John Walker's Electronic House

by on Apr.01, 2005, under The Rest

Yesterday I awoke to find myself hideously deformed.

Elephant Boy

Look closely at my right eye. It’s more than just a bit out of shape because of an evil, buried, underground spot. It’s a metaphor for my existence.

You see, if you look closely, using my magic zoom-in-o-camera below, you’ll see there’s more going on than you dared to imagine.

reel in disgust

Spots are so often associated with teenagers, despite probably most people (based on the statistics I have made up) still getting them throughout their twenties, and far more people than you think (because you are a horrid person whose spots cleared up on your 17th birthday, and your unblemished epidermis compels artists to stop you in the street because they “just have to paint you right now.”) get them throughout their lives. Despite that, DESPITE THAT, people still think they’re a teenage stigma, and so when I appear in the pub tonight, hideously rendered in red lumps (it’s become worse since that photo was taken. WORSE. Damn you and your clear face), people will think me trapped by youth.

But look again, look to the left side of the picture. (Which reminds me, it’s now time for this utter rubbish of saying “left hand side” to stop. “Left side” says everything. What on earth does the word “hand” have to do with any of it? Really, is everyone so painfully moronic that the only way they can comprehend ‘left’ and ‘right’ is to look down their arms, try to remember which hand they write with, and then deduce which direction to look in based on this? “It’s on the left hand side of the screen.” NO IT ISN’T. It’s on the LEFT SIDE of the screen. Your hand is not a part of the screen. If you turn around, the object does not move to the other side of the monitor. So just stop it right now, for goodness sakes). Because there, circled and labelled, is the sheer ignomy of the beginnings of a wobbly old-lady thing.

It’s in its larval stage currently, but you can see where it’s going. Big, vile, gelatinous evil, that will scare small children and attract blackbirds thinking they’ve spotted a hiding tasty worm.

So there on one side is the evil spot of the youth, and on the other, the hideous growth of the elderly. My metaphor. 27, trapped between youth and… um, oldness. Poor me. Poor, POOR ME.

11 Comments for this entry

  • BBB

    Is it just me, or is the first photo of Matt Lucus in a wig?

  • John

    Oh, thanks a BUNCH.

  • Bobsy

    I was lucky as a teenager (in this regard at least) in that my spots apparently had a phobia of my face, leading people to think that I just never got them. Most of those people never saw the horrors that were my SHOULDERS AND UPPER BACK.

    Sin, in lump form.

  • Defragged

    I’m covered in the evil things. Those current Neutrogena ads are tormenting me.

    “Got even the slightest hint of a spot, well spend lots of money, then put a tiny dab of this cream on and it will go away! Because that’s preferable to having even the slightest imperfection!”

    is what the advert seems to be saying. I hate it.

  • John

    Advertising is evil. Don’t underestimate that.

    They must sell you the belief that you are not good enough or they will die. So they invest countless millions in making sure you don’t believe yourself good enough.

    I’m fairly certain that you’re probably already good enough.

  • Tom Camfield

    As insane as this may seem, giving up milk has cleared up my 25 year old face, after numerous attempts with drugs from doctors.

    It’s milk in every form though, so you’d have to give up cheese, butter, cream, most buscuits, crisps, cake, ooh, tons of food.

    More info here:

  • Defragged

    I eat tons of biscuits. Oh dear.

  • Clare

    I still have to look at my hands to tell left from right. Am I a moronic failure?

    Be Honest.

    I can handle the truth!

  • John

    Yes Clare. You are a moronic failure.