The Art of Appearing Human

 ‘They live amongst us, but are not us….’

…the sci-fi tag reads, a picture of a person looking a little blank flashes onto the screen and then the camera pans out, revealing they are standing in the middle of the happy crowd, that person is me. To examine this somewhat egotistical revelation I draw your attention to the emotional spectrum in its simplest form, happiness shines with a merry hue at the positive end as depression is merely outlined by the happiness it is swallowing black hole style at the opposing end.

Machines are emotionally neutral; devoid of feelings as they act on pure logic… some emotionally damaged individuals have the same approach to life as they use levels of emotional detachment to protect themselves. Those cursed to dwell in the negative spectrum are emotional screwed; to put it politely, often prone to faking expressions of happiness to avoid the words a depressive never wants to hear ‘Are you ok?’

You will know someone like this from work, see it in the stranger at the end of the bar, the one whose interactions are limited to ‘Tough day’ ‘thank you very much’ or my fav ‘if I told you, I’d have to kill you’. These individuals have mastered the art of revealing just enough information to create an illusion of character, this image strong enough to fool less trained minds but not those who practice equally effective detachment skills.

Symptoms displayed by people that exercise this masterful false impression are easy to spot if you look;

Do you know what their home looks like?

After conversing with this person to some degree ask yourself, have they divulged any information about where they live that could give you anything more than the county they live in, something that could be useful on Google maps!

Do they give you much detail about close family?

They have parents, their parents are alive, that’s it… but the way they delivered the thinner than paper detailing of their family life has kept you thinking you might be learning something useful.

Have you ever heard a frank and non-vague account of life events?

What do you do? I’m an accountant, Where have you travelled? Here and there, Where did you get that scar? An accident, for all intense purposes they have just slammed a door in your face but again the delivery of this vague information gives an impression of richness and depth.

Do they occasionally reveal a weakness, but don’t seem that affected by it?

They have revealed a weakness, that illusive chink in the armour of stone… but wait… you’re not really getting the impression it’s really the kryptonite you were led to believe it is, but you’re blinded to doubt by the fact that the past two hours of door slamming have paid off.

The art of appearing human is a fine one indeed, too much and people might think you want a conversation and so you’re locked in mind numbing small talk, too little and some annoyingly fluffy type feels offended and the words ‘do you really care?’ are used, your preferred response ‘I don’t give a flying fuck’ doesn’t help much by the way!

For the readers that consider this to be unsocial I beg you to think, that stony faced bastard might not be spilling the beans to you but they will have friends and family to which being open and honest causes no issues, what are the reasons for the layers of pentagon style defence programming and why do you want to know what lies beneath.

The nature of a man who hides his true self is not always pure or happy, some people are not blessed with the fluffy style personality that exudes sociability to a point of perfection and if they have lost the ability to trust is it really a good idea to force them to trust you.

To conclude I give you these words ‘Behind these cold dead eyes lie worlds beyond’ but as to whether you want to know what worlds lie beyond, or if you can live with the idea they might not be to your liking, that is where an even finer art begins… the art of interrogation!


So the feather duster has settled a score with that hellion ball of dust adorning the exercise machine so enthusiastically purchased weeks ago, at least the fluff monster you just honourable challenged with a precision engineered cleaning instrument got some use out of it! (the resulting workout you had in order to defeat it enough to repent)

The day is begun in earnest effort, but dragging dismally into the afternoon of dire boredom… wait, is that a new bit of dust on the mantle… and with a briefest required endeavour it’s back to the frustratingly lingering boredom.

The question hangs heavy in the air as it appears to enjoy taunting you “What now?” an edge of cruelty dripping in its tone, no less a reason required but to know it mercilessly has you by the balls.

So indeed it stands to answer, what now?

Since I’ve resorted to writing this, open to suggestions!



I wanted to write, in acidic tone put upon page my feelings in black ink, a reflection of my darkened mood
But the razor did its job, tendons weak and my grip as lost as the blood that fills the ink pot with rhythmic drip

The countdown to the moment I never wished

So the page lays out blank…

Just the snaking lines of red that tell more of my fading death than the damning nothing I was in life
I should have thought to put the words to paper, before the selfish instinct took form in bloody act

I never got to say it, how much I will miss you my love

The Note.jpg


The 14th Pt3

Penguin Day 2

To the clinically cursed singles, anti social specialists and that elitist gathering of time lacking individuals whose lives deny the happy embrace of another, I offer not the damningly discouraging ‘valentines wishes’ or even more drearily so ‘hope you’re spending time with loved ones’…. bucket, razor blade and blissful absence of living temptingly result in that order from such an incendiary mix of putrefying remarks.

I refer your much besieged higher functions to that hallowed of occasion’s event ‘Penguin Day’ where in the finely attired creature resides above the majestic reach of a stunning vista, glass in hand, and signals respectfully to the grandest mother of them all for her natural beauty, nature. With only the blessed company of those he/she feels worthy to share the epic moment, not a corrupting drip of poisonous emotion branded into pleasant society as the deceptively simple ‘Love’ or forth warningly as ‘romance’ (I shudder at the most meagre reference to those demonic words) to ruin the mood.

So raise a glass of choice with me as we see this year’s overly sized and reddened heart shaped misery subside into another year’s memory, and should you feel the wish/necessity to refill said glass of salvation, I’m right there with you!

To those whose scorn positively pours upon the screen with malice aimed at how I do slander the name/curse of ‘Love’ I offer only the hope that any who do not find fault in my words will find their black hearted companion before the twelve month countdown painfully ticks and tocks its way to this time in 2017, so they too can revel in merriment of another’s company for the viewing of that grandiose vista under the starry sky.

So Happy Penguin Day folks