"I need to get out", Lewis said to himself. It was a sentence he had said to himself at least ten thousand times, but he still said it with the same feeling, the same yearning to be back where he belonged. It was nearing 3 years since he had been taken from his people, abducted by Samoan pirates to effectively be used as their work-horse, but it felt like a lifetime. How times change; you have the same supportive netting for 18 years, but, within two weeks of it being stolen from you, it feels like it was never there in the first place. Lewis sighed, and stared up at the stars. He remembered how he felt staring up at them back in his homeland, lying amongst acquaintances, friends, and the woman he loved. He could still picture her face; the dimples which lit-up her cheeks every time she smiled, the eyes which he adored so much that he would enjoy drowning in them. How he longed to wrap his arms around her, to stroke his fingers over every inch of her body, to share her body heat...But the chance of that ever happening again was non-existent. The Lewis who was alive back then had long been dead; the Lewis which lay in the grass staring up at the stars now was a new being, one who wished he could go back to his old way of living, but knew he had to force himself to adjust to his current existence, as hard as it was for him to do so. A light breeze made it's way over the area where his body was resting, the cool air sending shivers up his back. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to preserve the little body-heat that still remained, willing his body to fight off the cold that was clinging to him like a terminal disease. His teeth crashed together, his whole body shivering and shaking, his eyes half-closed. He forced them open once more, not letting himself be beat by this, determined to fight on for at least one more day.
A plane flying overhead caught his eye; he followed it, the slow flight piercing through the sky, the quiet, distance noise of the engine softly penetrating the silence in the atmosphere. "Where are they going?", Lewis wondered. "Where-ever they are going, I wish I was going there, too", he sighed, glancing a look at the chain that prevented him from going more than fifteen meters from his current location. He sat up, scratching his head, sand falling out of his hair as he did so. The beach was empty for miles, far away from the hum of civilisation. His memory of society was foggy; as for faces, he could only remember a few, the rest confined to the ether, nevermore living amongst his fragile mind. He raised his left-hand, hastily scratching his chest; within a matter of seconds, he stopped. He heard something. Foot-steps, coming all the more closer, approaching his location. They were fast, but soft - complete opposites of the slow but heavy footsteps of his captors that he had become accustomed too. Lewis' was frozen in his place, his brain racing, trying to work out whether his mind was playing tricks on him, or whether his saviour had arrived. As his breath hastened and the steps became louder, a forein voice rung through the air:
"Come on, lad. We've come to take you home."
There we have. Project Create 2013 Day 31 is complete. Thanks to Duncan Munday who gave me the idea by tweeting to say I should write "a short story about an 18 year old boy who moved to Scotland and how he escapes?" - I used the base idea and ran with it somewhat, resulting in the piece you see above.
Thank you to everyone who read any of my Project Create 2013 entries - and double-super-thanks to any of you that read every single one! You're lovely people.
Extra thanks to those who joined in with the creating this month; it wouldn't have been anywhere near as fun without you. Here's to doing it again next year!
Sorry yesterday's post wasn't up; it was a blog about identity, which I wrote around 1500 words of, but want to finish before I post it.
Today's creation was work for my podcast with good friend Dan Kempster, which you will hear in day 30's creation, which will be the actual podcast (if things go to plan!)
Day 26: I have mainly been focusing on my super-hero story today, so I don't have anything to share with you; my sincere apologies. I will be able to share it one day, and hopefully it will be worth the wait. I am planning it to be an interesting mix of dark comedy and parody, and I am very excited to see how it comes along.
Project Create Day 25 is the short-story featured below. Enjoy! X & Y
X lay on the bed, resting a tired head on the pillow; right arm wrapped around Y, a lifelong love. Y's head snuggled into X's chest, smiling while doing so. Neither cared that all of their bodies were on show. It was only with each-other that they felt so comfortable, a pairing that was destined to live side-by-side. The right hand of X made its way along Y's back, softly running its way along the little bumps; the lumps; the scars; the dents; every little imperfection that X utterly adored about the love that lay close; imperfections that X missed, that X longed to touch and feel while Y was away. X smiled while doing so, quietly telling Y "I love every piece of you, so, so much". Y had heard this a thousand times, but that didn't stop the smile from coming, bringing a warm, fuzzy feeling with it. Y moved up X's body, so they were staring into each-other's eyes; eyes they had spent hours and hours of their existences staring into, but were still utterly fascinated by, still finding new flecks of beauty in them every time they did so. "I love every piece of you, too. So, so much", Y softly said, stroking the cheeks of X's face. Their lips moved towards each-other's; they had spent days of their lives kissing each-other, but it still felt as amazing as they very first time their lips met. It was a feeling that could fix even the deepest worry or sadness, one that could make them forget all their other troubles or problems, just enjoying the feeling and knowledge that they were truly, deeply loved by the one that they adored.
Who was X?
Was X a tall, brown-haired, 19-year old boy, with a love of football?
Was X a short, blonde, 30-year old woman, who hated spiders?
Was X fat? Was X thin?
Was X Welsh? Indian? Religious?
Was X insecure? Intelligent?
Was X interesting in politics?
Who was Y?
Was Y a short, ginger-haired, 70-year old lady, who hated country music?
Was Y a tall, bald, 50 year-old man, with a love of cooking?
Was Y confident? Depressed?
Was Y Black? White? A tea drinker?
Was Y bullied as a child? Abused by a stranger?
Was Y a fan of superhero films?
Who were X & Y?
Were they a boy and a girl, childhood sweethearts since 16?
Were they lesbians, who met on a drunken night-out in their 30s?
Were they gay? Were they straight?
Were they married? Were they living together?
Were they in a hotel? Were they in Brazil?
Were they.....No.
None of this mattered. All that mattered is that X and Y were in love. When X woke up, the first thought was of Y. When Y went to sleep, comfort was never felt unless X lay near. It didn't matter what else they were; together, they were lovers. The rest? Meaningless.
I initially was going to spend today out with my good friend Jon; however, Jon suggested that it may have been too hot, which I agreed with, so we re-arranged. In reality, while the heat would have bothered me (I BLOOMING HATE THIS WEATHER), I mainly chose to stay at home due to a cocktail of physical pain and self-consciousness, making this the 3rd day in a row my plans have been foiled by this blooming bruise. It's getting more swollen above my eye now, which is annoying to say the least.
However, this did mean I had a lot of day to decide what to do for today's Project Create. Early on in the day, I watched this YouTube video below:
It made me laugh. A lot. I love the silliness and simplicity of it; this made me think "oh, I want to make a short YouTube sketch that is equally as funny and share-able"; however, despite pondering for a solid couple of hours, the only ideas I came up with were for parody beauty-product adverts that would require me pretending to be a crazy woman - but then I didn't want to film today, because I'd just get a bunch of YouTube comments saying "OOHH LOOK AT THAT BRUISE!". Drat, drat and double-drat.
I then decided I would write more of my TomMan story, and have managed around 150 words as of writing this (10:44pm). A small amount, but it is something. The Document is still open, but I don't know if I will get anymore words down tonight.
After this, I changed a few lines of a song I have been writing on-and-off for weeks; then I considered writing a Project Create specific short-story today - the one I initially planned to do on Monday - but I have been feeling rather down and unfocused today, so I just couldn't muster up the motivation to do so.
I ended up spending a portion of today playing some N64 with my brother, though, and that was fun.
Right. Today, I didn't create. I am currently starting this at 2:02am, having just woken up and consumed come Tesco "Chocolate Milk" - seriously, is it any different to chocolate milkshake? Please tell me if you know.
Anyway, today's plan was to go and do a gig. However, as I left to do the gig, someone I was texted told me it would probably be best if I rested; a fact that was proven true when I became quite dizzy and tired within a handful of minutes of walking. I proceeded to head back home, and pretty much slept from then until now.
However, I have been cheered up by a wonderful Facebook message from my Auntie, who because of my injuries called me "Mr Bump". She's wonderful.
For today's creation, I shall promote my friend PDT's Camden Fringe show via a poem. Because that will definitely help sell some tickets, right?!
There once was a man called Pete,
Who was an expert in all things geek,
He's doing a show,
In Camden, you know,
And it really will be a treat.
Pete Dillon-Trenchard - It's All Geek To Me. At the Camden Head on July 29th, 30th and 31st. Tickets are only £6 (or £5 for concessions), and you can book using this link: http://www.camdenfringe.com/details.php?acts_id=169
If you don't know who PDT is, here is a clip of his stand-up.
Today, I was asked on ask.fm a question about why I am sometimes quite serious. It is something I have spent hours on my own pondering, so it became quite a long answer, which I will post here for the purpose of people missed it.
Q: Why so serious? Or, to put it another way, you often come across as quite a serious, earnest individual. Would you agree with this, and why do you think this is?
A: Icouldn't not answer a question that starts "Why so serious?"
Erm...I think I PARTLY agree with this. If you were to listen to my podcasts - or hang out with me in real-life - I spend 90% of my time as a silly, childish individual, just making a mixture of ridiculous and intelligent jokes, having fun. However, as someone who has suffered from depression for the past 11 months, I can often wake-up in a mood where I am not interested in being silly; when you wake up feeling down because one of your best friends is dead, it is hard to find anything funny, so the only option is to be serious, I guess. I'm not saying this to make people feel sympathetic, and I am fully aware that at the immediate mention of depression people will think "oh for fuck's sake, here goes serious Tom again" - but when something affects you in a seriously way for large portions of at least 5 days a week, it is hard to not reference it. The only other option would be to say nothing, to disappear from society, which is far from the healthy thing to do. People say if you're struggling, you should reach-out; but then, when you reach out, you can be greeted by people criticising you for "being depressed all the time", for "bringing them down". I am fully aware that there are times when I am shit company due to depression - I am also fully aware that this means I was probably a better person last year, in terms of being great company more consistently than I am now; there have been days where I have acted like an arsehole to people I care about because I felt shit, I have even lost a friendship and relationships due to my depression. However, it is circumstances of my life that have made me like this. If I could choose to not be depressed, I would. Ultimately, I feel I still am, at my core, the same silly, childish, fun-loving individual; my Project Create on Day 18 was merchandise for an Orange that me and Dan pretend can talk on our podcast, so the surreal silliness is definitely there. I just can't be that way as often as I would like, as often as I used to. The hope is one day I'll be over this, and I'll be back to how I was, no longer annoying people with my down days.
I was planning on writing a blog about my depression earlier in the challenge, but I think I've pretty much summed it up above. Thanks.
Today's creation is tiny. I am aware all my creations recently haven't been substantial; however, I started strongly. If I can start strongly and end strongly, I will be happy.
The basic premise is you can ask any question you want, either anonymously or publicly. I've seen quite a few people who I follow on Twitter using it; it could lead to some funny moments? Or it could lead to 5 questions, then no-more questions for eternity. Who knows.
Thanks for reading! Also, a special double-thanks if you have read all 19 entries so far. It genuinely means a lot to me if you are that interested in/care that much about my existence to do so.
Firstly, thank you to everyone who came back to me about the name problem mentioned in my last blog. A few people who I consider very intelligent and thoughtful have managed to convince me that using "Tom" as a name would actually be a perfectly reasonable option, so I am going to go with that! Thanks everyone!
Tonight, I saw another great gig as part of The Tringe - this is a month of Edinburgh previews by some of the best comedians in the country, all taking part in Tring! It is an event that is becoming bigger and bigger every year - having started in (I believe) 2011. It is my favourite part of my hometown - where I have lived for over 21 years - because I bloody love comedy.
It has made me really want to do lots more gigs; I'd love one day to be just 10% as good as Joe Lycett and Terry Alderton, the amazing acts I saw tonight. I have a gig booked for new Tuesday, so that should be fun. No doubt I'll tell you all apart it as part of either Tuesday or Wednesday's Project Create entry!
"Don't cry over spilt milk; unless you spilt it into your eye."
Above is one of a couple of silly jokes I have written today; the other being "My partner really spoils me; I used to be great, now I'm bloody ruined". Just a small piece of word-play.
This blog is quite rambling; usually, I have a point, and every sentence has a purpose, but today, it is just too hot for me to create something on the level of some of my previous creations. Still, I had a fun day. I hope you did too!
It has been way too hot recently; unpleasantly so. Not only have I had the displeasure of lots of daddy long legs and moths annoying me at night, it is so hot that I have found more than a handful of them dead on the floor in the morning, unable to cope with the heat; they should have got out of the kitchen.
Summer is a strange time. For such a long period of my life, it was the most exciting period of the year - I didn't have to do anything because schools were closed, and I often I went on holiday with my family. Nowadays, as someone who considers myself half unemployed and half barely employed writer, I spend plenty of time with very little that I have to do, and the prospect of going away with the family is less enticing. In fact, this year, I see my parents holiday - they are going away for a week to a cottage my Auntie/Uncle own - as a bit of a holiday in itself. While I am not going away, it is, for me, a bit of a holiday away from my parents. That isn't to say I don't love or enjoy the company of my parents - I think they are both brilliant, and I am genuinely very happy living with them - it is just nice to be able to listen to music as loud as I want, eat and drink whatever I please, and - this sums up how socially awkward I can be - I enjoy having days where I don't speak to anyone. There's just something refreshing about not having any human contact for an extended period of time, living entirely in your own bubble.
As for my holiday, I guess I now count going to the Edinburgh Festival as that. It will be nice to see great comedy, meet up with friends, and generally have a fun time away.
*You earned a trophy!* 50%: Complete 50% of Project Create 2013.
Oh, hello. Welcome to day 14. Please, have a seat. What's that? You already have one? Well, aren't you posh.
Today, I am going to write a short story.
Digest
I sit and wait; wait for the inevitable. I am resigned to my fate. Some of the others falsely have hope, they believe that they may be spared...ha. Fucking fools. They'll all be chewed-up and swallowed like the rest of us. It's only a matter of time. Who will go first? It's inconsequential; the rest will shortly follow. We stay here, waiting to make the brief journey to the end of our existence, watching our friends and family taken and destroyed in front of our very eyes. Despite the many cries of anguish, pain, and pure despair, our murderer doesn't flinch, too focused on absorbing our remains for his own despicable gain, his own pleasure. He doesn't care about us - he is happy to use us until we're nothing. As if that weren't evil enough, it gets worse. If he's consumed only a fraction of us, but his sick hunger is sated, what does he do? He throws the rest away. He doesn't set us free, or even use us another time - our deaths are for nothing. He doesn't feel guilt for a millisecond - not one. He just gets on with the rest of his day, fueled by the lives he's taken.
Short haiku, because I am short on time due to having seen Richard Herring and Iain Stirling do Edinburgh previews tonight. It was superb.
Today I had fun,
Laughing at two funny men,
No, not Bill and Ben.
Also, I have currently removed the blog posts about my poems, as I have entered them into a competition to try and get them published after a few people said "you should get that published!" - so that is where they have gone..
Over the last few months, my friend Dan has been doing something that I never would have predicted him doing.
He's started buying football stickers, to fill up this season's official Premier League football sticker book.
He doesn't have a particular interest in football; he doesn't support a team; he hadn't previously declared a love for stickers. So why was he doing this? Simply, because it was something he had previously started when he was a child, but never finished. So now, with this season's sticker book, he is attempting to complete the whole book - every last sticker.
Personally, I think it is an awesome thing to do - to go back to things you once failed at, and succeed at them - so it has got me thinking about things I once attempted, but didn't finish.
Catch all 150 Pokémon. I put an absurd amount of time into this series of videogames over the years, but I never caught all 150 of the originalPokémon. It would be good to go back and rectify this.
Complete the PlayStation game Mickey's Wild Adventure. This was a 2D videogame, where you controlled Mickey Mouse through various levels based on classic Mickey Mouse cartoons. Why do I want to complete this game in particular? Because it was the first videogame I ever owned, so it has always bugged me that I never managed to complete it.
Read the Lord of the Rings books. Yes, I haven't read this classic series of novels. I tried to read The Hobbit when I was around 13, but I stopped around 30 pages in. I would like to be able to say I have read them all one day.
Learn to play the harmonica properly. Long-term readers of this blog will remember me saying I wanted to learn the harmonica; I bought one, practice with it every few days for a couple of weeks, and pretty much stopped. I should get it back out, and actually research YouTube videos and/or guides so that I can actually learn to be brilliant at it. It'll be useful if/when I become homeless.
Hello, and welcome to day 9. On this day, I have decided that I am going to write another poem; it may evolve into a song, a short-film, or possibly both.
It's inspired by the tragic story from last month, where two young lovers - aged 15 and 18, respectively - made a suicide pact, ending their lives together on a train track. As a man who has suffered from depression for around 11 months, I have spent a lot of time thinking about the topic of suicide; I am not saying this for sympathy or to worry anyone, merely explaining the fact that - like most sufferers of depression - such dark thoughts occur on a daily basis. There's nothing you can do to stop that.
In my mind, when I have thought "how would I end it?", the idea of being hit by a train has always been one that appealed; it happens quickly, it's nearly always a guaranteed "success", and it would mean that no-one I loved would have to find me. There's also something of a glamour surrounding the thought of the destruction taking place. But this news-story made me think at length, for the first time, about the actual process of committing suicide by getting hit by a train. I had only ever imagined either standing on the platform and jumping in the way of a train that is speeding through the station, or jumping off a bridge onto the tracks into the path of the same train, but there is so much more to it than that, which I decided to explore through poetry.
Train Track Suicide Pact
Departure time: 5 minutes, though it'll probably be late,
Just our luck, the bitch called life forcing us to have to wait,
To leave this hell; with its limited love and excess of hate, Please stand back: a train is approaching at an alarming rate. Do we stand on the tracks and embrace as it collides? Do we shut our lids tight or stare into each-other's eyes? Do our eyes shed tears because of what our lives became? Or do we laugh, because we'll never have to face any of it again? Do we run towards our deaths to bring forward our fate? Do we jump at the last second, or do we stand there and wait? Do we want an after-life, or do we hope that this is the final goodbye? Do we feel helpless and weak, or finally feel a sense of strength inside? Do we exchange "I love yous"? Or do we believe our hearts are dead?; Much like the hope and joy that once resided in our heads. Do we shout "fuck you" as it ends, do we scream in anger for a while? Or do we face our deaths peacefully, as we finally break a smile?
I feel an immense sense of pride concerning the above piece. We're only on day 9 of Project Create 2013, but I already feel my belief in my writing ability has returned. It is a wonderful feeling.
Thanks for your time. Comments would be appreciated on this piece, if any strong thoughts or opinions spring to mind upon to reading it.
Welcome to Day 3! Today, I am going to write a short story. My brain feels tired today - a mixture of failing to sleep last night and being ill hasn't helped my creativity today. Regardless, I hope I can create something that is passable below.
It will be the first time I've created an original story (without using external stimulus) for quite a while, so it will be interesting to see how this turns out. I have asked my good friend Dan Kempster to give me a title, and I will write a short story based on that; I think this could be quite a fun task to do.
He has since come back with 3 possible titles:
The Magic Pumpkin
The Final Face-Off
Addicted to Bad Ideas
Now, straight away I am ruling out "The Magic Pumpkin". I just can't use that title. Why, you ask? Well, growing up as a child, I really enjoyed this obscure film:
It is called "The Magic Pudding"; it has John Cleese providing the voice of a talking, quite aggressive, grumpy, ever-lasting pudding. With arms and legs. Who is called Alfred. Yes, it is brilliant. Basically, I am fully aware that if I tried to write The Magic Pumpkin, it would end up being exactly the same as The Magic Pudding, but I would call him Arnold and he's be even more aggressive, swear a lot, and probably murder someone.
I think I am going to go with Addicted to Bad Ideas; will this turn out to be a bad idea? We shall see.
Addicted to Bad Ideas
Dark; cold; glum. All of these words could describe the weather on this dreary December night; they could also describe the character of William Bradley, as he crept his way along the narrow, barely-lit path. Hands in pockets, his dark brown hair was wet with sweat after a long day at work, and his scarred, weary face was facing downwards to try and counter the barrage of wind that was flowing towards it. "Laura will be cooking dinner at home", he thought to himself. The image of his 21 year-old girlfriend sprung into his mind. The right half of Laura's head was shaved, while the left half of her head was covered in long, messy black hair that flowed down by her side. She was quite short, with a cheery demeanour that many thought clashed with the sullen nature of William - she saw the bright-side of their differences, naturally. The thought of her sickly sweet, smiling face caused William to grin, something he hadn't done in a matter of hours. It hurt his face to do so, a muscle in his cheek clicking as his face made the involuntary expression, the smile actually causing him pain.
He sighed; Laura was an hour away. His thoughts wandered away from his innocent partner and on to the sordid; he tried to push them away, wrestling internally with his own brain, screaming inside his own head - but it was no use. He slowly walked up to the cash machine outside Halifax, the same one he had used every second-Friday of the last 6 months, and drew £40 out of the machine. He took a deep breath; his body shook, disgusted at what it knew it was about to do. But William couldn't control himself, not anymore.
William trod the road he knew so well, doing so awkwardly, a mixture of fast paces and slow steps which alternated at random intervals. Upon reaching the location, he sighed, stepping back and staring at the door for a matter of minutes, waiting for some divine intervention to either pull him inside or to strike him dead. Neither came. He checked his mobile: no new messages. He slid the phone back into his pocket, and clenched his fists together, gritting his teeth as he did so. He started intently at the door-handle, his body drawn towards it like a moth to a flame; as soon as his hand touched it, he was no longer in control. The indecision and guilt was dead, the worry deceased. He twisted the handle quickly, pushed the door open, and walked inside.
"Hello", said a familiar voice. "Same as usual?", smiled the well-dressed, elderly lady who ran the establishment. William nodded, silently. "Right this way", she smirked, leading him to the familiar room 262 he had committed so many wrongs in. "Sandy will be with you in a few minutes", she said, as William sat down on the bed. "Thank you" replied William, before watching the lady close the door as she left. He look around; the stained walls, the cracked roof, the dirty curtains; he had seem these all too many times before, to such an extent that there was an homely air about them. He un-knotted his tie, placing it on the familiar wooden chair, before he was alerted by the sound of the door clicking shut. He swiftly turned around to be greeted by the familiar green eyes of Sandy, who stood staring at him, alluringly. She licked her lips, before moving her mouth close to his left ear and whispering:
"Are you ready to lose your mind as I fuck the cum out of you?"
William was quite sure he'd already lost it.
There we go. Not sure what people will think of it; I'm not 100% happy with it, but hey, I guess I can't be delighted with every entry. I am hoping tomorrow will be something that isn't writing based - I am hopefully going to create a video, if the house is free.
Hello! Welcome to day 2. Firstly, a huge thank you to everyone who commented or tweeted me saying they enjoyed yesterday's poem. I was really rather proud of my creation; so much so, that a part of me was worried if I would spectacularly fail to follow it with today's entry. Luckily, I think I've come up with an idea which should at least be interesting enough for this not to be my equivalent of Son of the Mask. Today's creation will be...a blog. I know some of you will be thinking "but wait...won't all of your creations be supplemented by a blog? So wouldn't you be doing this anyway?" While this is true - and thanks for your questions, General Smarty-Pants - a blog in itself is a creative medium, and choosing to write something I wouldn't have otherwise written is what makes this count as it's own creation in the project. For this blog, I am going to write about identity. I was inspired to write about this topic after seeing Vince Kidd perform a gig last Thursday (27th June 2013). It was at Camden Barfly, London; Camden, of course, a place with something of a reputation for housing hipsters, trendy kids, and general fashionistas. For those unaware of Vince Kidd, I'd summarise his music as a blend of soul, urban genres such as rap/r'n'b, and pop - with a few club songs, too. There are some songs which are earnest, beautiful, soulful ballads; others are purely driven by lust and catchy beats. But there's something that I respect about a man who is not only open to exploring so many different genres, but also manages to - in my opinion - do them all very well. His style is similarly mish-mash; he typically has bleached blonde hair (though he has dyed it other colours numerous times), tattoos, facial and ear piercings, wears eye-liner, chain necklaces, rings, tie-dye clothing...I'll post one of his music videos below.
Ignore the weird thumbnail...or maybe not? Even the thumbnail shows a man who is wearing a crazy-eyed wolf sticker on his tongue, and numerous other stickers on his face. Also in the above music video, he wears a purple tie-dye jacket, a bright and colourful feather boa, a shiny red leather jacket...but that is just the start. I was very excited to see Vince Kidd live; for the best part of the past 10 months, he has been my most-listened to artist by a long way. I spent a lot of time looking forward to it, but I never came close to predicting what happened at the gig. Vince Kidd came out as a remix of his song Sick Love was playing, turned his back to the crowd before he started singing...HE WAS WEARING A MEOWTH BACKPACK. Unpredictable? Definitely. He went on to sing about wanting someone to give him "dirty, twisted, crazy, nasty" sex, singing "ride me, bite me, cut me, and infect me with your Sick Love". It was, quite frankly, an incredible juxtaposition. When I told two friends after the gig about the backpack, one replied with "absolutely no idea what/who Meowth is/means..." - only after I said "Meowth is a Pokémon" did he say "Oh! Well I do know Meowth!"; the second friend replied with "what, Meowth as in the Pokémon?" - it was such a strange thing to do, that two of my friends' instant reactions were to think "it can't possibly be the Pokémon!" - the former friend even saying to me "I was expecting it to be something cool".
Look at the size of those shoes he's wearing. Amazing.
He proceeded to wear the Meowth backpack for the entirety of the first half of the show. He didn't reference it. He didn't mention it. I have followed him on Twitter for over a year, and I don't recall him once previously mentioning Pokémon. So why did he do this? The gig allowed people who were 14+, so I think it is a safe presumption that there would be quite a few in the audience who would just see "a cat". I am not sure if this would make if more or less confusing for them, to be honest.
Despite that, I think I know why he did it; because it is a fucking awesome thing to do. Me and my friend Matt noticed it at the same time, turned to each-other, our mouths wide with surprise, amazement and joy, and both agreed it was just brilliant. He did it, quite simply because he wanted to. He knew that some of the audience would think "why has he got a cat backpack?", that some would think "...that's weird", but he also knew that there would be people in the audience who - like me and Matt - would think it was an utterly brilliant thing to do. I have evidence to back this up; after the gig, I posted this tweet mentioning Vince:
"Vince Kidd was nothing short of brilliance. He sang a song about dirty sex while wearing a Meowth backpack. You can't top that."
Vince proceeded to retweet it, and it went on to get 10 retweets and 9 favourites. Clearly, others agree with our opinion that it is brilliant.
I think this shows what really is "cool" when it comes to identity; just being you. It sounds cliché, but damn, it's true. Fashion magazine editors wouldn't sit around thinking "a man wearing eye-liner, piercings and a Pokémon backpack is so cool", but in my opinion, Vince being utterly happy and confident wearing that is one of the coolest things I've ever seen. At one point in the gig, he told the audience to just be happy "being whoever the fuck you want", and it really is as simple as that.
But this is only half of the reason I have decided to write about the night in question; on the tube home, a few feet away from where me and Matt were sitting, I noticed a tall man with blonde hair, wearing denim dungarees, straightened blonde hair, thigh-length denim shorts, and lots of bracelets. As I looked at him, I thought "ah, those bracelets are pretty cool. He looks like a fellow Vince Kidd fan, I wonder if he was at the gig as well?" - it turns out that he was, as he was one of the people who RT'd my earlier tweet. But this isn't the reason I mentioned him.
Unbeknownst to this fellow Vince Kidd fan, the man opposite me was complaining to his friend, saying:
"Look at that. I don't mind people being gay, but you don't have to dress so gay, that's what really pisses me off. Seriously. They can do what they want, but they don't have to be that gay. It's fucking ridiculous."
As I am sure you would guess, this offended me. The juxtaposition between a gig where a happily flamboyant man spread the message that people should express themselves in whatever way they wanted, to this event where a man called someone expressing himself "fucking ridiculous", and genuinely got angry about it; not only that, but the fact that the gig venue was a mere 5 minutes from the tube stop where this was said. The fact that two polar opposites could exist in such close proximity was disconcerting, to say the least.
Firstly, the way someone dresses/presents themselves has nothing to do with their sexuality; I've since asked the Vince Kidd fan in question, and he has told me he is gay, but the way he was dressed has no impact on that fact. He just as easily could have been wearing those clothes and been straight; so not only was the man being homophobic, he was re-enforcing homophobic stereotypes, as well as being offended not just by the idea of homosexuality, but also by the idea of someone expressing themselves freely, which is a very depressing thing to witness.
However, there is one big reason - rightly or wrongly - that this shocked me: the man who made these comments only had one arm. Perhaps it is naive of me to think that a man who is disabled in such an obvious visual way wouldn't judge others on appearance? Perhaps it is an idealist view of the world that I expected someone from a historically (and currently, quite frankly) judged, derided, mis-understood and hidden group of society would understand and respect someone of a similarly historically (and, as proven by his comments, currently) mis-treated group? Regardless of his disability, it was an unpleasant thing to say; but if an able-bodied person were to complain or disrespect him on his account of his disability, he'd be furious - does he really have a right to expect other people to understand and respect his differences, if he doesn't do so himself? I guess that is what this boils down to.
I didn't say anything to the man in question; was it because I am socially awkward, and don't like starting conversations, nevermind confrontations? Partly. Was is also because he was with 2 friends, and I was scared they'd all beat me up if I dared to question him? This influenced my decision, sure. I think the main reason, however, was that it would have been near-impossible to explain to him the concept of identity, how it differs from sexuality, and why he shouldn't be so judgmental of a fellow human-being in the 3 minutes until our tube stop.
I guess this experience reminded me that even people from marginalised groups can be horrible to members of other marginalised groups; heck, even members of the same group can attack each-other unfairly. That doesn't mean we shouldn't keep pressing for equality for all, of course; it is just evidence that society in general still has a lot to learn. Still, it is getting better week-by-week, and at least in Britain it is legal to love who you want and express yourself more or less however you want, despite the fact some people can't respect it. I'm going to end this blog with a video of Vince Kidd singing Our World; it was a song that moved me to tears when I watched him sing it live. I would also say that it is probably his most accessible song; it's well-written, soulful, and just really nice - so those who were put-off by the sound of the sex-driven lyrics above shouldn't let that stop them listening to this. It's a song about a couple who "broke the mould", and the lyrics sum up the notion of just being who you want, regardless of what other people may think:
"I'mma do my best for you,
And we'll abide by different rules,
We know what they gon' say,
Same shit different day,
