So you want a Rant…

I’m sick of ‘cool.’ Maybe it’s an age thing. Perhaps I’m passed it, passé, whatever: Cool is done. That cold sickening clutch that kept me in the face of mirrors and the thrall of  boutiques (Ouch) and menswear emporiums is finished…
Cool has cost me many things in its time, sex, love and many new experiences. In exchange, fumbles: embarrassment and hot despicable secret yearnings that but for being ‘cool’ may have come to fruition. Stuff Pulp Fiction: “Are We Cool?” No, We damned well are not.
Instance; aeons ago I dated a woman for over 2 years, (lets call her Alice) we were ‘cool’ in that we had opportunities to date others, sleep with others, If you’ve ever tried cool you know that musical score. Then I met a new sweet thang and said goodbye to Alice, six months after that end, the new sweet thang and me were living together and Alice calls me, desperately needing to talk she said. We met, and she told me “I’ve always Loved you” and “could we get ‘it’ together again?” But for cool I would have called her a stupid bitch, told her to get a life, instead I took the offered shag and became embroiled again in a relationship going nowhere-‘cos that was the ‘cool’ thing to do. (‘Chorus: I can handle it’)
Eventually she met somebody even ‘cooler’ than me, he could ignore her completely, forget his medication and roundly declaim limericks in marks and sparks, believe me: I could never compete with that level of cool.
I later dated a Bulimic Alcoholic Sex Fiend with Drug problems, hey, I was swinging then. She screwed my friends, stole our money, crashed anybody’s cars, and threw total wobblies in the least generous of public places. When I ran, (succumbing maybe to my first uncool phase) hepcats criticised my lack of backbone, threatened to withdraw my Rayban privilege. Though none of them picked up the baton, they were aware of her drawing power as out of control Virago and wanted the cachet of being close to such a fount of chill. I stayed home Saturday nights for a while-always the first sign of being out of the loop. Watch out for it. If you find yourself saying things like ” there’s this really good documentary…” you’re there: almost becoming yourself.
Being Cool did have its upside though; I’ve shagged strange women in stranger places, arrested almost. (He needed to watch first) Woken up in strange towns (and times) not knowing how we arrived there or better yet how we were going to get back to wherever it was we started from. Those faces have gone from me now, cool does that, cool desperately needs new faces. Friends know you fart, get scared of heights, butterflies, the shape of strangers heads on the bus (yes, your friends know you’ve ridden the bus in total fear of cowlicks and that pee stain on a strangers trousers) cool needs people who don’t know these things about you and are in need of fellow conspirators to hide their own Laundromat size guilt pusbags of neuroses. Cool means an end to long term friendship, cool don’t cope with ‘fucking up’ How I got both terms in one sentence is difficult enough, to have both in a relationship: no way.
No way, yes way, cool means talking silly, all that asshole stuff from movies, but to base a life on? I see ‘cool’ folks in cars headbanging away, yep, to Bohemian Rhapsody, post-modern or not, Irony in that particular case is not cool. Get a life, oh shit; there I go again with the patter. Cool is passing me by now; I catch the grins from schoolkids as they check out my lack of dress sense, crap haircut, lack of labels and utter lack of yo-yo… So, what am I left with? All those years of attempting street suss must have left something behind, I think its this: Real smarts stem from an inner state of Grace, the knowing that the doing of something is good for me or another, cool is the doing for the sake of show for self or others.
I’m glad I’ve lost it: Will You?

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