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dealing with self

Life as a human can be hard. One of my most pressing challenges is dealing with myself. I'm often in my own way...

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Six months to fix it[a blog by mev]


A Rehabilitation

Posted on Saturday 23rd September 2017 at 12:31pm

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I am going away to a kind of Health Farm / Boot Camp for six months.
I've tried to "fix" myself my own way, and have failed. If left to my own devices I'll be bumbling along doing the same mistakes forever.
Wish me luck.

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Everest[a blog by mev]


Sometimes the gentlest of inclines rise up like Everest before us

Posted on Monday 31st October 2016 at 6:28pm

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My friend had to push my back from behind, to help me up a 3 degree incline, with my Kmart slippers dragging on the spotty concrete.


broken by the bracken[a blog by mev]


sometimes just getting through a day feels like dragging a giant rabbit through a ten foot hedge

Posted on Wednesday 5th October 2016 at 2:56pm

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Lying here in bed with a sickness holding me down like a ton of shit, the cloying stench of my own failures filling my nostrils and rendering me prostrate for what seems like an eternity.
Countless attempts at thinking my way out of problems sit piled up like a mountain before me, blocking the way ahead and offering nothing in the way of a cogent path to freedom or even relative comfort.
There's no thinking required. It's action that's needed. I have to walk through this seemingly impenetrable wall of garbage and I have to walk alone. A few brave companions hold my hand and cradle my head through parts of the journey, but ultimately the journey is mine and mine alone.
Yes, this is a maudlin little tale and nothing if not overly cryptic and verbose; to the unlearned ear a dusty and oblique convolution of disjointed metaphors and bare of lucid fact.
To those who know, it's a start.

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slim and doll[a blog by mev]


i wasn't sure what to wear to my friend's wedding

Posted on Sunday 11th September 2016 at 2:07am

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I don't always find it that easy to choose clothes for an important event.
Last time I wore this shirt it was to attend my gay uncle's funeral. It was about time I wore it again and a happy occasion was an excellent chance to sport the pink.

The pants I wore because the groom had once started a trend among our group of friends when we all bought blue suits. Unfortunately they had run out of the jackets by the time I bought mine, so all I got was the trousers. And here they are.

This has been my first and last blog entry about my clothes.

Inspired by Nate Farrell.

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The Way the Cookie Crumbles[a blog by mev]


We make choices in life. We have to take the good with the bad.

Posted on Tuesday 6th September 2016 at 11:59pm

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Life for me has always been a little cumbersome. I go through periods when it's a stumbling, struggling dream, like I'm carrying ten bags of shopping up ten flights of stairs and not knowing behind which of the ten doors I find is the right person - out of the ten inside - to deliver to - the shopping is never mine - only to find that there's a lift in the building.
A crap metaphor for the infinite choices we face every day, and the sheer luck involved in making the "right" one.

Well I don't know any more. I often think that it doesn't really matter, because it's all about infinity.



the procrastination engine[a blog by mev]


building this blog site became an obsession that pushed all my more important tasks to one side

Posted on Monday 5th September 2016 at 10:11pm

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I started building this site because I wanted to re-learn some of my web development skills, really with the intention of learning enough to rebuild my hereSOUND website, which has been in need of an upgrade for the past 3 years at least.

What ended up happening is that it became a kind of 'procrastination engine' which began to take up every waking hour of my day, my week, my month.
All else was hurriedly and haphazardly stacked and balanced against a dusty corner of the shed, to await my impossibly distant return.

In the end, I was forced to redirect the site to whatever actual life task was pressing me the hardest at that point, so that every time I wanted to work on it, I would land on the page that would prompt me to make an effort to live my real life.

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The Missing Days[a blog by mev]


January 2015

Posted on Sunday 14th August 2016 at 11:56pm

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Part One - The Morning After

The first thing I notice is that I'm a little dizzy.
It's not totally unlike the feeling I used to get after a long night of sound mixing in a closed pub. In those stifling little corner bars the half spent alcohol, pushed out of a hundred mouths, hangs like an unseen miasma clinging to you, infiltrating you, unwanted and unnoticed. By the end of the night you are probably drunk from inhaling that second hand alco-vapour, but it presents as a slight giddiness - a minor affectation of the physical senses.
Today's feeling isn't that exactly. Along with the sensory alteration there are also psychological, emotional and spiritual changes.
Sitting in my room it seems somehow different. It's still filled with audio equipment and musical instruments, gadgets and electronic paraphernalia, and I look at my beautiful camera and wonder, "How did I get that? Where has that come from - I don't remember deserving that."
I'm momentarily transported back to my past world of self-imposed and directed impoverishment, despair and deprivation. This also is only a skin deep feeling. I feel completely able to escape or avoid any potential consequences of last night's deed, and accept that I do have a lovely camera, that I somehow afforded it, that it's mine and that I have managed to keep it out of hock.
In some quiet, understated way I feel like other people again. I see behind me, in my latest shed of skin a tidy, false superiority that's better left there. I am just a regular guy, a human being, flawed and vulnerable like the million others in this city walking 'round the place just trying to get on and live. I have nothing to prove by standing on some upper shelf of uber-decency and self restraint that is in fact a plank of nothing more than hubris, braced by jealous self denial and regret.
Maybe in my next skin I'll be moderate enough to understand that most of us just do our best. Just to wake up and do our thing is success enough - there is no perfect.
Rather than shame, I feel a deeper knowing of myself. Right now a hair of the dog looms large on my horizon; a crude and obvious beacon. But is that tantalising glow just there to warn me off the rocks that crouch in hungry wait below? The propensity to endow those "rocks" with a consciousness of their own has been passed along to me by "the fellowship" - a group of struggling humans on the slippery slope of addiction - do I still qualify? Am I in that much danger? Or am I just a guy that had three beers on Saturday night, and will have few on Sunday? Is my life at stake?
I had drifted away from that community as my sober years advanced, and I don't feel that I'll be back - I still don't want the patronising platitudes and cookie cutter attitudes towards my life and choices that I've made. But I'd be wise to keep some of it, at least, in mind as I move toward my future. Like any philosophy or religion it has its wisdoms and its practical truths that can apply to me if I so choose.
A few phone calls have come in. People are concerned and care about my wellbeing. I've exhibited worrying behaviour that's out of character. It's embarrassing and awkward. Somewhere inside me I do love the fact that they actually care about me, but my natural point of view is that I find it belittling and unnecessary.
I seem to have done all the 'devil / angel' back-and-forth, and now have come to some kind of crossroads where it's less about morality and 'should or shouldn't', and more about a simple choice - do or don't.
Part Two - The Second Day

On the face of it I have gotten through the first day without a revisitation to the dark side. That in itself is a good sign, though hardly even beneath the surface lies an insidious subversion - I have "made a call".
Currently I am waiting the return call from an old friend - a woman, which is massive danger for me - who will let me know if and when she is coming to take me with her down that dark and twisted left fork. She has been at times particularly flaky, and knowing that, I half suspect that this will not eventuate, perhaps a little hat tilt to obscenely lame precaution - a built in obsolescence not to be relied upon at this early stage in the running lifecycle. She's also a genuine and caring person who may decide not to 'let me' get involved in things, and yet, not a patronising soul, who'll understand I have my own mind. I suppose on some level I've placed her in a difficult position without even thinking - so it has started - the behaviour, the selfish headlong drive to self abandonment and maybe to destruction.
Strangely, my immediate errand is to take the whipper snipper over to the shop to get the line rewound.
After having that attended to, I return back to the Manor and finish off the trimming, which had been truncated a day or two ago by the end of the line. All the while I have the sense of killing time. I am transported back to the days when I was an addict - the same physical feelings, the same strange limbo-like mental state.
In the shopping centre minutes later, I bumble around like a spaced out schoolboy. Nervous, forgetful, bumping into people and making no eye contact. Coincidentally, at the supermarket service counter I run into someone who went to the same rehabilitation facility as I did, back in the day. For whatever unknown reason I quite inappropriately commence a back rub as she tries to punch in her PIN. The instant shame spiral as she recoils in horror seems fitting, and brings a tear to my eye as I apologise. She gives me a kiss on the cheek and says "It's ok darling, see you later."
Part Three - The Missing Days

Part Four - The New Approach

Having travelled along the rough and potholed road of what has just passed, a new approach, a certain kind of freedom has appeared like a desert oasis, rising languidly before my bleary eyes to offer cool, and calm, and safety.
Gone are the shackles and the strict controls, the assurances, the protocols and razor fences. I have found the strength to walk untethered in my world, alongside others of my kind who, though they may not understand, do profess to love me.
So now, back to my problems, back to the hard times that still wait for me at home and in my head, my heart, my mouth, my bed. They haven't changed or withered, nor somehow sailed agreeably away on this wind of change; they are compounded by the precise amount they would have been without the missing days.

Dal Segno

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