So long, farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Goodbye

Well, folks… FTD has had a great run over the years.  Starting from a small blog which allowed me to post my shitty ramblings to a blog with over 50,000 views.  Unfortunately due to various personal and creative reasons, I’ve decided to call an indefinite halt to the old FTD.  My creative endeavours have been focused elsewhere for quite some time now – Music.  Unfortunately I no longer have the time or the motivation to keep posting on here for the foreseeable future.  The world is a depressing place and it’s becoming harder and harder to make light of current events such as the Fukushima nuclear disaster, the civil war in Libya and the collection of underwear under my bed which has apparently formed it’s own ecosystem.

In all seriousness though I would like to thank everyone for the support over the years – you guys helped make FTD what it was.  I just wish I had the time and energy to keep posting here.

Who knows?  Maybe we’ll see each other again.

So in the mean time, it’s goodbye from myself, Rhy and Napoleon. Thanks for the lulz and the good times.

J.

France Strikes Again

Striking seems to be something of a national sport in France – with everyone from the bus drivers to high-school students joining in on the fun.  I can testify to this; in the five years I lived in France and the three years in which I was a high-school student, there was more or less a strike every year.  Of course, while it was nice to see even students stand up for their right to have a say in what was going on with their education, there was a large majority of those who simply striked (if that is the correct term) for the sake of it.

 

On the Guardian Website you can find a live blog of the current events of this particular strike.  From what I can surmise, it has been brought on by the pension reforms and Sarkozy’s unwillingness to back down in front of almost universal anger and outrage from the French people.  But since when has it ever been different?  It’s true what they say about short political leaders – they all seem to have a problem with public opinion.

In any case, I support this strike and support those out on the streets protesting, for the most part.  Just remember; trashing shops, burning cars and throwing bricks at the police may be fun, but doesn’t lend that much credibility to your movement: it just makes you look like a dickhead.

 

Anyways, time to finish my coffee and skeddadle.

 

Ciao

J

And Breathe…

Forward to Death is back.

Sorry for the long pause in things, folks.  I’ve had a pretty crazy time of it recently.  In the past six or so months during my absence, I’ve moved back to my homeland of Hull, signed on the Dole, signed off and found myself a job and pretty much pottered around.  It’s been fun…

But now I’m back and back for good.   Some time soon, will be adding a regular cartoon feature from none other than Emma.

And that’s all I have to say for the moment.  I need to think of something funny to write…

Perpetual Oyster

First of all folks, I’m sorry for my blatant lack of updates.  I don’t have a regular internet connection at the moment, and when I do get on the ‘net, I can’t be arsed to blog.  Mainly because I can’t really think of anything interesting or poignant to say.

But here I am tonight, with friends, family, good food and a few too many JD’s and Southern Comforts inside me.  So fuck it, I’m doing the Jack Kerouac thing.  If you enjoy this blog, you should be used to my drunken ramblings.  So sit back, relax, smoke some dope or drink (depending on your thing) and enjoy a profound rambling from the world of J and Rhy.

It’s finally over.  My school education has finished.  That’s it, zip, zilcho.  No more lessons, no more getting harassed by Arabs or anything else.  Reflecting back on this past year I’ve come leaps and bounds.  I have a social life, have had a few romantic trysts of my own (my good friends know how they both turned out.  Pretty shit, to be honest)…  Christ, I have certainly lived an odd life this past year.  At least odd for me, since I’m not usually used to that sort of life.

But anyways, looking back on stuff… well, I gotta ask myself whether or not I’ve lived a full-ish life.  Have I really been happy?  Sometimes yes, sometimes no.  Christ knows I’ve had problems with depression this past year.  Been brought to tears several times in a two-week period by her.  But you know, I look back on everything and I guess I should probably thank people for the times I’ve had, both good and bad.  Not meaning to name names or anything, but yanno…

First of all let me thank my friends: Liam, Flo, Mehdi, Molly, Lauriane, Constance…  The people who have always been there for me through the good, the bad, the happy and the sad.  I probably wouldn’t have survived this past year without them.  They’ve been there to tell me to drop it, to let me know when I’ve been an idiot, to help me along.  Hell, without those guys I’d probably not be around to write this.

Secondly, my grandmother and Julia.  They’ve been there for me to encourage me in my studies, to make me feel loved.  I’m always free to go to their house to have good food, good discussions and good advice.  They’ve been my rock this past year and for that I’m eternally grateful.

Thirdly, her.  She taught me lessons in life and love.  God knows we had an extremely rough time of things.  She made me cry like a child, but she also made me feel like the luckiest guy on earth.  Sure, it didn’t last long, but what does?  I still love her, as a person.  I still love her, simply because she is who she is.  What can I say?  She’s an amazing person.  She took me higher than I ever was.  I have many regrets as to how our relationship transpired.  I acted like a dickhead on many occasions because I was hurt.  My strange personality and actions pushed her away, and I hurt her.  I regret all of that…  As the Smiths said, “I know it’s over, still I hope, I don’t know where else I can go… I know it’s over, yet it never really began, but in my heart it was so real.”  But the one thing I don’t regret, and never will, is loving her.  Unconditional, unwavering…  I’m only human.  So thank you.

My parents.  Nothing felt better than coming back to the UK and knowing I’d be able to see them.  To enjoy myself, to get drunk, to talk.  Nothing feels better than hugging my mum and dad the moment I get off the pier at Ryde.  It’s been difficult not living with them, and fuck knows I miss them.  Goddamn, am I happy that you guys are finally happy and in a good situation.  After all the shit you’ve had to put up with over the years, you fucking deserve it.

The folks at the Korrigan, for keeping me supplied with booze.  God bless ye.

The new people I’ve met this year: Steph, Laura, Sonya, and others.  Always interesting to meet new people, amirite?

The dudes down at the IOW: John, Tom, Tim… Fuck, you guys are ace.  Srsly.  also, the folks down at the Wight Rock deserve a mention. Shaun and Debs, you guys run the best goddamn bar in town!

My teachers: Benezech, for showing me that history kicks fucking ass and for supporting me over the past year.  Pelisson, for his awesome english lessons, and his friendly demeanour.  Charbonel, for giving me so much comedic material.  Seguy, for actually making my German lessons bearable.  Mahé, sure she’s an unqualified bitch who doesn’t know how to speak English, but by god she gave me an outlet for my frustrations.

My family: Grandad Tom, Emma, Jon, Verity, Miranda (you are family to me)… Thanks for being there.

The people I know via the internet: Cruz, Ashley, Beck, Fiamma, Aysé, Fiona… You guys are ace.

The public figures who’ve helped me keep focused: Noam Chomsky, Bill Hicks, Jello Biafra, Che Guevara, Marx, Lenin, Trotsky, that guy who wrote “Mad in USA”, Mumia Abu Jamal. Thank you for the words of wisdom.

The musicians who’ve completed my spiritual life: Acid Mothers Temple, Boris, The Smiths, Tool, Sons of All Pussys, Rage Against The Machine, A Perfect Circle, Frank Zappa, AreA, Yawning Man, Masters of Reality, Ten East, Brant Bjork, Slipknot, Korn, Sabac, Immortal Technique, Necro, Goretex, Cannibal Ox, Lustmord, The Melvins, Mike Patton, Fantomas, Tomahawk… Too many to mention.

The artists: Alex Grey, Chet Zar, Dali, Picasso, Caravaggio…

My good friend Shiv: you helped me through my problems with relationships, depression and life in general.  You are fucking awesome.

So after this year, looking back, I have met amazing people, I have led an amazing year.  And I have so few regrets.

To all of you, readers, friends, family… I love you all, because you have helped shape my life into something amazing.  You’ve been there for me, you’ve taught me lessons which will never be forgot.  Thank you.

And so I leave you with a song I wrote, to sum up these past few years living abroad.

I looked up to the sky that morning
I’d never seen it with my own eyes before
Freedom assured, after ten long years
And I stepped out of that door.

And so, yeah I did a lot of questionable things
If I could only make it right
I see the faces of lives that I ruined
Comin’ to haunt me in the night

Remembering those days of hope and glory
And the nights when all we’d do was fight
I came to you as a innocent child
And ran away, ran away, fleeing in fright

And so, yeah I did a lot of questionable things
If I could only make it right
I see the faces of lives that I ruined
Comin’ to haunt me in the night

Everybody is wavin’ a teary goodbye
I caught you cryin’ out of the corner of my eye
And sure, I felt like this old life was over
But I won’t forget the things you did for me

And so, yeah I did a lot of questionable things
If I could only make it right
I see the faces of lives that I ruined
Comin’ to haunt me in the night

Until next time,

J

On the road again…

Ehn.  Life seems to be constantly throwing shit at me at the moment.  Still no internet.  Whoop-de-fucking-doo.  I mean seriously, how hard can it be for them to put it back on?  I paid their money, so why? It means I can’t keep up with current events, keep up with friends.   Fuck human contact, something’s not worth saying if you don’t let everyone know about it on Facebook first!  Fuck whether or not I’m concerned, or whether I deserve to know!

Christ, I need beer.  Good news is, my Italian orals went alright.  And that’s just about the only good news I have.  In the mean time, check out this shiny new piece of fiction I recently wrote.  Ooh, shiny.

—

The twitchy little man opposite me looked as if he was about to explode with fear.  Strange little bugger; balding, portly and sweating profusely.
But where are my manners?  Let me introduce myself.  My name isn’t particularly important, it’s what I do that sets me apart from most.  I’m a come-to man.  People want to spill their guts and I listen to them, for a price of course.  Think of it as the poor man’s confession.  People can’t face talking about all the nasty shit they’ve done to a priest, so they come to me.  My silence is guaranteed; what they tell me doesn’t leave the room or my mouth.  Oh, I’ve met some real bastards before: serial killers, thieves, rapists… Whoever manages to get ahold of me, which is an achievement in itself.
Anyways, back to the story at hand.  The guy was fumbling, wringing his hands and looking around the pub as if he was afraid someone was going to hear him.  In truth; it was complete bollocks: anybody in that pub knows to keep to their own fucking business when I’m about with a client.
The man started to speak.
“Hang on, money first, mate,” I said.  Always best to get down to business first, right?  The client slipped a couple of hundred across the table and I pocketed it.  Business concluded.  I motioned for him to begin.
“I’ve done some… terrible things,” he said.  He was sweating even more now, “Such terrible things… I’ve harmed so many people and I really have to ask myself if I’m going to hell for it all.”  Ah, the religious types.  Gotta love them.  They’re usually the sort who think that getting your dog to crap on your neighbour’s yard instead of your own is going to guarantee you a direct ticket to Hell.  Does God exist?  Fucked if I know, but the fear of God sure as hell wets my pocket.
“Go on, don’t be shy.  Sarah told you the deal, I’ll keep my lips zipped,” I said reassuringly.  He fumbled for a minute longer and started again.
“Well, I don’t know where to begin… The first time I can recall is in the summer of ’85 when I shagged that hooker the week after I got married.  See, I’d always been tempted by that sort of stuff… But when I married Angie… well, things just seemed to be so much better.  She brightened up my whole miserable sodding life, didn’t she?  But the honeymoon was…uneventful.  A quicky and then to bed.  It wasn’t what I wanted, it wasn’t what I needed.  So I went cruising for some action.”

He went on and on.  Pretty horrible shit, actually.  We were there for the best part of four hours.  He talked about the women he’d slept with, the kid he’d fondled (he insisted it was only for a minute or two), the money he’d embezzeled.  I was used to it, so I was unfazed.
“I’m going to have to ask you for a surcharge, mate.  That’s four sodding hours we’ve been here.”
“Oh, of course… How much?”
“Couple of hundred more should do it,” he slipped more money across the table.  He wasn’t sweating anymore.  I suppose confession’s good for the soul, innit?  I got up to leave, but he grabbed my sleeve.
“I have a question for you,” he said.
“Sorry, mate.  Doesn’t work that way.”
“Come on.  Indulge me.”  I sighed and sat back down.
“Go on, then.”
“Why do you do this?”
“Can’t say I’ve really thought about it.  Why do I profit from letting little shits like you spill the beans on all the shit they’ve done?  Peace of mind?  No.  Hell, it sure as hell makes you feel better on the inside, but you’re still guilty as fuck, regardless of what you’ve done.  So I’m offering a service which is of no use to you whatsoever, because your actions are going to catch up with you some day.”
“Bollocks.”
“Is it really?  You remember the Walthamstowe Strangler?”  His eyes widened, looking at me.
“Yeah?”
“He came to me, spilled everything.  He walked off thinking he’d been absolved but still got caught in the act strangling a 5 year old kid, didn’t he?  Just because you tell me all your little problems and worries doesn’t mean you’re saved. Maybe that’s the most satisfying thing of all.  Now fuck off and leave me alone.”
He got up and left the pub.  I walked over to the bar and bought another pint.  Sarah brought it to me and I took a long gulp.  The elixyr of mortal men, I tell you.
“He was a talker”, she said.
“Aye, the minor ones always are.”
“Don’t you ever get the urge to report that shite to the police?”
“Heh.  Who says I haven’t?” I grinned, “I’m off, love.  Same time tomorrow.”  I put on my coat and walked out the pub.  The late evening rain felt fresh upon my skin.  Then, suddenly, a rib crushing blow lifted me off my feet and smacked me into the pavement.  The last thing I heard before I blacked out was a man’s voice, vaguely familiar.
“You were right, you know.  Your actions will catch up with you some day,” the voice said.

Does Hell really exist?  Fucked if I know, but I’m about to find out.