...yes, here we bloody go, indeed
I describe how the Christmas break, which commenced most promisingly,
later began to go to shit somewhat. The preceding few days and the day
itself were great, but there then arose an urgent need to play certain
music at high volume in an effort to deal with the knowledge of some
unspecified unpleasantness taking place at some distant location.
Unfortunately, I was staying with my parents for the Christmas break, which limited my options somewhat. I didn't have the appropriate CDs with me and I wouldn't have been able to play them properly if I had. So I was forced into the alternative option, that of singing the music instead - easy enough, since I know the albums backwards, but not really much of a substitute for sticking the CD on and cranking it up.
It was, however, enough of a substitute for the time being. It did help. But neither playing CDs nor singing them can, of course, directly deal with the root cause of the problem. The rest of my Christmas break was something of a strain, as I had to do my best to interact normally with my parents while carrying the burden of knowledge of some unspecified and unresolved shite. I am sorry to say that I was not entirely successful, and this in turn made things more difficult.
Returning home was something of a relief; at last I had some privacy and could give unrestrained vent to my feelings while playing plenty of decent music. It was still something of a struggle, though. Despite strenuous efforts on my part, the unpleasant effects of some indeterminate remotely-located shite were still obvious. And not only did I have to deal with said shite, I had to reverse the detrimental effects of having spent too much time trying to deal with it in the suboptimal situation of visiting my parents... as rapidly as possible. Not the easiest of tasks. But a pigeon does not give up.
Then I found out what it was. Well, some of it, at least. Enough, I think.
Internet search engines are useful but somewhat uncontrollable tools. No matter what the search query, they have a habit of returning unexpected untoward results in random intermixture with the desirable ones. It is all too easy to perform a totally innocuous search and end up finding something you really didn't want to know about.
It appears that someone had indeed done something which could be categorised as "severely taking the piss, though that might be much too mild an expression". I will not say what it was. It is something which is occasionally the subject of humour, but I do not find the jokes funny, as the very idea, to borrow a Pistonheads phrase, really boils my piss.
To make matters considerably worse, the revolting little turd had made a video of the results with his mobile phone and posted the fucking shite on the internet for all to see.
(And just to further catalyse my anger the chavvy little shit happens to have the same name as the one I was christened with. I do not appreciate having my name profaned, even though I don't use it. There are those who do; not everyone calls me Pigeon.)
Now, something like that would boil my piss even in the general case. The particular details of this specific instance render that phrase hopelessly inadequate to describe my reaction to it. I am utterly bloody steaming fucking well furious. To do such a thing in the general case is vile. To post a fucking video of the results on the internet is fucking sick. And in this particular case it doesn't merely boil my piss but causes it to explode with the force of a supernova. That someone could even consider doing it revolts me. To not only do it but post a video of the results makes me want to throw up.
Timing? Well, the video was posted about a week ago. I don't know how old it is, but it's unlikely to have been taken long before it was posted. It is, therefore, more than likely that there is a connection between this video and the fact that I have been feeling freaked out since around Christmas. No doubt there is more, of which this is only a characteristic sample. I wrote at the time that I didn't want to know and it would only piss me off more if I did... well now I do know, and it has pissed me off more. Fucking chav scum, no fucking respect for anyone.
There is, of course, now the question of what to do about it. Email the video hosting site and ask them to take it down... done, for what good it'll do, but that doesn't negate it having been up there in the first place. Track down chav shite and beat the crap out of it with a crowbar... no doubt possible, but ultimately unproductive, not really my style, and again doesn't negate the fact of it having been done in the first place. Looking at things directly, what I really need is a time machine, but mine's packed up and I've gone and lost Doctor Who's bloody phone number again. Options for direct action would appear to be limited.
But perhaps this doesn't matter. After all, even not having a bloody clue what kind of shit was going down didn't render me entirely incapable of doing some good. Now that I do have a clue, even though I didn't want to, I am in a somewhat better position to think properly. Despite being furious, I also feel considerably calmer and less freaked out. Less freaked out means better able to help, better able to negate the shite. And that's what I should be doing.
(Update: There was, of course, one option for direct action which was staring me in the face... get the poster to take it down. So I posted a comment on the video, in a tone calculated to mask my anger in a manner suitable for such public exhibition. This comment was ignored. So I posted another one, this time with the mask off. To my surprise, the video was speedily deleted... for which I was not ungrateful.)
So as the evening progressed with the new and unwelcome knowledge I gradually began to shake less and felt the flow begin to run more smoothly. It would appear that things are looking up, strange though that may seem. All I have to do is be a pigeon. I like being a pigeon. I am Pigeon. I trust in Jah Rastafari only. He is I and I protector. He ensures that the unwanted search engine result I happen across, while being unbelievably horrible, has the effect of settling my whirling thoughts into a currently-useful channel. Indeed, looked at in one way, it is little more than a confirmation of existing knowledge. It doesn't change anything. But it does make me happy to be a pigeon, because pigeons don't do things like that.
As I said at the end of the previous article... Shit fails. The good stuff does not.
And as if in confirmation of that, last night (the night of Saturday 20th January 2007) saw another instance of macroscopic quantum tunnelling. A certain small item that I had acquired, the identity of which I will not disclose, was on my table last night when I went to bed, still in its unopened plastic wrapper. Due to the nature of the item and the difficulty of writing on it I had not written my website URL and email address on it, as I do with my CDs. This was unfortunate, as while I was in bed it underwent a quantum tunnelling event and is now no longer anywhere within miles of me. As ever, I cannot derive with any certainty a locus for its current position, but I suspect there is a fair chance that it has gone somewhere where it could be found by a good person. If this is the case, think of it as a gift from Pigeon. Feel free to keep it, just let me know you've got it. (Or if you don't want it then let me know and we can arrange for its return.) How you'll get to read that without my contact details being on the thing is another matter...
And when all the words have gone
There's the thought to carry on
Just like a bird that sings
Leave it all behind and spread your wings
You can leave it all behind, spread your wings.
Back to Pigeon's Cack
Back to Pigeon's Nest
Be kind to pigeons