting some continue
to this day. Shame on me, shame on you. I should have paid more attention to
it, I should have said something before. I did, but I could have said more, and
I am doing so now.
I used to work with a Somalian girl a decade ago. She was
highly intelligent and practical, she was really nice. Even then I didn’t react
to what was happening in her country. She never said a word about it, she never
tried to explain to me the turmoil inside of her. She was just trying to be the
best friend she could be to me. The friend she thought I would find acceptable.
I am crying right now. What was she thinking!? Trying to remember all our
conversations, I see that she bypassed altogether the fact that thousands of her
own people had been exterminated and that the genocide was ongoing.
I wish I
was still in contact with her now, as a friend, because she was quite powerful
as a human being. She was so intelligent, down to earth, nothing could reach
her, she was above all our petty disputes and management mind games, she seemed
like a goddess to me, a pillar of wisdom, she must have had a unique perspective
on life, its true meaning. I understand now why she didn’t give a shit about
anything that was driving me insane at the time. She was a great human being,
and I wonder, I just wonder, how many people like her have been exterminated
since then. I wonder.
I am
ashamed about how I complained to her about all my petty concerns at work,
whilst she listened patiently, whilst inside she must have been thinking about
everything else she must have gone through, and thought, rightly so, that this
guy, me, had no clue about what was going on in this world. How innocent and
beautiful it is when one worries about someone not saying good morning to him
or snubbing him in the morning, when my whole nation is being eradicated as we
speak. Nice.
I can’t
even remember her name now. Can you? Can anyone? I deserve to be shot in the
head for my blindness. You too. There is no possible excuse, which could stand
in any court of law.
26 December 2007
Dear, dear, dear. The end of 2007 is at my door, a new year
is about to begin. I guess nothing particular happened this year, just like
nothing particular happened in all the previous year. I mean, a key year which
changed everything in the world or in my own life. I wonder if it was worth
living 2007, and if there is any point in living 2008. No, no, I am not
completely drunk right now and I am far from being suicidal. I just wonder.
This is
supposed to be my decade after all, the end of my 20s up till my late 30s. If I
cannot make my first million by 2010, I will have failed miserably, yet again,
as my mom keeps reminding me that when I was 5 years old I was already saying
that I would be a millionaire before I am 30. No doubt I would have been if I
had not decided to write instead of concentrating on a real career. However I
am much more likely to become a millionaire now than I would have been without
studying literature, because then I would have been an engineer or a lawyer,
and I have never met an engineer or a lawyer who was a millionaire. Now I have
to start a business in order to free myself from the nightmare of having
bosses, and I will one day, and then become a millionaire. I guess I should
start it in 2008 if I wish to make it a success before the end of the decade.
It is
already to late to make a million before 2010. I could only establish the base
for it to happen. I cannot see myself moving global within two years of
starting a conference company, planning barely 3 to 4 conferences a year, to be
on the safe side. Of course, it is still possible that both my partners parents
would die in the next two years, and my partner as well, then I would be a
millionaire in
Of
course, I don’t really care to become a millionaire, what I am ultimately
after, and have always been, is to gain my freedom to do whatever I want
whenever I want. Like leaving right now for
I don’t
think much of this last year, I may have written my second real novel, in
English no less, and yet, I cannot but feel I have failed somehow to gain my
freedom. And I am wondering about that next year. Writing yet another book, or
two, or three, might just not be enough. I really need to free myself from a 9
to 5 job, from Managers and the rest. All I have to look forward to now, in
that job, and the decision has been made, is that I will no longer work on
paying the counsels, and I will be the IT Assistant Manager. Cool! This is so
exciting, this is my reward for still be working at the Court after one full
year. They finally show me the respect I deserve. I need a gun, so I can start
shooting people.
Actually
they do show me the respect I may feel I deserve, if they could offer me a
position as a Clerk right now, they would give it to me on a plate. I guess you
do need to work somewhere for over a year before seeing any tangible result. Or
else, you will never now what could have been, as no one could trust one within
a year. If you can survive the first year, and that you are not incapable or
unmotivated, then you can expect something of your job. Despite the fights, the
calls in the office, your outbursts, the hell they build up for you, etc.
That’s what I mean by surviving it, it doesn’t seem to mater after the first
year is over, all their and your crisis, you’ve proven at least something, you
can survive it. And that is not to say that in the second year, you will
survive it.
It is so
rare that I worked anywhere beyond the first year, I think it only happened
once in my entire life. Not sure how I did it. I can at least say that nothing
special happened after the first year, and I left after the second year as
puzzled as to what they thought of me as on the first day. It is true that they
had no way to know how hard I worked, and I did work hard, since I was working
on the side of the business that was not doing so well, as they convinced
themselves that it was my forte, turn conferences they were certain would fail,
into conferences that made at least some profit. Nothing there to shine, since
they had no idea that if someone else had worked on these conferences, it would
have failed miserably. It was a dead end job for me, that much was certain.
Only one conference that was supposed to fail was a great success two years in
a row, and I certainly spent a lot of time making it happened, in their mind
perhaps I spent too much time making it happened, I don’t know, I don’t care
anymore. I’m sure today this annual event is still going strong though. WiFi it
was, you could say I made it happen, so at least I have done something in this
world. Though I’m sure WiFi would have happened anyway at any rate, doesn’t
really matter if I was the first worldwide to produce the main events on the
topic.
And yet,
if two conferences were enough to change the world in the wireless area, and
that I felt great about it, then building a conference company now by my own,
might actually change the world further, make other things more important
happen. Right now I’m thinking about a conference about genocides, who knows, a
series of successful conferences on the topic could perhaps prevent further
genocides in the world. I could save millions of people. AIDS, there have been
talks that the HIV retrovirus was actually harmless and that AIDS does not
truly exists. Conferences on the subject have all been shut down, and all the
main scientists working on AIDS who dared to talk upon the subject were
ostracised and forced to retire or resign. A string of conferences on the topic
could help see the light at the end of the tunnel, prove who’s right and who’s
wrong, and perhaps ultimately save millions of lives.
I could
help change the world by creating a conference company. Might not get my
freedom, might get rich in the process, but in the end, most importantly, I
could have an impact on anything I so desire. How democracies in the so-called
free world can still be a breeding ground for despots, is another topic which
could have an impact, as long as I remain away from the conspiracy theorists.
Of course, in order to actually help their cause.
I could
easily be a real anarchist, a real threat for the powers that be, more than I
ever was. And all of it in a subtle and intelligent manner, that no one would
see it. All I need is enough money or some sort of security in order to start
my new business. However, as a civil servant, this is unlikely to happen any
time soon.
Anyway, I
guess I do not feel that concerned about anything that is happening out there
outside my own little bubble universe. Sometimes I wished I had been such an
idealistic person, some goal external to my own selfish desires, and then have
the required motivation and enthusiast to start that conference business and
change the world. But if I had been like that, it is unlikely that I would have
made a success of any of these events, because I would then not have been
motivated by money and my desire to freedom, the only true motivations which
would get me into that adventure. So I guess that in the end, what is required,
is exactly what I’ve got. Half capitalist motivation, half idealist motivation.
Perhaps this is how I will turn this into a success, if I can finally move from
sitting on my ass and get going. After all, I don’t need money or security to
start this business, as long as I don’t care about failure. I only need
motivation, time and hard work. The time factor here is important, when you
have a full time job in parallel. It would mean that I could no longer write
anything at all, except conference programmes. It would mean the end of my
career as an author, even though there is no career to speak of. It is still losing
my last bit of freedom, my freedom to write whenever I have a minute, which I
wouldn’t have anymore for sure. All my time would be spent trying to convince
people to attend conferences.
Pure capitalism,
I’m not sure if I would ever be ready for such a call to reality. Perhaps I am
a socialist at heart. By all mean, have no one being rich or free in this
world, let us all eat whatever is left in this world, and suffer in silence.
But then, let me be free and rich whilst everyone else is starving. This is how
we went about it for so many decades. Then, once again, one has to strike the
right balance in everything. A good mix of capitalism and socialism in any
nation, might just do the trick.
This is
what the most successful countries in the world are all about, including
At the
same time,
France or
Germany today have no such protection, they have no choice but to prepare
themselves for a possible Third World War, just like Japan, India and other
countries. It is easy to be idealistic when you are insignificant, like
Scandinavia or
About
these conferences, I do have some sort of passion, that if money didn’t matter,
I would go for. It would be theoretical physics, intermixed with philosophy of
our existence. In fact, now that I think about it, money is not really the
matter. My publisher in
There is
only one conference I would love to produce, under such conditions that money
would not matter. Expansion theory, the Final Theory, Mark McCutcheon, that
Canadian guy I feel has got all the answers for the new revolution in physics
ahead. Apart from him, I have no idea who else could speak at such a
conference. But he does, surely? And must have some ideas about who could or
would wish to attend such a conference?
Yeah, I
feel this could be the only important topic right now, the only conference I
would feel 100% confident needs to be done. The only conference for which I
would not care for losing money over. Then this is the conference for me to do
in 2008, September, that gives me nine months, like what is required to give
birth to a human baby.
All
right, it needs to be either in
Now,
Expansion theory on itself would be a failure, an absolute one. I need to be
clever about this. I need to make it more general, and yet not so general that
Mark McCutcheon could not be the main keynote speaker. No matter, these are
questions I can ask Mark McCutcheon when I call him on the phone in order to
probe him in order to make this event a success.
I also
need 4,000 pounds. 2,000 would do. Without that, at least, I couldn’t go for
it. I need the money to secure the venue, and the plane ticket and
accommodation of my main speaker coming from
It is
unlikely that my first conference would then make any money, but at least it
would be exactly about what matters most to me. Nothing else is important.
First
step, find the venue, reserve it for September 2008. Second step, contact Mark
McCutcheon and see if this is realistic or not. Get all the speakers and topics
from him, confirm the speakers, write the programme, and then get delegates.
Simple. Oh dear, if only it was that simple.
There, I
just sent two emails requesting information for venues both in
Would you
believe, as destiny would have it, in between sending my two emails I received
another from a publishing company, the only one I sent my novel Anna Maria to,
and so the most important one. That it was also a publisher is an accident,
they also have an online magazine, which is why I sent it to them. Well, it is
more than a Dear John letter, and I’m not sure what I will do about it. Here it
goes:
“Several
of us here have taken a look at ANNA MARIA and it has provoked some discussion
among us.”
-Several
of them, that is a good sign that it went beyond the reading committee. The
word “provoked” is also quite strong, it wouldn’t be used unless they have been
considering publishing the book, however not everyone thought it was a good
idea.
“The
consensus is that it has great potential but could still use more work.”
-Do you
know any publisher who would not tell you that? But I’ve been there before, and
rewritten a book twice to no avail, just to get back to my original version.
“We fully
appreciate the amount of effort you have already put into writing a piece of
this length and simply offer our comments for your reference.”
-One full
year it took me! And I’m still decompressing.
“Your basic writing mechanics - grammar,
punctuation, coherence, etc. - are all sound.
Your concept (the story of a clairvoyant) is interesting and your
depiction of the British setting is quite good.”
-Phew! My
English is not an obstacle. I was so afraid of that, but ultimately even if it
had been a problem, it is nothing a good editor cannot quickly fix. I am
pleased to hear that they noticed the depiction of the British setting, because
this is quite important to Sherlock Holmes stories, and so I made sure I would
bring the reader to
“What the novel could use more of, at least in
our view, is plot action. We feel that
reader interest could be more readily sustained if some intrigue or conflict
were established at the beginning by means of a compelling event.”
-I suppose
I could input a compelling event at the beginning of some intrigue, and develop
it across all short stories, to get the mystery resolve at the end. However,
would such an addition be enough for them? What do they mean exactly? I am
talking a few more pages here, would that do it?
“Additional
significant events, paced in the narrative, could be used to build tension and
then, ultimately, in the denouement, to resolve it. If your characters were put into conflict (or
even simply faced with obstacles) at the outset and the narrative proceeded
through an escalating series of dramatic events towards the conclusion, we
believe it would go far towards hooking the reader into the story, grabbing his
interest and propelling him through to the end.”
-Mmh. To
be honest I was quite stuck after reading this, I really didn’t know what I
could do to enhance the story like that without rewriting the whole book. But
then I went to the toilet and I had an idea. Perhaps there was a reason why I
could not write the last short story. Maybe it could become that main initial
event, and build up in many of the short stories, and finally get the whole
picture in the last short story. So what they suggest is not impossible,
however I wonder now if it will add anything that significant to the story and
if it would make them change their mind. If the answer is no to both, then I
won’t do it. If the answer is yes to any of these two questions, then perhaps I
should go ahead. Many more days of thinking will be required in order to answer
these.
“If you
don’t disagree with our comments and wanted to try some reworking of the novel
along those lines, we would certainly be happy to take another look at it. We would also be most interested to see other
works of yours, if you had anything you wanted to show us.”
-Unfortunately
that is all I had to show them, and it was my best shot ever. If that doesn’t
do, I feel that perhaps nothing would. And isn’t this not often the case with
recommendations from publishers? I wonder how many times J.K. Rowling had to
rewrite the first Harry Potter book before her publisher decided to go ahead?
Or was it perfect the first time around? The question is, is the book already
perfect but no perfect book could ever satisfy any publisher because they
always feel the need to contribute somehow? Will I be wasting my time here? I
cannot see the people who said no over there suddenly changing their mind after
my modifications. I feel in their mind they already said no, and that only a
complete rewrite would be acceptable, extensive changes. I will have to think
about it.
Well, at
least this is encouraging. I wanted some sort of feedback, and I finally got
it, before the end of the year. And it is positive. Perhaps Anna Maria was not
a complete waste of time. How close I came tonight to receive a slightly
different response to my submission which could have changed all my plans.
Dictated what I would have been working on next. Another Anna Maria book in
English, no doubt, something I was not considering at all, just when I was
thinking about reverting back to French and absolute obscurity.
Well, it
certainly came faster than anticipated, two months ago they asked me if I still
wanted to submit the book, considering the waiting line on the slush pile was
minimum a year. I wonder what happened there. Did I jump the queue somehow, or
they found a way to achieve in two months what it would normally take them a
year to do? Oh! Upon acceptance it will take them a year to put it online or
publish it. I see. Shit, I’ll be dead by then. I’m looking at two years overall
now before anything happens after my modifications. Two years, I’ll be a
millionaire by then and in a far far away land, probably in an asylum.
Should I
be celebrating, or is this after all a Dear John letter?
29 December 2007
My God, I’m listening to my playlist, songs from the 80s
mostly, a few songs which resumed the whole thing, great songs like they only
come over a whole decade, I’m in awe before so much greatness, and yet, I
remain un-phased by it all. This is history, before my eyes, and I feel part of
it. I feel alive.
And such pretention, is weird. That I can feel so strong
sometimes, like nothing could ever reach me. I do live in my own bubble
universe, where nothing, no one, could ever reach. I don’t know how I could
explain it without losing you all. At the very least I can safely say that any
of us can be great, as great as that. I feel that at some point I may have
been, don’t know when, don’t know with what, but I feel I have achieved it,
this one hit wonder, that something will remain from my passage on this Earth. At
this point it doesn’t really matter if nothing remains, I feel I have done a
lot, a lot more than I thought it was possible to do, for me that is. I can now
die happy at any time. I feel I have done everything I set myself to do, that I
could do. I’m ready to move on. Doing anymore, continuing to live, would be a
waste of time.
Maybe I am deluding myself, it doesn’t really matter. I
cannot top myself, I cannot do better. I don’t really believe that, however I
feel that bettering myself is of no importance at this point, I don’t really
care. Which might explain why I remain un-phased by anything. That I not only
feel part of it, I feel I am actually outside of it, in fact, never been part
of anything, with actually no interest in being part of anything. Dear me, was
I alive in the 80s? I’m not sure, I don’t think so, I don’t want to have been,
then I guess I was not alive then. As simple as that.
I remain un-phased before anything humanity has ever
achieved, I don’t feel pride in anything, I never did. I don’t feel I am part
of the human race. They tried so hard to reject me by any means at their
disposal, one day you just turn around and tell them all to fuck off then, you
don’t want me? I don’t want to have anything to do with you.
I was
always the last one to be chosen in physical education, where kids had to
choose who they thought were the only human being worth existing and have in
their teams. I also believe that if they would have to choose in a maths class,
I would also have been chosen last, no matter how good I was in maths.
I didn’t know I was different from everyone else at the
time, every single one of them seemed to have immediately spotted it. I’m
afraid it has not been any different later in life, I was always out of place,
not really belonging to anything, and eventually you wish it that way, you do
not wish like belonging to anything, you no longer want to have anything to do
with anyone.
When you go to the Moon, you went to the Moon, I didn’t, I
have nothing to do with it. Even, I’m unimpressed. I would be unimpressed even
if you had put a man on any of the planets from this solar system. Because my
world has always been way beyond that solar system, this is where I always
lived, and the day you reach that other world, then I may be impressed, but
don’t count on it.
What am I doing here? Everything is meaningless.
I guess this is what greatness in others brings in me, how
insignificant I am, how useless my whole life is. How if I were to die tonight,
it would make no difference whatsoever to this world. I guess we all feel like
that sometimes, I just feel that perhaps I feel it more than most, having been
so forcefully rejected by everyone, as if I never actually existed in the first
place, as if I should not even have existed in the first place.
Maybe I should not have. Believe me, I didn’t ask for this
life, if I could have chosen or decided to come alive one day, in this kind of
world you had to offer, I would have forcefully refused to be born, as
forcefully as you rejected me.
I don’t really feel I have something to offer to anyone
either, I don’t feel like I deserve to be alive and to make any contribution to
this society. I also have to say that I have never met one single human being
on this planet that I felt really deserved to be alive, that his or her
contribution really was worth for them to be alive.
So I may
be insignificant, I may not deserve to be alive, but neither do you. And if you
were not rejected, you got away with it, but in the end, you are as worthless
as I am. Keep that in mind next time you reject someone else as unworthy of
living in your so-called wonderful world filed with love and happiness. Such
things don’t exist, they never will.
This was my end of the year speech. Sounded more like my
end of life speech. So be it, this is the end.
3 July 2008
Fighting racism within the Ministry of Justice with my
Muslim colleague
High Crime within the Ministry of Justice
By Roland Michel Tremblay
I will probably be sacked from the Ministry of Justice for
writing such an article, but if we cannot speak about racism, it will never go
away.
Wow, exactly six months later I am re-opening this book/diary
about this job in the Crown Court, I thought I had nothing else to say. This is
something I have never done before. For six long months nothing happened at
work, barely any crisis, barely any heated discussions with my bosses, still
stuck on paying counsel’s claims though, and suddenly, I find myself right in
the middle of a huge racist conspiracy of which I am one of the victims.
I knew that if I stuck there long enough, I would uncover
something worthy of denouncing, this time has finally come: open racism in a
Crown Court in
First of all there are about 30 people working in the
General Office, List Office, Clerk’s Office and the Ushers. Of that, more than
half are Sikh Indians, and most new employees are Sikh Indians. Until the
latest episode, I didn’t think much of it, in fact, these people are
intelligent, nice, friendly and all, it made no difference to me. I have always
worked in multicultural offices. This was before I tried to become a Clerk,
before I tried to get a promotion. They sent me a clear message. By the way, I
am French-Canadian, I am a “White Other” on those supposedly
anti-discrimination forms.
I have worked in this Court for over a year and a half. I
have worked so hard, I can easily say I worked twice harder than many of my
colleagues. I have been so good at my job, they left me to fester on paying the
counsels’ claims for nearly most of the time I have been working there. Because
no one else wanted that heartless job, and no one else seemed to have the capacity
to do it, as it is that complicated.
I became so good at it, I have written a manual of over 100
pages about how to go about paying those claims and figuring out the whole
payment system. I also wrote another long report about how to find files, which
turned out to be a great initiation to the software we use at the Court.
How many Civil Servants do you know can have such a
capacity to understand what he or she is doing, to the point of writing manuals
about the job? Would you not appreciate such a Civil Servant and help him in
his promotion so as to not alienate him completely and see him find a job
somewhere else in the private sector?
And now the cashier, the Old Indian man, who has the second
worst job of the Court after paying claims, has decided that he no longer
wanted to be cashier. For six months he has tried very hard to land that job on
me, just as initially he was responsible to give me not only the graduated fee
claims for advocates, but also the standard fee claims for the solicitors, and
the National Taxing Team files thingy, all in one nice package (enough work for
three people).
He only succeeded in getting out of being the cashier of
the Court by threatening them with more weeks of sickness and absenteeism. He
is very sick, he retires in six months time, and his doctor will sign him off
whenever he wants. He uses this as leverage in his personal negotiations. To
insure that the job of cashier will be given to me right now, he is actually
sick this week, all week. Also because he had an argument with our Line Manager,
one of many arguments she has with everyone, because he wanted the afternoon
off. She refused, and then he said: no problems, I will be sick for the rest of
the week.
This is what is expected, after all, of lazy Civil Servants,
right? This is the prejudice everyone has, right? The British woman in the
General Office was sick for a whole week two weeks ago, in protest of the flood
and the lack of carpeting following the construction at the Court. Do you think
I would ever do something like that? I am far too professional, and now I am about
to become cashier for at least a year and a half. I will be told tomorrow
morning, everybody else already knows.
Recently, for the first time since I started, three Clerk’s
positions have opened. Three of us in the office went for it. The Pakistani man,
a Muslim, who decided to try once again to become a Clerk after his third or
fourth attempt, which have all been killed by management before he could be
truly considered. Twice he somehow succeeded in getting an interview, just
because the Top Manager of the Court was on holiday, but that Manager quickly
stopped any of his chances soon upon his return. This Muslim has been working
at the Court for nine years, he has also been deputising for the General Office
Manager for over a year every time she is absent. That man has just been
refused even an interview to become a Clerk in this Court, he has all the
qualifications and more.
The second one is the Chinese guy, everybody loves him, he
has been working there for three or four years now. Instead of getting a really
shitty report on his application form from the Scottish guy, the Deputy Manager
of the Court, like the Pakistani guy and I did, he got a glowing one from the
head of the Listing Office. It was clear that even before I sent my application
form, with such a neutral and almost negative and unjustified comment by that
Scottish man, I had no chance at all. I thought at least I would get an
interview. I even failed to get that, despite sending them the manuals I have
written. The Chair of the committee reviewing the applications is our Top
Manager, the Indian politician man. With one hand he disregarded our
applications, and both the Pakistani man and I believe it is because we are not
Indians.
Up until now you might think it was in our mind alone, especially
that a Chinese man is still in the running. And perhaps it is true that the Pakistani
man does not have such a great command of the English language and he is a bit
slow in his job. And perhaps I have been identified as someone capable of
answering back when I am, as usual, accused wrongly of having done a mistake
which always turns out to be the mistake of someone else. True, but I would be
capable of admitting this, I have done it before, probably in this actual blog,
and certainly in my previous one called “Corporate America” whilst I was working
in
I have worked my ass off for them, I have worked three
times harder than any of them, but to be a bit modest, I am willing to say twice
harder. This cannot be denied, everyone can see it, I can clear bookshelves of
files and work in one afternoon, when for others it takes them days. Which is
why I feel there is no reason whatsoever to deny me at least an interview for a
promotion.
And then, if they truly feel like not hiring me for
whatever reason, at least it would not be so obvious what they are doing,
shutting the door to anyone who is not a Sikh Indian. How can you deny an
interview to your best employee? I’m sorry, it is not the time for false
modesty.
But the best is to come, which confirms everything I am
saying here. There is that new pretty Indian girl who started to work at the
Court just before or after the New Year, I heard her say recently that she has
been working at the Court for eight months. Like me she has a Masters degree
from University in a field which is not worth anything in a Court, psychology or
history I think. She had no previous experience, freshly out of University.
They all took her under their wings and she won the heart of everyone at the Court.
They even found her a new husband from the North, and they are now pushing her
into this arrange marriage which, clearly, she is between two minds about it.
She is already engaged, and desperate to find another husband before the
wedding sometimes this year.
She is not very good at her job, she makes countless
mistakes even after eight months of doing the exact same thing, pre-trial. All
she has done since she started working there, is making up files. We all tried
desperately to get her to learn at least post-trial, closing files up, and so
desperately tried to get her to learn about paying the claims, but somehow she
was judged too incapable of doing what any Administrative Officer in the
General Office should know by now.
Imagine, they were afraid of overwhelming her with claim
payments, which I can understand, but even post-trial? Come on! The girl has a
University degree! Surely she can print a record sheet and a few community
orders, and distribute the whole lot to all the different parties afterwards?
Even that was too much for her. And when they realised it, she was shipped to
the List Office without anyone being told about it, when they all knew I was
that desperate to move to the List Office so I would no longer have to work
with Master Bitch in the General Office, my Line Manager.
It is that girl, who had no intention whatsoever to apply
for the Clerk’s position, that at the very last minute Management closed in on
her and obliged her to fill out the 20 pages of the application form. What it
took us days to fill out, she did the day before within two hours, it is how
desperate they were to get her to apply for the post.
And whilst all she did since she started was making files
up, and that she did that to a highly unsatisfactory level, she got positive
comments from the Deputy Manager, who basically just wrote what the Indian
Chief Clerk and the Indian Top Manager told him to write. And now she is going
for the interview, and most likely will get the job.
Now, on one hand I am a hard worker, and I am denied the
chance of an interview. On the other hand, here comes an incompetent young
Indian girl who did not wish to apply for this job, who was obliged to, and is
now going for the interview. If this is not favouritism, preferential treatments,
discrimination and racism, really, tell me what is, because I am at a lost to
describe what it could be.
Oh, I forgot to mention, I am gay, and I have been told
that the Top Manager does not think much of gay people. It does not seem to
matter that the Deputy Manager is also gay, he has however been working there
for 15 years.
I have to say, without the Pakistani man who has suffered
the same treatment year after year, I would not stand a chance of justifying
this racism/homophobia. I have to say, without that Indian girl they have put
on the fast track to becoming a Clerk over us, so obviously and instantly, I
would not stand a chance to justify this racism. Even, I might even have
thought there was something wrong with me.
But you should have seen my application form. They say I do
not sufficiently demonstrate the core competences at the standard required for
this post. This is such a joke, my ten years experience in conference
management is so clearly above and beyond those core competences, and I explained
it so well, you would have to be blind indeed not to see it.
All right, they could say I had not acquired the relevant
experience within this job. That would have been better, but unfortunately for
them, I have written manuals about what it entails to do the most complicated
work of the General Office, which I proved beyond doubt that I went way beyond
what was expected of me, practically doing the job of a Clerk as a
determination officer of those claims. What they say could not stand in a work tribunal,
I would win so easily. This is discrimination, and such a betrayal!
When I found out today, I was so angry, I was so numb, I
became physically sick. People were talking to me, and I could not hear
anything, I passed them by without answering them. Meeting any management
person was simply disgusting me, and I looked at them as if I was revolted by
their mind games and their little conspiracy.
They all knew this since the beginning of this week, four
days now, and the Chinese guy was even told a few days ago that he had the
interview. He did not have to wait for his letter today, he already knew. I was
wondering how it was possible, because he had not gone home for lunch to open
his mail.
The Scottish guy, the Deputy Manager, was acting weird all
week, and I tried to understand what was wrong. I was so afraid I had said
something down the pub last week and it had been reported back to him. He could
not look at me in the eye, he was avoiding me, at certain times he almost even
seemed angry with me, and I could not comprehend why. Now I understand.
And what hurt me most today, above anything else, is that
when I was deflated sitting at my desk, after I had done nothing for two hours,
just sitting there looking at nothing, something I had never done before in my
life, he went out of his office to my Line Manager. He started to talk to her
just by mimicking with his lips, as to insure I would not hear, and he made a
movement of his head in my direction to indicate to her that he was speaking
about me, and they were both laughing.
I cannot describe what happen in my mind at that point. I
felt like something had broken inside of me, that I had reached the point of no
return. It was just a bad nightmare, that people can be so evil as to destroy
your entire career, alienate you completely, and rejoice in doing it, revelling
in it, and laughing in your face. Whilst you are thrown in a complete
existential crisis, re-assessing your entire life, and wondering what you
should do next, what you can do next, realising that there are no options left
anywhere, and perhaps you might just as well die.
I spent 20 minutes in the bathroom, 20 minutes in the dead
room of the archives, 20 minutes walking outside, 20 minutes doing whatever
else wherever else, I have never seen an afternoon go so slowly, I thought it
would never end. Up until then my whole life had been this obsession of paying
those advocates and those lawyers, so worried I was that we were not paying them
in the time limit allocated. Well, I can tell you that this afternoon it was
the last thing on my mind, and I find it hard to conceptualise that I will ever
again worry about that, not in the kind of circumstances I am expected to do
this job. When you can only worry about yourself, your own existence standing
by a thread, you cannot worry about anything else.
I don’t know how I will be able to go to work tomorrow. I
have no idea how I will be able to confront these people and act as if nothing
happened. I’m not sure what to do, I just know I have to do something.
My Muslim colleague proposed to me to make an official
complaint against the Top Manager of the Court, a complaint of racism. How
could I? I am on such shaky grounds, I have no idea how they could justify me
not getting an interview, I have seen people lie through their teeth before. I
can’t even stand the idea of getting the feedback justifying why I did not get
the interview. Because I know there is no justification for this, and hence, it
can only be lies. And I will not be capable of simply sitting back and
listening to this patronising stuff. I am in deep depression right now…
The Pakistani man had a heart attack a few years ago, he
blames them for that heart attack, everything they have done to him. He’s got
five kids and a wife taking care of them. I cannot comprehend how he survives, how
he can pay for all of this on the salary of a Civil Servant. I can’t even
afford a second hand car! He called me tonight, we spoke for half an hour, he
told me much more of the conspiracy behind our backs, everything he had heard,
and it depressed me even more.
But what he said after was even more frightening, he told
me he had such palpitations in his heart today when he finally opened that
letter and realised he was denied even the interview, he thought he was going
to have another heart attack. To be honest, considering what I went through
today, which I believe has been far worse for him, I would not be surprised if
he were to die during the night.
You know what is the most ironic of this story? This
happened before, to the Pakistani man, he told me, and I told you in my book
(the link for this book is at the end of this article). And yet, it seemed so
insignificant at the time, almost like if it did not concern anyone, and
certainly not me. And now that I have experienced it myself first hand, such
injustice, such racism and homophobia, you can see how deeply it has affected
me, to the point that I could no longer function, that I became suicidal.
In one afternoon it has all changed, and I suddenly learnt
the lesson I was supposed to learn when this Muslim man told me about it. I
should have felt it then, understood it then, what it truly means, discrimination,
racism. I was unable to, I could not conceptualise it, I was heartless. And now
that I have gone through it, I know how evil people can be. And most ironic of
all, my only friend at work, because he is in the same predicament as I am, is
a Muslim.
Many Muslims at the moment in
You can read the full story
called “Madhouse Crown Court” in the online book available for free on Roland
Michel Tremblay’s website:
http://www.crownedanarchist.com/madhouse.htm
7 July 2008
This is lunch time. It has been four days since I got the
news that I would not get an interview. On Friday I found I was unable to
remain in the office, I asked for the afternoon off, and it was granted. Today,
Monday, I have no such luxury and I just walk the corridors at work like a
zombie, as if life had been drained from me. I am shadow of who I was, I still
don’t answer people when they talk to me, hoping they will go away, as if they
didn’t ask me anything.
I am still in shock, I am still depressed, I am still
angry. I however had enough energy, in some sort of defiance today, to request
a feedback as to why I was denied the opportunity of an interview when the
Indian girl got this opportunity. It was like a dig to them, telling them I was
aware and unhappy that someone far less qualified than I am, could get an
interview when I couldn’t. There was a hint of unfairness in my message to the
Top Manager, suggesting this favouritism, perhaps even racism and homophobia.
Probably a mistake to bring her into this, I can already
hear them telling me that we are all individual cases and that her promotion
has got nothing to do with mine. I can already see them being scandalised at
the idea that I could compare myself to anyone else when I have no idea yet why
I was denied even the interview. Probably not very wise, but what else can I
do? I had to make it clear why I am so surprised and depressed and can hardly
do anything at work at the moment.
I am physically and mentally sick, and I am wondering how I
could go on to prove all this. I feel so powerless, because it could be so easy
for them to come up with any reason to justify denying me a promotion, or even
the interview for it.
I have spent the morning returning in my head what they
could say to justify this. I have been sick for 13 days I believe in the last
year and a half. This is still a better track record than most people I am
working with, except of course the Chinese guy, the Indian girl and management.
If this is what they bring up, it would mean that no one who is not management
in the department apart from those two could get an interview for a promotion.
It would be unfair indeed.
Then there is that there were a few complaints against me
from the Magistrates’ Court we’ re dealing with. Such complaints, we have
received many for just about everyone else in the department. It is not
possible to work in the public service for that long without ever receiving a
complaint from an angry or disgruntled person already stressed to death by the
bureaucracy and inefficiency of the Ministry of Justice.
Yet, it would be their only justification against me, and I
should prepare to hearing this. But compared with the fact that I worked so
damn hard, and learnt virtually everything to such a level that I know what is
involved in becoming a Clerk, cannot justify what they did to me.
I find it very hard to hear the Indian girl and the Chinese
guy laughing in the office, happy go lucky, I am barely able to say good
morning to them. The Chinese guy today is shadowing a Clerk in the Court, and
there has been much discussions with the Indian girl of which I am not privy
to, no doubt she too will be shadowing a Clerk soon.
She is not happy that I am not happy that she got an
interview and I didn’t. She has been talking behind my back all morning to
everyone about it, even my Line Manager. She does not understand how I feel,
how I can perceive this as an injustice, how perhaps I could see this as racism
or homophobia. She is Indian herself, and therefore, much more likely to suffer
from racism in her own life. She is shielded right now because she works in an
environment where everyone is Indian, but one day I have no doubt she will
understand and suffer a great deal, just like I am now.
The thing is, I still like her, and I wish I could be nice
to her. She has nothing to do with this, I cannot blame her for events for
which she had no power over. I can only be disappointed right now at how she is
going about to destroy me in my back to virtually everyone in the office, from
her lack of understanding in this injustice. She asked me if I was going to the
Summer party next Saturday, I said “non”, in French, once again some sort of
re-affirmation and defiance of who I am and where I am now.
My Muslim friend is so much better than me at hiding the
storm which is raging in his heart. You would think it has not affected him at
all, and he has more reason than I to feel betrayed. He asked me how I was
today, I answered that I was still depressed, angry and there was no calming me
down. From his look and embarrassment, I could sense that he felt the same.
Even though, from his point of view, I wonder if it has crossed his mind that I
have nothing really to be upset about, compared with him. I have after all only
been working there a year and a half, and unlike him who has been there almost
a decade, I never deputised for the management of the General Office. I agree
that it is almost laughable that I can feel like this, when there is every
reason for him to come with a gun at work and shoot them all.
In fact, if the Indian girl never had an interview, I would
not be where I am now. I would be cheerful and it would be like nothing
happened. I would have thought it was simply difficult to get a promotion in
the civil service, nearly impossible perhaps, but it would not have affected me
at all. This is the event that changes everything, that points to an injustice,
to victimisation of some sort. And then again, I wish I could see why she got
an interview when neither my Muslim colleague nor I got one, I wish I could
believe any reason they could provide, but there are none that could justify it
without being a lie.
And what I am most upset about, is that everything is
already forgotten at work. She got the interview, we did not, there must be
reasons for it, as simple as that. No one see an injustice, at any rate it does
not seem that serious.
After all, everyone had to fight to get a promotion in this
place. The British woman in the list office, the only way she got moved from
Usher to the List Office, was by applying externally instead of internally, so
no one in management was aware that she applied, and luckily for her the
interview process that time around happened entirely in London instead of at
our Court. When the Top Manager found out, he who has done everything to
prevent her from getting a promotion previously, he was enraged.
Her son used to work in the General Office, he also install
most of the software we are using now, and he too deputised for our Line
Manager. He got a temporary promotion, then was demoted. He was so angry he
left the Court almost instantly.
I spoke with another White Usher today, she said that she
could not get an interview for a position of Usher, and my previous Line
Manager, a White guy who has now moved to
I’m back for the evening now. They found a solution to
their conundrum. The Top Manager told me today that the decision for not
inviting me to an interview was not made at my Court, it was made at our
nearest Court. So they cannot be blamed for the injustice, they can now say
that if we were not invited for an interview whilst others were, it had nothing
to do with them, it was impartial.
I would be stupid indeed to believe this, I know our Top
Manager spends most of his time on the phone and knows everyone else in every
other Courts. I will not believe for one instant that he did not make a phone
call to that Court to give an idea of who he thought he wanted for Clerks, and
who he thought was not good enough. He is always asking who it is that gave the
interview, or who it is that will give the interview, and last time all the CVs
came to our Court prior to London HQ inviting the candidates. They have a say
in this, it is not impartial.
However this is a lie I can live with, and suddenly it
seems a lot of pressure has been lifted from my shoulders. If I can just
suspend disbelief for a minute, I might be able to move on. I even had a
meeting with my Line Manager right after, and she asked me why I had been so
quiet recently. I told her I was depressed because I did not get an interview,
but that I would get better soon, and get our of my lethargic state. And
suddenly it seemed all ok, I can start tomorrow as a new day and forget all of
this ever happened.
I still have however to ignore the fact that the Chinese
guy was in Court all day instead of the List Office, and tomorrow it is the turn
of the Indian girl. I also told my Line Manager that the neutral almost
negative comments the Deputy Manager had written for me, certainly did it for
me, I was not going to get an interview after that. And so to speak, I meant
that it does not matter if the Top Manager did not intervene to stop my
application, it was doomed from the start, and so, I still have reason to be
angry, they sabotaged my career.
I however need to move on. Tomorrow I am becoming the
cashier. She stressed to me how important a position that was, and how much
trust they had in me, giving me that position. If I had been that naïve as to
believe that this was true and let my Ego get inflated, I would be innocent
indeed. The true is, no one else is available, the British woman does not want
that position and would certainly fight it to the death. She was cashier
before, so she knows what is involved, she knows it is not a desirable position
at all.
I was clever enough however to led my Line Manager to
believe that I was happy with this change, that yes, it was true that they must
trust me. I didn’t say that, but I led her to believe that her little
manipulation worked. She is like that, she thinks she’s the reverend mother and
that we are her children. Today at lunch time, she stated: oh, you can go to
lunch early as an exception to the rule. She thought I would be all excited,
like a child would be, when in fact it angers me even more. Because we all
could go to lunch at the time we want, because half of us wishes to go late,
and the other half wants to go early. She insists on causing trouble over this,
and it makes no sense at all except alienating us all and giving her the chance
to flex her muscles and show us who’s the boss. I could write a whole book
about not what to do as a Manager just observing her in the last year. And when
it would be finished, I would drop it on her desk and resign. How nice that
would be. At any rate it would be better than shooting her, another one of my
big dreams.
If I am patient, someone else will crack before I do, and
shoot her for me. The Old Indian man must be getting close to cracking, he is
once again sick all this week, second week in a row, and we know he is not
sick, he said so himself last week, this is retaliation. He is really pushing it,
I don’t understand how can get away with it, and why they are not firing him on
the basis of gross misconduct. The problem is that he does get a note from his
doctor, more difficult then. It would take them one day to get rid of me if I
was to attempt anything like that as retaliation because I would not get what I
want, once again, just like a child.
It has been my observation that adults can be more childish
than children, especially in a work environment. And the older they get, the
more childish they are, and the less they will obey and do what is asked of
them. They become rebellious. Maybe there is hope for humanity, as the
population is quickly aging and the birth rate is going radically down. Soon
this world will be full of aging anarchists. That would be the day.
I am still in a total panic state. I was so afraid this
afternoon of the message I sent that morning to the Top Manager, of their
reaction at me pointing out the injustice so clearly, that the Indian girl got
the interview and I didn’t. I was expecting fireworks. I thought the meeting
with my Line Manager was going to be about that, however we never mentioned it.
I was wise enough not to push it further, as I’m sure she was prepared to
answer me quite directly, and it would not have been pretty. I made my point in
the email, that’s good enough. And if somehow eventually it gets worse, and
that I can really prove racism and homophobia as reasons to prevent any
promotion, that email will be all that is required to show that already then I
officially questioned it. In French we have this expression, I’m sure it exists
in English, but I never heard it before: spoken language (words) flies out but
writings remain (les paroles s’envolent mais les écrits restes).
I’m glad I did not submit my previous entry as an article,
as I was going to. It would have indeed attracted much attention, the title was
going to be something like: A High Crime within the Ministry of Justice. I’m
sure everyone would have read it, thinking it was about George W. Bush, ignoring
no doubt that the Ministry of Justice is a new British invention which has
nothing to do with
10 July 2008
I understand the reader might get bored of hearing about
this story, however this blog is not intended for publication, and if ever it
is published, more than half of this book will be deleted. The main reason to
be writing this is for my own benefit, I am my own psychologist, you see,
writing everything down, no matter how many times I might repeat myself, is the
only way for me to make sense of my existence, to find solutions and give me
direction.
Today has been hard, just like yesterday. The Chinese guy
and the Indian girl had interviews will all the managers yesterday in order to
help them with their interview today. Today they had their interviews, and so
all day that is all anyone could talk about. Even the old woman at the top of
the Probation or Prosecution office was fully aware and made a special call and
a personal visit to the office to find out the outcome of those interviews.
I lost patience late afternoon yesterday, and again today,
but I managed to keep my dignity, I hope. My Muslim friend said he had such a
headache for the last two days, he left at 1pm and did not come back for the
afternoon.
As we initially thought, the interviews were not in
Incidentally, both my colleagues today came back in the
office totally defeated. Apparently there was some lunatic on the panel who
seemed to wish to destroy them. Some weird interview tactic that I know very
well, but which defeated both my colleagues. I would not worry if I were them,
the last word remains with the Top Manager, and there is no doubt in my mind
that they will both get the promotion.
I have been thinking lately about why I did not get the
chance of this interview. I wondered, and if truly the initial comments of the
Deputy Manager were not a large factor, and if truly the Top Manager never
received the CVs of all potential candidates like last year, and if truly he
did not make a call to that woman at the other Court to influence the outcome,
then, it is still puzzling as to why I would not be offered the interview.
I am highly qualified, I am over qualified for this
position. It was alright not to get the interviews for Administrative Officer,
I was over qualified. But now, over qualified does not play in this decision. I
am an Administrative Officer. If I am too qualified for Clerk, why leave then
to rot in the General Office?
Second, my Line Manager tried to sow the wound by saying
that they had an elaborate survey to fill to justify who would come to the
interview or not. They have questions to answer and points to allocate to each.
In this case then, the more studies you have, the more qualifications you have,
the more experience you have, the more you are unlikely to get the promotion. As
if they were looking for morons without education and intelligence. Which would
explain why the civil service is filled with losers who, in 25 years of
service, never wished to get a promotion, never wished to do any more work than
necessary, basically, never wanted to work in the first place. I now share
their feeling completely, I am now officially a civil servant. I can no longer
go out of my way to help anyone or to do any extra work. I just want to die.
For one hour yesterday I thought that perhaps I was the
victim of my own success and abilities. I thought they insured I would not
become a clerk, because they desperately needed a new cashier at the Court, and
that they somehow decided it would be me and no one else. I was grasping at
straws to explain why I was refused even the interview. My Muslim friend
quickly put a stop to this idea. For a start, himself know all about being a
cashier, the British woman also, and it is not that difficult. They did not
need me as a cashier.
Then I tried to give this a meaning through philosophy. The
last resort of the mediocre and utter failure. I thought, it is best if I do
not become a Clerk. Because in time it could pay up to 25,000 pounds a year,
10,000 more than I am earning now. It starts to look like a career, not a job I
took on the side out of curiosity, in order to write this blog.
It remains that right now there is no reason for me to remain
in this job. I was once earning 40,000 a year. Right now, at 15,000, I am
living under the poverty line. The convenience of being so close to where I
live will not motivate me to remain in this hell hole. Then it is likely that
at the first great opportunity, I will be moving on, explore more of this
world, learn more, and yes, write more. Becoming Clerk might stop all that. I
could get stuck and remain there forever. And look, in the last six months I
have written nothing. True I started a French blog instead, but I am barely
talking about my life and what is happening. I don’t think I mentioned that I
work in a Court in
Remaining in this job might highlight more occurrences of
this racism and homophobia, but it would not warrant me keeping the job just to
find out or prove this discrimination. Anyway, I should know fast enough, I
have applied for other Clerk position in other Courts across
I am not expecting any justice from the Ministry of
Justice.
I almost forgot to mention the behaviour of the Chief
Clerk. She has been on my back all day, little digs here and there. She gets
like that sometimes, and there is always a reason why. I don’t think she even
realises it, because I feel she is brainless, whilst at the same time she is
intelligent enough to be the Chief Clerk. Go figure.
Well, she has tried very hard to alienate me all day.
Telling not to do this, not to do that, and especially, never to print out a
record sheet, because if I do, it needs to be confirmed or allowed by a Senior
Clerk. This is laughable, because we all do it, we all print record sheets when
we need to. It prevents us from having to find the file of that defendant, and
let’s face it, most files if not all of them have disappeared into blacks holes.
So many files, and yet, the one you are looking for is never where it should
be.
So, this is once again a case of one rule for me, and one
rule for everyone else. We all do it, we all print record sheets of the crimes
of the defendants when someone calls, and we need the information on the spot
without practicing this new sport of finding a file within the whole Court
buildings. And today the Chief Clerk tried to make a big deal of me printing
such a record sheet, something like months ago, and said with determination
that this is not allowed. I don’t give a shit. I am a cashier now, probably
forever a cashier, I will never need to print a record sheet again. But
everyone else will need to. So I said very calmly: well, we will have to tell
everyone to stop this practice, because we all do it. I made a point of telling
that we all do it, and we must all be told.
Of course, this was not the point of this exercise from the
Chief Clerk, her point was to add to her previous digs of the day, her fourth
one against me in fact, on the very day that I would have had every right to
explode out of proportion and it would have been excusable, understandable and
forgivable. Funny, for some reason she goes out of her way to give me shit, on
the worst days of my career within that Court.
Obviously, the reason is simple. Whenever I snub the Deputy
Manager, because he hurt me badly, it strikes right through his heart. Because
that man is too stupid to understand the pain he causes. He cannot understand
why suddenly, after we have been hurt so badly, that we may wish to tell him to
get lost. And so he runs to the Chief Clerk and cries. And so she defends him,
she comes back with whatever reason she can find, and try to make an issue of
it. However, today was not the day, it was highly poor judgement on her part. I
could have exploded at any time, and perhaps secretly this is what she wanted.
Getting rid of me then would be child play, gross misconduct.
But I was already in a bad mood the day before, and my Line
Manager knew it, and the last thing she wants right now, no matter how good
friend she is with the Chief Clerk, is to get to explode. Because it would
definitely look bad on her, since everyone else has already exploded at her in
recent days. She defended me, would you believe? Also because this was so
ridiculous a crisis, as we all print those damn things. And yet, once again, I
am the only one to get into trouble for it. And the main problem, is that
suddenly, if I am trouble for doing it, no one else will be able to do it. And
that will make our life so much more difficult in the General Office, because
every time we would have to find the file, and my Line Manager knows that files
simply cannot be found, ever. We have simply lost all of them, all the time, always.
And one rule for me, of course, must become the rule for all. So in her
pettiness against me, the Chief Clerk just annihilated us all, thinking she
would annihilate only one, me. No wonder my Line Manager took my defence.
Bitch!
The problem of the chief Clerk, is that there is nothing
she can say against me. She has to dig real hard indeed to get me into trouble,
and consequently, when she finds something, it affects everyone else, because I
certainly don’t do anything that everyone else is not already doing. And then
it is up to me to say out loud that this is the new rule, because I was told so
by the Chief Clerk who once again went out of her way to make my life a living
hell. And God knows why exactly, because I am such a hard worker. But never mind,
I think you already know that.
And she knows as well, because yesterday she had to sit
with the British woman who is now responsible for the Grad Fees, those
advocates’ claims. I listened to the conversation, and it was so hopeless. The
woman still knows nothing about how to pay these claims, and yet, she has done
this job for three months! Is this not proof enough to that damn bitch of a
Chief Clerk that she should not alienate me so badly? I figured it all out on
the very first week of inputting those damn claims, and it has been so for a
year and a half!
Human nature. Deny everything, be blind to everything,
cause injustice wherever you can, insure this planet goes bust within years.
I’m so glad and so happy to be alive and share this wonderful existence with
just brainless bastards. By all means! Make your life more complicated if it
suits you! I don’t give a shit! Pettiness till the end. I am not surprised, I
have learnt to expect it. That Chief Clerk has dug a hole so large for herself
over the years, I just cannot explain why she has failed so far to dig her own
grave. I keep hoping that this next crisis will be it, because I know it would
be it for me if I were at the centre of any of the crisis she is responsible
for. And yet, every single time she succeeds in digging herself out of the
nightmare she created in the first place. Have I told you that we were actually
at war with some Chambers and some solicitor firms? Because Madam was not happy
with a little detail, and as a consequence, she refuses to pay them at all, for
months on end, and insuring that we pay them much less than they truly deserve?
People like that needs to be shot, and I dream of it every single night. Every
time, a larger gun, which would insure that not one molecule of that bitch will
still remain after I shot her.
Is this graphic enough for you? It is that graphic in my
mind. Is that graphic enough to translate how I feel? Not in the least. Next, I
will be imagining, over and over again, a nuclear bomb exploding right where
this Crown Court stands. It is that corrupt a place, that to think like our
American friends, we might as well nuke the damn place. I will not compromise
here, I will say it the way I feel, and this is how I feel.
I am not expecting any justice from the Ministry of
Justice.
Shit, I thought I was finished talking about that shit, but
there is something else I really need to address. That is my moral and ethical
side now talking. The truth is, the devastation these stupid new openings
brought, is so much larger than we imagined, it has annihilated the friendship
we built together over the months and years. The truth is, I love that Chinese
guy, I love that Indian girl, I feel for them, they are my friends. As a result
of this crisis, they “were” my friends. And no matter how I would hope to
bypass all that has happened, I am incapable.
I find it painful to look at them, to listen to them. Their
shear presence simply kills me. I cannot even imagine that it might change any
time soon. I have ignored them, I have remained silent when they talked to me.
I have shown extraordinary impatience with them. I can’t even look at them.
This whole thing brought me somewhere else, I am no longer part of this team, I
am thousands of miles away. But they have remained where they were.
The thing is, I realised today that they are actually human
beings, unlike management. They are incapable of suspending their human nature,
they still like me. Unintentionally, because I can no longer be responsible for
what I do, I have pushed them away in no uncertain terms. I made it clear that
I will no longer go down the pub, that I will no longer joke around with them,
that I simply will no longer have anything to do with them. Because in my mind,
whether they are responsible or not for this injustice, it does not matter. By
default they are part of it, because their presence is so painful to me, that I
cannot help it, they have to disappear from my sight, so I can still pretend to
some sort of existence.
But they are hurt, and it hurts me. Unfortunately, there is
nothing I can do. I cannot pretend, I have never been known to be capable of
pretending. To me, they have become part of the conspiracy against me, it
cannot be bypassed. I cannot suffer hearing them talk, I will no longer be
friendly with them, I will no longer go down the pub with them on Fridays. I
need to find some sort of other life and meaning to existence outside of this
small minded and closed up world! Or else, I will definitely commit suicide.
After such injustice, how can we ever even conceptualise teamwork?
Dear me, how is one supposed to be thinking about teamwork when their only
thought is to go to work with a high definition gun? As I always thought, team
work is simply wishful thinking, has always been, will always be. It was one
important question in their interview today, I wonder how they responded. I
would have been so great at lying my way through that question! Just like
anyone else with half a brain.
But these people are simple minded, they are pure, they
have not thought that far yet. They have no ambition and no experience. Which
is why I cannot ignore them, I cannot hold them responsible for what happened,
I cannot hurt them anymore. I will have to resume going down the pub with them,
pretend that nothing happened, and that I am no longer hurt by such injustice.
And this is why I am writing this damn blog. To realise and
understand such powerful and exceptional ideas. That if I am true to myself, I
will act appropriately. You need to be superhuman to understand such things,
but I think I am enough of a human being to understand this and to know what I
should do. I will go down that pub, I will get re-acquainted with them, I will
learn to see them as the friends they were, even if they become Clerks and that
I am still stuck forever in a dead end job. This is the mark of someone who can
think and can place himself in the right perspective. I wish everyone was like
that in this world. It won’t happen any time soon, but I least I will be true
to myself.
I am not expecting any justice from the Ministry of
Justice.
However, the Ministry of Justice can expect justice from
me.
And that is it. This was the lesson I needed to learn out
of this whole episode. I cracked it. I am so pleased! The game is over. You
will see, suddenly everything will change, none of this will matter anymore. I
was able to see through it all. Gosh, how difficult it was. No wonder I am
always going through hell, the lessons I need to learn from life are way beyond
anyone’s simple destiny.
Perhaps I am still just deluding myself, trying desperately
to give meaning to things that have none. But if it makes me feel better about
it all, I will buy into it any day.
You might as well believe in God if God can justify every
fucking bitching happening to you, from any other human being alive, and
somehow help you accept it and go through this nightmare of a life as if
nothing happened.
Jesus Christ is my best friend, just before I commit
suicide and end this nightmare for good. This life is well worth living, I tell
you. I am learning such exciting things! Another excellent reason to annihilate
this planet.
Oh dear, no, I am not playing in your leagues, I am way
beyond. I do hope you will pay attention. This is the most important thing I will
ever say. This is the real lesson to learn here. Being able to see through the
mechanisms of existence, and simply reject them.
I am my only Master! Mark my words, I will rebel against
everything, until the very day I can actually feel absolute freedom from
everyone and everything, be it from the government, be it from humanity, be it
from the universe, be it from God.
I have learnt the true lesson of life, the ultimate truth. I
don’t expect you to understand this illumination. I will go beyond everything
that ever was. I will understand beyond anything that ever was, as it is all
meaningless. I understand now, I am my only Master.
Alright. I will have to develop this further somewhere
else, in some other blog or book. Whatever is this breakthrough I feel I might
have reached.
I just asked my partner where this gun was hidden in this
flat. He said there was no gun in this flat. I asked him if this gun he told me
about, was hidden in his mother’s house. He said yes. I asked where. He
dismissed me. I asked if it was his dad’s gun, a remnant from the war, he said
yes. I asked where is it then? He said there was no gun. So many lies! I cried:
I bet there is a gun in this flat, I just have to find it!
He freaked out. I freaked out too. I shouted: I just want a
fucking gun so I can shoot myself in the head! Is there a gun or not, and where
the fuck is it? And in the state I am in now, I was actually quite serious. I
am no longer joking. Where is that gun?
This life ain’t worth it. Perhaps I have finally learnt the
real lesson that was worth learning here tonight. Gather around so I can tell
you all about it. This life ain’t worth it.
14 July 2008
All weekend I was mentally sick, I was in a total panic
state at the idea of going back to work today. Before I left, my partner told
me: do not show this business over our holiday and getting these days off
bothers you, go with the flow and accept what the bitch does, even if she is
mean for the sake of it. Ha added: at any rate, do not be angry or show anger.
He added: and especially, do not have an argument with her. And added: overall,
please do not explode. Of course, all of the above happened today.
I couldn’t help it, I am permanently angry and I cannot
help it. It no longer matters if I don’t drink any alcohol the day before and
if I go to bed early. And if I tell you, you will think I exploded for such a
futility, you could not understand my behaviour if you were to start reading
here. It is obviously the accumulation of the whole nightmare of last week.
I simply ask for week off next week, I had already told her
I was going to ask for it two weeks ago. She said it was refused. All right,
the week after then. Also refused, because on one of the days of that week, two
people are off out of 20. This was being petty for the sake of it. But then,
she turned around and stated: in fact, you cannot take any time off until mid
September, for two next months. You can imagined I hit the roof! I said I would
find another job, because there was no way I would go that long without a
holiday (considering that everyone else is always on holiday, they have worked
there for so long, they have two months holiday each over a yearly period!).
Then a drug addict who badly needed his fix showed up today
at the counter of the Court. He suddenly remembered that we owed him 25 pounds,
and we should have paid him a year ago. How desperate he must have been and how
hard he must have thought to realise that…
He was so angry, he said that if we didn’t pay him cash
right here right now, he was going to commit a crime today and end up at
Wormwood Scrubs Prison once again. I was not impressed. Then he said that he
would kill me if I didn’t give him the cash. I was impressed. I thought, here
is the solution to all my problems. I thought, I just have to tell him that we
will not pay him until mid September, two months time, and watch the reaction.
Say that, and that’s it, I’m dead! Better yet, I’ll tell him we won’t pay him
for two years. I would definitely be dead then. We paid him in the end, so I
guess this is one less crime in society. He used to steal handbags at
I know there is a recession now, even though it is not
quite official yet, but that does not matter. I remember my teacher of
Economics in College stating that a recession was essentially a transfer of
money from many people, rich or poor, to a few extra rich ones. And so there
are many rich people during recessions travelling and spending their easy made
money.
This is a mean to insure that anyone crazy enough to invest
in the Stock Exchange market, or depends on fluctuating interest rates to pay
their loans and mortgages, will definitely lose all his or her money within ten
years. There is a recession every ten years or so, and most of the time it is
artificially caused.
Usually this is hard to see, but this time around it is
obvious that this recession was artificially made. George W. Bush and his
friends have made no excuse for it, they did not bother hiding their agenda. I
should research this further and write a new article.
At the end of the day, I was stuck with my Line Manager,
alone, in the office. Something I have been able to avoid for so long, I
accumulated minus 20 hours on my time sheet in order to avoid those destructive
moralist talks of the end of the day. I couldn’t get away, I am cashier now. I
am stuck there until the daily balance is done. An over complicated process which
requires two members of management, and I cannot do anything until they give me
the cash tray. I will finish late every day now, and suffer the arguments every
day.
At one point she told me: do you think I enjoy telling you
that you cannot have any holiday? I answered yes, you do.
Wow! Do you realise that I virtually told her that she was
evil and enjoyed every single minute of the torment she causes? This is as
close as I will ever get to telling her that.
All I can do now, is hope. My Line Manager was very sick
today, a terrible flu that the Muslim man also got, in the middle of July. Oh
dear, it gives me ideas. I should research some Voodoo or magic spells and wish
her to be sick for two weeks. At the very least, God, please, please, please,
get her out of my life for two days, three if you feel we all deserve it down
here.
he needs some time off, just like I do. Who knows, I may
catch that flu and be sick for a week myself. I really don’t mind being sick to
death, if it can keep me away from that nightmare of a job. Maybe I could then
take this opportunity to write a whole novel and get my sorry ass out of there.
One can only dream and wish away the perfect reality to live in, one which can
bring happiness and love and peace and justice.
17 July 2008
Everything was going so well until 2 pm, just before I left
for work after my lunch hour. I received a letter, I was once again denied an
interview to become a Clerk in every single Court around here and in
I became incapacitated. I went outside to sit on a bench,
reflecting upon all this. Then I went to the bathroom just to sit and think.
And then I returned to my desk to discover that suddenly time had decided to
run so slowly… so, so, slowly… And despite the fact that I was quite certain
that the laws of physics had changed, I could not tell you exactly now what I
have done from 2 pm to 3 pm, as I cannot remember.
My Line Manager, as extraordinary as this may seems, had no
idea that I was dying inside, whilst everyone else was celebrating the good
news. Instead she went into authoritarian mode and not once, not twice, but
three times she turned around to me to freak out about insignificant little
things I had not done, like writing a date on the latest indictment.
The third I could no longer stand it. I stopped her in her
track and I said plainly that I needed to leave the office for the rest of the
day. She was just about to add insult to injury by saying no, when I had no
choice but to tell her how I felt, about the injustice that I could not even
get that interview once again, when both the others past their boards and were
now officially Clerks! I thought in my mind, why? I have the exact same
experience than the Chinese Guy, even if he has worked there for a year and a
half longer than I did. In fact, I have more experience because I know all
about the new scheme to process the counsels’ claims, he knows nothing. On top
of it, those damn manuals I have written, they count for nothing! He has no
other experience than this job, I have! And this is worse for the Indian girl,
who truly has no experience at all and did nothing else but making up files.
And yet, they past their boards and I can’t even get the interview!
No one else in the office can see this injustice, they
cannot comprehend that this is unfair! How is it possible that whatever happens
in an office can hurt you more than the death of someone near you, and yet, no
one else is aware or can even understand after you told them the impact it has?
I asked my Line Manager, when I could see that she did not
understand: have you ever gone through this? She answered yes. But I do not
believe it. Once again, for her, this is first job ever, and she was never
denied any promotion, she has been in fact protected and put on a fast track
for every single promotion. Also, even if she had been denied a promotion or
even the interview, I’m sure it was nothing like feeling an injustice, where
others who did not deserve it at all, suddenly went far ahead of you.
I’m sure she never yet experienced what racism and
homophobia are all about. Because there is no other reason to explain why they
would have insured stopping me from trying to get this promotion, because I
certainly deserved a chance to at least try. They did not even feel the need to
pretend I was given a fair chance. And now that I see that no one truly cares,
and that no one can understand how I feel, I see why they did not bother to
give me the interview just to reject me afterwards.
So now I am at home. I am about to drink my second glass of
Gin. I’m quickly running out of fizzy water. I will next jump into Whisky. But
do not despair. Because as I am closing this file, I am about to open my
business plan for a conference company that I started in
Just spoke with my partner. He, too, does not understand
what I am going through. Instead of being supportive, he tries to find reasons
as to why this happened, blaming me for everything that I may have done wrong.
I am truly alone in that crisis.
21 July 2008
I have great news! I have my proof! My confirmation that
the Indian girl was protected and put on a fast track to become a Clerk! Seven
months ago, no less! I was gossiping with the only two British women in the
office today, and dear me, have I learnt a lot! The one in the General Office
said that already at Christmas, and that must have been soon after the Indian
girl started, the Chief Clerk presented her to all the Judges of the Court and
said every time: as soon as a Clerk position is available, the Indian girl will
become a Clerk! It is clear that it is that fear that I would have got it over
her, that made them insure I would not get the interview. Moreover, we already know
that the Deputy Manager never told me that my answers were not right on my
application, my examples were supposed to be about my actual job, not previous
jobs. Every single person who applied for a promotion was told that, but not
me. He had my application for a whole week before I sent it. Also, his comments
were very neutral, verging on the negative, and it was totally unjustified. But
I wanted, I needed to also prove that the Top Manager of the Court had a hand
in preventing me for a promotion as well. And now I have it. His daughter has
been working for years in that famous other Court were it was decided who would
come for interviews. She is apparently quite high up over there. Also, I
finally received the reasons was I was denied the interview, and it is so
ridiculous, that if truly this was an impartial process, they would indeed shut
the door to just about every single remarkable candidates and instead let in
the worse of the crops.
So, I have my confirmation, they conspired to prevent me
from getting the interview, and for over seven months they already knew the
Indian girl would become a Clerk no matter what, over me and the Muslim guy, no
matter our seniority, our experience, our qualifications. It is definitely
racism, as if there is also homophobia, I cannot and probably might never be
able to prove it. After all, the biggest blow was done by the Deputy Manager,
himself gay, even if he acted the way he did because he was told to by the
Chief Clerk and the Top Manager.
And that is not all the good news. It is extraordinary how
whenever you do something wrong to someone, you will pay the price eventually.
I certainly do, such a high price, for such small futilities which are still,
let’s admit incorrect. I do learn from my mistakes, I have however observed
that most people don’t.
Well, let’s see. I wanted to move to the list office.
Everyone else was shipped there except me. I wanted to become a Clerk, everyone
else has passed the board except me. And now, the Chinese guy had an interview
this afternoon for another position somewhere else in a Court in
So soon, there could be four positions available in the
List Office, the very place they did not want to send me. Moreover, in the General
Office the Old Indian man retires in two months. The Muslim guy knows too much
about the General Office to be shipped to the List Office, the two other girls
were in the List Office and are too happy to have escaped that nightmare, none
of them wish to go back there. It leaves only me to move to the List Office.
Right after spending three long weeks training me as a cashier. Oh well, it
will look great on my next application form, if they happen to actually read
any of it.
And possibly, the two new Clerks they hired, at such a cost
and crisis and injustice, virtually committing a crime in the process, within
the Ministry of Justice, is just about to fail spectacularly. And two new
positions will once again be advertised. And my main question is, will they
again prevent us from getting the interview?
I could not resist passing a comment when I went to the
Clerk’s Office today, I asked the Chief Clerk if she had any news of how the
Chinese guy interview went. I stop myself from asking as well if the Indian
girl has succeeded in getting the position at the other Crown Court, as it was
her desire to escape all of them, as there is no doubt she is suffocating here
and is struggling for peace and freedom, and a way out of that arranged
marriage.
The Chief Clerk then lied so blatantly to my face, I almost
laughed. Five minutes after I was told that she herself presented the Indian
Girl to all the Judges seven ago stating under no uncertain terms that she was
to become a Clerk fairly soon, she said: oh, we have no power over these
interviews, we know nothing. It would be nice if we could hire whoever we
wanted, but we can’t. I almost puked right in front of her, how two face can
one be?
I’m not stupid, she is now realising that she needs at
least another Clerk, and that was my point. And she obviously now understand
that it should be me, and so she is paving the way to my great ascension to
becoming a Clerk, once again over the one who truly deserves it, the Muslim
man. Which is another reason I don’t like the idea of being promoted to a
Clerk, it would be a great injustice to him. That’s why I need to leave that
place.
Incidentally, when I was gossiping with the two Brits,
there were telling me all that the Indian girl said behind my back, at the idea
that she was promoted over me, and bladibli bladibla. They said they could not
believe how she was acting, in such a patronising manner, and apparently
rubbing it all in my face. I have to admit, I am paranoid by nature, I did not
sense that. Quite the contrary, I felt that she was not happy at losing me as a
friend over this. But of course, I was not there to hear all that she said
behind my back. I prefer not to think about it. I see her more as a victim than
anything else.
The funny thing is, I do work so damn hard, I know all
about being a Clerk, I live around the corner, I have no interest working in
another Court or in
Anyway, I have learnt all that I needed to learn. There is
no justice at the Ministry of Justice, it is rampant with unfairness,
favouritism, preferential treatments, racism, homophobia, and just about every
other form of discrimination known to human kind. I never thought I would be
the one targeted and suffering from it, but I guess a third party’s point of
view would not have done in this case. The full impact of this book would have
been lost.
21 August 2008
Oops! My ex-Line Manager who left for
It certainly brought me back to reality, of course any of
them could have found it, perhaps others did closer to home, and never said
anything. It would have one advantage, it is in a way my little revenge on
them, that they could read in black and white everything they did wrong for
quite a while, as I continue to learn the truth about them. And hopefully
perhaps they will think twice before shitting on me, since it would end up
here, for posterity to judge them. But it would damn awkward, as it was when my
ex-Manager told me he read all those things I said about him, I certainly did
not spare him.
Originally I was not too worried, I know I had been nicer
to him than with the others. I read bits and bobs, and realise, no, I went mad
about him as well and said horrible things. I guess it took me many months to
finally realise that I truly liked him and he was the greatest Manager I ever
had. I felt I treated him unfairly, but was it unfair? I don’t know. Easy
afterwards to only remember the positive moments, the rest all forgotten.
I am not certain now when this blog will go back online. I
hope not many people were reading it. I don’t think so, it was well buried. But
my uncle last week contacted me to tell me that my father in
I have been dealing with a few problems recently, mine less
serious than the ones of my partner who has reached a complete nervous
breakdown. He is permanently in a state of shock. I have never seen so much
rage for so long, like all the time, coming out from someone. He comes to blow
with everyone he meets, especially his Managers, me, and complete strangers on
the street. This will end horribly, I would not be surprised if he ends up in
prison, or at the very least at the Crown Court where I work.
It would be easy to explain his behaviour by the fact that
he does not accept the death of his father, but the real problem is how badly
he is treated at work. All of his colleagues have left their job, because the
managers are out of control, they multiply useless mind games until people
explode, and then they enjoy a great fight which can reach the low end of what
humanity has best to offer. Swearing, vulgarity, racism, anything goes.
Stephen’s colleagues had the intelligence to simply find another job and move
on before reaching breaking point, but for Stephen it is not that easy to find
another job. He is dyslexic. Finally, he has a job interview tomorrow, and I so
hope he will get it, so things can get back to normal. Because he will never
leave that job otherwise. A driving job that pays 9,000 pounds a year. Come on,
the poverty line has been drawn at 21,000 per annum. There is no reason to
remain in that job, just like for me, at 15,000, there is no reason to remain
in there. For me, it close by. For Stephen, at least most of the day he is just
in his van driving around. These arguments are insufficient if anyway we are
all now in deep depression and ready to kill someone out of pure rage.
For me things have calm down at work, it seems everything
has reached stagnation. Nothing changes very fast. The Chinese guy and the
Young Indian girls are still in the list office, they have no idea when they
might finally move on. I am so eager for them to move on. Despite my best
judgement, the relation between us has not gone better. I have barely exchanged
a few words with them since the whole affaire exploded.
Most of the time I just remain quiet at the very end of the
office, on cash, sitting just behind my Line Manager. In a way, it made things
better for us, we have developed a better complicity, or at least, a pretend
politeness. We really work hand in hand, she counts the cash on my very desk,
and everything I do now, needs to be verified and sign by her, as such is the
nature of what a cashier does. Micro-management to the extreme, you would have
thought it would have sent both of us off the wall. Perhaps it is this
understanding that made us so much more careful with me, she goes out of her
way now not to alienate me. We still come to blow now and then, rarely. Nothing
like the blows she has with the Old Indian man and the Pakistani man.
My only big worry at the moment is that the British Old
woman has gone so good now in pretending doing grad fees, my old job, she
appears like a miracle worker and makes me look so bad. She has been stuck on
it for so long, she has finally master the perfect way to eliminate the work,
by simply eliminating it literally. Every time I look at her computer screen,
she is sending back another claim, she has now become a master at finding
reasons to return the claims. She sends back at least 75% of them. The other
way she found to make all the files disappear from the shelves (the two great
bookshelves that have always been full of grad fees to pay for as far as I can
remember), is by simply enter all the claims without thinking, looking, using
her brain so they pass and can be paid. She prefers to get them to fail, all of
them, so she can save a lot of time, and then simply sends all the claims and
files to the Clerks.
So it seems that she is a miracle worker, because she
successfully makes the pile of claims and the pile of files disappear through
utter laziness and avoiding doing any real work. So it is totally useless, and
yet, she convinced everyone that she is a miracle worker and that I was utterly
incompetent.
There are other causes as well. Scheme 3 is now completely
gone, instead of getting 24 claims per file, she only gets 1 per file. Also,
there are no more standard fee claims, we no longer pay the solicitors. So the
work has considerably been reduced since I am no longer in charge.
All that would be all right, I am not so childish. If they
wish to believe I was incompetent when I know I was working so hard, I don’t
really care at this point. But the Old Indian man will not leave it alone, he
loves to repeat it all the time and to dig it in my face. How good she is
compared to me! I don’t know how I was able to contain myself. I would just so
love to rub it in his face, that the very reason I was unable to do my job
properly in the first place, was because he was never at work to do the payment
run. Never! So I was always stopped from entering more claims. Also, whenever
he was there, he was working in such a slow motion mode, if I entered too many
claims one day, I had to stop for three days, sometimes weeks, so he could eliminate
the backlog. Of course, it turns out that I am the most efficient cashier this
Court has ever seen, there is never a backlog in all my new responsibilities.
In fact, I have now decided to work in slow motion, because otherwise, on top
of being the cashier (and don’t get me wrong, it is a lot of work), I could
spend half my time doing the job of everyone else in the office, because I
quickly run out of things to do. I certainly will never prevent the British
woman from ever entering a claim on the computer.
These people have no brain. They are all blind, and there
is nothing I can do or say to make them realise it. I am surprised my Line
Manager recognised my hard work as a cashier, I never thought it would be
possible for her to see it, and to say it, and even tell the Chief Clerk. And
now, I wish I could make her understand that I was much more spectacular on the
grad fees, but unfortunately all I got for it from them was shit.
So in a way it is going well, on the other hand it is going
bad. And despite the fact that my Line Manager recognised that I was good, she
has now in her bonnet that I go way too fast and that I do too many mistakes.
Because three times now I thought I made a mistake, but it turned out that it
is just that my training was not that great and there were things I did not
know, and it turned out I had not made any mistake. She is however convinced
that I am careless and that I do lots of mistakes. We almost came to blow this
week about this. She sees me typing on the computer at the speed of light, and
she knows this is all important stuff, money, you know, and one mistake does
not forgive, because there is no way back and no one knows what to do when a
mistake is done, it is that complicated. She does not understand that it is possible
to work very fast, and yet, double check everything I do. I only made one
mistake so far, and I think it is excellent. I cancelled the wrong claim once,
big deal, it simply had to be re-entered. But we might as well say she will
remember that in years to come, and still think I am incompetent as a result.
Hell, the Pakistani man replaced me for week whilst I was on holiday, I pointed
out a whole series of mistakes he did, including a whole batch run of printing
cheques that went haywire. If I had done that, I would have been sacked. The
Old Indian man, whilst he was cashier, was not doing anything. There was such a
huge backlog on everything a cashier needs to do, it was six months long. I
eliminated it all within two weeks. Bastards, why can’t they see this? There is
no hope for management.
3 October 2008
It is 3h30 in the morning. I cannot drink, sleep, watch TV,
listen to music, read or play cards on the computer, I can do nothing. This is
the message I just sent to two friends of mine, one being the editor of a
magazine in
Hi,
Stephen has been
arrested, whilst I was walking outside. The door of the apartment has been
broken into by the police (I hope they will pay to get it fixed). I was told by
a neighbour that they took him away. I called everywhere and they would not
tell me anything. Finally they told me he had been arrested, but they would not
tell me where he was, why he was arrested, nothing.
He finally called a few
hours later from a local police station. He said he was not allowed to tell me
anything. He asked me to call his boss tomorrow to let him know he cannot come
to work (on his second official day of work in that new job!). I said I was not
going to work tomorrow and that I would not sleep tonight. I am to tell his
boss that he was assaulted by someone, he lost two teeth, he had been in
hospital and it was a homophobic crime. Well, I certainly will not tell his
boss it was a homophobic crime, the delivery industry is still very homophobic
as it is.
I don’t even know who did
that, why, if they arrested anyone else. Stephen told me not to call his mum in
order not to worry her, her heart, and she recently lost her husband. But I did
leave a message on her answering machine saying that Stephen had been arrested!
God! How brainless of me. Well, I didn’t know what to do, Stephen has got the
only car key we have in the flat, I can’t even come and help him or come and
pick him up tomorrow after he sees the solicitors. I don’t even know if he is
in prison or in hospital. I know nothing!
The only person who would
know is the neighbour upstairs, the one I told you about before, who causes so
much trouble around here I’m surprised he does not have an ASBO in his name (police
surveillance). I hope he has been arrested as well, I have no doubt that either
him or his son must be responsible for hitting Stephen. It will be charming
living here after all that!
Of course, perhaps it is
another neighbour who hit him, I don’t know. All I know is that once again the
wisteria growing along the wall, the large tree which made the building looked
so nice despite being such an ugly building, has been taken down once again, no
doubt by the neighbour upstairs who tried desperately to get it cut by the
agency taking care of the estate, but we intervened before they could do so. It
is probably what is at the root of this crisis, a tree! And lots of complaints
from these neighbours upstairs who recently alienated the whole building against
them.
When we finished the
phone call, Stephen said: I love you! I was quite taken by surprise that he
would say that whilst in a police station, perhaps not the safest place to
advertise that one is gay. I did not answer back, and only understood afterwards
that this was a homophobic crime, so of course, they already knew he was gay
and that I was his boyfriend. Well, anyway, I did tell him that I was not going
to go to work tomorrow and that I would not sleep tonight. If this is not
better than I love you, I wonder what is.
What am I going to do
now? For a second there, seeing the mess the police left behind (and I do
wonder if they went through everything, every light was on, all the animals in
a panic state), I thought I would never hear from Stephen again! Then I
remembered that we are in
I will keep you posted.
RM
I got one answer back
from the editor:
-What are the charges,
if any?
My answer:
-I have absolutely no
idea! I am toying with the idea of contacting a local solicitor right now, at 3
am! They have 24 hours line. Or preferably let Stephen deal with it on his own
tomorrow. They will give him a solicitor, and though I work in a Crown Court, I
could not tell which solicitors would be best! I don’t want to confuse the
issues, especially that I know nothing.
I did finally try to contact three firms with whom I have
become sort of acquainted at work, the three most memorable names for me. The
first one, I searched and searched for half an hour on the Internet, I could
not find their website. Second one, I called their 24 hours emergency line
specifically for when you are in distress because someone close to you has just
been arrested. No answer! Finally I contacted the third one, spoke with
someone, he told me that even if I wanted to hire them, they could not possibly
get the case because I am not the one who has been arrested. The best thing to
do is for Stephen to be allocated the solicitor who will be standing in
tomorrow at the police station. Suffice to say, I am unimpressed.
I suppose this book/blog could not possibly be complete
without a first hand experience from the point of view of someone actually being
arrested, my boyfriend! Hopefully it will be short and sweet, he will be out of
that police station tomorrow (the very one who hung up on me when I called),
and it will be over.
The police lied to me. When I called to ask if they had
Stephen in custody, they said no, not at least for another two hours, and then
the man hung up on me. When I called a few minutes later, I was told he was
arrested, but no more. And when I got his call at 1 am, he was at that very
station where they told me he was not!
I’ve got the feeling this is just the beginning of a long
nightmare that will never end. I fear this will first go through the
Magistrates’ Court, then the Crown Court, and perhaps even the Court of Appeal.
The bureaucracy, the worries, the arguments, the uncertainty, it will finish me
off.
I can’t believe it! My boyfriend is in prison! And I don’t
even have a vague idea of what he is being charged with, if anything. Why are
they not releasing him? Surely they know he is no danger to anyone? Is it not
obvious that all he would do would be to come home and sleep? He has not slept
in over 24 hours, and I am quickly reaching the same schedule.
I cannot possibly see how I could sleep. I thought of
making myself some coffee at 1 am, but realised that it was not necessary. Some
sort of adrenaline rush is going through my veins, I feel I could remain wide
awake for the next few days without a problem, especially if he does not come
home tomorrow.
I know Stephen, he certainly did not hit anyone, but he can
certainly speak, as he is a speaking machine, and speaks non-stop. So why are
they keeping him at the police station? For that matter, why have they felt the
need to break down the door?
I’ve got the feeling something horrible happened and the
homophobic crime angle, though certainly true, still does not eliminate the
fact that there must have been some sort of altercation, a fight, and both of
them have been arrested. I sincerely hope that two people have been arrested,
and not just the one. Because then, it certainly looks bleak.
I’m freaked out. I have closed all the curtains, I never do
usually. I’m not sure what I am afraid of, certainly not the neighbours, I know
I can deal with them without a fight. Then it must be the police that I am
afraid of. This is what has traumatised me tonight.
The fact that they just destroyed the front door, came in
in force, created the most unreal atmosphere of some sort of crime scene, and
simply left with my boyfriend without leaving a word, and refusing to give me
any information when I was condemned to call everywhere in such panic for any
information about what took place here tonight.
I live in fear, afraid they might come back for me, or that
they might be lurking in outside, watching me, hoping to gather the evidence
for the prosecution or something. I’m afraid they may be monitoring my emails
and that it will be used in Court against Stephen. I wonder if they bugged the
place to gather that evidence, and so I am now so careful of anything I say,
even, anything I think.
In this day and age, at this moment in time, in this police
state as we let it become in
I also need to start to think about how I will deal with
this, not only in my own mind, but with Stephen himself when he comes back, if
he comes back. I have a hard time believing it. At the moment I am imagining
the worst things, that God knows what he has done, and perhaps he will be in
prison for years! And what about his job, the flat, the finance, all is gone
overnight! My job as well, God, I don’t know how I could continue in my job as
if nothing happened if Stephen goes to prison over a tree. Especially working
in a Crown Court and dealing with these cases everyday, constant reminder of
the nightmare we are going through.
And if he does not go to prison, the nightmare will be as
bad. It is obvious that Stephen will blame me somehow, as I am always
responsible for all his problems, no matter how far removed I am from anything
that happens to him. It gives him a reason to shout at me, and then of course,
he accuses me of fighting. I will have to remain silent, listen to him, bypass
his digs and blames, pretending that I am not hearing anything.
And I hope it will calm him down, that he will finally get
the message that there is no point in stressing over a tree, and that when it
becomes heated with the neighbours who cannot help themselves in alienating us
all, the best course of action is retreat in your own flat before it escalates
to the point where the whole place is filled with a SWAT team swarming all over
your papers after they tased you or shot you.
Which reminds me of a very similar case that happened in
the flat next door not long ago, when finally the police tased the man, and we
were told they were about to open fire if it had not worked. Very similar
situation. The neighbour was alone in his flat, his girlfriend had just died,
he called the police, but then refused to open the door. So they certainly
stormed the place and escalated the whole thing until there was only one
ending: someone had to die. If the police had left, or never came, five minutes
later we would all have been sleeping soundly, never to mention the incident
again.
Within a police state, what else can happen but everyone
being harassed constantly by the police and every single small situation
quickly escalating to shooting and arrests and prison sentences, wrecking the
lives of good citizens who are no danger to anyone and deserve much better from
their institutions they pay at a high price.
I walked from the train station to a McDonald a few miles
away tonight, and I was counting the time between the police cars I met. Every
minute or two, a police car passed on the street. I could not believe it. And
this was before I knew that whilst I was playing that game peacefully walking,
they were actually in my flat storming the place and taking away the person I
love.
And I have been wondering if this was entrapment. Funny, a
CCTV camera appears at the beginning of the week, then the tree is being taken
off the building and thrown in our entrance door. A crisis occurs, an arrest is
made, at least three lives have been utterly destroyed, perhaps irretrievably
changed forever.
I have to contemplate the idea that my 15 years
relationship is over. If Stephen goes to prison, he will lose the flat, and I
can’t make the payments with the salary of a civil servant alone. Which means I
may have to go back to
And if Stephen does not go to prison, he may come back in
some sort of shell shock state of being absolutely traumatised by what
happened, and he will turn this relationship into a living hell for both of us.
I cannot see how he could come back peaceful from these events, no matter how
supportive I intend to be. And since at this time I don’t even know if he is
coming back, or what he has done, or what was done to him, you can understand
how my head is about to split through furiously thinking about all this.
I am now physically sick from this mental ordeal. I can’t
even describe the state I am in, I have never been in that state before, and I
have no idea if tomorrow or in the next few days I will already feel better, or
if it is all about to get worse. I am so terrified, I cannot get the dog out
for a pee. I prefer she shits on the carpet, because I am not opening that door
tonight.
Nearly 5 am, I better try to sleep if at all possible. I
just called my dad in
As far as I know, despite George W. Bush and Tony Blair
terrorist acts, the rights of the citizens still count for something. This is
still a free democracy, even if it is just a pretend one.
They will be sorry for taking me on, because I certainly
will make a lot of noise about this! I will create an international crisis! I
expect total transparency and fairness from the police and the Ministry of
Justice. And if we don’t get it, I will start a crusade that will continue to
rage long after my death.
12 October 2008
I am still sick like a dog, even though I still try to
continue to survive as normal. Tonight is Sunday, and the thought of going back
to work tomorrow is sending me off the wall. I can no longer suffer the view of
my Line Manager, who cornered me when I took that day off the next day when
Stephen was in prison. I was not allowed to tell her anything, nor did I want
to tell her anything, but she certainly made a big deal out of it, and I had no
choice, according to her, to tell her all my private problems and personal
life.
I said you can sack me, you can send me to any board you
like, I will still not say the nature of the crisis which prevented me from coming
to work on that Friday. In the end I simply said family problems, and told her
it would have to do. She went to the Top Manager of the Court and he accepted
that as an excuse. She said that they would now grant me a day off
retroactively, something that cannot be done unless you are willing to tell
them your whole life story.
And unfortunately, I made a mistake on cash last Friday.
Instead of entering £14.45 in the staff claims’ section, I entered it into
claims receipts. So at the end of the day the computer wanted that money that
was missing. You should have seen the crisis! It proved everything my Line
Manager had always said: I go way too quickly on cash and I make lots of
mistakes. It was actually my first real mistake, but they made such a big deal
out of it, you would not believe. And she wanted to make an even larger problem
of it later on, once everyone had gone, but I quickly left, and I could see on
her face that she wanted to fry me for another half an hour.
I first called in the last two cashiers, one is about to
leave the job, the Chinese guy, the other, the Pakistani guy is now in Listing.
They both did not know what to do, or did not want to help, and listening to
what they were saying, they had never made a mistake before for all the time
they were cashiers, which I cannot for a second believe. Such liars. I know the
Pakistani man made a few crucial mistakes, worst than mine.
So after them, I had my Line Manager and the Deputy
Manager, and for 20 minutes we were all wondering what to do, and they both
freaked out at me, and finally the Chief Clerk was called in. It so happened
that she had to enter three letters on the computer and suddenly my mistake was
erased. It was a 30 second problem, they made it last over an hour, and it’s
far from over, it will go on tomorrow with my Line Manager giving me the speech
of the century. And that is why I can no longer stand her, and now I am sick
because I have to go back tomorrow.
In the meantime, a new position for a Clerk has arisen, my
Line Manager told me about it, trying to be nice to me, motherly, a misplaced
sort of motherly love which is more like a master and slave relationship,
patronizing to the max. I don’t know if this time I will get it or not, but
they are pretty desperate now and there is no little favourite left to whom
they could show favouritism to. Even then, going through this again, I am not
certain if I want to. Perhaps it would be better to find another job. If only I
had the courage and the time.
And now, let me talk about another very important subject,
and it is wise that this book is now offline, otherwise I could not say
anything that I am about to say. The affair of Stephen’s arrest is taking a
turn for the worst, because of police corruption and lies.
It’s funny, you get this image of the police on TV, nice
guys and fair and all, you quickly realise that in real life they are bastards,
they suppress evidences, they conveniently lose track of previous cases, they
lie to you on the phone, and most serious of all, they illegally enter your
apartment without any kind of warrant or justification.
I have denounced the police a lot in my articles, they are
going too far with their anti-terror laws now applied to us, and have granted
themselves absolute powers and a surveillance network of cameras that is
unsurpassed in history or in any other country. But I never thought for one
second that personally I would be confronted with deceit, opened homophobia and
illegal moves from the London Metropolitan Police.
Oh, they certainly succeeded with their public image. We
were led to believe that the police in the
Stephen arrived from work exhausted and was not pleased
when he saw that our tree climbing the building, along with the pole that gets
the water in the Earth, had been cut and thrown in our doorway by the neighbour
upstairs, a man probably in his sixties who has abused and harassed us for
years, with his daughter clearly stated in a previous police case as saying
homophobic things to us like: fucking queers, go live somewhere else, and much
worse that I can’t remember now.
So Stephen was not happy and he voiced his concerns a bit
loud, so the family of four upstairs came out and were all very abusive, with
lots of homophobic comments again. Eventually they returned in their home, but
then the old man without warning came out and hit Stephen in the face with his
fist. He knocked a front tooth, made all the others shaky so Stephen has not
eaten anything for over a week, he knocked Stephen unconscious and then, of
course. both parties called the police.
When the police arrived, Stephen was outside and our front
door was shut. The neighbours were quick to invent any lies they could think
of, fearing suddenly that the old man would be prosecuted for Actual Bodily
Harm (ABH). So they said Stephen had threatened them with their lives, that he
kicked their front door and broke the glass (that somehow they must have
damaged themselves), and the police believed them. From that moment on, the
police were all biased and they decided to work against us. Now Stephen is on
Bail, case to be heard in a month for a preliminary hearing, and to decide if
they will press charges. And if he breaks any condition of his bail, he goes
straight to prison until his case is finished, it could easily take up to a
year.
The police requested the keys to our apartment to Stephen.
He said he did not have them, they were in the flat. Not only at this point the
police had no right to ask for these keys, since they had no right to go in the
apartment, moreover no reason to go there, but once Stephen was inside the
truck, they forced their way in. The whole door was all broken, all the inside
of the wall and the plastic corner thing, we could no longer shut the door. I
arrived only perhaps an hour later to see the mess they have left.
Now, Stephen’s mother and I thought the police had to force
their way in, in order to get to Stephen. At that point we still knew nothing
of what happened. But the next day when I came to pick up Stephen at the police
station, he was surprised, he could not believe they forced their way in, since
he was never inside the flat. So Stephen reported the break in to the police,
which in itself is also a serious offence, whether it was done by the neighbour
upstairs or the police without a warrant.
Then began the dance of the police. First they said that
the police had entered our flat, but how could they? They had no key. Suddenly
they denied it, the police had never entered the apartment. Well, it so happen
that after working for two years in a Crown Court, I was able to find out that
the police did indeed entered the flat, and since there is only one way,
breaking in, they have done it illegally.
Not only that, we got a second confirmation, the police,
seeing that they could not close or lock the door, borrowed a hammer from our
next door neighbours, and tried to put back together the mess they had made. It
was not possible, because a hammer would not do in this case, it was not nails
that kept together the lock, it was a screwdriver they needed. And the whole
thing was so shaky after that, there was no way to lock the door.
Now, I know the law, not only they should never have
entered without a warrant, unless Stephen had been inside and it was necessary
to get to him (which was not the case), but also, they should never have left
without padlocking the whole door. So, that is another serious lie from the London
Metropolitan Police, and a serious indictable offence that could make a few
police officers lose their job and be prosecuted in a Court of Justice.
And now we come to the homophobic part. One of those
policemen made a lot of anti-gay comments to Stephen whilst he was in the
truck, and of course Stephen freaked out. That policeman made no excuse for his
derogatory comments. He was young and from the North, and that is no excuse
when you are in the police. You cannot make racist or homophobic comments to
anyone, hell, if we do that ourselves, this could go to a Crown Court and could
lead to prison.
Since then, it has been a nightmare. Stephen has been too
traumatised by being knocked out and by his night in prison to do anything. He
more or less quit his new job and has not gone all last week. In prison he
nearly froze to death, with only the lightest ever and smelliest ever blanket provided.
They kept his coat. They also woke him up every single half hour for a reason
or another.
I was reading on a website that, supposedly, the treatment of
prisoner’s guidelines included the right to 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep, and
certainly not freeze those prisoners to death. Stephen came out so sick, he was
near death. I thought I would lose him. I asked him if the state he was in was
due to his teeth being knocked out, but no, he said it was that night in prison
that did it!
Every time I called that police station, I was told another
lie! The very station where they told me he was not there initially when he
was, the very station where they hung up the phone on me saying they could not
help me.
And now, Stephen has been on the phone about our breaking
in. This usually requires the police to come and take photos. They still have
not come, they still took no photos, they are trying to bury this. We took
photos, and God only knows if it will be of any help to us to prove this police
corruption.
And now we come to the police latest lie, again, quite an
important one. For our case, it was normal that we brought in all the previous
problems with the neighbours upstairs. If you remember, I have already
mentioned that they once accused me of destroying their car, something totally
untrue, and they sent the police after me. Now, they changed their story, and
they accuse Stephen of having destroyed their car.
The fact is, our car was actually damaged and someone did
steal our tax disk a few months ago. This was reported to the police. We don’t
think it has any bearing on this case, but who knows. And there was another
crime reported to the police. When a previous crisis had erupted when the
neighbour upstairs had cut all our trees once again at the back, killing a
whole family of birds living there in the process. Stephen ended up calling the
police hoping to save our trees, which are not even going over the line of
where their apartment starts. It had also gone very bad and a lot of homophobic
abused had been told, especially by their daughter.
The police told us they could not find anything about these
cases. Of course, it would help us tremendously in court to prove our point,
since not only we have the neighbours against us, but so it is confirmed, we
have the police as well working against us. As if a sense of fairness and
justice was not possible coming from the Metropolitan Police.
Well, it so happen that I had no trouble finding the crime
numbers and the relevant information about those cases that the police said
they could find nothing about.
And now we wait. For them to press charges for disorderly
behaviour and damage to a property (the last one certainly a lie), and we
wonder if we should press charges for ABH against the neighbour upstairs.
Considering how the police are lying through their teeth and determined to
cause Stephen as much damage as possible, it does not seem wise to bring the
man upstairs to Court. He would not plead guilty, because he arranged his story
so he can claim it was self-defence, and we have no reason to believe the
police or the prosecution will try to reach the truth or some justice in this
case.
It would be easy if all charges could be dropped against
Stephen, because then we would not press charges and avoid the corrupted police
and Court of Justice. But no, the neighbour upstairs is not the one pressing
charges, it is the police, and so, this thing will no be dropped, it will go
ahead and end up in perhaps two trials! Or I don’t know if they will link it
all together.
And if this goes to trial, we will have to prove that the
police entered our flat illegally without a warrant, we will have to prove the
police lied, we will have prove the neighbours lied, it is going to be a
nightmare. I have no doubt a jury will not believe Stephen in such
circumstances. And yet, what choice do we have?
It seems, when a crisis occurs, everyone ends up doing
something wrong. In this case, Stephen only talked a bit too loud, by far the
least important charge. And yet, I fear they will turn this into something
horrible and we will pay dearly whilst none of them will be affected. The
police and the neighbours will be celebrating their victory over the queer
bashing. Another fucking queer to the floor… let’s all laugh our heart out!
And this is in that kind of state of mind that I am about
to go to work tomorrow, reading about similar cases turning my stomach, and
that terrible line manager that I can no longer stand. I am sick, just like
Stephen’s mother is and has been since this whole thing started. She is so weak
now, if it does not kill her, I’m pretty sure it has already taken a few years
off her life.
13 November 2008
I am in a state of shock. I am so disgusted with this world
and everyone within it, there is absolutely nothing I can do right now, nothing
I wish to look at. I am not exactly suicidal, I am angry.
Everyone turned against me this week at the Court, it has
been the worst nightmare I have ever gone through. People I have been working
with for over two years, so suddenly backstabbing me on such a scale, that I am
now facing being sacked for gross misconduct, is beyond belief. All a self-made
crisis from a build up from the Fat British woman and my best ally there, the
other British one, the beaten woman with whom I have become such a friend in
the last year, enjoying herself at going to all the management to denounce me
on what I had done.
And the Chinese guy now, you might as well say he despises
me openly, he does not it at all, with a smirk of a face, enjoying making
nothing into something so serious, I might be out of there before he is. Three
months now that he and the other incompetent Indian girl got their promotion,
and they are still stuck where they have always been. If only they could both
be gone by now! Things move so slowly in that Court, who can live like that
nowadays.
You know, when your friends turn against you like this, you
have to wonder if somehow it is not your own fault. I have tried to find out
what I might have done, which was different from before, but I can’t see what I
could have possibly have done which could explain this turn of event. I am left
simply disgusted at how quickly people can turn against you. It makes me wish
to squeeze my cats, my dog, my parrot, and have nothing more to do with any
human being.
I told them this afternoon. There was a man at the counter
who received a fax of eight pages. The first five are free, he had 30 pence to
pay. When I said: just give it to him, you should have seen how they all went
into panic mode, especially the Chinese guy. I said that when he was cashier
for over a year, almost every single fax or photocopy went unpaid, that I heard
him say at least many times a day to simply not charge for it. And it was the
same for the last cashier. Well, it was the very first time that I myself said
to just give the fax to the man. Of course, it has always been a rule for
everyone else and a rule for me.
When the British woman freak out and started to comment on
how things were when she was cashier, something like eight years ago, I cut her
dry and stated that I already knew that she knew everything, that I was in a
bad mood, and that “certainly you made my life a misery this week!”. By “you”,
I meant the whole lot of them.
I was hoping it would make them feel guilt, that perhaps
they would think about what they did, all their little meetings with management
to denounce me. On the contrary, they loved it, with a large grin on all their
faces. I was digging for myself a larger hole, they enjoyed every second of it.
There is only one word for this, even though you might think this is just small
minded civil servants, it is in fact evil. It is certainly bullying, and that,
mostly from this Chinese guy himself who confessed to me down the pub many
times how bullied he has been whilst he was a child in school, being Chinese in
And now, you must be wondering what it is that I did which
created this whole nightmare, that could possibly lead to my dismissal for
gross misconduct. And if you want to know the truth, I at least do not regret
anything I have done, I would do it again, no matter the consequences. I will
fight this to the bitter end, and I don’t care if in the end I end up with an
indictment to my name.
After all, all I did was to offer real customer service,
something that these civil servants I work with know nothing about, since they
follow the rules of laziness, about how to get away with doing the minimum and
be an unhelpful as possible for an easy life.
What they don’t understand is that what I did for this
French woman, I do every day for any other defendant. But you see, it happens
in English then, and they have no clue that this is the kind of help I offer
everyone. In French, they immediately go into a panic mode, they feel I am
doing something which is unfair compared with what I would do for anyone else,
in the end, in their mind, it seems I went too far and compromised myself, did
something illegal. Nothing could be farther from the truth, which is why I am
not afraid to confront management about it. I dare say, I don’t think they will
see it that way, now that the whole thing has reached such momentum, but I
certainly feel justified.
The worse thing is that it was all for nothing. The French
woman today was declared guilty unanimously by Jury, she is going to prison for
at least a decade. Overall, forgetting everything else, that alone has put me
into a state of shock tonight.
It did not even made the news. If anything like that had
happened in my home town in Québec, it would have been everywhere. And it did.
Two older women caught with lots of class a drugs at an airport, fooled by some
heartless bastard too pussy himself to get his drugs across countries, that he
has to pray on innocent tourists who then go to prison for ten years on his
behalf. When it happened in my region 20 years ago, we never heard the end of
it for at least two years. Now it is so common, the only consequence is prisons
packed to the brink, and entire families completely destroyed, developing a new
philosophy of life. The one I acquired tonight, disgusted for life of humanity.
She is so nice that French woman, so intelligent, so
philosophical. And you should have met her young daughter and her boyfriend,
such a nice young couple who to
I have to say, I knew already that she would be found
guilty. I know enough about this sort of case, that it does not really matter
if you packed your bags yourself or not, if you had all this drugs with you
with or without your knowledge, the result is always the same. You are found
guilty and go to prison for ten years. There is no real proof, I might add if
you knew or not, but you are always found guilty. It is again a case of being
guilty until proven innocent, and of course the Jury never believes a word you
say, when you have all those prosecutors and police mounting such a case
against you.
Did she know or not? Who can say? There is no proof one way
or another, and yet, she has been found guilty. And so, the justice system we
have is still guilty until proven innocent. And if you can’t prove it, you are
finished, you are about to find out a whole new way of life, a new perspective
on life.
My only consolation is that she spent her last two weeks of
freedom with her daughter and her boyfriend. The only positive thing about her
going to prison for so long, is that she will be such a nice inmate to spend
eternity with, I would not mind being in prison if I had to share that time
with her. Because I believe I would get more from life just being her friend,
than sharing such misery with my wonderful colleagues at the Court. Ultimately
they are ten times more miserable than my French woman, and they deserve a ten
years in prison more desperately than any of our defendants.
I would hope they would then learn something about life and
what ultimately they are responsible for working in a Crown Court, however I
know there is no hope for them, they could never learn anything. For them,
dealing with people who might be going to prison for a very long time, often
because of the ruthlessness and audacity of others, is like serving burgers in
a McDonald, so easy it is to become detached from what we actually do.
I am guilty of helping that French woman because I speak
French. That is my first charge or count on my indictment. It seems like
favouritism, when I can assure you it was not, even though I felt more closely
her situation than for most other defendants. I would have and I did the same
for many other defendants before. My second count is that I have offered her
case for trial on the offer list on her behalf, at her demand. Usually we get
these offers from the solicitors. What difference does it make if a defendant
requests to be listed earlier rather than later, or ask their solicitor to do
so? Well, I guess I should have first contacted her lawyer, she has been
totally unavailable for the last two weeks. Finally, third count, I contacted
the defendant to let her know her case was on the next day, when the proper
procedure is to let the solicitor know, so he or she tell his or her client.
The solicitor, a right bitch from what I have seen so far, is so offended by
what I did, she told the British bitch I work with that she would write a
letter to the Court Manager against me, hoping to seal my fate along with the
one of her client for which she does not care at all.
That solicitor who does not provide translation for her
client who does not understand English, who ignored her completely whilst bail
was being breached and her client would have ended up in prison without my help
whilst awaiting for the trial, has now succeeded in sending her client to
prison for a decade. As if this was not enough, she is going after me, she will
lose me my job, because I contacted the defendant first, instead of her.
Hours after it was known that her client was on the next
day, that solicitor still did not know anything about it. Her client would be
in prison now, as a result of a misunderstanding, a miscommunication between
them. She failed to ensure that her client understood what a warned list was,
that it means the trial could come up at any time within a two week period. She
failed to communicate with her client on the Friday preceding the beginning of
the warned list, and so her client showed up in court on that Monday when the
trial was not on.
The only way she could be in Court by 9 am was by breaking
her bail condition, something that once again her solicitor failed to make her
understand. By the time this French woman showed up in Court on Monday two
weeks ago, with her daughter and her friend, there was no one in the world who
understood what she was saying, and none of them could understand anything of
what anyone was telling them. So, no wonder she broke her curfew and now the
whole police force in
I stopped the machine for her, I called the monitoring
company and the police force off for her. I sat her and I explained to her what
her solicitor failed to explain to her. I made sure she would not be arrested
and go to prison before her trial. Unfortunately it took me two hours to
achieve that, which is one hour and fifty eight minutes too much for any task
of any civil servant. Hence the trouble I am in now, facing gross misconduct
and losing my job. My colleagues are outraged, and they are working very hard
to assure my downfall. It is lucky for them that most of the ones involved are
not Indians, because then my outrage would be so far reaching, you would not
believe it. I have seen my Indian colleagues going many extra miles in the past
in order to help their own kind, far more than I did. No one said anything. I
guess I am an easy target, one rule for me, one rule for the others.
I wonder how British defendants cope in the French justice
system? I wonder if their solicitors understand them, or at least provide
translators to ensure they understand the situation they are in, and prepare a
suitable defence. Or if, like in
You think I am nationalist, that I care for French
nationals because I speak French? You don’t understand, I have actually
uncovered the truth about this, because of it. Two years working in that Crown
Court, it tool me to understand what is going on, simply because one day I
started to care about one single defendant out of thousands, and only because
she speaks French, and was so lost one day at the Court, I was requested in an
emergency by the receptionist of the Court to come and explain to her what was
going on around here.
99% of all our defendants at this Crown Court are
foreigners and have names you could not pronounce. None of them speak English.
None of them have translators provided by their solicitors.
They get a translator at the Court where they can discuss
the case five minutes before the trial begins. Now, ask me if justice is being
served, or if we are sending thousands of human beings to prison because of a
lack of communication and understanding? How easy it is to break bail
conditions when you are incapable of understanding what they are, and your
solicitor could not care less?
And now I tried to help and sort out one defendant too
many. It has been perceived that I was acting differently just because she
spoke the same language as me, and we will all pay dearly for this.
Should I have let her go to prison before the trial? She I
had let her go to prison for an eternity because no one around gives a shit
about what happens to her? No, every time, and I don’t care what language that
defendant speaks, or what nationality is concerned. I do my job with a
conscience, unlike any of my colleagues, unlike the police, unlike the
prosecution, unlike the Juries. If I have to end up in prison for that, I don’t
care. Let me go to prison. I will at least have a clear conscience, that I did
everything I could to help humanity, no matter where they are from.
But I am telling you, the real culprits, the real guilty
party, is the Court system. I already have one thousand pages of a normal
published book about this, and I feel I am just at the beginning of denouncing
everything I have witnessed. I am ready to write a new book upon the subject.
It would be damnable, worthy of being censored. It would also be illegal for me
to write it, as a civil servant, there are a string of laws preventing me from
becoming a whistle blower, to talk about politics, and this is politics, this
is the law.
Never mind. I will just go on drinking myself to death
tonight, hoping somehow it will compensate for the nightmare I found myself in,
and the injustice I witnessed this week, all around.
I have a new mission, a new determination. Monday morning I
will organise a trip to Wormwood Scrubs prison for the staff of the Court. I
already mentioned it to the Chief Clerk, and she said that this was showing
initiative. I will make them understand, I will ensure they will get there in a
prison van, and left there standing in Hammersmith at the end of it. I will
specifically request from the staff at the prison to treat us badly, as they
would their prisoners. I will try to organise at least an hour being locked up
in a cell for any member of staff willing to see further what we do every day.
I do not believe I will succeed in this endeavour, I can only try. And I will.
There, I have written my letter to the head of Wormwood
Scrubs Prison. I have no doubt that my anti-VIP tour of the prison will be a
VIP tour. Still, it is worth organising. I will first get the approval of the
Court Manager. And so, it will definitely happen.
At any rate, act local, if you feel for some reason that
you cannot reach globally. And that is exactly what I am doing now, acting very
local. What they don’t know, is that I will write an article after that, and it
will go international big time. There is no law against acting local, and then,
making it go global by reporting it worldwide! They have no idea who they are
dealing with here… as I am the only one left in the whole Ministry of Justice,
still feeling something, still having a conscience, still hoping to help the
very citizens we are paid to help. I suppose I need to be shot for that, and
don’t worry, I will be.
9 January 2009
I simply cannot believe that I am still writing here, after
more than two years, because by now I should really have moved on, or killed
myself.
Instead I am still swimming in that filth, of what it means
to be a civil servant, in any country. If there is a better definition of what
a slave is, I still have to find it. I’m so drunk and out of everything right
now, I could easily put this all back online this very night.
After all, a policeman in
Well, it so happen that I went there, I was in
Useless to deny it, I never felt so much in
The more the State wishes to control your life, the less it
will ever control it. If you have to wait until you are 21 years old to have
sex and drink a beer, you can bet you will go wild very early on, and might not
survive to be 21 before you can live normally. That defines
What also defines
I think it is the same in many American States. What comes
to mind now is
Well, this is not my blog. I cannot so freely talk about
everything else that is happening to me and that I think within this world.
This is a very specific blog about my life, working in a Crown Court in
So far, this is too good an entry to be part of this
miserable blog, of a miserable existence, stuck in a fucking Crown Court with
so small minded managers, it would require a nuclear war to eradicate them all.
I did intend to tell you more about them tonight, as I was down the pub with
them all night. I guess after two years I just learned to exist outside my
daily life. I have learnt not to exist whilst I go to work for 50 hours a week,
and suddenly, by miracle, come to life, as soon as I escape my prison, my
sentence, this Crown Court.
I no longer exist, I no longer live at all, and this is the
secret of survival within this world. When you can bypass your life completely
that it no longer exists, and that if you are still alive at all, I‘m afraid,
it can only be in a world of imagination far away from anything you have ever
known.
This is the secret of all civil servants, all of them have
been dead for years, they only exist in their own mind outside of this reality.
The only way to survive, I’m afraid. Oh no, we never get the chance to become
slaves, we reach insanity far more quickly than you could ever imagine, and
then, God knows where and how we exist and survive. As I was saying, way too
good an entry to be part of such a boring and life sucking blog. We’ll have to
once again thank alcohol to give me the only freedom I will ever get to know
within this world.
Wow! I cannot believe that I will tell you nothing of all
the pettiness I went through tonight. It can only mean one thing, I am beyond
pettiness and I live totally somewhere else than within this reality. And so, I
am now, as a civil servant, totally insane! And there is absolutely no hope of
saving me.
I have become just what I thought I would never become. I
have become the slave, the third class, of British society. I have accepted it
so heartedly, there is now no way out of it. I am nothing, I will never be
anything, because even promotions mean nothing to me anymore.
I am a destroyed soul within this world, where life means
nothing, where I mean nothing, but I just don’t die, short of being a soldier
fighting in
Alright,
maybe now that I have calmed down, sort of, I am ready to tell you all the
futilities if this very existence. It was after all quite a day. I’m not sure
where to start. I could start chronologically, or altogether all at once. Let
me roll myself up a cigarette, and then decide how I will proceed. After all,
this involves the top of what society has to offer, and the bottom of it all.
The Resident Judge of one of the most important Crown Courts, and ant slaves
working at that Court.
First of all, I have to describe the very last crisis of
today, after all that I have gone through. Was it too much to ask, to be able
to watch and listen full blast that damn DVD I bought in
Anyway, this is all about the Chinese guy, finally, the
bastard is leaving, and dear me, I cannot believe he is finally leaving, and
that I will never see him again, and that, finally, I can become the shining
blue eye boy in that fucking Crown Court. By the way, I am aware there was a
Chinese guy in the band Smashing Pumpkins, and my eyes are black.
As I shouted tonight, I am the next best thing after that over
performing overnice Chinese Guy that everyone in the Court has come to love
over time. So much so, that despite the fact that I AM the IT SYSTEMS MANAGER,
and that I have been so for over six months, the Honourable Resident Judge
never called me once, he still called the Chinese guy every time he needed
help.
So today, on the great leaving due, the overdue leaving
due, of that Chinese guy, who took six months to move on after being promoted
(what can you expect in the civil service), the great speech of the resident
judge was that he expected every single Judge of the Court to suddenly be
totally lost and be incapable to get their computer to work because our dear
David is now gone.
I was listening in the background, I didn’t say a word. It
has become obvious to me that whatever IT degree David has, it must only have
been a NVQ certificate that you can achieve in three months. Because I, a kid
born within a computer to begin with, quickly realised that I knew much more
than he about it all. And I certainly did sort out every single Judge in that
Crown Court in the last six months except the Court Manager and the Resident
Judge, who still believed that David was such a wiz kid about it all. Tonight
when I shouted that I was the next best thing to him, what I meant was that I
was the only thing and that he never truly existed.
Still, I kept my cool, I didn’t say anything, whilst the
great speech of the Resident Honourable Judge went on. In my mind I could only
think of one thing, that within a month it would be I who would leave that
fucking Court. And there would be no fanfare and such a leaving due for me, I
would disappear unnoticed despite the fact that the whole damn place only works
because of me.
Of course, none of them can recognise that. The reason
being, my attitude. Everything depends on attitude I’m afraid. It does not matter
how good you are, how great a job you do, if with it you do not have that smile
and brainless capacity to ignore all the bitchiness, all the authority and all
the bullying that goes on, you might as well then kiss your career goodbye.
And that is exactly what that Chinese guy had on his side.
He was so afraid of being nothing in this world, that being a civil servant was
like a dream come true. And so he had this extraordinary capacity to be blind
to everything around him, and be so helpful to everyone. What everyone never
understood, is that whilst he was so helpful to everyone, he never did his job,
and it would just pile up and pile up, until I had to do it for him. Well, I do
my job, I eliminate everything within an hour instead of days, and yet, I help
everyone, and I certainly am worth ten times that Chinese bastard. Unfortunately,
I have an attitude, I cannot stand corporate bullying, or any kind of
authority. I feel that if you work so hard, well, there is no need to cry over
spilled milk and alienate us all.
Anyway. I was listening to the second most important Judge
in
Anyway, unexpectedly my Scottish Manager came to my rescue.
He stopped the Judge right in his track, and started on a long discourse about
how I took over the Chinese guy so successfully. Might have had something to do
with the fact that I told him today that he did put on weight (and that, in my
mind, he must have stopped taking so much class A drugs since his father died a
week before Christmas). But the Resident Judge would not hear any of it, he
went on to say how the whole IT network will break down the minute David left
the building.
And just as I thought, he felt guilty afterwards. When my
phone rang, I knew it was him, the Resident Judge. He asked me the phone number
of our IT people, which I gave him, knowing full well he already knew it.
I don’t really care, this is so sad, all this bullshit. I
used to think that I would love to tell them that I am leaving. I have come to
realise that none of them would give a shit. It does not matter how hard you
work, how much you know what you are doing. It does not matter if you are
replaced by someone who knows nothing, and cannot do one tenth of what you used
to do. None of them are worried about it. In the end there is just me, and if I
wish to continue to work there or not, because then it is practical, and I don’t
have to travel to
Well, at the very least not all is lost. Starting Monday I
truly do replace the Chinese guy. I will now be part of the secret alcoholic
club of the Court. Once in a while they lock all the doors after hours, and
from smuggled alcohol with the help of the corrupted security guards, they
drink themselves to death. I call it the Southern Comfort Club.
I have been aware of it for over a year, some people in the
Court have alcohol and do drink like fish. I did not feel like investigating it
any further, it was not as interesting as the whole upper management being drug
addicts, and even that I have not gone into too much detail. Well, I will be
part of the Drunk Club starting Monday. Not the drug club, the alcohol club.
Holy shit, God help me!
I guess it doesn’t really matter, as soon as I drink a bit,
like I told my Line Manager tonight, I get into my natural state. Happy go
lucky kind of guy, so nice to everyone, I could shag the whole planet. So who
cares if I am stuck in one dark room with all the overage alcoholics of the
Court after hours? I can still have fun, even if they feel like this is the end
of the world and wish to commit suicide or something. And if they feel like
shagging the planet, well, I’m ready for it.