since

being fucked over by a fellow- well, alleged- comedian i see no future for me with in the world of live comedy. it’s a mess, and anyway i have done everything i wanted to do. i have proven to myself that my father was wrong for a start, that i can make a living from my comedic talent.

so now i’ll go onto something else, why stay in a nest of vipers any longer?

And the boys from the problematic pub podcast have taken over the helm so to speak. they have become successful through their podcast, and, remarkably, have done that without leaving wales.

I get one gig after another pulled this year. Mirth control pulled the Jersey weekend, and don’t seem very keen to get me any replacement gigs. Poor Jon Keys of Paramount comedy has had a mini stroke. Jeez,,,have we reached a cross roads? A rubicon. (mind you someone form his company could have informed me that the Cornwall shows had been cancelled 😦

Had a weekend of gigs in Jersey cancelled in March – it’s enough to drive you to crime, rob a bank,

apart from these (usual) disappointments there’s other bookers out there – who i won’t name – who seem to enjoy breaking the hearts of people like myself, but of course they’ll never succeed in actually doing that. Not in my case. But what a strange business, the work you get depends not on any organised system, nor indeed on merit, but on some random whim and fancy on the part of a club owner. Half of them make decisions based on hearsay i.e. they weren’t actually present at your performance. They one day decide you’re not funny, that they don’t like you. In my case that’s compounded by the fact that a group of people, some of whom i’ve never met, decided to act like fascists, and accused me of shit. Where’s the honour in that ? where’s the community? shove it up your arse.

________________

MY friend on facebook is often posting videos of herself, crying a lot of the time. it makes me sad. But then it also makes me sad that i can never cry, even though i do feel some repressed grief inside.

today i am

alone in the house where i live. alone throughout the day until about 5pm, -it’s a state of being which i kind of like sometimes, when i’m in the mood. i sometimes feel that i can use the alone time usefully, to work out things. Things about my self and my own mental make up. of course i could be wrong, and the truth is i am just some kind of dreamer, who can’t really get anything real done. The great hope is to achieve some kind of if not nirvana then something approaching that; to be able to live every day without shame, without being self conscious around others, without….etc etc

having said that i hate being ‘lonely’, i do not currently live ‘alone’ but i have in the past and found it to be terrible. when i lived in a flat in cardiff for about a year i really wanted to get things done, but found myself caught up in my own cold cell of existance. the same feeling when i had a flat in woodfield street Morriston.

yesterday in morriston, woodfield street, i saw a classic Karen encounter, a woman refused to move here car – and the traffic behind her stretched back a ways. i was in the bus immediately behind her, a ringside first floor seat. if only i had a camera phone that would have made it on to youtube. on the other hand…blah blah

alone, there shouldn’t be anything scary about it. But there is. I can only speak for myself. It is something else to be gotten over. If i am transient, and alone for a night or two in a hotel that’s okay. it’s the prospect of living in a flat or house by myself that – well i can tell that i’d be crippled in a sense, not able to physically get things done.