On Making Love to Ideas

Yesterday morning I made a momentous decision. ‘I’m not going to get out of bed today,’ it began. ‘In fact, not only am I not going to get out of bed today, I’m never going to get out of bed again. And not only that, but I’m not going to even see anyone ever again. They – whoever they are – can’t stop me. I’ll barricade myself in this room and demand that food be shoved in under the door. It’ll make for a slightly inelegant diet – bacon, crisps, pancakes, that sugary rice paper stuff – but it’ll be worth it. Perhaps cream cheese can be squirted through the keyhole. Will cigarettes fit through there? Balls. Well, I’ll quit smoking. But where will I toilet? And who’s going to be squeezing stuff through the keyhole and sliding stuff under the door? No one, that’s who. More balls. Okay world, you win. I’ll get up, but only after four cigarettes and two panic attacks.’

My quickly abandoned (and not at all momentous) decision to remain in bed for the rest of my life didn’t stem from not giving a fuck. If anything, I give too much of a fuck. Or I did. But one quickly find oneself going from giving too much of a fuck, to giving a reasonable amount of fuck to hardly giving any fuck at all. No fuck. Not giving any fuck. The stream of rejections and walls of silence one encounters can get a bit much at times but what really seemed to grate yesterday was that I seem to spend all my time writing about things that I don’t want to be writing about and none of my time writing about things that I do want to write about.

You’ll be delighted to hear that I’ve found a way around it, to beef up my levels of fuck-giving. Let me show you. Okay, so I’ve half-heartedly pitched an idea about going to a Muay Thai training camp in Phuket, training for four or six or however many weeks it takes and then having a semi-professional fight at the end of it. The condition I’m in at the moment, it’ll probably take a year. It’s not a particularly novel idea, but it’s a good one – one I’d really like to do – and one I could write up pretty well I reckon. I’m planning on pitching it around some more (I’ve only sent it to Men’s Fitness so far) but if no one picks it up I’m going to do it anyway. The training and the fighting, I mean. I can’t afford to do it, but I’ll find a way. Not having a commission makes it seem a little pointless, but it will be good for me and I can still write about it and put it up here.

There’s plenty of other stuff out there that I want to write about and if no one is willing to pay me for it I’m going to do it and write about it anyway. How’s that for a plan? Don’t answer. Anyway, you’ll all read it won’t you? Don’t answer. I realise that this way is massively logistically flawed but it got me through the day yesterday and had me leaping from my bed this morning and I’m trying to give the logistical side of it not too much of a fuck right now. Watch this sweary space.

Someone not giving a fuck, earlier. 


6 responses to “On Making Love to Ideas

  1. God, I’m in such an unbelievable fury at the moment. I could literally smash the skulls of 40 people, right through their faces, if they were here, and my wrist wasn’t so limp and effeminate. You see, the problem is, and I know you know this, even when you get someone to pay you to write something, you write it, and they don’t fucking pay you! What’s up with that? And then they continue to ignore you when you pitch other ideas to them! What?! Hello? What the fuck? How dare they? Cunts, that’s how. So then you can’t buy a netbook to replace your piece of shit fucking Cockpad and write up pitches to send to other fucks who will then treat you like shit beneath their fingernails until when of them finally deigns to commission you, then the withering blithering shitsacks won’t fucking pay you! Why, Pitchfork, why? WHY???

  2. Oh, and good luck with your fighting idea. I hope your wrists hold out.

  3. You clearly give massive amounts of fuck Karl. That’s good. At least I think that’s good. As for why, I’m worried that I too will launch into a tirade full of question and exclamation marks if I attempt to answer it. However, the 93rd word you used seems pretty much on the money.

  4. Definitely write what you want. What’s your ultimate goal? Fame is ephemeral but good writing is eternal. Emily Dickinson is an amazing example of this philosophy. I hope I am not going to be another, for the sake of my kids, but I am currently honouring my Muse rather than the moguls. Yet we are rather low on the food chain lol. Keep going! Good luck! I’ll keep reading you x x

  5. You’re right Julie Noble, fame IS ephemeral and good writing IS eternal. If you keep reading, then I’ll keep going. Thank you.

  6. My pleasure. See you at the whoever’s Booker after the revolution lol.

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