BALAGAN

I hadn't been to what I would call a proper party in ages so its been quite a roller coaster going to two in two weekends. A lot of the time I was filming at the mosque I just couldn't get my head round having a decent stab at trying to understand Islam on a friday afternoon and then being out of my face for the rest of the weekend and when I did I felt incredibly alienated so I gave up for a long while.

I tried the more organised and some would say more positivley focused Synergy events but within the restrictions of a night club venue, what the Israelis in Goa used to call the "balagan" was ironed out of existance, not that I didn't meet some incredibly nice people, just that I was missing parties which had some... how would you call it...

FUCKING BOLLLLOOOCCKS!!!!! if you know what I mean.

Last week I found myself with maybe 800 other enthusiastic party goers in a proper squatted venue where none of the hypocritical rules enforced by facist bouncers applied. Under the influence of psychedelics my rustiness and lack of confidence amplified and I spent the first few hours dancing with my head down, my brain raging with a fear of those around me. Later I found some MDMA which smashed this fear like a golden brick and brought me face to face with a girl who I thought was the most beautiful girl in the place who turned out to be Israeli.

I told her she was beautiful, she told me I was beautiful but carrying on talking to her, I didn't know what to say. Even with MDMA papering over the cracks in my confidence I was still a mess. Breaking off and dancing alone for a minute I realised my problem.

I didn't believe I was a nice or worthwhile person. There was no getting away from it. I stumbled over a few more words with this apparition of beauty, then as another crystal of MDMA hit me I found myself propelled toward another girl who was a lot taller with very strong looking sexy legs and big boots who I found myself following upstairs right in front of the first girl.

We had a bit of a guessing game as to where she came from. When she said Israel I answered

"Not another one!" which thankfully she didn't pursue.

She was a lot nicer and much more interesting to talk to but it turned out she didn't want me. Being shitfaced I actually was crazy enough to go back and look for the other one, who not suprisingly didn't want to know anymore. I cursed myself for my behaviour but was happy that at least I had tried and despite my rusty state I obviously wasn't ugly. I got the number of the second girl but she made sure I knew she wasn't interested in a relationship of any kind.

When I first started partying twelve years ago, in much the same depressed state I am in now it still didn't matter what transpired with girls I met. If I made a good connection I followed it, content to gain a new friend if not a new sexual partner. The way she talked to me made me feel as if I was dirty. I had only stroked her arm.

In the week I tried to meditate a lot to find out where the hell I am.

This weekend I went to a totally diferent sort of party organised by some old friends I used to squat with. It was pretty shit turn out wise but the music was excellent and it was really good to be dancing with people I had a long history with as powders enforced their strange happiness upon me again. Paula played a fantastic drum and bass set. There was a wierd vibe with the venue as we left and Police swooped on a lot of people looking for drugs, an uncommon occurance in London. Finnishing this time with psychedelics my confidence blew apart again and I found myself wandering through the city unable to find the bus home, or anywhere to piss.

By the time I got home I was a wreck. Talking to myself saying

"Come on. Come on. Come on." over and over or "Stop it. Stop it. Stop it."

I looked in my mirror and saw myself as a bent over, Gollum like creature and I couldn't even cry. I got up and wandered around the garden hoping someone would rescue me from myself.
Someone came out and started gardening and handed me a spliff. I watched two of them gardening, the simplicity of a normal act soothed my conciousness.

"I'm going to the off licence. Do you want anything?" the same guy asked after a while.

We went halves on a bottle of Jamesons, I found some left over mushrooms and we brewed up. I ended up having a beautiful night shouting and singing by a fire. Another depressive friend came out of hiding. Both of us found solace in the balm of good company.

I'm back in my normal mess again now but I've had good friends pop by all day. Back into meditation tomorow. I've been pretty sure for a long while now that my depression and low self esteem circles around ganja, so I'm going to try and cut it out for a bit and see what happens. When I started this blog it was about trying to film Mr. Hamza and friends. Now if I can tidy my room up a bit it's an achievement.