Wisdom (and Wilson)

(Title courtesy of auto correct. A recurring theme/annoyance of tonight)

You asked for wisdom. I can only hope to deliver; with my mind currently running on several glasses of wine, Pringles and some chicken nuggets which I swear weren't cooked through.

So what would you like to know? My in-depth knowledge of BioShock? My recipe for a Robster (not tricky anyway)?  My deepest secrets?

HAH. Thought you had me there? Ooh, "Uptown Funk" just came on.

(Woo!) 

Because yes, I'm distracted. Because yes, I'm drunk. 6th glass of wine now. Fruity. Flat. Powerful. Typically, completely, essentially, quintessentially wine. These people who have adjectives for booze. It'll get you drunk. Priorities. Focus not on the "imperial implications of a modern vintage" and just decide you suddenly want to DANCE. I always dance when drunk. Me, a bottle of rum and Come and Get Your Love are the best embarrassment mix up since dads learnt how to dance at weddings.

Better than drama at a young primary school age. Ooh, I'm a shepherd in the nativity. Because I know how to wear a headscarf? Out ducking standing.

(I've decided not to swear for the previous 10 seconds)

Fuck.

Moving on.

Hey, you know what would be fun? If I came up with something creative. My writing recently has gone quiet. My reading, however, has been spectacular. "Here", "The Wrong Place" and "The Art of Guardians of the Galaxy." (Did you really think I changed that much?) 

So imagine, if you will, two people of extraordinary omnipresence. They not only see everything, they have already seen it. One wears a long coat and a top hat: the other has 8 mechanical arms. In between them stands me. They go out and live their lives, and I tell their stories because they cannot. I create their lives because they do not exist without me.

So here is my wisdom, Landmine. As requested. (No benefit leaflet. NO BISCUITS)

I am the father of these two men. They live and love only through me. Which is why we need more authors in the world. When the world goes mad and people don't make sense, we make our own. We make our own roles models. Our reasons for living, and for other people to keep carrying on.

We make heroes. People to look up to.   

And some people, like me, need them.

"I have two alter egos, both of which are cooler than me." (Facebook, 1 of 7 facts, 2015.) and they are one of the main reasons I like trekking on (besides the long-coat-striding everywhere). Because their stories just aren't done yet.

SERIOUS BIT OVER

Why is modern music so shit? Discuss.

In the words of animated head of Al Gore:

"PEACE OUT, Y'ALL"

R.

=]
(Can I please have a few point of success for posting this ramble using my iPhone, alone)