Reflections Upon Doorways & Soap-Boxes!!

Sometimes, Fellow Bloggers, as I while away the empty hours which my Ongoing Failure in the World of Pop Slop has consigned me to live through, I am seized by Dread! Of course, this is January, which, sitting as it does at the Birth of each New Year (or in other terms, the Death of the Old One!), is a natural time for re-evaluating not only where we've been but where we hope to be heading.  January is named for the Roman God of Doorways, Janus, who had two faces, one looking in one direction and one the other and so it is in January folks can look ahead and promise resolutely to go the the gym twice a week or look behind and wonder just what-in-the-hell they've done with their Useless & Pointless lives! So many hours frittered away on reading about the Russian Revolution and looking at Stroke Mags!!.... 

The STONedhoLYbloGER though, being yir Classic Narcissistic-Navel Gazing-Singer-Songwriter doesn't need it to be January to ponder where the fleeting hours have raced off to. Evidence of his Failure to Advance in this Pop-Schlopp-Life is ever present ; Watching 'The Wright Stuff' and 'Loose Women' everyday whilst eating biscuits is symptomatic of the malaise he finds himself wallowing in. So this dread that overtakes me does not come from the realisation that The Sweet Bird of Youth Hath Flown and my best years are behind me....though, to be honest, that is rather Disquieting, all the same!!

Wherefor then, comes this Dread, I hear you ask. A 'Mid-Life Crisis' perchance? True, the stOnEdHoLyBLoggeR, finds himself Smack Dab In The Middle of that Demographic whereby Gentlemen of Certain Years can begin to Ruminate on what they've done with the Precious Moments of Existence. Oh, to compare the Days that could've been a Magic Carpet Ride with what actually unfolded : A year on year exercise turning up to do some crummy job, kowtowing to the Boss and keeping up with the mortgage payments! As if from waking from a dream, a man can find himself weighted down with Houses and Cars and Children and Wives and Credit Cards and Annual Membership Fees to the Golf Club and all the other things our Consumer-Carousel-Society tells us are supposed to make us Happy. Having a Paunch, being slightly Balding and Needing Viagra to Stir the Old Boy into life does not help matters! It is then that being trapped in one more traffic jam en route to Sainsburys to buy Shoe Polish and a 'Taste the Difference' Shepherd's Pie can finally crack the Fragile Egg-Shell Character of a Man's Mind and he can start deliberating where to buy a length of hose to run from his exhaust-pipe through the Near-Side Window and into his car next Thursday night when the Missus goes to Zumba Classes! I am happy to report that, given the fact that Sometimes Nothin' Can Be A Real Cool Hand & since The stoNeDhOlYBloGgEr, as a Perennial Under-Achiever, finds himself unencumbered with all the things mentioned above,  I feel the Mid-Life Crisis theory lies behind neither the aforementioned Dread nor the many letters of a Blasphemous & Vitriolic Nature I post routinely to The Daily Mail!

No, the Real Reason behind this Dread, that can rise seemingly from nowhere to Fill the Stoned n Holy Heart & Chill the Blood in my Rock-n-Rollin-Veins, is the STonEDhoLYblOGgeR's 'Messiah Complex'. This is the Pathological Delusion where, in a Forlorn attempt to lend some kind of Substance to your life, you feel you've just gotta climb up on Soap-Boxes & Stages and tell the World you've got something to say. Ultimately it's a Primal Scream Howled in Defiance of a Vast, Godless, Pitiless Desert of Time & Space but I feel the Blogosphere is not the ideal place to delve into these Bleak Matters! But here's the thing about this 'Messiah Complex' - Stages are not being climbed onto, my Primal Scream not being Howled... and Time Is Leaking Out Of Me!...and still I am Mute!!! Gagged!!! Silenced!!!!

But Dread Be Damned for I wish to leave you, Good Souls of the CyberCommunity, on an optimistic note. (One of those notes which if played on a Guitar would lie up beyond the Twelfth Fret where Lead Guitarists like to Dweedle endlessly -  us Little Hands Of Concrete Rhythm Players know there is never any need to venture beyond the Fifth!!)  Meanwhilez...where was I?... ah yes! - It's 2012 and I do hereby promise that in my capacity as a Concrete Prairie Crooner and Secular Proselytizer of Peace, Love and Togetherness, I will strive to Throw My Pebble In The Pond and Get My Gospel Heard! A Whisper Can Be Louder Than A Shout - And The Word Is Out. The Word Is LOVE! Yeah, Baby!!

This Train Is Bound For Glory!
Next Stop The Toppermost Of The Poppermost!!!