My lodger

This past week i've had a lodger in my room. In fairness it doesn't take up much space, what with it being only three inches, toe to toe, and a plump tow and a half centimeter body. It doesn't hang about in the places i use much either. Doesn't play my xbox or read my kindle, waste any of my paper or re-tune my guitar. It sort of keeps to itself, which was part of our agreement; Stay out of my way and i'll not throw you out of my window you scary hairy bastard.

Yes my lodger, Shaq, is a spider. A spider that is bigger than any i've ever seen in my room. Usually spiders that lodge in my room either die or forcibly removed the moment i see them but with Shaq, things are different. Shaq is the only spider i've ever met that has his own special place at the top of my room, where some wallpaper has folded slightly due to humidity. And he's the only spider i know that keeps blundering off his favorite spot and plummeting seven feet to the ground, hitting a curtain rod on his way.

Shaq is a special spider. First of all, i think it's a female (though I referred to her as him in the last paragraph) because it's massive and most spiders are bigger when their female. Being female isn't that special, really, but it is when your named after a male basketball star. I believe that Shaq is protecting my room. Shaq laps the top of my room roughly 3 times a day. I don't see her in the night. But since i've let Shaq roam the walls of my room i've not seen a single insect try it's luck in my room. (Although that could be due to the lower temperature.)

Shaq is a small source of horrific looking levity in my room, like having an ugly pet. She's funniest when im reading and the room is silent but for my giggling at Tom Sawyer. At the corner of my eye i can see a big black speck trickle across the wall to my left and then it's gone. A millisecond later i hear three or so strings of my banjo puck quite loudly. And Shaq will scurry quickly under it towards the wall. 

Shaq has been recorded falling from near the roof four times. As i write this she is on the top of the wall above my guitar. She's quite trusting as she's even posed for a photo that i'll show you later.

I hope she doesn't fall on my head. She nearly has while i was sitting at my desk. She was chilling behind a Thrice ticket hanging down from the alcove overlooking my desk. Luckily my shelf filed with toys and CD's caught her fall.

Spider's in Britain aren't all that bad. They bloody look it, though.

Let's play a game.

I've gotta write something tonight. See, i've set a goal to write something twice a week and set the deadlines at 14th and 28th of each month. I really don't feel like writing right now because i am intoxicated by them substances we have to feel nice and loose and relaxed and yum and yay.

but whatever im going to write something. Let's make a game of it. You can read what i write and at the end you can guess what intoxicating substance i've indulged my wits to suffer defeat. (that last sentence i'd have never written sober.)

Okay. 

It was that time of the day and my mouth tasted foul. I used language of the same state describe the experience. "Fuck me, my fucking mouth is like a fucking horrible fuck.".

However, I had to get up and shake my stick at the day. I stretched and scratched and headed for the bathroom for a good clean. "Hello" said the lizard hanging over my shower curtain reel.

"Whaddup Mike?" Greeted I like the way do in them adverts.

"Dude, why did i get up here? Im shit scared of all these curtain rings."

"I'll get you down, come here."

"Cheers bro" Thanked Mike the lizard when suddenly he suffered the most terrifying fright a lizard could grasp. I had just realised that Mike, this lizard that i was holding was a complete stranger. I have never met Mike. Or even established to reason that it was perfectly ok to have a talking lizard in your bathroom who talked to you like you were best buds the night before. In a state of shock i flung mike out the window. The anguish i felt to harm such a beautiful, friendly creature then took over me and i began to cry, "NO!". But Mike was always such an incredible superhero of a lizard. Thriving under pressure, he whipped his tongue towards me, wrapping it gently yet firmly around the back of my neck. He then pulled himself towards me, did a backflip and then a 180 turn and landed perfectly on my left shoulder. He looked into my eyes and waited for me to collect myself at the beautiful awesomness that was Mike."How did you do that?" I hungrily asked.

"I am the the apprentice of the master spy at LSS" he offered.

"Who's that? What's that?" I shot.

"The LSS is like the FBI for lizards. They teach us to answer questions in reverse order. And the master? The master is none other than Gex. Enter the gecko" Mike explained. And with that I felt a suave sensation lightly brush against my left leg. The Gex had walked into the bathroom via my leg space and tail bounced onto shower curtain reel. He then said a movie-parody style quite and shot me between the eyes.

Black.

Infrared laser detected. Switch on.

"What? Am i inside a television? These new flat screens are a tight fit, my ribs are cracking!" I asked through a mangled mouth.

"You soon will be sir because you've been recruited to star in our new TV show "Square eyes". A reality TV show about people who watch too much TV and then get put inside a tv to see what it's like to live like electricity." a host kindly explained.

"But i hardly ever watch TEEVEE I read bookx and take long walks and sleep a lot." i argued.

"AHHH but that's where we've got you. We're actually a reality show about people who drastically lie about how much. Welcome to MTV's "We know you love us you whores." 

"NOOOOO!"

My war cry was intimidating. The television case crumbled in fear. The host was now the least. I then struck my fury towards the Whole of TV. I masculinly scouted the worlds television broadcasting pylon and destroyed it with my fists. I destroyed it further with my legs and then humiliated it with my mouth. "Fuck you television. You're stupid.". That taught that.

But then all the fans of television wanted to kill me. And they did. 

And then i woke up and YOU were all a dream.

OOOOOOOHHHHH

The end.

So what have i taken?

I found a note i wrote on facebook

A friend asked a bunch of her facebook people to write about a time where they smoked. This is the story i sent. 

Smoking

Im not a smoker but you said "be creative" and gosh darn it, that is what im going to do!

Or am i just going to tell you about a time when i did smoke.

It's the latter.

I've smoked marijuana, which was ok. I dont know if this is what you had in mind but it was in the form of a stick filled with leaves that was blazing on one side while suction was applied to the other in order get the THC into my brain and give me a high. I don't really know why i did it. I've been in group situations while the drug was affecting others and only affecting me passively, which in my opinion at the time, was good enough.

The first time i got stuck I was slightly stressed with third year uni deadlines and heavily stressed in the relationship i was in. These are not excuses, it's just a bit of back story. I went to catch up with a few old friends at one of their homes and decided to get high.

The first smoke, as you well know went down like water. My lungs were trying to push the hot smoke back up. Did you know that coughing makes you higher? I just think it gives you a sore throat. 

I persevered and continued to smoke a drag or two before passing the dutchie on the left hand side.

As soon as the Stick left my hands, that feeling landed on me like a light, warm bed sheet. My eyes were wide open and my mouth locked wide open with a hint of a side smile. That seemed to amuse everyone present.

For the first half hour i was quiet because i was trying to suss out whether or not everyone in the room could hear my heart beating as loudly as i could. No sooner was i distracted by a high pitched noise that came from the mouth of my friend who was offering a spliff while doing a Bruce Lee impression. I couldn't smoke it because i keeled over gripping my stomach. I was supposed to be laughing but i didn't give off that impression. I was keeled over, banana shaped, gripping my stomach silently with my mouth and eyes wide open. My stomach was in dreadful pain. The agony of hilarity. After 20 minutes of laughing i carried on smoking.

I then "greened out" and stopped to play the guitar badly.

I then eat some chocolate and i was all better.

The end. (Based on a true story by Dafydd Evans)

(I wanted to end the story like a child because I am one, I think.)

The Black man's pinch

IT had begun to end in the middle, did the story behind the black man's pinch. That is, the tragic story of the end of a bright relationship between a lovely couple in the middle of their lives; is what created it.

Bryn Careg was the epitome of happiness with his wife Heulwen. And of course he was. Bryn had done everything his Dad had told him, down to his last breath on the bed that he died in; which was to clean the bed that he died in, after he died.

Bryn had ticked most of the boxes on his fathers "Have a happy life" list. Get a job, find a nice girl, live together, have children, hang on for as long as you can. Three out of five he had, for he got a job down the mines, using his dads connections. He finally asked out his sweetheart; Heulwen after five pints of courage and they'd moved into his family house after his dad died. This was payment for cleaning a shitty bed.

Yes, life was simple and sensible. Get up, work, come home and have a cwtch, bath, eat and sleep. Simple and sensible indeed. For Bryn.

Now Heulwen. That's another story. One that begins not long after she moved in with Bryn, her betrothed.

Her excitement and gusto that came with living with Bryn was unequivocally high. Very high it was. Especially when she found out that she was expecting. You know, a baby! She told Bryn as soon as she was sure and they both danced in their happiness. 

But that night, when they were peacefully asleep, Heulwen felt a crippling pain in her wrist and her hand went numb it did. "Bryn wharrayew doin?" she was shouting but she soon realised that Bryn wasn't in his right mind. She couldn't shake him away, his grip was too tight. She pinched his earlobe with her free hand which woke him up. "Wharrayew doin mun!" He politely asked, but she didn't answer so Bryn turned over and slept.

This happened every night for three weeks. She tried to talk to him but he wouldn't really take notice. Hormones from the pregnancy she had. Nothing worth talking about. Heulwen didn't know what to do so she did the honest thing and left him.

Oh it was sad. She told him to his face because she knew that Bryn couldn't read very well. And he didn't grab her like he would in his sleep, no. He just cried. She didn't want to see it so she decided to leave for good.

Bryn, then turned into something not short of a bloody lunatic. He pinched his own earlobe so hard that it changed colour. Then he went at other parts of his body making him look like he had a terrible illness. Which he did. He left his pickle alone though. No man is that mad. I hope.

His fathers pride came through, though and he didn't want the world to see him all down in the dumps so he went to work. Retreating in the darkness where no one could see him without a candle. He didn't do much work though. He realised that it was no good pinching himself. So he decided to pinch all the other dick heads he worked with. Will, who fancied Heulwen something awful, Jac; Heulwens brother and Iesu who was a preachy git.

It was dark and no one knew who was up to this irritating pain-giving tomfoolery, but sure enough Bryn had a pinch mark too so he got away with it. 

He then took his frustrations out on anybody. Stalking loners in the evening, leaving them with black thumbs and marks on their skin. All they saw was a man with a black face. The face of an unwashed miner.

Bryn died never knowing his son and never really knowing anyone else.He stuck to himself and his habbit of pinching things and died alone. His soul was chaos and his spirit still lurks today giving the people of the world the pinch of the black faced man. His ghost will manipulate your hand to stay in a doorframe while it's closing. It will make you freeze while a heavy thing falls on your hand. Or sometimes you will just wake up with a mark on your body. Either way it's him!

He got me not too long ago. I was bowling and as i picked up a ball he rolled another towards my hand and pinched my fuck you finger. Well fuck you Bryn Carreg!

And there you have the sad story of the black man's pinch. Don't go having nightmares now.

Hammerfest

The weekend just past i got to take a step out of my life for 3 days. I went to a heavy metal festival: Hammerfest and rock-the-fuck-out with one friend from uni and 9 people i've met briefly before.

I had an excellent time! The people were brilliant because we were mainly constantly hammered (drunk) and happily distracted. On the first night i downed a saucepan filled with 4 pints of beer. It was very filling, it took me two big attempts.

The bands were brilliant! Skindred, Anthrax, Dream Evil, Evile, Amon Amarth and way more all played loud enough to make my bones vibrate. There were bands i'd never seen before that were slightly insane such as Sci-fi Mafia and Virus, and there were bands like Spirytus that i saw the year before that blew the place down with they're performance.

The whole weekend rekindled my love for the live music scene. It really is magic. All sorts of people gathered to a holiday camp in north wales to drink in alcohol, music and cheer.

Under the stairs

My thoughts are strong and heavy

So i put them under the stairs

I close the door, I lock the lock

And reinforce with chairs.

—

I turn and walk away

From that god awful pit

It’s time to eat my breakfast

But there’s no place to sit.

—

I look at the door

Not considering the view

But what’s beyond my field of vision

A nauseating stew.

—

I make a galling choice

To breakdown the barricade

With my hand on the handle 

I battle feeling scared

—

I confront the thoughts and feelings

I say “I need to speak.”

“And you are going to listen.”

I battle feeling weak

—

I fulfill half a solution

When i rant and i moan

The other half’s to keep on living

Not to dwell here, all alone.

Bloody winging.

I had a strange night last night. I got drunk with my friends which was pleasant. 

-Ive just had difficulty accepting the grammar of what i wrote and deleted because im apprehensive about what i want to write. Here goes…-

It was a splendid night really. All were merry and bright with love and warmth and cider. Most of the night i sat next to Jenny (ex girlfriend) and we talked like grownups, as we both are. Then we kind of got into it. It wasn’t so much me, i think. I was just answering her questions whilst trying to encourage her. I was being nice because she is my friend.

“Why don’t we talk anymore?”. What a silly question. I know the answer; i’ve got nothing to say. It’s a two way street, sister. You never asked. I never wanted to know, either.

Im getting pissed off now. Jenny has a pretty strong relationship, a well paid job and doesn’t live with her parents. Although the last one is getting scrapped for about six months while she saves up to buy property! FUCKING GOOD FOR HER!

But last night thats not what i was saying to her. I still have a soft spot for her which pisses me off but i can’t help it. She was talking about how she just isn’t happy with what she has. I was trying to make her see how good she has it but then gave in and asked her what was wrong. I now know about her relationship, her sex life, how much she hates jealousy now. Thing’s i don’t fucking want to know! But she feels better now that she gets to tell me like a grownup. We’re totally great friends aren’t we? Fuck off.

Last night i was pissed and growing smitten. For a person i know i should never be with. It’s partly to do with the fact that im getting extremely horny of late. It’s a problem.

Jenny could talk to anyone about her shitty relationships and how she’s a bell-end and would feel fine the next day. But she’d feel even more elated if she told her ex and then realised how much better she’s doing than me. Then she can say “Oh, hey you’re doing fine. You know what you want to do now, you have a goal.” So she can feel like a good person too.

How is it that Im stuck in a shitty place in my life, yet im making someone who’s doing pretty well feel better. Im helping her. Im making her feel more secure about herself when i absolutely shouldn’t have to and she shouldn’t expect me to. She’d think that i should because im her friend. She’s my friend too but i don’t want to talk to her about shit like that. 

But we did. For a hefty portion of the night. And it felt lovely to talk to her. There was an attraction between both of us i know it. But as soon as her girlfriend (that’s right) picked her up, im sure she completely forgot it. And i was left singing songs in a room on my own because i was happy. It’s awful.

I’ve been hungover all day and i’ve reached many conclusions about the whole thing. The main one being that i need to get my end wet pretty soon.

But today is a new day which will grow old by tomorrow. I must spend these days creating something better for myself. That’s the plan. (Enigmatic and positive closing statement.)

Role reversal

Had myself a funny ol' experience this evening. I was indulging in my favorite activities of being a hermit, wondering how i could be somewhat creative tonight. Life struck me in the ears as i was told to pick my mother up and take her to hospital.

When you're told "Daf? you need to pick your mother up, she's had a fall and it's nasty apparently." you instantly know what your name is. Also your mind wanders. I've seen people with gashes and i've seen myself with gashes. I've seen my mother with a bit of a shiner from when she fell over some time ago. But when it was up to me to conjure up an image of what it would look like, It either looked really nasty or really stupid.

I rushed to pick her up and after parking awfully I got into the house and had a look to asses the situation.

"What do you reckon? Do i really need to go? Your father is a little all over the place."


"Yes im taking you to hospital." The words were calmly spoken before i even thought about how it looked. It looked real. And nasty. My mam with a nice chunk of skin hanging off her face. There was blood on the floor, leaving a trail to the washing machine so she could wash her new jumper so she could wear it tomorrow. Bonkers.

The conversation in the car was spoken with a general tone, even making jokes hear and there. "Fair play, you're the only one who doesn't panic" she said in the most matter of fact voice she has. She was comparing me to my brother and sister, who are both very good, although i remember when i badly injured my leg my sister drove me to hospital and nearly crashed the car. I told her about that to make her laugh, and she did. I must follow her in reaction to emergencies because she was as composed as a symphony.

When i think about it, the situation has been reversed many times over as I have always been silly/clumsy/daft/brave. And if i remember rightly she was always calm and making me laugh while i was happy and interested in the journey to the hospital. I've always tried to have a good look at the thing i've done to myself.

It's a really weird process; looking after your Mam. Even for something as small as a gash on the face.

She had to go to a different hospital for a specialist procedure or something which meant i had to go home and tell my dad the whole story, then buy him supper to make sure he has a full belly.
She's home now with a bunch of stitches near her eye. The doctors have done a great job i must say. She looks really cool! (She's requested that i don't post pictures and i don't blame her.)

Tonight's been a weird night.

Thought

Some/most of the time i don’t feel like that my thoughts are worth writing down. They’re not inspired/intelligent/poignant enough to be worthy of documenting. It’s strange because my doodles are far from artistic but i can fill a sheet of A4 paper with my rubbish drawings.

When i think i often attempt to work things out to a solid conclusion. When i’ve reached one of them i’ll write something. However, i seldom reach conclusions now-days. The worlds too big. There’s too many things inside it.

I don’t know who im trying to impress with my “conclusions”, though. I think it’s mainly just to pass the time but it’s got to be worth something, hasn’t it?

I can spend a universe of time (exaggerating harhar) thinking about complex issues or even simple sums but reaching a conclusion wont change my life. It only gives me something to passionately boast about when i’m drunk, which i often do.

The thoughts that HAVE changed my the way i live or think i.e. change my life, are the ones that happen in a whip-cracks worth of time. A sudden jolt of realisation and my whole worlds been altered. 

I don’t know what im going to do with this minuted train of thought. It will be some sort of paradox unless i get drunk and passionately boast about it.

Here is one conclusion i’ve reached tonight: Drawing a doodle is easier than drawing a conclusion.

Tooth

Tonight i was minding my own business, playing my guitar in my room when my niece walked in for a chat and a sing. She does that every so often. It’s brilliant. 

This week she’s had a wobbly tooth and she was eager to show it off, even though i’ve seen it. She told me she was a little worried about getting it out and asked me to tell her stories of when i had mine out.

I was a clinical kid when it came to my body. I had a high pain thresh hold and i wasn’t afraid to hurt myself, really. So stories of my teeth coming out were boring. “I just pulled them out when they got loose”. This did baffle her but she wasn’t interested.

“Have you got any other stories? About teeth, now.” Asked she.

Well, I know a boy that lost two teeth to a wham bar at a school disco. I also know a girl lost one to an apple. I know one boy who tied cord around his tooth and attached it to the door. When he slammed the door he lunged forward. It didn’t work, although when he ran away in disappointment, his aunty tugged the string and off came the tooth. I also know a boy who wouldn’t stop wiggling his loose tooth. His friends goaded him into letting us pull it out but he wouldn’t let us. He was so afraid of letting us have a go, upon leaving the room he opened the door into his face, which knocked out his tooth.

The less brief version of all these stories entertained my niece for twenty minutes. 

“I don’t like my tooth now because I haven’t eaten an apple for a week” She said.

When i was in primary school, four different boys, at different occasions asked me to pull out their teeth, and i did.

“Can you pull mine out? Will it hurt?”

Why, i thought you’d never ask! It’s been a while since i pulled out a pearl. I explained that it’d hurt a little but it will feel better when it was out.

Bless her, she trusted me. But not for long. It was itching to come out and i managed to loosen it by half it’s hinge. Then she got scared at the taste of blood.

She then sat between her parents who were very excited but anxious at the thought of the loss of their daughters first tooth. They also didn’t appreciate me brandishing a cork-screw and growling, like a pirate “Let’s get us a tooth!”. 

The trio of chickens sat there on the couch for an hour before deciding to go to bed. I cooked and eat my supper of steak (rare) and chips. They constantly ignored my request to finish the job. So i sent the family to bed and started to watch True Grit.

Within five minutes of leaving my niece stew, too scared to pull her tooth out, she called her mother who said. “Leave it alone or I cant believe im saying this let uncle Daf Pull it out. He won’t hurt you.” 

She came down stairs. I was excited. I washed my hands and contemplated grabbing the cork-screw for a final jape. I thought better of it and got straight to the job. Within four seconds her tooth was out. Courtesy of her top uncle. Me.

She’s looking forward to having her tooth fairy money, now. “I’ll pull my own out next time. It wasn’t really that bad!” She said in excitement. Im very proud. And relieved. The whole house is.

And that was my sunday night. :)

Hello and happy late January.

It is sunday the twenty first of january and all is well!


I haven't written here in a while it seems. I left it at "Im about to do a gig...Bumph". The gig went well and i was very pleased with myself. My only irk was that i feel that i didn't have enough material. I dropped two bits. One out of uncertainty of funniness and the other out of negligence. I forgot it. However, the bits that i performed seamed well rounded. I came across as playful which i am. So that's good, isn't it?


It's the new year and i haven't even tried to do another gig. My focus has been a little all over the place and i don't know where to start. Im still writing material but im not arranging or practicing it. I've written some songs that im very pleased with and want to give them a go, so my excuse is "I want to do music first" so im going to do that. However a month has passed and i've not tried to get a gig. Silly me.


All that's going to change. Well, not all of it. I'll still write stuff. I'll still do what i usually do, which is labelled under the file "Stuff Dafydd Evans does, mostly". What im saying behind the two paragraphs of pedantry is that im going to get myself on a small stage to perform some original Dafydd Evans Art at the bother of willing audience members. But before that Im going to do some washing.


This month I've had some more work than usual. I've been invigilating. The most boring thing you can do in a school apart from pulling staples out of a wall. I've taken my time to slightly bend the strict examination rules/conditions and write more ideas. This month has been rewarding as i've written five-ish sketches whilst invigilating. Naughty, productive me.


I enjoy writing things. It's a wonder why i don't do these diary-style updates more often because i always feel good after writing one. I suppose im just making sure that it doesn't ever feel boring, which is silly.


Ok, i've just thought of a new-late-january-onwards-resolution. Let me explain. This month there's been a few moments where interesting/funny things have happened to me. I've told my family/friends about them and we've all had a nice chuckle about them. But have you heard anything about them, dear internet? No. so my new-late-january-onwards-resolution is to write about the silly things that happen to me.


At this point in my life, for some reason, it feels important to not "do nothing". The idea seems naughty to me. I just want to try and do something at every opportunity.


Basically, I want to try or create new things in my spare time. As much as possible.


I've written id down now so it means something, doesn't it? We'll see.