Lessons in Perspective

The beauty AND horror of being based in Dublin city centre is you can go for a walk at any time, and see every walk of life, from the homeless to the rich, and everyone in between, such as tourists walking around, phones in the air, like mindless pigeons, unaware of the personal space of other people. Or oncoming trams. It’s usually the homeless I notice most. As most of my readers may be aware, I’ve been homeless in Dublin city for last year and a half, after 9 months in the ‘care’ of the nuns (but that’s a script for another series).
But right now, I’m doing okay. I’ve got my own room in a hostel, and a good bunch of lads sharing our floor, and I seem to be able to make money stretch, long as I stay sober.

Usually when I’m out and about, I keep an eye out for some of the people I’ve met over the last two years, in various hostels, food banks, or rehab. Some have disappeared, and I hope they’re okay. Some are on their way out of this mortal realm, and there ain’t nothing anyone else can do about that. I’ve even recently learned of the suicide of two guys I met in recovery. Even two hours ago I spotted a man in a doorway who just had NO hope left. You can see it in his demeanour.

Some of the homeless are guys AND girls with addiction issues. They’ve got their own journey. Some are homeless due to pure circumstance, or mental health problems. And as sexist as it may seem to say, it’s usually spotting a homeless girl that breaks your heart more, an opinion a lot of the men I’ve met seem to hold. Maybe because, traditionally, women are usually the ones with their shit together, and indeed, their man’s shit together, by proxy? They’re usually the ones I’m more tempted to give any spare change to.

I HAVE had a hard time of it, the struggle hasn’t been easy, but in my case it was certainly made easier by the fact that I have friends. Friends who have helped me out when they could, even one or two who have gone above and beyond to get me out of the shit. This is something most of the homeless DON’T have, and I’m grateful for that every day.

And then I get to come back to my nice warm room every day, and have a look on the oul’ internet.

‘Ha ha ha, bless your souls…’

Shitting Christ, that’s where some of the REAL grotesqueness lies, isn’t it? Wow. It’s like “Things aren’t too bad at the moment, think I’ll go on Twitter and see who’s getting judged by the ignorant, just to bring me back down to Earth. Possibly somewhere subterranean, if that’s possible? Thanks.”

There’s nothing more heartening than, twenty minutes after seeing someone whose life is effectively over, reading about some obscure Irish wannabe comedian getting upset on behalf of a rich American actress who got groped by some rich American asshole 20 years ago. Not your fight. Maybe you could get offended on behalf of the LGBT community, as if you’re one of them, over something vaguely homophobic someone once tweeted, someone who will NEVER know you. Oh yes, I can literally FEEL the ‘progress’ whizzing past me.

Idris Elba was recently quoted as saying that if you’ve nothing to hide, then you’ve nothing to fear from the Me Too movement. Oh really, Idris? Is that how you think this works? I think by now we’re ALL aware that accusations are all it takes to ruin someone, however real or imaginary the accuser’s story might be. It’s now gradually getting to the stage where a ‘Me Too’ accusation will eventually start to become a ‘badge of honour’, because certain people are now just pissing on what was a genuine enough thing when it began. I for one can’t wait to receive MINE. But who’s gonna MeToo a homeless guy? Maybe when I have a modicum of success. I can only hope, that just at the right time, someone that wants attention and a feeling of purpose, will come out of the woodwork. Though, if I’m honest, I think the worst I’ve probably done is had a shitty relationship AT a few people.

Even in these last few months, I’ve started to become more aware of ‘the cunts’. I can see when I’m being fucked with, and WHY. Even if THEY don’t know. I’ve started to walk away from a few people and situations going on over the last ten years, and I’m actually starting to feel happier. I’m starting to see who and what is important. And all it took was to fall right down to the bottom.

I’ve even lost what was nearly a lifelong religion to me: My love for a TV show called Doctor Who (yes, he’s bringing THAT up again). It was my bible, but I’ve found this new series, under a new showrunner, is… well.. It’s designed for a completely new audience. And if the interactions I’ve had and witnessed online are anything to go by, that would be an audience of ‘woke’, ‘NPC’,’SJW’, perpetually triggered cunts. And as we all know, soon as the cunts get their hands on a religion, intelligent discussion and thought provoking progression is out the fucking window.

Nighty night, true believers.

R

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Posted in Alcoholism, Biography, Doctor Who, Dublin, Homelessness, irish comedy, Mental health, My Own Ignorant Opinion, Religion, Shitbags, The internet | Tagged , , , | 10 Comments

Doctor, I Let You Go…

Well, hello there. Fancy seeing YOU here. No no, wait, now that I have you, take a seat. We might as well hash this all out now. I’ve a few bits I’d like to run by you. I’ve had a giant word-spill on the verge of happening for quite some time now, so I hope you have a fresh tube of info-roll to soak this up. No? Fuck sake, do I have to do everything? Here ya go.

Firstly, every good written article needs a hook (Yeah, I know, I’m already calling this ‘good’. Conceited much?), and Doctor Who is probably the best hook I can think of for now, though this is not all about Doctor Who. But there are parallels at play with a lot of what I have to say. You may not be a Doctor Who fan, but you’re probably aware of it. Those who know me know it’s always been the closest thing I’ve had to a ‘higher power’, since my early teens. It’s been my religion, my moral compass, my father figure, and is probably responsible for most of my lexicon. To this day, every situation I’m in, every person or event I encounter, a quote from the show comes into my head, straight away. I have basically lived this show all my life. You may think to latch on to a TV show is a bit sad / pathetic, but as I see it, no more sad or pathetic than latching onto a book written millennia ago by who the fuck knows. For fuck sake, you’d get more moral guidance from a box set of Quantum Leap now than a fucking bible. The bible(s) are essentially just the ‘pilot episode’ of man’s learning, so try moving onto to the rest of Humanity’s series now, maybe?

But I digress. The point I wanted to make is this: The latest series of Doctor Who is, as has been described my most intelligent reviewers online, a ‘dumpster fire’. And it’s the people who can’t see that that worry me. I’m talking metaphor here, by the way. By Doctor Who, I simply mean ‘all Human culture’. That’s not a big leap, is it? I opined quite positively about the most recent series right up until close to the end, when it started to dawn on me. In fact, the one counter question I get thrown at me when I criticise the show now is ‘Have you even actually WATCHED it?’ Of course I have. What sort of question is that to ask? What are ya, some sort of cunt?

Anyway, the show has many issues. As unpopular an opinion as it is to adumbrate, I don’t think a female Doctor is a great idea, but that’s the least of its issues. Characters with no character, threats with no villains, the storytelling has gone right down, in favour of ‘the message’, and the message that’s being put out by, not just this show, but a lot in pop culture today, is fucked. Let me give you just one example of something that bothered me in this new series’ ‘messages’:

In the episode ‘Kerblam’, the crew land on a moon that’s basically just a huge Amazon warehouse, processing deliveries to customers the galaxy over. One of the companions remarks that the androids greeting them are a bit freaky, to which the ‘Doctor’ remonstrates him on his ‘robophobia’, citing many of her friends are robots. “Oi! Don’t be so robophopic!” Really? It immediately cast my mind back to the 1977 story, ‘Robots Of Death’. The Doctor lands on a mining vessel which uses androids to run the ship. One of the Humans aboard, who spends most of his time working with the robots, has a mental breakdown, and we learn it’s due to robophobia, a genuine (in sci-fi) mental condition, where you get ‘freaked out’ by basically human-shaped automatons. As you would. Trust me, in 200 years time, this could be a very real thing. Ever caught sight of a mannequin in the the dark? It frightens the shit out of you. Now imagine what walking talking mannequins would do to your mind. Robophobia. It seems a plausibly scary thing in 1977, but now no, it’s a hate crime against our robot ‘friends’, that must be bottled down. And this is an all pervading attitude in today’s society that is gonna wipe us all out one day. There IS such a thing as ‘healthy fear’.

I’m not citing hate speech against any groups with a ‘phobia’ attached to them here, what I’m saying is there seems to now be a blanket ‘offence’ put on everything, usually by authorities, be it lawmakers, or media, or whoever, and the cunts of the planet don’t know why they’re offended, just that they are. This kind of thing is what spawned hermitage in the first place, you know. And that’s the problem. In trying to cater to the fuckwits, the rest of us have to sacrifice certain room to make mistakes, or express opinions that may be wrong or changeable. And held accountable for life.

It’s at this point I realise I’m gonna get nowhere close to what I really wanted to talk about. This is just the beginning. There’s the whole #metoo witch hunt, the #IBelieveHer bullshit, and the whole misuse of personal pronouns nonsense to get into (there are TWO sexes by the way. Pick one, and go for it), but that’s probably gonna have to be a whole series of other articles. And if you’re offended by the use of the word ‘cunt’, it’s probably because you hear it a lot.

Anyway, after nearly 40 years, I’m out, on the whole Doctor Who thing. Even watching old Doctor Whos is now like looking through photos of an ex you used to love, but turned into a bastard / bitch by the end. And I’m coming close to ‘out’ on the Humanity thing, too. But here’s one final point: If you’re offended by ANYTHING I’ve written here, hey… I’M no authority. I could be wrong. It’s the people who are beyond seeing THEY may be wrong that are the problem. Assholes will always exist. Stop adding to their number.

R

Posted in Doctor Who, Mental health, My Own Ignorant Opinion | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

Eat ’em if ya got ’em…

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R

Posted in Art, cartoons, Homelessness, Uncategorized | Tagged | Leave a comment

Been a while…

Hi all,

Just a wee update for anyone whose radar I’m still on. It’s, well… it’s been a hell of a year and a half, what with the various things that come with homelessness, AND addiction issues, but today I’m in a good (enough) place. It’s been a struggle, I won’t lie, but am through the worst of it, I feel. I finally had that ‘paradigm shift’ I was longing for, and I MAY talk about that another day, but this is just a quick check-in before I get to writing about it all properly.

There’s a lot to write about. My 9 month reliance on the ‘care’ of the religious, which brought with it its own madness, my eventual fall from ‘grace’ with them, and descent into proper homelessness. I met some good people in all those places though, some of whom I call friends still, and, on the flipside, I had to lose certain people from my life. Some things you just gotta walk away from. I also dealt with the death of my mother during this period. Anyway as I say, I’m in a good place now, and also starting to make up with people I’d fallen out with. I WILL write properly about my experiences soon, if they’re of any interest to anyone.

I’ll leave you (for now) with a couple of recent doodles.

moi

Rob

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Plus bonus cartoon:

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Posted in Alcoholism, Biography, Dublin, Homelessness, Mental health | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

What Dreams May Come

In my dreams, I’m never drinking. It doesn’t even be on my mind (whether I’m drunk or sober going to bed). I’m mixing with people. Mostly new people. Making things. Doing things. Hanging out. Though sometimes there’s weed around. It’s usually somewhere I’ve never been before. A random house gathering somewhere in the country. I’m with people I know, even though I’ve never met them in real life. Sometimes it could be a house full of women. And contrary to popular belief, men don’t necessarily dream of scantily glad, high-heeled slutty types (Only occasionally, if we’re lucky. Though something ALWAYS thwarts the act of sex in these dreams). But ‘real’ women. Slightly overweight, in turtle-necks and jeans. Maybe short hair and glasses. True beauty. The kind of women I prefer to mix with.

Or it could be a group of people I’m working with, in a strange yet oddly familiar place. I had a dream once of working with a particular bunch of lads in a place in the country, that months later turned out to be where I ended up in treatment. I even recognised one of the guys from that dream. I’m not totally against the notion of premonition. It is, as The Doctor puts it, just ‘remembering in the wrong direction’.

These dreams are the better ones. The ones that show a possible future where I’m just getting on with life. Or maybe, as I like to think of things, dreams are a window into a parallel universe where things are played out differently.

Then there are the dreams which feature recurring places. Usually my grandparent’s house, or my family home (always much bigger in my dreams because my head remembers it from a child-sized point of view).

Or an old job. That comes up a lot. My first job, which lasted nearly 10 years. I hated every day of it, but I suppose my longing for routine and financial security makes me miss those days. It was also the job where I was pressured into drinking (and smoking), so maybe my subconscious head goes back there in an attempt to retrace my mental steps, and undo the damage. Grud knows, my conscious head does it all the time!

Then of course there are the bad dreams. The dreams where you can nearly feel a presence. A presence that feels evil. That grips you, and won’t let you wake up. Do you ever get that, or is it just me? ‘Cos it worries me sometimes. You need to scream to wake yourself up. And you may have one or two dream levels to go through before you ACTUALLY wake up.

I’d bad dreams recently, a couple of weeks ago. Can’t remember the exact details (pain forgets), but I had to shout to wake myself up. Except I was still dreaming. Again, can’t remember what about. Probably talking to my grandad who, although dead, has ‘gotten better’. Fair enough, head, but it’s still a dream. Wake up. I wake up to a party going on. Oh look, there’s that ex. Although we’re aware of each other, there is no attempt by either of us to communicate, even though we are mixing with the same people. It’s the subconscious again, trying to deal with things that were left unsaid in real life. We may START to talk, but just as you realise you’re dreaming again, because there’s no logical reason we two should be in the same room, and you wake up again.

This time you find yourself on a trolley-bed, in a hospital ward, surrounded by about 20 other trolleys, it’s the middle of the night, and you’ve a drip attached to your arm. You’ve been in the same clothes for days, and they smell. Hang on, you can’t notice smells in dreams, can you?

Aw shit.

I’m awake.

I want to go back.

R.

Posted in Alcoholism, Biography, Dreams, Mental health | Leave a comment

The Thomas House Diaries (part 1)

As part of my almost daily routine now, to kill the 3 or 4 hours between dinner on Merchant’s Quay, and my eventual walk back through a bleak landscape to my hostel for the night, and if I have the money, I like to sit in The Thomas House, sipping a couple of pints of splash diet cola, and drawing into a cheap A5 drawing pad I picked up. These are some of the results. I’ll post more whenever someone with a camera comes into my company again 🙂

1 oops

2 them

3 sad

4 time

5 cash

6 blank

R.

Posted in Alcoholism, Biography, cartoons, Dublin, Homelessness, Ireland | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

The Wall

Imagine, if you will, a wall. A huge white wall that They have built. Who They are I don’t know, but in Their infinite wisdom They have constructed a giant wall, as high and as wide as the eye can see. Then They give everyone a Sharpie. And I mean EVERYONE. Anyone who can hold a pen. The well, the unwell, the sane and the insane. And everyone is invited to ‘knock themselves out’. Write what ya like.

So, naturally, by the first hour, there are a few thousands drawings of cocks spurting out little splashes of semen, and a few thousand ‘for a good time, call this number’s. Then there are the people who think ‘oh this could be fun, I can do something creative’. There will be jokes, there will be drawings, there will be ideas, the will be affirmations, there will be opinions. All light enough, disposable creativity, what with the wall being so vast and so public.

Then there will be the opportunists, who think they can use the wall to change opinion. There will be people advertising things. Some of it might be seen, most won’t, because, you see, The Wall is so vast, and everyone else is busy writing their own head stuff at the world. Then someone will hit upon the idea to make money, by writing on The Wall that for a small fee, they can show you how to use The Wall to make money for yourself.

There will be award ceremonies for who’s best at writing on The Wall. Naturally, these ceremonies will take place in the form of writing, on The Wall.

Then there will be the ‘activists’, with a point to make. They are unhappy with something going on in the world, and think if they write on The Wall a LOT, this will change things. They will write, maybe even in CAPS, to make their pens heard. Other will write abuse over what they have written, because, you see, it is a vast public Wall, and not everyone is using it with the same goals. Also, did I mention, The Wall is available to ALL… the well, the unwell, the sane and the insane?

Some will then try to get through to other Wall-writers by telling of a major woe, or injustice. One or two other Wall-writers may notice it. But they could be well, unwell, sane, or insane.

Someone writes of an injustice to them in their past. Another writes ‘fuck off, you whore’ over it. Another writes ‘lol’ over that. Most people see none of it. They are all busy writing on the wall.

Some people tire of trying to get their words seen by the other Wall-writers, and walk away from The Wall, to find some other way to communicate their feelings to the world. Others now rely on The Wall. It is their ONLY outlet to the world.

Eventually, The Wall starts to fill up. Mainly with shite every other writer is too busy writing to read, but filling up. So They must extend The Wall.

This continues over time. Some write more and more, some give up and walk away. The Wall is continuously added onto. It’s now so wide it starts to curve into an arc, to support its own weight. People become more passionate about The Wall, either for their own purposes, or to disagree with the written stuff they’ve started to notice. There are arguments, all backed up by ‘Wall-bravery’, a new form of courage the people have discovered that, though violent, is physically confrontation-free. The Wall-bravery grows.

Some more people decide to walk away.

The Wall is still getting bigger, and has curved so much now, that it forms an almost complete circle around the people.

Some decide to walk away, before the ends of The Wall meet. Mostly the well and the sane.

Eventually they do, and a portion of the people can’t bring themselves to avail of the opportunity to get out before it becomes one big high circle. The Wall is their life now. It’s their only vindication for life. The Wall-bravery is unlike any sort of bravery they could ever hope to have had before the advent of The Wall. So they stay.

Outside the circular wall, a community thrives.

Now free of its gobshites.

Serling Rob

Posted in Social networking, The internet | Tagged | 2 Comments