"don't wait up, love. and give my regards to norman." these were the strangely calm final words of oscar buckland as his eyelids descended for the final time in his mere thirty seven years. the 'love' was his dear mother who hadn't left off her bedside vigil in the two weeks her only son had been so confined. norman was the father. not that norman buckland was in attendance. nor had he been for nigh on twenty six years. oscar and anne, for that was his mother's name, had never stopped wishing him goodnight. they saw no reason to either; for if you were to ask, they would always reply that norman had never left them. they weren't mad, they weren't desperate and they certainly weren't clinging to some fantasy. despite the fragile nature of our existence, some things remain unbreakable. no amount of time, no length of distance and not even a lack of definite physical presence could affect the relationship the three shared. neither was it even so much as frayed by oscar's upcoming demise, as was proven by both his and anne's attitudes as they laid and sat respectively in the dimly lit bedroom. with every breath oscar had grown weaker, but his mother had grown stronger. testimony to this could be found in her eyes as, for the first time, she bade both her husband and son sleep well in the same breath. all of which minor sadness, (it is only a story after all), has absolutely nothing to do with anything i want to say and furthermore proves nothing more than how right i was not to follow my childhood dream of being one of the jackanory storytellers. all of which complete nonsense does lead to but one truth; that being that fiction is far easier to write than non-fiction. why they don't just call it fact i shall never know. or at least i won't attempt to find out. should such knowledge come my way i won't turn it away but needless to say it isn't foremost in my thoughts. nothing is. well, except the obvious, that is. it is, in fact, so obvious that i am not inclined to remind the viewers as to what it pertains. if you are following these mental meanderings then you should remember, unless you have a worse memory than myself, that i began with a story. there was a moral to the story. if you find it then please inform me of it's whereabouts. unfortunately there is no reward for such a kind deed since my wallet possesses more gaps than my memory and is, as a friend of mine once remarked, holier than the last three popes combined! and on the subject of men of a clerical persuasion, i would like to take a moment to honour the name of padre pio. now that i have done that, i would like to donate the moment i took to the charity of your choice just to prove that i am not the common thief that people say. i can honestly say i have never stolen anything; except a few hearts, but that was just payback. as the old saying goes, an eye for an eye and a heart for a heart. did i hear some murmuring in the back? a ripple of dissent was that? carry on. i only talk to people who listen. never been one to beat a dead horse, me. the end result being nothing more than a tiredness in the limbs and a whole lot of dead flies. i always remember the last word to leave my lips before i left school. it was that mmm sound of feigned interest. i used that a lot, come to think of it. which i would prefer not to do, ta. but, since i have, i may as well expand on it a bit, had i not? no? you don't want to hear about my school days that would make dotheboys hall seem a veritable paradise in comparison. good, because as i told my friend suzy, (no not the one from the cannery), i don't lie anymore. not even to myself. not many people can break their own heart. though one does not have to have a vanity about themselves to do so. all it takes is the construction of a dream into an almost second reality; one built without the foundation of truth and the cornerstone of sanity. it is suicidal, really. it is the only way to true madness. i'm not quite there yet. i have an irreverent apathy. no, forget that. have you forgotten it? we're not going any further until you do. done? good. no, i don't have an irreverent apathy at all; it's more of an apathetical irreverence. ha! ha? i have been laughing for so long it has lost all meaning; i just cannot stop. what is worse; not being able to laugh or not being able to feel the joy and just laughing mechanically? don't worry, there's no right or wrong answer, though it will be on the exam. another one is what does it say about a man's life when the highlight of his day is watching a man singing ‘danny boy' with his lungs full of helium? combine the general hilarity of the moment with the consequential laughter and add a temperature of near twenty eight degrees celsius and said spectator must have lost a stone and a half in weight! talk about a hundred and twenty pounds 'soaking wet'! ha! not one of you understand that. it's quite alright, you're not alone. i am. those who understand always are. so many questions i have to ask so few people. and all of them rhetorical! they aren't meant to be, i'm just afraid i already know all the answers. something happened today to change my mood. i was touched by the dead hand of the past. i felt it on my shoulder as i was staring off of the edge of the world debating whether to jump back in or try my luck in the great wide open. i stayed on the bus, shook the hand (!), and did a deal with destiny. so long as i kept playing her game she promised to stay at least two hundred yards from me at all times. now, even though i can't change what's coming, i don't have to put up with people telling me they told me so. sods. dusky jewel, the great painter of her day, was lost for inspiration. she could find nothing to lift her spirits. nothing to bring out the ideas that she knew were inside of her but wouldn't show their faces. she couldn't even go back to basics since someone had smashed her fruit bowl. she wandered. then wondered. then wandered some more. sometimes she did both at the same time. sometimes she did neither. what was she wanting to find? what was that single flash of brilliance? that sole spark of creativity? that vital illumination she so desired? she had seen the colour of the wind and it wasn't there. nor was it in the innocent laughter of the child. it wasn't even in the zen-like solace of ginsberg's dazzling void. she was lost. lost in a world of mystery, of poison darts and searching for the thief of hearts. should i tell her she won't find him here? i was recently requested to write a grand, free flowing account of a trip i undertook. i managed to write a beginning and an end. i had trouble separating fact from fiction whilst trying to conjure up the middle, not least because the whole experience was like a dream; albeit one that didn't entirely come true. venus twinkled like a star, peeking over the shoulder of the slack-jawed, pale moon. my first night. what follows is an unavoidably emotional travelogue of an exhaustive, (more mentally than physically so), transatlantic sojourn. it has been left untitled, but, for the purpose of a swift synopsis, let us quote the words of the irish rover to the belfast cowboy: lost dreams and found dreams in america. then comes page after page of unwritten memories, roll upon roll of uncollected thoughts, and the lingering doubt that i was ever there at all before we come to the conclusion where i gazed from my solitary window to see the night come on and the final red summer sky creep along the horizon. and, as the sun set across the aircraft wing, shadowing them like angels, so sank this once obsidian heart. on which delusionary note i depart from the land of the free and the home of the brave under the sobering impression, (i was on my third chivas regal by the time we took off), that i have no more freedom from this emotional torment and no more courage to confront it than when i first set foot upon the hallowed ground of my self-proclaimed avalon! after which i was going to put 'the end' but it detracts from the majesty of the exclamation mark and does little or no justice to the almost euphorically confused state of my mind on such an occasion, which still lingers today. i just don't show it. ha! surprise no longer interest me. because the one thing i hate more than ungratefulness is forced gratitude. at least there is an element of truth in being ungrateful. and it's not just receiving surprises but giving them that i really hate. i mean that. hate is a strong word, i agree with whoever said it, but i do. on the subject of good news, (not that we were, more that i would like to dedicate a few words to it), i received a letter yesterday. it was dated four days ago but nonetheless at least it arrived. though it is a remarkable occurrence in itself, that isn't the good news of which i speak, or rather i am about to speak. also the title of 'good' that i bestowed upon it is rather dubious. or at least it will be to those who don't know me, and probably even to those who do. or those who think they do. they know one me, or you may know of me, but i am very careful about what i share. there are some very unscrupulous operators out there, of which i am one so i know who to avoid and what to tell those i don't. excuse me, sir. yes, you, with the glasses. put that cigar out. this is a no smoking page. if you don't then you'll have to leave. on second thoughts, bugger off anyway. i can do without your kind here giving this place a bad reputation. i can do it perfectly well by myself. changing subjects swiftly now, as is my wont, (though i'm sure some people wish it was my won't; wonderful things apostrophes), i should like to ask a question. i say 'should' because i don't actually want to. even though it would give my mind some much needed rest, it would hurt considerably to hear the answer. it's one of those rhetorical questions i mentioned. i just need to hear the answer from someone else. preferably someone impartial and with nothing to gain. although in this world, i doubt such a person could, or indeed does, exist. i used to be but they got to me too. paranoid, you say? of course i am! as would you be if you were me. suspicion is the most prevalent emotion in my life, to such an extent that i don't even think twice about titling it an emotion. it shouldn't be anything more than a thought but when you know what i know and have seen what i've seen then you'd understand. i'm digressing again. the good news of which i spoke was none other than the confirmation of my promotion. promotion from apathetic irreverence to true madness. but i should point out that the common (mis)conception of madness isn't actually madness. most of us think that a madman is someone who acts oddly and does daft things. that is just stupidity and a craving for attention. real madness however is nothing more than a lifetime of unorganised, uncollected thoughts all jostling in confinement for centre-stage while one tries to focus on the one thing that gives their life meaning. that is the road to insanity. and insanity is not such a bad thing. there is lots of good in sanity, i was once told. and i, oh, hang on a minute. there is a space between 'in' and 'sanity' there. that is precisely the reason i usually ask for everything in writing! maybe my drifting into mental nothingness is a good idea after all. maybe i should forget all the 'uncollected thoughts' and start over. maybe i should forget all my wants, all my needs, my one desire. do we get second chances in this world? what would it cost for me to start again? a short time ago, i decided that i was going to be perpetually cheerful; hide everything behind the smile and not give any troubles, no matter how great, a second thought. if dreams and wishful thinking are the joys of youth and confusion but a sign of age, (though not necessarily wisdom), then i have grown up awfully fast. i feel the confusion. the confusion is closed so tight that it can feel me! and judging from the strength of the grip, it isn't likely to relinquish any time soon. and yet, despite being able to detect the confusion with every one of my senses, i have no idea why it reigns so. speaking of which, we are presently entering our sixth hour of this current downpour; and, like the overflowing confusion in my mind, the water has flooded my shoes!