Beach Day Tomorrow. :)

So that means:

1. Swimming. :)
2. Picnic. :)
3. Friends. :)
4. Sunbathing. :)
5. Messing about and splashing each other and shit. :)

Win!

When You Are Old - William Butler Yeats

When You Are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Poem I wrote in a really weird and silly mood

Every King Can Fuck Off

Every king can fuck off
Every landlord, duke and queen
And if you're repentant well bad luck toff
We've come for your liver and your bourgeoisie spleen!

Sorry to interrupt your game of croquet
Sorry to ruin your afternoon tea
Sorry to invade the grounds and spray
Your decadent bedrooms with Zyklon B!

Lovely to hear you debate taxation
Lovely to see you dismiss anarchists as loons
Lovely to see looks of relaxtion
Spoiled as we gouge out your eyes with our spoons!

Maybe we'll let you retire, quiet as a mouse
Maybe we'll even let you keep your crown
Maybe we'll tie you up in your house
And burn that motherfucker shit-heap down!

Alright, alright.

So revolution is about smashing the system
Not the individuals within them
I didn't mean to rant and froth
But every king can still fuck off! :)

Today, I want to swim away

To dive in deep and feel the water wrap around my face, cool and clean, uncluttered. To fraternise with fish. To get lost. Oh, to get lost... To roll with the waves and have no independence of the tides, who are less mutable than me. To abandon every concern and embrace fully the quasi-oblivion of deep, deep water.

Creepy cool.

Fitter, happier, more productive, comfortable, not drinking too much
Regular exercise at the gym, 3 days a week
Getting on better with your associate employee contemporaries at ease
Eating well, no more microwave dinners and saturated fats
A patient, better driver, a safer car, baby smiling in back seat
Sleeping well, no bad dreams, no paranoia
Careful to all animals, never washing spiders down the plughole
Keep in contact with old friends, enjoy a drink now and then
Will frequently check credit at moral bank, hole in wall
Favours for favours, fond but not in love
Charity standing orders on Sundays ring road supermarket
No killing moths or putting boiling water on the ants
Car wash, also on Sundays, no longer afraid of the dark or mid-day shadows
Nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate, nothing so childish
At a better pace, slower and more calculated, no chance of escape
Now self-employed, concerned, but powerless
An empowered and informed member of society, pragmatism not idealism
Will not cry in public, less chance of illness, tires that grip in the wet
Shot of baby strapped in back seat, a good memory, still cries at a good film
Still kisses with saliva, no longer empty and frantic like a cat tied to a stick
That's driven into frozen winter shit, the ability to laugh at weakness
Calm fitter, healthier and more productive
A pig. In a cage. On antibiotics.

Once we were young, and we were crass enough to care

WE COULD FIGHT AND WE COULD WIN

... :D

Very, very happy right now. :) :)

Can't stop smiling. :)

:)

Acid.

Bring on the sunshine!

Melatonin is a hormone that controls sleep, and serotonin in a neurotransmitter that is tied to states of wakefulness and being in a "good mood." Serotonin is the chemical targeted by a class of anti-depressants called SSRIs, which keep higher levels of serotonin in the bloodstream to help elevate mood.

The web connecting sunlight, melatonin and serotonin goes something like this: When the sun comes up again, and sunlight hits the optic nerve, some of that light is sent to the gland in the brain in charge of melatonin. In response, melatonin secretion decreases. When the sun goes down, the body increases its secretion of melatonin.

At the same time, when the body perceives sunlight, serotonin levels increase. And the more sunlight the human body is exposed to, the more serotonin the brain produces. So in effect, melatonin and serotonin have an inverse-proportional relationship that is guided by the body's perception of sunlight. The overall effect is "downtime" at night and "uptime" during the day.

The poems wot I read down the rooms (except this time it's the uvva one)

Bedtime for patriots

What really gets to me, you see,
Is when people brag and boast about an accident of geography.
Hasn’t anyone told them, that borders are arbitrary
Policed by military
Created by war
Upheld by law
Written on paper?
And that the water of their justification is really just a vapour?
I wish they’d get their flags out of my face
And I wish they’d stop chatting about race
And national identity
That way they can gain some serenity
And we can all be friends

Because as we all know at the end of the day we’re all the same as each other
We all breathe and shit and piss and try to love one another
And at the risk of sounding like a hippy, man, we’re basically sisters and brothers

So yeah fuck nationalism. And while we’re here fuck racism sexism and ageism.
In fact just avoid isms like the plague
The nature of this world is far too vague
To be categorised. And generalised.

I’m sorry if this is too serious ‘cause I don’t wanna make you frown
But it’s time to climb the dividing walls or better still to burn them down
Yes it’s bedtime for the patriots
They can all be put to sleep
‘Cause the human condition is not that crass
It’s a river, runnin’ deep.

The poems wot I read down the rooms

Hippies In White Coats

A neo-luddite pagan hippy and… science walk into a bar

The pagan’s sweatin’ quack medicines ‘n…

Science is wearin’… Hiroshima’s scar.

It’d been a long day for both of ‘em, and they were clearly pretty fucked off so

The barman, mankind, got them both a drink

With due care, and appliance

Real ale for the hippy, and

Sulphuric acid for science

Well after a few ales, hippy-boy felt a bit contrary

Got up on to his hobbit feet, and started gettin’ lary

“You’re taking us to the apocalypse, science, this really isn’t cool,”

“You’re instigating global warming man, you stupid bloody fool”

“You’re turnin’ us all into a race of machines; you make the weapons of war,

“And you tell me love’s utopian, well what the fuck are you even for?”

After a few pints of sulphuric acid science’s throat was red and raw

So when the neo-luddite pagan shouted, he was already pretty sore

“If your lot had their way young man, we’d still be dying at twenty”

“We’d have no medicines, no house, no food, and certainly not plenty”

“We’d have no computers, and no lights, to disease we’d be defenceless!”

“And if I was a person instead of a concept I’d beat you bloody senseless!”

By this point both our friends were incensed beyond belief

So it was lucky that a voice popped up – and offered some relief

It sounded far and at the same time near but its tone was certainly pleasing

For it was the sound of a long lost friend, the underrated voice of reason.

“Hi”, she said.

“Oh my god where’ve you been” said science and hippy together

“He’s destroying everything” said hippy “I only wanna run in heather”

“I try to discover reality’s secrets – the nature of the black hole”

“He only wants to smoke weed and fart – and on the bleedin’ dole!!!”

But reason just smiled in a self-assured fashion

Knowing that there was no need to ration

Her wisdom

She chuckled and said “Oh you silly pair, you’re only at it again”

“Now hippy: take a deep breath, and science: count to 10”

“The point that you’re both missing here is you really needn’t fight”

“Hippy, you gave us peace and love, and science you gave us flight”

“Hippy you’ve got the best intentions, but you’ve got no coherent plan”

“Science you’ve got the world at your feet but you’ve got no guiding hand”

“Now I know the idea of synthesis to you may seem far-out and random”

“But the only way to save the world is for you to work in tandem”

To science: This might sound unreasonable sir

To the pagan: Man, this might be trippy

But what we really need, my friends

Is a white-coated hippy.

Reading My Dreams

She's had such a long day, and work has been stressful
As she arrives home to me, weary and restful
To relax her I lead her to lay on the bed
And remove all the clothes from her waist to her head
My thumbs gently knead, the base of her back
And my nails trace patterns, not leaving a scratch
My hands plot a wandering route up her spine
Then onto her shoulders, to help her unwind
I pray the emotion is taking effect
As I lay a kiss upon the nape of her neck
She rolls onto her back, her eyes squinted and dreamy
As I gaze at her smile, and the beauty beneath me
I gently lean forward, presenting a kiss
Onto the lips, so long I have missed
When our eyes meet like this, and it's just like before
We both instantly realise, we need nothing more
I adjust to rest upon her sweet breast
And on her torso more so
In each others arms and with interlocked hands
Lay two smiling faces and one set of plans




Mmm... *rolls around in love with things*

I was there on the day that techno gave in, and the gypsies squatters gave up ketamine

Ohhhh the weather is drab and dreary and I have another fucking exam tomorrow. When they're over I'm seriously going mental. Not even joking. Flat out maniacal-clown style, paint-the-town-red old skool nutter. It's getting repressed right now. I'm repressing my inner nutter.

zomg. Just realised the expression "paint the town red" means the entire town would be red. :D I don't even know what I'd do with myself. Probably go and get some fireworks and gratuitously set them off in random places, and then start hugging everyone in sight, and grin frantically.

There's a party in my head.

I want to do Jacob's "drug mug" idea. Despite the fact that it's possibly the most simple and stupid idea we've ever come up with. Put loads of drugs together... in a mug. :D IT'S CRAZY... BUT IT MIGHT JUST WORK. And it sure does sound fun don't it? =p

Anyway here are some statistics, I wouldn't want you to leave my blog without learning something, that would just be silly:

• In Britain, the poorer 50% of us own less than 1% of the nation's total wealth. The richest 1% of us own 34% of the wealth.

• You are nine times more likely to choke to death on your own vomit than you are to die in a terrorist attack.

• According to various polls, an estimated 40% of Americans believe that a sequence of events presaging the end times is already underway.

• 62% of americans oppose gay marriage.

• 78% of the world is below the median poverty line of the developed nations. In simpler terms, the vast majority of people are poor.

So... if you're not pissed off, you're not paying attention. :)

However, bleak as these statistics may seem, we can escape by pursuing happiness in our personal lives and discovering meaning in everyday things. I think. Actually I dunno maybe I should really be a lot, lot angrier. The world needs changing. But the task seems so enormous, and my own personal world's really warm and lovely. S'difficult.

And what was normal in the moonlight by the morning seems, insane

Hey. :) Writing a fantasy short-story is taking a bit longer than I expected, so I thought I'd post something else more in my usual vein in the meantime. 'Cause, ya know. Everybody's so keen to read my weird little outbursts of creativity. =p Anyway, hope you enjoy it.

The Tragicomic Nature of Sunday Mornings

So anyway Old Marty comes strolling through, swingin’ his black bowler hat around his index finger like he’s a goddamn beatnik jazz player or some such thing, whistling a merry tune all full of wit and mirth and self-fulfilment. The bastard flashes me a broad grin, a little too broad so that I know he’s been at our whiskey again. He addresses me and stares out the window.

“I’m tellin’ ya Will, I’m tellin’ ya”. That big smile’s still slapped on there. He sighs.

“What exactly are you telling me, Martin. What exactly are you fucking telling me.”

Old Marty pauses and turns to look at me, a little stunned, then laughs a rich Manhattan laugh, designed to broadcast some sort of social prosperity.

“What I’m telling you, William, is that this weekend has provided a veritable plethora of epiphanies for us both to feast our precocious young minds upon!” Old Marty looks at me importantly and with a glimmer in his eye. I amuse myself wondering whether he fancies himself a modern day prophet, a kind of urban Christ? A Mohammed à la mode? An edgy Ganesha?

Marty slaps me out of my thought loop. Literally. I look up, disgruntled, but unable to fully stifle that little itch of hope that maybe he’ll say something interesting, so I respectfully stay silent. He crouches down and fixes me a sugary stare. I bet he loves the attention. Artists…

“Are ya sittin’ comfortably there Billy-boy? Then I’ll begin.” He smirks. “By the way, you’d better get that powder offa the coffee table, man. An associate of mine is visiting this afternoon.”

Associate? Fucking associate on a Sunday afternoon. I stash the drugs and he carries on talking as the horrible objective sunlight begins to investigate and judge the squalor of our home.

“Well Will, what I realised last night was that emotional pain and angst are primarily a product of our own thought processes rather than any genuine grievance in the external world, right? Right, ya follow me? So say something that is guaranteed to get your goat, to really piss you off, Will, happens in life, like say I dunno your girl’s gettin’ with ya best friend okay, now obviously this is a set back sure, but it’s nothin’ compared you’re gonna be, you’re gonna be interpreting it, okay? You’re gonna be thinkin’ some goddamn nonsense such as it is a personal indictment of my character when it’s no such thing and-”

Marty’s stopped talking now because I’ve got to my feet. He goes thin-lipped.

“Sorry Will. Am I boring you here man?”

“Shut up Marty just shut up. Didja… shit Marty, didja” I notice him struggling to comprehend me and think that it must be the incoherence of dawn setting in, along with a healthy dose of the Jack Daniels.

“Didja sleep with Joanne? Is that what you’re trying to say Marty? All this philosophical speculation crap. You just tryna soften the blow, detach me from my pain or whatever you psycho-babbler, bohemian motherfuckers call it? Huh? HUH?”

Old Marty stares at me agog, mouth opening and shutting like a goldfish having mathematics explained to it, or something.

“Will…” he croaks. “Jesus Will, no… c’mon buddy 3 years we’ve lived in this shit-heap together and you still think I’d bang your chick? I was just, I was like genuinely trying to explain something I had my mind wrapped around I, I dunno dude, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I upset ya.” He holds his bowler hat solemnly by his midriff now, defensive, as if he’s at a funeral. Little snakes of doubt creep round the back of my skull. I get the powder back out and rack up a line while Marty looks on with his big blue eyes.

I sniff it up and say dramatically “Well who is your goddamn associate that is coming over later then Marty? You answer me that.”

Marty shifts his weight uneasily and those little snakes disappear as hot rage washes over me.

“Alright Will, alright. It’s Joanne, its Joanne. But listen man I can expl-” but he never finishes his sentence because I smack him viciously in the mouth and run him out of the house while he talks up a storm about kicking my arse, I’m out of control, et cetera.

I pick up the phone, my hands shaking with the sheer bloody self-righteousness of it all. “Joanne, Joanne Joanne. Talk to me. Tell me something.”

Her distinctive and delightful giggle transfers tinnily into my ear.

“Hey sweetie. You’re up early! I hope you got some sleep last night mister, because me and Marty were gonna come over today and surprise you, well I guess it’s not a surprise now but we’ve got you the best early birthday present ever, you’ll love it I promise…”

Today I feel...

Soulful, potent, connected with the world, vital and more permanent and settled than usual. I want to stride some place. Full of love, too. But not the usual burning and urgent kind that would compel to me to let it all gush out, a more gentle and long-term kind. Usual wild-eyed idealism has temporarily given way, replaced by existential security.

Come what may...