We’re getting through the cat food, I think we have three cats on the go atm. I’m sure of two, one well-groomed posh kinda cat and one fucked up white battered old thing looking for a scrap. The third was a black cat but we don’t see much of each other.
I was shopping for more food earlier this week and came across frozen fish as a tasty treat in the heat. Cats must be melting in London. No wonder I’m not seeing black cat, he’ll be a puddle of the cat he once was.
I’ve switched to feeding them straight fish. I figured it’s way nicer, can give it to them frozen and really isn’t that expensive. Feel like a little chef preparing their meals. Now, before everyone kicks off, they still get the normal food. You can’t just feed cats straight fish – that’s nuts
If I can catch the white one I’ll give it a bath. Maybe even a trim. I told my flatmate this and she freaked. Jokes on her when I use her posh soap and brush its teeth with her toothbrush. ( A joke )
Anyone with a cat you gotta brush them with a wet toothbrush, they go bananas bc it feels like their mum licking them haha
This is what the cats sing when they argue outside my window every fucking night knock it off or no more fish
I do yoga every night before bed. I get bored 2 mins in so I start by taking a shot of vodka and a couple ibuprofen to be relaxed and extra flexible. It works real well. People say yoga is effeminate and not a lads sport but I honestly can’t think of anything more masculine than a man having intimate knowledge of his body in its entirety.
Those times when u feel shit but can’t figure out why, like what have I forgotten to do maybe there’s a medicine I’m supposed to take around about now or maybe like I should eat, I’ve missed something.
Maybe I need a smoke or maybe it’s the smoke that’s got me feeling like this. Should I brush my teeth again, nah it’s not a teeth thing. This goes on for an hour then I conclude something dumb like I haven’t drank water for close to a week, so have a glass of water and a shower to cover all bases because when you overthink shit like I do the difference between internal and external hydration, like either drinking or bathing can get quite complicated so you gotta do both to cover all areas. Glass of water in the shower.
I don’t keep coffee here, I get my coffee on the outside
Made a list
Did everything on it
What a feeling
You know when I was 15 I painted my room walls purple and thought it was so sick and looking back my fam probably thought I was having a breakdown
I grew up thinking meditation was solely sitting still, no thoughts, no brain traffic. Which gets frustrating, I can’t not think. Not to say my thoughts are of value but when I run out of thinking forward, my brain starts working on the backlog of shit I’ve absorbed over the past few days.
that lad really kicked that pigeon
Russian Oligarchs = US Entrepreneurs
dots or lines in the notebook
do we trust recycling
would we survive in prison
of course we would
vodka > wine
what if w33d puts me in prison
new phone time
yoga hurts my hands
You get what I mean. Meditation didn’t have a chance.
Until I learnt what meditation is. It’s just processing. I’m allowed to think thoughts as long as they’re dealt with, categorised and stored for later use.
I don’t tell people this but it’s helped me so maybe it’ll help you. Here’s how I do it.
I close my eyes, the world goes dark*.
I look around and find myself floating in space. The depth of space is full of small white lights winking for your attention; stars.
Now picture a small meteor, no bigger than a family car, floating a few metres away. Look a little closer and see a small, knee-height figure. He’s wearing a little, white space suit. You can’t see his face past his mirrored visor, he looks up at you.
He sits down, reaches behind his back and pulls out a comically large notepad, around the size of his helmet along with a black and yellow HB pencil. In a swift motion, he flips open the pad and starts writing.
Fascinating. But not what you’re here to analyse, back to the meditation.
A few minutes pass and you feel a tickle on your arm, you grab the disturbance and bring it up to your eyes. It’s a piece of paper, with neatly scribed lines of dialogue. Dialogue that seems familiar. You look down and watch the pencil dancing against the pad. He reaches the end of his page, rips it off and releases it into the expanse of space. You watch it float lifelessly off into the distance and shift your concentration to the white dots making up the texture of the black backdrop around you. Paper, each dot a scrap of paper on its journey to infinity.
You peer down at the paper in your hand and read
Russian Oligarchs = US Entrepreneurs
dots or lines in the notebook
do we trust recycling
would we survive in prison
It clicks, you look back to the meteor and admire its occupant at work. This small spaceman is transcribing your thoughts and setting them free to float off into the universe.
Almost like time stands still, you watch and admire his craft. A few minutes pass, he rips off his page and sets it free, places his pencil on his pad and looks up at you, waiting.
That’s how I meditate. Close my eyes and look for the spaceman, with the knowledge and profound comfort that he’s proofreading all my thoughts.
spaceman
*Often I meditate in the park, which rarely results in dark. Instead, I shift his meteor 20,000 miles east so we’re both facing the full width of the ball of fiery gas that makes up our sun.
I like to think this is the kind of music he listens to, sharpening his pencil in space:
