Currently, as I stand before you (or rather sit before not you particularly but my own computer screen, directly relaying my thoughts onto yours), the time is 5:23am and I have resorted to waiting until well after 7:00am so that I may pop outside and purchase milk. For you see, I've been craving a cup of tea for nigh on 12 hours now and have unfortunately been without milk, thus rendering my tea making (and drinking) privileges somewhat restricted. Of course when I say "somewhat" restricted, I mean extremely restricted through the fact that I, as before mentioned (...twice), have no milk.
In the absence of tea, my throat and my brain have endured trials beyond any human recognition over the course of the evening... or very early morning, whichever way you want to look at it. First came the X Factor. The god-awful definition of contrived manipulated shite, televised for "entertainment purposes". Actually, I'm not denying that the X Factor is entertaining, for I ended up finding myself laughing all the way through it, despite it being on in the background and my main focus being scouring the Internet in search of others mocking the X Factor whilst also having it on in the background themselves. Possibly not the intended "entertainment" goal of the money-grabbing fuck-tards behind the whole thing, but then again I'm a poor student who already spends £145.50 a year for actually being able to have a television on in the background I feel compelled to not throw more money at people who, quite frankly, have enough that they alone could probably cancel Africa's debt and then take them all out for a nice, big, slap-up meal somewhere. Probably Nando's.
Later on during the evening/night/morning/day/ongoing passage of time, I managed to get fixed the problem of the uncooperative computer components that had plagued my video capturing needs, which I only discovered this time last week as I attempted to capture video for the first time in ages. I'm not sure if I mentioned it on here, or if it was on the Facebook page (or both, for that matter), but now that the mediocre crisis has been averted, I feel able to get videoing something soon especially after the onslaught of newer and amazinger ideas that have attacked my being and existence of late. Although don't hold me to that. You know how unreliable I can be. In the great struggle between doing something that's actually good and may have some relevance to my course, personal works, broadening my mind, and mediocre entertainment for anyone, anywhere, at any time (if they just so happen to stumble across something of mine, that is) versus procrastination, Procrastination might just as well be a named character, complete with capitalisation, and dancing around wearing a funny hat, dressed in bright colours and generally vomiting rainbows every seven seconds, appealing to my inner-two-year-old. Incidentally, there's an idea for an actual character in a novel or short piece of fiction if I ever do get round to doing one, which - given the content - might go a little something like this:
"The man in the tall funny hat was accompanied by sparks, whizzing and wheezing all around him. He did a jaunty little jig for hours on end and always demanded attention; a grown-up form of an attention-seeking baby. His name was Procratination. And he... did... something, probably. Erm, SHIT! Wow! I started writing this like seven hours ago and totally forgot about it lol, ah well. Erm... story, story, story... oooh, I know. Procrastination demanded that he be noticed and... then somethi- OH FUCK IT! I can't be arsed now anyway..."
As I sit here, sipping raspberry tea with honey in it, because my throats decided to hate me due to lack of normal tea (probably) or coldness of December (just as probably), I can't help but feel like procrastinating. Then again, having said that, it is now currently 5:57am meaning I have literally just over an hour of time-wastage left before milk-getting, thus having used up over half an hour of my life on this thing, incidentally for the purposes of procrastination.
Also I wanted to update on the video situation. But mostly it was the procrastination.
Hey! Poetry! There's another avenue...
There once was a man named Procrastination
Who was in a peculiar situation
He danced a wee jig
Then snapped like a twig
Because he's not fucking real, you idiot. It's a metaphor for my own brain's default setting being "wandering mode".....-ation
TEA UPDATE: It is now 8:56am and I have tea.
Sunday, 12 December 2010
Tuesday, 7 December 2010
At Short Range With A Freshly Sharpened Arrow
So, twas in fact only three days ago I spake of playing archery on a dartboard. Or playing darts with a bow and arrows. Either way, at the "Christmas Fun Shoot" yesterday evening (and I've had a busy day all today, hence why I'm doing this now) I was most pleased to find we had mock dartboards to shoot at:
Although, despite best attempts, I didn't get a bulls-eye... which on this board I would assume is called a bulls-eye.
And hopefully Rhys won't kill me for putting this one up. If he does, it'd probably be at short range with a freshly sharpened arrow... and I don't want to be murdered at the hands of a left-handed bow!
It's OK though. Chances of anyone finding this are extremely minimal. It's not like anyone sees it as if it was linked to Facebook or anything.
Having said that, if you can read this and have come directly from Facebook: first of all, bless your insane soul and quite frankly I question your sanity as to what the Hell possessed you to look at this anyway; and secondly, don't tell Rhys unless you want me to die horribly, possibly with a target on my face.
Finally, if you are Rhys and you are reading this, I have suddenly fled the country to set up a new life in Greenland... or somewhere.
Although, despite best attempts, I didn't get a bulls-eye... which on this board I would assume is called a bulls-eye.
And hopefully Rhys won't kill me for putting this one up. If he does, it'd probably be at short range with a freshly sharpened arrow... and I don't want to be murdered at the hands of a left-handed bow!
It's OK though. Chances of anyone finding this are extremely minimal. It's not like anyone sees it as if it was linked to Facebook or anything.
Having said that, if you can read this and have come directly from Facebook: first of all, bless your insane soul and quite frankly I question your sanity as to what the Hell possessed you to look at this anyway; and secondly, don't tell Rhys unless you want me to die horribly, possibly with a target on my face.
Finally, if you are Rhys and you are reading this, I have suddenly fled the country to set up a new life in Greenland... or somewhere.
Sunday, 5 December 2010
Not Actually About Anything
So after clicking around the Internet in "bull-in-a-china-shop" mode, I landed upon a positively useful source for any attempting writer who needs inspiration to get the creativity flowing: a random word generator!! Naturally being greeting with the following:
I couldn't help but feel scared of the Internet, my computer and life in general, for evny be such an ugly concept. If only I was given the idea of "grand envy" I could've easily contracted it to "gravy", but such is the curse of the random word generator only delivering one solitary word at a time.
OK I typed that about 10 minutes ago before going off for a poo. Disgusting, maybe. But you forget, everybody experiences bowel movements. Nobody can deny that they poo from time to time. Heck even the recently deceased grant us with mild flatulence, probably from the beyond. I'm not asking you to visualise it (although now basic psychologoy would dictate that you are now, in fact, visualising it) because I don't! I just flush with my back turned to the toilet.
Another five minutes and I'm quite appauled at myself now. Not only can I not come up with anything decent to write about, I've veered off into the realms of disgustingness and started being... well... disgusting.
I blame "envy" for this. It compelled me to write.
Digressing again, as it seems the only thing I'm able to do well. Never mind, here's an old picture of me with glowsticks for glasses:
There, wasn't that pleasant?
Sorry, I'm getting distracted by loud noises.
This is probably the most sketchy post ever, which is only fitting because it's not actually about anything. Erm... have another picture:
It's the puppet dude in a hat.
I'll stop this now, mostly because I'm bored of it, but also because I've probably killed you with multiple line spaces.
Blame envy.
Your random word is: Envy
I couldn't help but feel scared of the Internet, my computer and life in general, for evny be such an ugly concept. If only I was given the idea of "grand envy" I could've easily contracted it to "gravy", but such is the curse of the random word generator only delivering one solitary word at a time.
OK I typed that about 10 minutes ago before going off for a poo. Disgusting, maybe. But you forget, everybody experiences bowel movements. Nobody can deny that they poo from time to time. Heck even the recently deceased grant us with mild flatulence, probably from the beyond. I'm not asking you to visualise it (although now basic psychologoy would dictate that you are now, in fact, visualising it) because I don't! I just flush with my back turned to the toilet.
Another five minutes and I'm quite appauled at myself now. Not only can I not come up with anything decent to write about, I've veered off into the realms of disgustingness and started being... well... disgusting.
I blame "envy" for this. It compelled me to write.
Digressing again, as it seems the only thing I'm able to do well. Never mind, here's an old picture of me with glowsticks for glasses:
There, wasn't that pleasant?
Sorry, I'm getting distracted by loud noises.
This is probably the most sketchy post ever, which is only fitting because it's not actually about anything. Erm... have another picture:
It's the puppet dude in a hat.
I'll stop this now, mostly because I'm bored of it, but also because I've probably killed you with multiple line spaces.
Blame envy.
Saturday, 4 December 2010
In The Interest Of Recent Nostalgia
OK, once again I cannot remember when the last one of these was, but here's the next one, right here, right now, woo, yay, and other expressions of jubilation.
Of course I write at a time where I actually have time to myself and am not rushing to do work or go places so for the first weekend in ages I actually have nothing to do. And you know what... I think I'm gonna hate it.
Nah! I can entertain myself with reading I keep telling myself I'm going to do, or even another video game run-through with me blabbering over the top of it, wasting yet more precious hours of my life (also yours, but it's really up to you if feel like using up your precious seconds of oxygen on watching stuff). As it is, the immediate future looks somewhat crap, so in the interest of recent nostalgia, here's a review of the not too distant past.
First up tonight: SNOW!!!!!! And lots of it.
And the way people talk about it in this country, it's as if we've never even known of the existence of the stuff! People squeal about it! Facebook is littered with "OMG iz snowing, yeah?" and news reports tell us (just in case we were incapable of looking outside of windows) that it is, in fact, snowing. Furthermore, they go and spout off some crap or another about how it's the coldest "insert-time-of-year-here" with the most snowfall for almost 80 years, but then again they say that every year and I'm so physically bored of them I end up feeling the urge to hunt them down and pelt them with snowballs, shouting "DID YOU HEAR? I THINK IT'S FUCKING SNOWING", and lobbing one more as a fitting aftermath.
The snowballs, of course, being the bane of my existence. Hold on, I'm getting ahead of myself in this story, let me pull back a bit. So I wake up for early morning lectures, and as I lie there in bed staring out the window through the already open curtains, I am comforted and elated by the fluttering flurries of frozen raindrops that make me see that the world can actually be such a beautiful place. Nothing could disrupt this feeling... oh yeah, then I go outside and it's fucking freezing... then people decide to throw snowballs at each other and being the pessimistic soul I can be at times, I contemplate just how much God hates me to make sure I happen to get "unfortunately" caught in the crossfire.
Luckily, no such event occurred, but that didn't stop me having the constant flashbacks of that time in the school playground that I was targetted (about 8 against 1, might I add?) standing solitary on one leg with the other one up for defence (apparently, in my mind) and with my body slightly twisted around since my spine is less important than my face, apparently. Somehow, I managed to get pelted in the eye with one which unleashed the beast within and compelled me to resort to retaliating in my own fighting style: shrieking like a girl and getting pulled aside by the nearest teacher on playground duty. And let's not forget, I'm not just talking about teenagers (who tend to try to push things as far as they can in terms of violence), but ENGLISH teenagers (who tend to push things over the edge with a cartoon-style anvil chained to its neck in terms of violence).
Next order of business: reading and writing.
I actually started and finished a book! "Dead Famous", by some popular comedian fellow called Ben Elton, tells the story of Reality TV contestants in a house monitored by multiple cameras and flanked with barbed wire and security guards, which (due to copyrighting laws) is definitely not Big Brother. Anyway, after three weeks in the company of a total of ten people, one ends up getting knifed in the head (whilst naked on the toilet, no less) and the 783 cameras manage not to pick it up, leading to a full scale Reality whodunnit. It's like Miss Marple meets Davina McCall, two pillars of the British female entertainment industry... probably.
Next on the agenda is Tim Collins' "Diary Of A Wimpy Vampire", which (if "Dead Famous" is Miss Marple meets Big Brother) is essentially Twilight meets Adrian Mole. It's basically what would Edward Cullen's life be like if he wasn't the tall, dark, mysterious type and, instead, was a perpetual 15-year-old in a constant state of puberty and was the goth/emo/geek that nobody really liked in school. The first few pages don't seem much, but I've started it so I might as well finish it before I throw it across the room in a fit of "why did I spend money on you?!"
Last stop: shooting stuff.
Yes, I shoot things now. It's all legal, mind. As part of the "new University experience" ("woo's" and "yay's" all round) I started training in the noble art of Archery. It's not as "Lord of the Rings" as one might imagine, but it does involve me using an arched piece of laminated wood and taut string to fling long metal rods18 metres across a room into a lump of foam so can't really complain.
Anyway, why is it only now I'm able to speak of it? Because after weeks of such failure, I'm now able to hit the wee coloured rings rather than the bits of wood surrounding it a lot more. However, the accuracy seems to be a bit all over the damn place. Having said that, here's the first time I randomly and wildly shot at the target which happened to land in the centre ring, which is not called a bulls-eye (although saying that makes me want to shoot at a pub dartboard from 18 metres away to see if I can get a decent 180 and invent archery darts. Anyway I digress. Here's my first 10:
Yes, it's the one in the middle and not those surrounding it.
This one is the same picture but closer, and I want to draw all focus away from the one in the red and to the one right in the gold (which is actually called gold and not yellow, and not bulls-eye, but I'm sure I already mentioned that and now I really want a game of darts).
Unfortunately, it's now 1am and darts playing times are virtually over unless I feel like carrying out a certain act I'm fairly sure is called "breaking and entering". And I'm too tired for that now.
Of course I write at a time where I actually have time to myself and am not rushing to do work or go places so for the first weekend in ages I actually have nothing to do. And you know what... I think I'm gonna hate it.
Nah! I can entertain myself with reading I keep telling myself I'm going to do, or even another video game run-through with me blabbering over the top of it, wasting yet more precious hours of my life (also yours, but it's really up to you if feel like using up your precious seconds of oxygen on watching stuff). As it is, the immediate future looks somewhat crap, so in the interest of recent nostalgia, here's a review of the not too distant past.
First up tonight: SNOW!!!!!! And lots of it.
And the way people talk about it in this country, it's as if we've never even known of the existence of the stuff! People squeal about it! Facebook is littered with "OMG iz snowing, yeah?" and news reports tell us (just in case we were incapable of looking outside of windows) that it is, in fact, snowing. Furthermore, they go and spout off some crap or another about how it's the coldest "insert-time-of-year-here" with the most snowfall for almost 80 years, but then again they say that every year and I'm so physically bored of them I end up feeling the urge to hunt them down and pelt them with snowballs, shouting "DID YOU HEAR? I THINK IT'S FUCKING SNOWING", and lobbing one more as a fitting aftermath.
The snowballs, of course, being the bane of my existence. Hold on, I'm getting ahead of myself in this story, let me pull back a bit. So I wake up for early morning lectures, and as I lie there in bed staring out the window through the already open curtains, I am comforted and elated by the fluttering flurries of frozen raindrops that make me see that the world can actually be such a beautiful place. Nothing could disrupt this feeling... oh yeah, then I go outside and it's fucking freezing... then people decide to throw snowballs at each other and being the pessimistic soul I can be at times, I contemplate just how much God hates me to make sure I happen to get "unfortunately" caught in the crossfire.
Luckily, no such event occurred, but that didn't stop me having the constant flashbacks of that time in the school playground that I was targetted (about 8 against 1, might I add?) standing solitary on one leg with the other one up for defence (apparently, in my mind) and with my body slightly twisted around since my spine is less important than my face, apparently. Somehow, I managed to get pelted in the eye with one which unleashed the beast within and compelled me to resort to retaliating in my own fighting style: shrieking like a girl and getting pulled aside by the nearest teacher on playground duty. And let's not forget, I'm not just talking about teenagers (who tend to try to push things as far as they can in terms of violence), but ENGLISH teenagers (who tend to push things over the edge with a cartoon-style anvil chained to its neck in terms of violence).
Next order of business: reading and writing.
I actually started and finished a book! "Dead Famous", by some popular comedian fellow called Ben Elton, tells the story of Reality TV contestants in a house monitored by multiple cameras and flanked with barbed wire and security guards, which (due to copyrighting laws) is definitely not Big Brother. Anyway, after three weeks in the company of a total of ten people, one ends up getting knifed in the head (whilst naked on the toilet, no less) and the 783 cameras manage not to pick it up, leading to a full scale Reality whodunnit. It's like Miss Marple meets Davina McCall, two pillars of the British female entertainment industry... probably.
Next on the agenda is Tim Collins' "Diary Of A Wimpy Vampire", which (if "Dead Famous" is Miss Marple meets Big Brother) is essentially Twilight meets Adrian Mole. It's basically what would Edward Cullen's life be like if he wasn't the tall, dark, mysterious type and, instead, was a perpetual 15-year-old in a constant state of puberty and was the goth/emo/geek that nobody really liked in school. The first few pages don't seem much, but I've started it so I might as well finish it before I throw it across the room in a fit of "why did I spend money on you?!"
Last stop: shooting stuff.
Yes, I shoot things now. It's all legal, mind. As part of the "new University experience" ("woo's" and "yay's" all round) I started training in the noble art of Archery. It's not as "Lord of the Rings" as one might imagine, but it does involve me using an arched piece of laminated wood and taut string to fling long metal rods18 metres across a room into a lump of foam so can't really complain.
Anyway, why is it only now I'm able to speak of it? Because after weeks of such failure, I'm now able to hit the wee coloured rings rather than the bits of wood surrounding it a lot more. However, the accuracy seems to be a bit all over the damn place. Having said that, here's the first time I randomly and wildly shot at the target which happened to land in the centre ring, which is not called a bulls-eye (although saying that makes me want to shoot at a pub dartboard from 18 metres away to see if I can get a decent 180 and invent archery darts. Anyway I digress. Here's my first 10:
Yes, it's the one in the middle and not those surrounding it.
This one is the same picture but closer, and I want to draw all focus away from the one in the red and to the one right in the gold (which is actually called gold and not yellow, and not bulls-eye, but I'm sure I already mentioned that and now I really want a game of darts).
Unfortunately, it's now 1am and darts playing times are virtually over unless I feel like carrying out a certain act I'm fairly sure is called "breaking and entering". And I'm too tired for that now.
Saturday, 13 November 2010
What Students Do
It's funny what comes to you in the middle of the night.
This shall refer to a time a couple of nights (or probably more technically, mornings) ago when I was trying to get to sleep but the ol' 'On/Off' switch in my brain didn't feel like co-operating and instead just slid out of pseudo-existence. As a student, however, it is in fact the law that my sleeping pattern should be somewhat fucked up from the sleeping patterns of actual normal people who live in society and stuff. So what if I have lectures and seminars first thing in the morning, and so what if I feel like I want an early night, it's just not gonna happen. I'm supposed to stay up 'til 2am on the Internet, watching TV, eating noodles and drinking tea because IT'S WHAT STUDENTS DO!
(Although my perception of "what students do" has been skewed somewhat over the last few days considering those who smashed up half of London because they thought they were making a statement.)
Anyway, the fact that I have a flatmate who insists on belting old tunes out at the top of his lungs in an excruciating, droning manner during the late slash early hours doesn't seem to contribute in my feeble attempts at entering sub-consciousness. Seriously. You can think I'm kidding if you want, but if I have to hear another faux-Michael Bublé-esque rendition of "Cry Me A River" one more time, I think I might well just go out there and make him cry a fucking river... and then some. It's not even a good voice. It's the equivalent of a syphilitic bee trapped inside a megaphone for hours on end. And he doesn't even sing the fucking song... more just shouts (not sings, shouts) the same line/chorus/section over and over until boredom sets in, which is apparently NEVER!
Songs in his repertoire include:
"Cry Me A River" by Michael Bublé
- represented as 'cerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-ryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhrrrrrrrrrrrrr-riverrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr' (repeat as necessary)
"Californication" by Red Hot Chilli Peppers
- represented as 'drrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeam-a-califorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-nicaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-shaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan'
and finally, "Fly Me To The Moon" by Frank Sinatra
- or 'flaaaaaaaa-meeeee-to-thamooooooon... let-meeeeeeeee-plaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy among the starrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrs....... leeet-mee-see whaaaaaaat spring is like onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn Jupiter annnnnnnnnnnd Marrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrs'
It just about gets to the point that I want to blow my own face off with a missile launcher. Unfortunately as a poor student, missile launchers are difficult for me to get hold of so I'd probably have to fashion something out of teabags, dirty washing, an empty pot noodle container (or 'pot' as it's probably more commonly known), a pad of lined A4 paper and half a loaf of bread that's two days out of date and painting itself a beautiful shade of teal.
Back to my original point, trying to sleep at 2am when you have to be up for 8 is damn near impossible. Therefore, more woe is added when the idea for my short story (which I'll be due to start soon for the purposes of my course) not only randomly comes to me as I lie awake in the dark, but also blossoms in my brain, almost putting weights against the 'On/Off' switch so there's absolutely no way I'd be able to shake this one off.
Of course, as a Writing student, I've had it drilled into me that I should write EVERYTHING down. No matter how seemingly pointless, if you get a wee nugget of an idea or a bunch of words just sort of attack your mind with their presence, they should all be noted down. Also, as this idea (which since the night/morning in question has blossomed into a more-or-less coherent short story plan) will prove to be useful on my course, I feel obliged to have my sleep interrupted purely for the purpose of these words being scribbled onto a piece of lined A5 (because I have A5 for scribbled notes and A4 for writing actual things).
OK, I'm sure there was more but my mind's just blanked out mostly down to lack of tea and sleep, boredom, losing train of thought and realising that my side-face hair grows at a much more alarming rate than it used to.
The fact that I'm writing this at 2:30am just proves I'm not lying.
This shall refer to a time a couple of nights (or probably more technically, mornings) ago when I was trying to get to sleep but the ol' 'On/Off' switch in my brain didn't feel like co-operating and instead just slid out of pseudo-existence. As a student, however, it is in fact the law that my sleeping pattern should be somewhat fucked up from the sleeping patterns of actual normal people who live in society and stuff. So what if I have lectures and seminars first thing in the morning, and so what if I feel like I want an early night, it's just not gonna happen. I'm supposed to stay up 'til 2am on the Internet, watching TV, eating noodles and drinking tea because IT'S WHAT STUDENTS DO!
(Although my perception of "what students do" has been skewed somewhat over the last few days considering those who smashed up half of London because they thought they were making a statement.)
Anyway, the fact that I have a flatmate who insists on belting old tunes out at the top of his lungs in an excruciating, droning manner during the late slash early hours doesn't seem to contribute in my feeble attempts at entering sub-consciousness. Seriously. You can think I'm kidding if you want, but if I have to hear another faux-Michael Bublé-esque rendition of "Cry Me A River" one more time, I think I might well just go out there and make him cry a fucking river... and then some. It's not even a good voice. It's the equivalent of a syphilitic bee trapped inside a megaphone for hours on end. And he doesn't even sing the fucking song... more just shouts (not sings, shouts) the same line/chorus/section over and over until boredom sets in, which is apparently NEVER!
Songs in his repertoire include:
"Cry Me A River" by Michael Bublé
- represented as 'cerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-ryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhrrrrrrrrrrrrr-riverrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr' (repeat as necessary)
"Californication" by Red Hot Chilli Peppers
- represented as 'drrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeam-a-califorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-nicaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-shaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan'
and finally, "Fly Me To The Moon" by Frank Sinatra
- or 'flaaaaaaaa-meeeee-to-thamooooooon... let-meeeeeeeee-plaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy among the starrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrs....... leeet-mee-see whaaaaaaat spring is like onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn Jupiter annnnnnnnnnnd Marrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrs'
It just about gets to the point that I want to blow my own face off with a missile launcher. Unfortunately as a poor student, missile launchers are difficult for me to get hold of so I'd probably have to fashion something out of teabags, dirty washing, an empty pot noodle container (or 'pot' as it's probably more commonly known), a pad of lined A4 paper and half a loaf of bread that's two days out of date and painting itself a beautiful shade of teal.
Back to my original point, trying to sleep at 2am when you have to be up for 8 is damn near impossible. Therefore, more woe is added when the idea for my short story (which I'll be due to start soon for the purposes of my course) not only randomly comes to me as I lie awake in the dark, but also blossoms in my brain, almost putting weights against the 'On/Off' switch so there's absolutely no way I'd be able to shake this one off.
Of course, as a Writing student, I've had it drilled into me that I should write EVERYTHING down. No matter how seemingly pointless, if you get a wee nugget of an idea or a bunch of words just sort of attack your mind with their presence, they should all be noted down. Also, as this idea (which since the night/morning in question has blossomed into a more-or-less coherent short story plan) will prove to be useful on my course, I feel obliged to have my sleep interrupted purely for the purpose of these words being scribbled onto a piece of lined A5 (because I have A5 for scribbled notes and A4 for writing actual things).
OK, I'm sure there was more but my mind's just blanked out mostly down to lack of tea and sleep, boredom, losing train of thought and realising that my side-face hair grows at a much more alarming rate than it used to.
The fact that I'm writing this at 2:30am just proves I'm not lying.
Wednesday, 10 November 2010
The Chocolate Spread Is A LIE!
So here's what happened right. I bought chocolate spread the other day because it looked funky. Here's how it was presented:
Pretty, right? Full of swirly and stripey goodness! In my head I thought 'This will definately make my toast-eating time much more fun and visually satisfying'. But how wrong can a child be? (I use the term "child" loosely to describe myself as, even though I may be chronologically twenty-one, I feel extremely young. Plus QI told me earlier that the cells in my body change every ten years so, technically, I'm never older than ten.)
However, as the chocolate was applied directly to toast (as the instruction manual in my head told me), its natural swirlyness was mortifyingly disturbed and consequently meant the toast became coated with a very uniform, normal "boring chocolate spread" effect. Observe!
And this is how shocked I was...
I know... I was that shocked.
Fin.
Pretty, right? Full of swirly and stripey goodness! In my head I thought 'This will definately make my toast-eating time much more fun and visually satisfying'. But how wrong can a child be? (I use the term "child" loosely to describe myself as, even though I may be chronologically twenty-one, I feel extremely young. Plus QI told me earlier that the cells in my body change every ten years so, technically, I'm never older than ten.)
However, as the chocolate was applied directly to toast (as the instruction manual in my head told me), its natural swirlyness was mortifyingly disturbed and consequently meant the toast became coated with a very uniform, normal "boring chocolate spread" effect. Observe!
And this is how shocked I was...
I know... I was that shocked.
Fin.
Monday, 8 November 2010
Alluding Life To A Video Cassette
When was the last post? Ah, Hell. It doesn't matter, I can never come up with anything of interest to write about at the best of times. So why have I started up this one now? Well, that's a mystery that can only be solved by going about seventeen seconds back through the passage of time. Of course time travel is impossible and we're all fixed on this constant trajectory. In the terms of the good old VHS, try to think of us as constantly on 'play'. There's no 'fast forward' to speed things up, no 'rewind' to go back a bit, no 'pause' to just give it a rest for a bit, and no 'record' to capture those special fleeting moments in life. Incidentally, there is a 'stop' function which you can press yourself (if 'play' just keeps getting on your nerves) or someone can horribly press it for you (with or without your consent... or in some cases they can run over the remote conveniently hitting the 'stop' button with the wheels of their car) but after that the batteries in the remote are pretty much nackered and you can't 'play' again.
Also 'eject' doesn't do much except make you have a shit.
So why have I started going on alluding life to a video cassette? Well, to answer that we'd have to go 134 seconds back through ti- oh wait...
Yeah, I'm bored. What of it?
Also 'eject' doesn't do much except make you have a shit.
So why have I started going on alluding life to a video cassette? Well, to answer that we'd have to go 134 seconds back through ti- oh wait...
Yeah, I'm bored. What of it?
Sunday, 17 October 2010
Thankful For Glade Touch 'n' Fresh
I really have to stop drinking Strongbow.
Why? Does it tear up my insides?
-No
Does it give a terrible headache the next morning?
-No
Do I go through it so often I'm just losing money?
-No! It's because it makes me awfully flatulent!
Yes, Strongbow fucks up my ass. It makes my farts stink even more than farts should normally stink and they come all too frequently as well.
If I'm ever to meet a fair young maiden (or failing that, her 'not-so-fair' friend) it may not make the best impression for my to be continually followed by the smell of the festering remains of last Tuesday's chicken and potatoes mixed with dead apples and constantly having the noise of a depressed lawnmower protruding from my back door, which is a shame really, since alcohol seems to be my only gateway into the world of meeting new people. And usually my tipple of choice will tend to be that fermented bitter apple ass fuel, which puts me in a kind of Catch-22 situ-(hang on, need a crap..............OK I'm back now)-ation.
Ooof! You know, it's at times like these I realise I really am thankful for Glade Touch 'n' Fresh... but back to the rambling...
(Although to be honest, the fact that you're reading this line means you've read through all that and you are strangely interested in the activities of my bottom, you pervert.)
Anyway, next day always means the memories of the night before come flooding back (and apparently tumbling out of my ass). Memories like "oh, so I did have pasta bolognese for dinner last night".
I would, of course, just like to say that not all of what you've just read is true. I actually had pasta bolognese on Tuesday and chicken and potatoes last night.
Why? Does it tear up my insides?
-No
Does it give a terrible headache the next morning?
-No
Do I go through it so often I'm just losing money?
-No! It's because it makes me awfully flatulent!
Yes, Strongbow fucks up my ass. It makes my farts stink even more than farts should normally stink and they come all too frequently as well.
If I'm ever to meet a fair young maiden (or failing that, her 'not-so-fair' friend) it may not make the best impression for my to be continually followed by the smell of the festering remains of last Tuesday's chicken and potatoes mixed with dead apples and constantly having the noise of a depressed lawnmower protruding from my back door, which is a shame really, since alcohol seems to be my only gateway into the world of meeting new people. And usually my tipple of choice will tend to be that fermented bitter apple ass fuel, which puts me in a kind of Catch-22 situ-(hang on, need a crap..............OK I'm back now)-ation.
Ooof! You know, it's at times like these I realise I really am thankful for Glade Touch 'n' Fresh... but back to the rambling...
(Although to be honest, the fact that you're reading this line means you've read through all that and you are strangely interested in the activities of my bottom, you pervert.)
Anyway, next day always means the memories of the night before come flooding back (and apparently tumbling out of my ass). Memories like "oh, so I did have pasta bolognese for dinner last night".
I would, of course, just like to say that not all of what you've just read is true. I actually had pasta bolognese on Tuesday and chicken and potatoes last night.
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