Case in motherfucking point:
It's a freakin orgasm of a track.
Perhaps I am too easily excited by music.
I do not care.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
If you close the door the night could last forever
Do you ever get the feeling that you're practicing living?
I'm not entirely sure what it is I'm going to try to explain. I wasn't even going to explain it to you, I planned it out somewhere else but changed my mind. I mean not that it really matters. Here you'll read it or glance at it. One or two of you might latch on to little things and ignore the rest. Others might bring things up I've forgotten I even wrote later and muddle my head a little. There nobody is really reading and those that are I don't know. Either way I'm just talking to myself because I never seem to have the time to talk to you.
I'm doing my utmost to be good. You know suppress my instinct that tells me to cancel everything! Hide out at home where nobody can see you. I have no idea what I'm afraid of. Make a decision and back track to get out of it. It's like I have to switch something off in my brain to have a goddamn good time. Somedays I'm too fucking indecisive to set foot outside my own house. I hate that. I really really do.
But yesterday I didn't let myself think. I woke up for five minutes and cursed my pillow and whisky for tasting so good and giving me headaches. And then I woke up later and wrote. Flurries and flurries of words. Go back and write them again and I'm waiting to see if I actually have the guts to finish any of it. But you know I am actually enjoying myself. I mean I want it all, I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to hit it big, but little things like my dad telling me my dialogue was good even though I hadn't wanted him to read the piece he took it means a lot. It's not like I'm starved of praise or anything I'm just vain though I don't believe the things people say. I read my work and hear my voice and my thoughts and it's annoying. Like I could write the most amazing thing and never want to read it because I wrote it.
Anyway point, point, point. I digress far too much. I made myself go into uni even though I didn't know where the room I was going to was and I don't like getting a grade in front of other people in case I bombed. But it was my old archaeology guy from last semester who is like the nicest guy you could ever want teaching. Also I got a B. A B for saying hey guys prehistory is pretty goshdarn old dontcha think? Fuck yes I am awesome. I have one more essay to get back and if I get a good grade on that I have succeeded. Not that any of it really matters because I'm only at uni because I don't have anything else to do and bullshitting through essays is all I can do but whatever.
So then I'm like is that what I'm gonna do the rest of my life. Bullshit and bullshit until I hit an end? I write blind, I read blind, I live blind and sometimes I don't stop long enough to notice anything. Oi, oi, oi it is trouble. Though in all honesty everything is ok. May is dull but once the exams pass me I can breathe. There's no sense that maybe I should at least pretend to study. Trick my mind that I know this shit. My archaeology essay said I made good use of archaeological language. This is because I'm very good at throwing things in to make it sound like a know shit. Hmm maybe dendrochronology would be useful here?
I am very very slowly turning a darker shade of pale. I will never be brown but the freckles that faintly emerge make life more interesting. My fingernail joins up the dots. It's something to do. In a perfect world I'd be sitting in a sea of green with the sun on my face and a cigarette that wouldn't involve my father battering me and I would write a masterpiece and sleep happily. Instead I have to sit on concrete in the sun because the neighbours behind us are nudist crazy christians with a trampoline and the guy next door is cheerfully annoying with sheds to build and dogs that yap. there's a park three doors down but I wouldn't sit in it for love or money. It was a lot more fun when my rabbit wasn't dead. She made the concrete fluffier. I used to sprawl out on an old lounger thing that was suspiciously squeaky and sank in the middle. I'd lay there with gigantic sunglasses and a book and she would stretch out beneath me, occasionally nibbling at my fingers or my hair if it trailed down. I miss her.
I forgot my point. And the sweetest little song came on and I don't really care. I think it's the sun. I'm being unusually cheerful to strangers on buses and in shops which is good you know because I'm so fumbling clumsy. At least with a smile it feels all ok. I'm listening to After Hours by the way by the Velvet Underground which more people need to listen to because they were a pretty damn important band in the shaping of a lot of bands these days. I mean honest to go a huge part of the indie genre would not exist if they hadn't. Anyway it is the most sweetest little song and even if you don't bother your asses getting musically educated if you have seen the science of sleep the song Gael sings dressed up as a cat is the same song with different lyrics. And if you've seen brick you've heard the velvet underground. I'm saying this purely because I only ever get to talk about them (aside from my dad who adores them) to drunk guys that are usually in their mid-twenties who get very excited that when they asked the usual so what sort of music are you into and get a band that is actually good. Unfortunately you can actually see the conflict. Do I start a musical conversation with this girl or do I go hmm yes and try and kiss her again. Decisions, decisions, decisions. Last one talked to me and kissed my friend. That is greed right there.
I had the most intense dream. I was crushed in with too many people and everyone was talking too much and oh whatever. I'm tired now.
Have you ever, ever felt like this? When strange things happen are you going round the twist. You know there's a few conversations from a girl called Kirsty who is not the Kirsty some of you know but a different one who I was really close to when I was younger. Anyway one of them is that show and some episode she saw that I never did about the guy getting pregnant by a fairy while he was peeing against a tree. I do not know why I would remember that or if it even is a real episode. She also told me that she got on an 18 from east kilbride and it took her all the way into town before going home so we could never ever get on an 18 again because it was lies. I've been up and down from east kilbride twice in the past week. None of the many buses were 18s. God I loved her. I met her on the subway a while back. She goes to Glasgow now, she was always much smarter than she acted and dear god I just wanted to hug her and ask if her mum ever did get pregnant like Kirsty was so sure she was. But you know just cause you were inseparable as kids doesn't mean you can throw yourself onto them now.
She's reminded me of lesbians. Not because she is one but whatever. In the west end yesterday I saw this couple, all over each other with arms wrapped round like about twice and ending on the opposite ass and kissing all the time. It was like please put your joy away. I do not need to see lesbians licking each other. Anyway that isn't the story. The best part of this was they were not alone. There was a third girl walking beside them. Now you know how you get the pretty girl and her fat friend? Well this was the okish but lesbian couple and the fat friend. Oh how uncomfortable and left out she looked. It was sad yet I laughed far too loud on the bus as we passed them.
Dear god I've written a lot of shite and now my mum has brought me home a sandwich. Sweet free food, my life is fantastic.
I'm not entirely sure what it is I'm going to try to explain. I wasn't even going to explain it to you, I planned it out somewhere else but changed my mind. I mean not that it really matters. Here you'll read it or glance at it. One or two of you might latch on to little things and ignore the rest. Others might bring things up I've forgotten I even wrote later and muddle my head a little. There nobody is really reading and those that are I don't know. Either way I'm just talking to myself because I never seem to have the time to talk to you.
I'm doing my utmost to be good. You know suppress my instinct that tells me to cancel everything! Hide out at home where nobody can see you. I have no idea what I'm afraid of. Make a decision and back track to get out of it. It's like I have to switch something off in my brain to have a goddamn good time. Somedays I'm too fucking indecisive to set foot outside my own house. I hate that. I really really do.
But yesterday I didn't let myself think. I woke up for five minutes and cursed my pillow and whisky for tasting so good and giving me headaches. And then I woke up later and wrote. Flurries and flurries of words. Go back and write them again and I'm waiting to see if I actually have the guts to finish any of it. But you know I am actually enjoying myself. I mean I want it all, I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to hit it big, but little things like my dad telling me my dialogue was good even though I hadn't wanted him to read the piece he took it means a lot. It's not like I'm starved of praise or anything I'm just vain though I don't believe the things people say. I read my work and hear my voice and my thoughts and it's annoying. Like I could write the most amazing thing and never want to read it because I wrote it.
Anyway point, point, point. I digress far too much. I made myself go into uni even though I didn't know where the room I was going to was and I don't like getting a grade in front of other people in case I bombed. But it was my old archaeology guy from last semester who is like the nicest guy you could ever want teaching. Also I got a B. A B for saying hey guys prehistory is pretty goshdarn old dontcha think? Fuck yes I am awesome. I have one more essay to get back and if I get a good grade on that I have succeeded. Not that any of it really matters because I'm only at uni because I don't have anything else to do and bullshitting through essays is all I can do but whatever.
So then I'm like is that what I'm gonna do the rest of my life. Bullshit and bullshit until I hit an end? I write blind, I read blind, I live blind and sometimes I don't stop long enough to notice anything. Oi, oi, oi it is trouble. Though in all honesty everything is ok. May is dull but once the exams pass me I can breathe. There's no sense that maybe I should at least pretend to study. Trick my mind that I know this shit. My archaeology essay said I made good use of archaeological language. This is because I'm very good at throwing things in to make it sound like a know shit. Hmm maybe dendrochronology would be useful here?
I am very very slowly turning a darker shade of pale. I will never be brown but the freckles that faintly emerge make life more interesting. My fingernail joins up the dots. It's something to do. In a perfect world I'd be sitting in a sea of green with the sun on my face and a cigarette that wouldn't involve my father battering me and I would write a masterpiece and sleep happily. Instead I have to sit on concrete in the sun because the neighbours behind us are nudist crazy christians with a trampoline and the guy next door is cheerfully annoying with sheds to build and dogs that yap. there's a park three doors down but I wouldn't sit in it for love or money. It was a lot more fun when my rabbit wasn't dead. She made the concrete fluffier. I used to sprawl out on an old lounger thing that was suspiciously squeaky and sank in the middle. I'd lay there with gigantic sunglasses and a book and she would stretch out beneath me, occasionally nibbling at my fingers or my hair if it trailed down. I miss her.
I forgot my point. And the sweetest little song came on and I don't really care. I think it's the sun. I'm being unusually cheerful to strangers on buses and in shops which is good you know because I'm so fumbling clumsy. At least with a smile it feels all ok. I'm listening to After Hours by the way by the Velvet Underground which more people need to listen to because they were a pretty damn important band in the shaping of a lot of bands these days. I mean honest to go a huge part of the indie genre would not exist if they hadn't. Anyway it is the most sweetest little song and even if you don't bother your asses getting musically educated if you have seen the science of sleep the song Gael sings dressed up as a cat is the same song with different lyrics. And if you've seen brick you've heard the velvet underground. I'm saying this purely because I only ever get to talk about them (aside from my dad who adores them) to drunk guys that are usually in their mid-twenties who get very excited that when they asked the usual so what sort of music are you into and get a band that is actually good. Unfortunately you can actually see the conflict. Do I start a musical conversation with this girl or do I go hmm yes and try and kiss her again. Decisions, decisions, decisions. Last one talked to me and kissed my friend. That is greed right there.
I had the most intense dream. I was crushed in with too many people and everyone was talking too much and oh whatever. I'm tired now.
Have you ever, ever felt like this? When strange things happen are you going round the twist. You know there's a few conversations from a girl called Kirsty who is not the Kirsty some of you know but a different one who I was really close to when I was younger. Anyway one of them is that show and some episode she saw that I never did about the guy getting pregnant by a fairy while he was peeing against a tree. I do not know why I would remember that or if it even is a real episode. She also told me that she got on an 18 from east kilbride and it took her all the way into town before going home so we could never ever get on an 18 again because it was lies. I've been up and down from east kilbride twice in the past week. None of the many buses were 18s. God I loved her. I met her on the subway a while back. She goes to Glasgow now, she was always much smarter than she acted and dear god I just wanted to hug her and ask if her mum ever did get pregnant like Kirsty was so sure she was. But you know just cause you were inseparable as kids doesn't mean you can throw yourself onto them now.
She's reminded me of lesbians. Not because she is one but whatever. In the west end yesterday I saw this couple, all over each other with arms wrapped round like about twice and ending on the opposite ass and kissing all the time. It was like please put your joy away. I do not need to see lesbians licking each other. Anyway that isn't the story. The best part of this was they were not alone. There was a third girl walking beside them. Now you know how you get the pretty girl and her fat friend? Well this was the okish but lesbian couple and the fat friend. Oh how uncomfortable and left out she looked. It was sad yet I laughed far too loud on the bus as we passed them.
Dear god I've written a lot of shite and now my mum has brought me home a sandwich. Sweet free food, my life is fantastic.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
He hit so hard, I saw stars
I once had a long discussion with my French tutor about online books. Only it was him doing all the talking and me smiling and saying Je ne sais pas because I had no fucking clue what he was on about. I am most proud of that C. To pass a language you cannot speak is a marvelous thing.
Point is the only thing I did manage to say was that I prefer to own a book. I mean the downloading age is fantastic, legality issues aside. Anything you want you can find somewhere. Radiohead offered their album for whatever anyone felt like paying. Trent Reznor is offering his next album for free in a range of different formats. With downloadable pdf sleevenotes. Melissa Auf Der Maur talked about giving away her next album for free too but it looks like some sort of insane comic/album/short film concept whatsit.
I download a lot of music. Mostly because it's hard to find half the stuff in shops that isn't a ridiculous price. It was an awful awful time when Fopp shut. I've been shopping in there back when you said Fopp and people thought you were talking gibberish. Oh my mainstream friends, how I longed for them to get some sense and listen to less Blue.
Reading books online is what poverty has reduced me to. And I'm using poverty loosely because I don't pay for half the things that keeps me alive. I feel kinda guilty reading stuff for free. It's like stealing words. Saying that I'm not going to stop because dammit books ain't cheap. This morning I read Chuck Palahniuk Guts despite Joe telling me the story before anyway. Last week I read The Laughing Man by Salinger and I'm slowly working through Woolf's Night and Day and Fitzgerald's This Side of Paradise. I just know if I actually had a copy to hold I could work a lot faster. Not that I'm doing any better with the books I do own but I do try.
Amazon's got this new toy.Kindle. It's a wireless reading device. Basically you buy an online book, it downloads to the thing and you read it. No more need for bulky books! No papercuts! No more knocking yourself out at night with weighty hardbacks! I don't know if these are its actual claims but I got pretty good marks in marketing in high school. Ok so it's revolutionary. It's environmentally friendly I'd imagine. It's handy and shiny and new and depresses me. It eliminates the need for bookshelves. That is where I show off my literature tastes!
Pfft to this technology age I say as I type my two hundred odd post on gorram Blogger. Pfffffft.
Point is the only thing I did manage to say was that I prefer to own a book. I mean the downloading age is fantastic, legality issues aside. Anything you want you can find somewhere. Radiohead offered their album for whatever anyone felt like paying. Trent Reznor is offering his next album for free in a range of different formats. With downloadable pdf sleevenotes. Melissa Auf Der Maur talked about giving away her next album for free too but it looks like some sort of insane comic/album/short film concept whatsit.
I download a lot of music. Mostly because it's hard to find half the stuff in shops that isn't a ridiculous price. It was an awful awful time when Fopp shut. I've been shopping in there back when you said Fopp and people thought you were talking gibberish. Oh my mainstream friends, how I longed for them to get some sense and listen to less Blue.
Reading books online is what poverty has reduced me to. And I'm using poverty loosely because I don't pay for half the things that keeps me alive. I feel kinda guilty reading stuff for free. It's like stealing words. Saying that I'm not going to stop because dammit books ain't cheap. This morning I read Chuck Palahniuk Guts despite Joe telling me the story before anyway. Last week I read The Laughing Man by Salinger and I'm slowly working through Woolf's Night and Day and Fitzgerald's This Side of Paradise. I just know if I actually had a copy to hold I could work a lot faster. Not that I'm doing any better with the books I do own but I do try.
Amazon's got this new toy.Kindle. It's a wireless reading device. Basically you buy an online book, it downloads to the thing and you read it. No more need for bulky books! No papercuts! No more knocking yourself out at night with weighty hardbacks! I don't know if these are its actual claims but I got pretty good marks in marketing in high school. Ok so it's revolutionary. It's environmentally friendly I'd imagine. It's handy and shiny and new and depresses me. It eliminates the need for bookshelves. That is where I show off my literature tastes!
Pfft to this technology age I say as I type my two hundred odd post on gorram Blogger. Pfffffft.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Reasons to be beautiful
Julie says I'm not allowed to stop writing here. Her words were something like it was lame and hilarious but I'm paraphrasing so she'll probably complain I got that wrong.
I've got an awful lot to say and none of it is particularly interesting. I'm not doing anything exciting. I'm in a sort of catatonic state ignoring all the things I should be doing and being far far too cheerful to strangers. I don't know if I'm feeling like shit or feeling alright or whether I'm in utter denial. Like if I stop for a moment and think too hard I might collapse. I'm feeling awfully distant from things.
Oh I dunno. I guess I'll be happier once I start hearing from things. I'm waiting for six or seven places to tell me if they want me to work for them, I'm waiting on two magazines to reject me and I'm waiting for something to happen. Or someone to happen.
I'm immensely tired.
Basically May is kinda dull. I've an excuse to dismiss every month.
I want summer to bring me hours of writing and reading in the sun so I stop looking like the undead and I need a job. I'm so tired of being skint. But then I've never had anything to save up for. It's novel. I hate uni, it's the biggest waste of my time but at least it wastes it.
I've spent all day wailing along to nineties girl rock in a dress that hitches itself far too high on my hips that are too wide and wishing I was many inches taller and less obsessed with scouring every inch inside my own head because it's awfully dead in there. I've been waiting a long time to grow up but I can't seem to.
But it's not all bad. I'm alive and I'm trying and I don't hate everybody I see. That's got to be a good thing. I'm writing which is another good thing but there's a nagging thing in the back of my mind that tells me that none of it is good enough until some guy reads it and decides it's worth binding between some wispy photography. I'll be pulling at my fingertips until I find myself on a shelf.
I just have no idea how I'm going to get there.
I've got an awful lot to say and none of it is particularly interesting. I'm not doing anything exciting. I'm in a sort of catatonic state ignoring all the things I should be doing and being far far too cheerful to strangers. I don't know if I'm feeling like shit or feeling alright or whether I'm in utter denial. Like if I stop for a moment and think too hard I might collapse. I'm feeling awfully distant from things.
Oh I dunno. I guess I'll be happier once I start hearing from things. I'm waiting for six or seven places to tell me if they want me to work for them, I'm waiting on two magazines to reject me and I'm waiting for something to happen. Or someone to happen.
I'm immensely tired.
Basically May is kinda dull. I've an excuse to dismiss every month.
I want summer to bring me hours of writing and reading in the sun so I stop looking like the undead and I need a job. I'm so tired of being skint. But then I've never had anything to save up for. It's novel. I hate uni, it's the biggest waste of my time but at least it wastes it.
I've spent all day wailing along to nineties girl rock in a dress that hitches itself far too high on my hips that are too wide and wishing I was many inches taller and less obsessed with scouring every inch inside my own head because it's awfully dead in there. I've been waiting a long time to grow up but I can't seem to.
But it's not all bad. I'm alive and I'm trying and I don't hate everybody I see. That's got to be a good thing. I'm writing which is another good thing but there's a nagging thing in the back of my mind that tells me that none of it is good enough until some guy reads it and decides it's worth binding between some wispy photography. I'll be pulling at my fingertips until I find myself on a shelf.
I just have no idea how I'm going to get there.
Friday, May 2, 2008
The world moves with me
I am growing increasingly tired of this page and of all pages really. I can't even try something interesting with this because you guys know I ain't going insane/dead.
SIGH
I think there are two problems.
One the sun has come out and I spend my afternoons in my back room with my doors open writing while my mum irons. Kinda like when I was little and I would sit at my teeny table and watch my mum iron while I made play dough stuff. I have to dodge the rain, true, but eventually I will look less like a corpse. Or at least a corpse with freckles. FRECKLES. I should not get that excited about them, I know, but whatever.
Two I found somewhere else to say the things I actually want to say but I'm too chickenshit to tell you.
The third and I can't be bothered editing to make it seem like I actually gave this some thought instead of my usual HERE IS SOME EMPTY SPACE FILL IT UP WITH AWESOME, the third is simply I never keep a journal anywhere for any length of time. This one I've kept alive since September. That's a pretty big achievement. I'm not saying I'm killing this off just yet, just I've hovered over the delete button one too many times that I thought I should say something. Some sort of warning unlike my other one that I just wiped clean one morning. It's pretty much the urge
In other news I hate Cadbury's. If I have to listen to Queen one more fucking time in my own home I will probably not do anything but scowl and mute the tv some more. I have my reasons, reasons that inspire shuddering and rage. Also why does everyone go on and on about Judd Apatow films? I mean did I miss something. Since when did slapping from the director of 40 year old virgin mean fuck yes this must be great. It was an awful film! The only highlight was Billy Boyd saw it too and I got to say far too loudly "holy crap it is Pippin!" I mean he gave Russell Brand a film role. I just felt these things needed to be said.
SIGH
I think there are two problems.
One the sun has come out and I spend my afternoons in my back room with my doors open writing while my mum irons. Kinda like when I was little and I would sit at my teeny table and watch my mum iron while I made play dough stuff. I have to dodge the rain, true, but eventually I will look less like a corpse. Or at least a corpse with freckles. FRECKLES. I should not get that excited about them, I know, but whatever.
Two I found somewhere else to say the things I actually want to say but I'm too chickenshit to tell you.
The third and I can't be bothered editing to make it seem like I actually gave this some thought instead of my usual HERE IS SOME EMPTY SPACE FILL IT UP WITH AWESOME, the third is simply I never keep a journal anywhere for any length of time. This one I've kept alive since September. That's a pretty big achievement. I'm not saying I'm killing this off just yet, just I've hovered over the delete button one too many times that I thought I should say something. Some sort of warning unlike my other one that I just wiped clean one morning. It's pretty much the urge
In other news I hate Cadbury's. If I have to listen to Queen one more fucking time in my own home I will probably not do anything but scowl and mute the tv some more. I have my reasons, reasons that inspire shuddering and rage. Also why does everyone go on and on about Judd Apatow films? I mean did I miss something. Since when did slapping from the director of 40 year old virgin mean fuck yes this must be great. It was an awful film! The only highlight was Billy Boyd saw it too and I got to say far too loudly "holy crap it is Pippin!" I mean he gave Russell Brand a film role. I just felt these things needed to be said.
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