All work herein is copyright (c) Stewart Wilson 2001.

Enemy Territory

Being an occasional rambling article from the mind of Stewart Wilson


Okay, today has seen the departure of the last of the old students. Once more, I?m stuck with being the one people turn to for advice and all that bollocks. I don?t want to be, but it looks like that is the way things are going to have to be. Fucking life has decided to do this to me again? I really do feel like kicking something now. Once more, I?m stuck with a band of what are mainly alcoholic fools, and the whole state of the world makes me want to break down and cry.

Why does it have to be this way? Why the bloody hell does it always have to be me that?s the outsider? I guess it?s just the role I am going to have to get used to playing... all of the others going out and getting drunk and going out on the pull, and deciding that because they are ?the lads?, they?re going to a strip joint and then to see if they can get laid. Grow up. What are these people, fucking children? Is all they care about their animal urges? ?Me get drunk, me go find person to screw?? Bollocks to that. I guess I?m the only one without that, maybe I didn?t get that whole masculine gland embedded in my brain. Or maybe it?s just because I?m not going to see my girlfriend for eleven months? that?s probably it. Eleven months. It?s a fucking long time. Hell, it?s longer than any relationship I have had in the past, mainly because all of the ones in the past have been suicidal, insane, or worse. Still something that hurts, knowing I have to wait that long. The only bonus comes from knowing that this is the halfway point. Eleven months have gone by, and another eleven and things will really start to look up. In those intervening, you have to listen to me alternately lamenting about it or looking for someone or something to break. Lucky you, eh?

Today?s just been a weird day in total. I know there?s been no bulletin for two weeks, but have any of you bastards mailed me asking? No. Probably a good thing, the world?s going to hell, who cares when some two bit freak masquerading as a gonzo journalist is next going to spew vitriol over the electronic ether. That?s what I thought. But back to today. The weather reminded me of Octobers back home, in Blighty. A place that I didn?t have to look the enemy in the face or hide behind the screen of a computer to find solace. Instead, there, the enemy is more hidden. No, I don?t count anywhere as being without enemies. But anyway? cold, windy, a drizzle of rain in the air, overcast with the lights of the city reflecting off the twilight clouds, heading in to work before the dawn?s finished breaking and not heading back till dusk had claimed the world. Reminded me of being back at school, and university, the chance to just go for a wander when it?s dark without the rest of the world getting in the way, just me and my coat against the wind and the rain and whatever else the sky decided to throw at me. Not exactly happy days, I can?t say that. There?s a tendency to look back with the rosy coloured glasses, but I won?t. The bullies at school, even those I thought were friends choosing me to rip the piss out of, the countless nights doing whatever I could to lose myself? But they were good days. Life was simpler then. I was good at what I did, bad at what I didn?t like, and knew who I could talk to in a pinch and have it never repeated. These days, the world?s grown up with me, or maybe even past me. I can look back well enough, but that?s a road I could never hope to travel again, like trying to match my younger self?s footprints in the snow. Instead, I have to deal with the world as it is now. Strangely, I can draw more parallels to how it was at school than at University, the days are more structured, I only have the weekends to myself, and if I get it just right I can spend 99% of the day slacking off and still getting a good grade. Not like Uni, when I could sleep in till whenever I liked, and generally fuck about and still get good grades. No, here?s more like school, an environment that seemed to fit me in a different way. So maybe it?s not totally bad.


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Life, wouldn?t you know it? I was just messing around earlier, discussing with a friend the easiest way to hijack a plane (nothing related to the US, nothing at all to do with that), and I started fucking around with my penknife. Next thing I know, I have a cut from level with the right hand side of my mouth down under my jaw. And it?s bleeding. So here I am, thinking it?s just a scratch, barely going to give up a couple o droplets, when I find out just how bad it is. My blood is leaking out of this line on my jaw and nothing I can think of will stop it.

The first call, of course, is aftershave. Alcohol based aftershave. To the incredulity of my flatmates, not a peep. Not a whimper or a scream, despite having this 78% proof liquid pouring into this cut. But that doesn?t stop it. Not at all. So, I decide to take drastic measures. We don?t have any first aid stuff in the flat, no antiseptic or anything such as that, hell, not even a sticking plaster. Nothing I can do. Being the totally insane bastard I am, I decide to go for a scar, and start rubbing salt into it. Yet again, no sound. I clench my jaw, but that?s about it. So, looks like I?m going to have a nice scar on my face, to compliment the hole in my eyebrow that losing my piercing gave to me. So now people can call me ?Scarface?. Real inventive, I know. But at least you sods don?t have to explain it away at work in the morning

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Yes, I know work on the website sounds like an empty promise, but I?m working on it.

* * *
Stewart Wilson, the Digital Raven
Halfway between the past and the future, 24th September 2001