Friday, 25 April 2014

Sour Milk


A lot of things can keep us going in life. For me as a teenager it was really, horribly, graphically violent horror films or sci-fi.

You know, the type of thing where an alien busts some guy’s head open using its jaw.

Or where a huge, silent, hulking killer in a cool mask buries a machete through someone’s back and out their ribs.

Or where inventive deaths are the order of the day and that wood chipper just happened to switch itself on as that bloke tripped over.

Another thing that kept me going was alcohol. I’m not alone in this one but heaven used to be watching bits from my favourite films while glugging down red wine. I once got through 3 bottles in one night and had the mother & father of all hangovers the next morning.

Rock ‘n’ Roll.

Or maybe Rock ‘n’ Rotten.

A lot of smaller aspects would also sustain me. Things such as comic books, novels or violent computer games.

This past week I’ve come to terms a lot more with how I feel about life and what I want from it. My rage seems to have finally fucked off after the eviction order was processed and while it had its uses (it’s left me able to respond to aggression with counter aggression and to evaluate danger) it’s also buggered up a great many things with the inherent paranoia, self pity, resentment and bitterness that being constantly angry will invoke.

Try listening to loud rock music on a pair of headphones for 5 minutes and then sitting in silence. Your ears will ring with the sound of quiet. A similar thing happens when anger leaves you. Your mind, body and soul expect things to be there that aren’t actually there any more. So you feel like the top layer of your skin is missing, leaving you not necessarily uncomfortable or in pain but most definitely a little sensitive to situations that before you would have utilised your Anger, Rage or Pissedoff-ness as a response.


At work the other morning one of my female co-workers was in shorts, as was one of the blokes. I made a comment to him about, “Nice shorts!” and he replied, “Yeah! Pity I’ve got such skinny legs!”

The woman then said in mock anger, “Oh, so I shall take my shorts and my tree trunk legs over there then shall I? Rude!!!”

Before I would have simply ignored them both and mentally chuntered to myself about how much this kind of thing reminded me of the job being dull. However that time I actually laughed and thought it was kind of cute and funny and silly. It felt odd because it’s been a very long time since I reacted without some semblance of grumpiness to 99% of situations.

The sour milk is the past habits I sustained in order to cope. Problem was the milk churn was VERY big and the milk was super long life. I no longer get a kick out of watching movies like Saw (the last one was fucking revolting. Not knocking anyone who likes them as they are well made, decently acted and clever but seriously…a guy getting glued to a seat then peeling his back off?) I also don’t find the Gun Kata** moves from Christian Bale’s film Equilibrium to be a riot any more. Those clips are fun, but no longer something I watch when shitfaced.

Getting drunk is something I have a little more control over now. The oblivion of 3 litres of red wine on my own is no longer a tempting option. I have yet to try the acid test of “Open The Bottle, Have One Glass, Put The Cork Back In”…but I don’t think I’ll fail it when I do.

Playing the zombie levels on the Call of Duty, Playstation 3 games is still amusing (gonna have a go once I’ve finished this) BUT I can play it and see that it’s a laugh. I no longer vent stress by using the sawed off shotgun on a walking rotting corpse and then think, “Look, I blew his head off and the neck stump’s pissing blood. Fucking cool!!!”

Sour milk. Time to clear out the fridge.


** A martial art based on ,mathematically predicting where an opponent in a GUN FIGHT will be and where they will fire at...and dodging plus returning fire just before they do. Silly but awesome.

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