Yeti Blancmange

2011-08-28T13:50:00.000+01:00

OH MY GOD THIS IS SO BLEAK. GOD DAMN YOU FRENCH AUTONOMISM WITH YOUR ALMOST CONVINCING NIHILISM.

2011-08-18T21:46:00.003+01:00

God damn it French autonomism. Why'd ya have to be so utterly despondent? If I didn't have the friends that I do I might even take some of this on board.

I think life at it's worst fits the description here. This is how I picture the existential despair of the middle class. The life of the working class and poor is of necessity more social and therefore less alienated than this, although the effects of capitalist individualism do bleed in everywhere to some extent. The revolution will blast away these spiritual cobwebs forever and ever and ever. Anyway, enjoy, if that's the right word:

“I AM WHAT I AM.” This is marketing’s latest offering to the world, the final stage in the development of advertising, far beyond all the exhortations to be different, to be oneself and drink Pepsi. Decades of concepts in order to get where we are, to arrive at pure tautology. I = I. He’s running on a treadmill in front of the mirror in his gym. She’s coming back from work, behind the wheel of her Smart car. Will they meet?
“I AM WHAT I AM.” My body belongs to me. I am me, you are you, and something’s wrong. Mass personalization. Individualization of all conditions – life, work and misery. Diffuse schizophrenia. Rampant depression. Atomization into fine paranoiac particles. Hysterization of contact. The more I want to be me, the more I feel an emptiness. The more I express myself, the more I am drained. The more I run after myself, the more tired I get. We cling to our self like a coveted job title. We’ve become our own representatives in a strange commerce, guarantors of a personalization that feels, in the end, a lot more like an amputation. We insure our selves to the point of bankruptcy, with a more or less disguised clumsiness.
Meanwhile, I manage. The quest for a self, my blog, my apartment, the latest fashionable crap, relationship dramas, who’s fucking who… whatever prosthesis it takes to hold onto an “I”! If “society” hadn’t become such a definitive abstraction, then it would denote all the existential crutches that allow me to keep dragging on, the ensemble of dependencies I’ve contracted as the price of my identity. The handicapped person is the model citizen of tomorrow. It’s not without foresight that the associations exploiting them today demand that they be granted a “subsistence income.”

The injunction, everywhere, to “be someone” maintains the pathological state that makes this society necessary. The injunction to be strong produces the very weakness by which it maintains itself, so that everything seems to take on a therapeutic character, even working, even love. All those “how’s it goings?” that we exchange give the impression of a society composed of patients taking each other’s temperatures. Sociability is now made up of a thousand little niches, a thousand little refuges where you can take shelter. Where it’s always better than the bitter cold outside. Where everything’s false, since it’s all just a pretext for getting warmed up. Where nothing can happen since we’re all too busy shivering silently together. Soon this society will only be held together by the mere tension of all the social atoms straining towards an illusory cure. It’s a power plant that runs its turbines on a gigantic reservoir of unwept tears, always on the verge of spilling over.

This is such a happy picture

2011-08-16T12:38:00.003+01:00

Hastings

2011-07-31T15:35:00.002+01:00

Hastings

You have drug problems, and some pretty good pubs

Hastings

You have beautiful woodland and back-alleys of grime

Hastings

You have Saturday night chaos and Sunday morning bemused tranquillity

Hastings

You have discarded heroin needles next to graffiti about love

Hastings

I grew up in you

Hastings

I have walked your surface as many different people

Hastings

I am a drop in your oceans

Hastings

I can feel the rhythm of your tides

Hastings

My tears have often got you wet

Hastings

In ecstasy, I have performed clumsy handstands on your withered grass

Hastings

Clarity and confusion run into each-other nightly, and dance dialectical in the space between your citizens

Hastings

I have skipped through you at 4am drunkenly shouting half remembered lines from Ginsberg

Hastings

I have thrown countless pebbles into your sea and felt calm

Hastings

I have kicked a pint glass at your coppers

Hastings

I am one of your very few Leninists

Hastings

You have provided everything that is important and beautiful to me

Hastings

I have felt your rain pour over my face, and perhaps

Something of me ran into the water

And soaked into your pavements, as past generations have

And will continue into the air of the future

As new feet walk over them

Living strange lives

Like you and me.

A little confession

2011-07-14T22:46:00.001+01:00

I reall am a raging homosexual

.

2011-07-14T21:43:00.005+01:00

It had been a dark and confused winter, and the authentic mind was hiding. It was as if the cold had seeped into our homes, and closed up our mutual spaces. All of our contact took on an alien, defensive quality. But in all the uncertainty, she was there. One night in November we stayed up, drinking on the sofa. I looked into her eyes, her face warm in the lamp-light. Rested my forehead against hers. With hot mulled wine on our lips we kissed and kissed and kissed, messy and wonderful, giggling, sighing, hands exploring, fucking and cuddling to sleep, as if with one great burst of affection we could shatter alienation forever and be free, and for a while we were.

Began

2011-07-14T21:21:00.003+01:00

Michael was lying in bed, bored, when it began.
Lucy was downing her 6th shot when it began.
Greg was climbing a tree when it began.
Lucinda had just been mugged, and then it began.
The guardian had just gone to press, and a storm was brewing, and the unions had gone on strike, the day that it began.
It took most people a little while to realise what had happened after it began.
They were wrapped up in world-blanking kisses, screaming black howls of despair, hot with lust in high-wire fucks, kicking themselves in realisation and quietly contemplative as it began.
At first only a cracked and whiskered old tramp, drinking white cider with grit in it, noticed, and that was an hour after it began.
He muttered to the shoes walking past him that the shadows were missing but it was too late, because an hour earlier it began.
Above all of the ordinariness, at the top of a bell-tower, silhouetted shapes danced noiselessly and blended into a hellish myriad - and smiled as it began.

Koestler

2011-07-04T13:23:00.001+01:00

There was the sea again with its sounds. A wave slowly lifted him up. It came from afar and travelled sedately on, a shrug of eternity.

2011-04-21T02:21:00.000+01:00

whirling dazed stupid delirious belligerent vitality spunked

old ride.

2011-01-25T17:36:00.003Z

I remember

The giant merry-go-round

we found in the park at dark, the lights shone bright

and we marvelled at how no-one had found it before, as it beamed and shone in the night.

so we got on and rode, and oh!

the majestic lows and soaring highs

our liberated whoops and sighs

while we were spinning

it felt like,

winning

but in truth, the lights were dimming.

and dimming.

from the moment we arrived.

Do not be afraid

2010-12-15T15:32:00.000Z

The ice was getting thin, too thin to skate or walk on but you shouted so many times that you loved it and wanted to be close to it. The winter was very cold I remember it. I remember it. I think of it often. The winter was so cold and we thought it would never stop. You danced about on the ice you were shouting something and singing. But you were not drunk. You made the ice shake; you dared it to crack beneath you, defiant you were so bloody defiant all the time, like you wanted to take on everything. I loved the way your face lit up in the moonlight. We walked back but I was sullen because I had not been brave enough to go on the ice and you had. You were always the brave one.

http://notafraid.blog.co.uk/2010/08/22/point-9223799/

cool

2010-12-03T20:35:00.003Z

Sometimes when I'm thinking or writing

2010-11-16T15:14:00.002Z

I write or think like Charlie from The Perks Of Being A Wallflower. I don't know if this just comes from reading the book or whether something of his way of thinking is in me anyway. I think the awkwardness and the always just wanting clarity is similar.

A few bits of ideas for writing are circulating in my head, I hope I do some more soon.

Quite miss being an outsider in a mainstream group like at westhill. I know you wouldn't immediately call westhill crowd mainstream but if you think about it they are/were. It was fun because I decided to just talk to them about things I was interested in despite the fact that really they'd rather just talk about cider, weed and their emotional problems. Usually they would humour me and it'd be quite fun. I'd get them talking about the stars and causality and in return they'd have me trashed on cider talking about my emotional problems.

Music

2010-11-16T15:10:00.002Z

I like music because it makes me feel more like a human and less like a boring passive little robot. And it makes the world less mathematical and that's a good thing.

capitalism

2010-09-25T23:42:00.002+01:00

2010-09-16T15:46:00.000+01:00

You can lean on me,
Cry on my shoulder,
If I’m Obelix,
You are my boulder,

Well I ain’t never seen such a big hard bastard cry like I did that day,
He said “I lost everything that ever meant anything and I can’t go on living this way”,
He slammed his pint down on the table and said “I ain’t never drinking again”,
I put my hand on his shoulder, looked him square in the eye and I said “listen my friend,

You can lean on me,
Cry on my shoulder,
If I’m Obelix,
You are my boulder”

You can lean on me,
Cry on my shoulder,
If I’m Obelix,
You are my boulder

I said “If you need a place to stay you can always come over,
I’ll clean out the front room and you can sleep on my sofa”,
He said “I can only apologise if I seem out of touch,
The only reason I scream and shout is cos I care so much”,

So you can lean on me,
Cry on my shoulder,
If I’m Obelix,
You are my boulder.
You can lean on me,
Cry on my shoulder,
If I’m Obelix,
You are my boulder

Rats!
They fought the dogs, and killed the cats,
And bit the babies in the cradles,
And ate the cheeses out of the vats,
And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,
Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,
And even spoiled the women's chats,
By drowning their speaking
With shrieking and squeaking
In fifty different sharps and flats.

You can lean on me,
Cry on my shoulder,
If I’m Obelix,
You are my boulder

You can lean on me,
Cry on my shoulder,
If I’m Obelix,
You are my boulder

You can lean on me,
Cry on my shoulder,
If I’m Obelix,
You are my boulder

You can lean on me,
Cry on my shoulder,
If I’m Obelix,
You are my boulder

mervyn peake

2010-09-07T09:30:00.006+01:00

A freckled and frivolous cake there was
That sailed upon a pointless sea,
Or any lugubrious lake there was
In a manner emphatic and free.
How jointlessly, and how jointlessly
The frivolous cake sailed by
On the waves of the ocean that pointlessly
Threw fish to the lilac sky.

Oh, plenty and plenty of hake there was
Of a glory beyond compare,
And every conceivable make there was
Was tossed through the lilac air.

Up the smooth billows and over the crests
Of the cumbersome combers flew
The frivolous cake with a knife in the wake
Of herself and her curranty crew.
Like a swordfish grim it would bounce and skim
(This dinner knife fierce and blue])),
And the frivolous cake was filled to the brim
With the fun of her curranty crew.

Oh, plenty and plenty of hake there was
Of a glory beyond compare -
And every conceivable make there was
Was tossed through the lilac air.

Around the shores of the Elegant Isles
Where the cat-fish bask and purr
And lick their paws with adhesive smiles
And wriggle their fins of fur,
They fly and fly 'neath the lilac sky -
The frivolous cake, and the knife
Who winketh his glamorous indigo eye
In the wake of his future wife.

The crumbs blow free down the pointless sea
To the beat of a cakey heard
And the sensitive steel of the knife can feel
That love is a race apart
In the speed of the lingering light are blown
The crumbs to the hake above,
And the tropical air vibrates to the drone
Of a cake in the throes of love.

Arundhati Roy

2010-08-29T23:28:00.002+01:00

To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away.

lovely lovely lovely :)

2010-08-29T20:01:00.003+01:00

You'll be free, child, once you have died. From the shackles of language, and measurable time.

2010-08-27T17:22:00.001+01:00

HOLD OUT THE ARM AND QUIET THE VOICE

2010-08-19T14:30:00.002+01:00

Stokely Carmichael

2010-08-16T14:59:00.002+01:00

We should begin with the basic fact that black Americans have two problems: they are poor and they are black. All other problems arise from this two-sided reality: lack of education, the so-called apathy of black men. Any program to end racism must address itself to that double reality.

This is the twenty-seventh time I have been arrested - and I ain't going to jail no more!"

"The only way we gonna stop them white men from whuppin' us is to take over. We been saying freedom for six years and we ain't got nothin'. What we gonna start saying now is Black Power!"

2010-08-15T20:51:00.003+01:00

I lit a fire up on the dust-dry mountain top with some sticks that I found as dusk fell. Birds sailed through the evening cool with their usual thoughtless serenity and the crickets started up the usual tuneless song. Gentle breeze set the smoke twirling away into the endless sky.

I wondered why you'd gone, where you'd gone, what that meant. I got about as far as everyone else ever does with those questions.

I never talked much in philosophy class. One day the teacher asked me what I thought the meaning of life was as we packed away, out of the blue. You know it's honest when it's out of the blue. I said to her, "I get the feeling that we are probably all just dicking around". She laughed a lot and said it was a very interesting answer, and that she had been a nihilist at my age. I don't know what a nihilist is, but I don't think she really appreciated the seriousness of the thought.

Night began to fall and the fire burned itself out. Perhaps something of you floated back towards me on the wind, and told me something. Perhaps I listened. I don't know.

Gentle breeze set the smoke twirling away into the endless sky. Illiterate. Timeless.

Slave songs

2010-08-14T20:52:00.002+01:00

We raise de wheat, dey gib us de corn;
We bake de bread, dey gib us de crust;
We sif de meal, dey gib us de huss;
We peel de meat, dey gib us de skin;
And dat's de way, dey take us in;
We skim de pot, dey gib us de liquor,
And say dat's good enough for nigger.

Auden

2010-08-10T11:52:00.000+01:00

As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
'Love has no ending.

'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,

'I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

'The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world.'

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
'O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

'In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

'In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.

'Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.

'O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed.

'The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.

'Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.

'O look, look in the mirror?
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

'O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart.'

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.

Someday, someday

2010-07-17T20:03:00.001+01:00

I'm gonna get up.

And our generation is gonna do something really fucking cool.

The fact is.

2010-07-07T23:35:00.002+01:00

If I'm going to be honest about it, I'd say that proper emotional communication is fucking hard. I can barely manage it on a blog.

I hope that in a few years the me that I am now won't seem like an idiot.

Indoors ancestral curse-cum-blessing. Outdoors

The empty bowl of heaven, the empty deep.

Indoors a purposeful man who talks at cross

Purposes, to himself, in a broken sleep.

The political poet

2010-06-07T02:00:00.004+01:00

The political poet's on stage

And he howls with rage and blood-drenched metaphors

Human rights, knife crime, poverty, Israel

The bloke really knows his stuff

And he talks tough, tonight

And loud

With the righteousness of a prophet

As he skewers yet another prevailing paradigm of received opinion

So who is to blame, political poet?

Tell us, tell us now, we all know you know it

We'll gather our pitchforks and lynch 'em

The political poet laughs, acidly.

Oh that's easy, he says.

America's to blame

Or corporate greed

Middle classes, daily mail

Bourgeoisie

Consumerism, probably.

You know one of those will do.

As he finishes his sermon there's not a dry eye in sight

He's definitely getting laid tonight

And after soaking up applause, walks once more among the mortals

From the back a small voice shouts "So what should we do?"

The political poet sighs inwardly

And offers no advice

Collective action is for herds,

And he's all about the words

Later the political poet is at the bar with a beer

And as closing time draws near

He takes a happy, heroic swig

Who needs real analysis when your dick's this big?

His righteous fury gets girls every time

Those sweat-shop kids can wait in line

Tonight the poet is up on his luck

Will he go to the demos?

Will he fuck!

He's too cool for action

But sometimes he'll dream

Of the halcyon worlds

That might have been.

rawrrr.

2010-05-28T00:34:00.000+01:00

bitebitebite. *insists on the impossible*

I can do cryptic blogs toooo.

Lenin

2010-05-18T17:52:00.002+01:00

Politics begin where the masses are, not where there are thousands, but where there are millions, that is where serious politics begin.

This morning

2010-05-15T15:18:00.002+01:00

I woke up taller. I'm not joking or using a metaphor, I actually woke up physically taller, I nearly didn't fit in my shaving mirror. Someone commented on it when I went for breakfast. how weird. But then you are supposed to be taller in the mornings and I had slept laid out flat.

Also I my dream was highly unusual. It consisted of roaming geographical shots, never cutting away or anything just moving over the land like a perfect google earth. Places I knew like Eastbourne and that, but mostly countryside rather than town. Occasionally the camera would pause and zoom in to a place a bit but not all the way and detail a little adventure/incident that had happened to me in that place, so I'd see me and my friends in miniature running and scrabbling about the land. Also a stand up comedian was doing a set in the background, you could just hear him making his jokes and the audience laughing and that. I quite enjoyed it.

ALSO in my dream before that I managed to score mushrooms, was totally convinced I'd scored mushrooms, woke up, still convinced, 5 mins later realised with a groan that I hadn't. Back to sleep - in my dream told kie about how in a dream I'd scored mushrooms from this place and then realised I actually didn't have any, so we went to try and score some again, succeeded, we were celebrating and then I woke up and realised I had no mushrooms AGAIN. Arghhhh. Liberties dreams, liberties.

Clive Barker

2010-05-14T02:27:00.000+01:00

I dreamed I spoke in another's language,
I dreamed I lived in another's skin,
I dreamed I was my own beloved,
I dreamed I was a tiger's kin.

I dreamed that Eden lived inside me,
And when I breathed a garden came,
I dreamed I knew all of Creation,
I dreamed I knew the Creator's name.

I dreamed--and this dream was the finest--
That all I dreamed was real and true,
And we would live in joy forever,
You in me, and me in you.

I am bored of people misrepresenting the left

2010-05-14T01:28:00.004+01:00

The left support big government! No, we don't.
Marx said he wasn't a marxist! No, he didn't.
Leftists support totalitarian regimes! No, we don't.
Leftists just want power for themselves! No, we don't.
Leftists hate america! No, we don't.
Because leftists criticise Israel, they hate Jews! No, we don't.

Pseduo-intellectuals next to me in the library spouting all of this bullshit, my lecturer spouting similar bullshit, every pundit on TV and every journalist in the papers spouting the same fucking bullshit, it's like people love fucking bullshit or something. The entirety of academia, copro-fucking-philiacs.

Wankers. Oh my god these pratts are now saying that anti-fascism legitimises the centre-right and that the problem with the middle east is that the British relinquished their empire there. And feminism is boring apparrently.

I despair. I really do. One day. One day, the cunts.

*puts on breakcore*

*thinks about killing rich people*

Lovecraft

2010-05-12T15:47:00.002+01:00

The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far.

Bowie

2010-05-12T15:20:00.000+01:00

Fill your heart with love today
Don't play the game of time
Things that happened in the past
Only happened in your Mind
Only in your Mind-Forget your Mind
And you'll be free-yea'
The writing's on the wall
Free-yea'. And you can know it all
If you choose. Just remember
Lovers never lose
'Cause they are Free of thoughts unpure
And of thoughts unkind
Gentleness clears the soul
Love cleans the mind
And makes it Free.

Happiness is happening
The dragons have been bled
Gentleness is everywhere
Fear's just in your Head
Only in your Head
Fear is in your Head
Only in your Head
So Forget your Head
And you'll be Free
The writing's on the wall
Free-yea'. And you can know it all
If you choose. Just remember
Lovers never lose
'Cause they are free of thoughts unpure
And of thoughts unkind
Gentleness clears the soul
Love cleans the mind
And make you Free!

Free-yea Yeah-yeah-yeah. Yeah-yeah-yeah

New prosey non rhymey beat poem.

2010-05-10T15:07:00.004+01:00

Sometimes, in the morning
When the sunshine cruelly invades our cocoon
And judges objectively
The night before
And your lips are sore
And your throat is dry
And you haven't got the energy
To say goodbye

Things can seem... a bit rubbish.

And when you stand up with a head rush and look in the mirror and see what might, once, have been a human, things can seem a bit rubbish.

And you could ask yourself... is this it? A week of drudgery, then this?

A load of fragmented memories?
Some existential dread?
Sweaty face, aching limbs
New spots on my forehead.

And at that point...it might seem like things are not just temporarily rubbish, but permanently and inescapably rubbish, philosophically rubbish, as if the universe has as it's defining characteristic: rubbishness.

But the thing is.

We are not defined
By the bad times.

You're not the spots on your forehead
You're not your weary eyes
You're not your greasy hair
You're not your roll of fat
You're not your cellulite
You're not your hairy feet with those weird, fuckin', partially side-ways little toes
You're not your boils, blisters, third nipple, lazy eye,
You are not your massive, fuck-off, nose.

You're not the time you got hideously drunk and chucked up everywhere
You're not the time you got humiliated being asked for ID on the door even though you tried putting on a deep voice and everything
You're not the time you split up from a 10-day relationship and sobbed like it was the death of love
You're not the times you spurned a good girl for a bad one 'cause the bad one was fitter

You're not the time you got so paranoid you thought everyone hated you
You're not the time you shouted at your mum and felt like a twat for doing it
You're not the time you nicked money off her for drugs
You're not the time you guiltlessly fucked your girlfriend's best mate

You're not all the times you relentlessly took the piss out of the vulnerable kid until he had tears in his eyes and it got awkward but you didn't know how to stop
You're not all the times you stayed quiet because you were for some reason afraid of people
You're not the time you swam around your room in a black pool of misanthropic bitterness, and thought - nothing is going to get better.

You're not those times.

You're more like the the time... you looked in the mirror and accepted yourself.

You're more like the time... that you looked after the one who got too fucked, got 'em home safe, and never batted an eyelid at the loss of your night.

You're the time you responded to a break-up with stoicism and goodwill.

You're the time you spurned the bad girl for the good one because the good one was better.

You're the time you felt paranoid and then stopped - laughed - said out loud this is fucking ridiculous.

You're the last time you hugged your mum and told her you love her.

You're the time you laid off the drugs for a bit or at least shared them.

You're the time when the muddle in your head cleared for a moment and you loved, just loved, the person in front of you.

You're the time you sat out on the cliff edge for hours and felt infinite.

You're the time when everything was mental and up in the air and you smiled to yourself and thought of Bill Hicks saying it's an insane world but I'm proud to be a part of it.

None of us are angels
We're diamonds in the rough
But the good is far deeper
And far more real
Than all... of the bad stuff.

RE: It is human to want to leave everything

2010-05-09T17:57:00.000+01:00

I'm not sure if the reference will be clear. But I like the image.

Robert Browning.

2010-05-09T16:59:00.002+01:00

The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

So good.

2010-05-09T00:24:00.001+01:00

Now, you don't know what you will give up

2010-05-09T00:14:00.002+01:00

I wonder where the fuck life will throw us all in a few years. Everything changes. Every year it's all different, and three years ago just seems like a different planet.
It all goes so fast, and nobody has the faintest idea of what they're doing or why they're doing it. But there sure are good moments. Really, really good moments. And memories.

Chat between me and Ishan about revolutions and shit

2010-05-09T00:01:00.004+01:00

ISHAN: Must be some hench fucking tax rises...

ALEX: The problem is that in order to pay for the economic crisis, the greek government (along with the rest of europe) has decided to massively slash public spending - basically, they want to put the costs onto the workers and the poor, despite the fact that we had nothing to do with causing the problem. We need to fight back in the same way when the cuts happen here.

ISHAN: Hmm. It is pretty fucked up. Would be nice to have more diplomatic ways of solving this issue though.

Diplomacy > guns

But it's easier said, than done.

ALEX: The trouble is, there is no chance whatsoever of diplomatically appealing to the state not to do this. In Britain, for example, the three major parties all agreed that they would do the same thing the Greek government is doing now in Britain; worse, in fact. Historically too these crises have happened over and over again and every time the poor are forced to pay.

I think we should take a step back and look at the whole picture - if we can see that the rich keep causing financial meltdowns and that the governments of the world unfailingly prop them back up by making the poor suffer, why on earth should we be begging them to stop as our strategy? If someone repeatedly punches you in the face with no sign of letting up, there has to come a point where you stop tolerating it. The greeks have decided to stop tolerating it... let's hope they win. :)

ISHAN: It's alright talking about revolutions and shit, but what comes after that? Will the nation truly come together as a whole to sort the problems out, or will we appoint some awesome badass to fix our problems? Or will we just end up fighting like hooligans on the streets, mindless zombies of people that are rioting for the sake of "fuck you i won't do what you tell me, hand in the air, fucking la revolucion" riots.

What does that say about our nature?

ALEX: Well, what comes after that is a better world. Just like the mass movements that destroyed slavery and won civil rights, just like the mass movements that won women's liberation, the right to vote, public education and healthcare, living wages, and everything else.

It's not really a case of the nation needing to come together as a whole - there is a clear divide in our country and in the world between the rich elites who contribute nothing to society and get everything in return and the rest of us who contribute everything and get told to work harder and for less money. It's us that need to come together and put a stop to the system that does this to us. We can run society just fine without them - in fact, we already do. Tesco doesn't run as a shop through the magic of it's CEO, it runs as a shop because the workers there make it so - but the CEO gets all the profit and all the power. That's what needs to change.

As for mindless zombies rioting for the sake of it, if you can show me where this has ever happened on anything like a large scale then maybe it would be something to worry about. As far as I can see this idea we all get sold that revolutions are just orgies of violence is a flat-out lie.

ISHAN: I should have said that better. Talking about the people who would just riot for the sake of rioting know what I mean? Cuz there are a shitload of people like that. Counter progressive shit bro.

I definitely think it's a possibility, but I think, the chaos, will be more than substantial to piss a lot of people off, and cause a lot of havoc for a lot of people (if we do something as extreme as taking over parliament).

Mass protests would be bad ass, just not violent ones, if you catch my drift?

ALEX: About the rioting for the sake of rioting point: Again, I don't think this idea of revolutions being way-layed by some faction of hooligans stands up to any scrutiny. If we look at a specific example, say the french revolution in 1792, we can see that it didn't happen like that. There was an insurrection against the king which resulted in his arrest, the confiscation of church and aristocratic property, the scrapping of the old feudal obligations, establishment of universal male suffrage, and so on. An absolutely huge step forward from what had gone on before. This was a violent movement; it had to be, because obviously they were opposed by the french army. And yet, no mystical crowd of purposeless hooligans arrived at any point to muddle the movement up. If you know of a time when it has happened like that then that would be interesting, but as far as I know it's a fairytale that any large group has ever revolted just for the sake of it.

The violence point is related - if the french revolutionaries had lay down their arms and talked about flower power they would have just been killed by the king's forces and everyone would have had to return to their old miserable standard of life. That isn't right. Obviously any violence is terrible, but pacifist movements rarely succeed.

ISHAN: I see that. Just like Italian Unification, but the people were actually oppressed, repressed, suppressed, and any other -essed you can think of right? Is something such as raised taxes enough to call for violent protest? Like sure if we meet violence towards us, we gawna blow dem mo fuckas off this planet, just personally, it seems so ridiculous for blood to be spilled for something like that.

BUT I AGREE. If we do nothing, and think world peace will just happen, we're wrong.

Aaron Spectre - fucking genius.

2010-05-08T20:37:00.002+01:00

I genuinely find this moving and I don't care if that's weird.

The only time I have ever managed to succeed in shutting up a spambot.

2010-05-07T23:22:00.001+01:00

[23:14] EdwinaJumper9966@hotmail.com: wassap ;)
[23:14] Alex: Not much. Life gets boring when you're 10,000 year old bi-sexual alien.
[23:15] EdwinaJumper9966@hotmail.com: hey cutie pie :)
[23:16] Alex: You see the thing is, after 10,000 years of life as a bi-sexual alien, you begin to feel a profound sense of disconnection and alienation from the universe that you previously considered meaningful.
[23:18] Alex: How's life as a spambot?

Alex Garland

2010-04-30T12:12:00.002+01:00

Francoise rolled on to her side and looked at me. 'Tell me about some other worlds,' she whispered. 'Well,' I replied. 'That's a lot to tell.'

Etienne stirred and turned over again.

I leant over and kissed Francoise. She pulled away, or laughed, or shook her head, or closed her eyes and kissed me back. Etienne woke, clasping his mouth in disbelief. Etienne slept. I slept while Francoise kissed Etienne.

Light years above our bin-liner beds and the steady rush of the surf, all these things happened.

Gunshots by computer

2010-04-19T23:37:00.002+01:00

I live in a house full of surrealist drug abusing colourful anarchists.

Check me owwwwwt. :) :) :)

If the revolution doesn't want me, I don't give a shit.

2010-04-07T23:29:00.002+01:00

I've got wasted 5 of the 7 days I've been back.`:D Happy times.

I like Baz.
I like Molly.
I like Jacob.
I like Ken.
I like Jess.

Living here is better than living at other places.

It's Bangface soon. Holy fuck we're going to smash the granny out of our tiny little minds.

I wonder if it will give us new perspectives on anything...

Nah. =p

This rather captures the spirit of New Cross and SE London generally... hmm.

2010-03-30T16:17:00.001+01:00

Charles Bukowski in his own words. ^^

2010-03-25T01:29:00.002Z

Some people never go crazy, what truly horrible lives they must live.

Sometimes you just have to pee in the sink.

That is what friendship means. Sharing the prejudice of experience.

Sex is interesting, but it's not totally important. I mean it's not even as important (physically) as excretion. A man can go seventy years without a piece of ass, but he can die in a week without a bowel movement.

If you're losing your soul and you know it, then you've still got a soul left to lose.

Extended metaphors

2010-03-25T00:13:00.005Z

So there it was, the challenge. Laid out starkly before our eyes at the end of our journey. Across mine-fields of distraction and pain and mind-blunders we had travelled. Through every storm of doubt. We had ignored all the lullabies, luring us back to indifferent sleep. Here it was. Mortality's palace. A huge set of double doors faced out towards us, and at their centre the barrel of a white gun. It seemed to have not been tarnished.

We were not the only ones there. Near the main doors to the palace, a high platform had been set up. Priests and rabbis and mullahs shouted down to us that we were to throw ourselves to the gun. One with steely eyes and a commanding voice spoke. "It's the only way in" he said. It's the only way in.

Because that's why we're all here, we want to get inside. Know the secrets. Steal the treasure.

A team of scientists stood cautiously back, and advised those nearby not to listen to the holy men. "There is no evidence that throwing yourselves to the gun will get you into the palace. It would be wonderful if it were as simple as that, perhaps. Notice how they never get off their platform." I asked one of them what their solution was. "We're working on a weapon. We plan to destroy the doors and the gun. Then the secrets and the treasure will be there for the taking." I asked him if they were having much luck so far. "Not yet" he said, with a slow frown.

Suddenly, a monk who had been sitting cross legged with a deep and impassive expression on his face rose up. Everyone turned to him. He took a deep breath in. "The gun... is an illusion." Everybody gasped in shock.

"He's been here as long as anyone can remember I've heard" the scientist remarked. I didn't know whether this meant he was crazy or if it meant we should trust him.

"The doors, too, are an illusion, and so is the palace. Mortality... is a lie. The secrets and treasure lie directly beyond it's false walls. Let us be fooled no longer."

Uproar. Several people fainted. The scientists grabbed their notebooks. The priests frantically scanned their holy texts.

The monk smiled and began to walk slowly forward towards the doors. The whoops of joy, the confused shouting, the scribbling and rustling of pages died down with each consecutive step, until he was metres away, when all fell silent.

He paused, as if for a second wavering in his conviction. Then marched boldly forward and was shot dead on his third step.

The uproar this time was even louder. The holy men screeched with savage joy. "THERE IS NO ESCAPING THE GUN, MY FRIENDS. THROW YOURSELVES IN IT'S PATH AND PUT AN END TO THIS FUTIILE PAIN."

The scientists frowned more deeply than ever.

We, however, felt differently.

We walked around to the side of the palace and snuck in through a nondescript door half by accident, laughing like a band of merry cosmological thieves. There were no secrets inside, but there were large windows at the front of the building, where the crowds were. We looked out on the chaos. Someone shouted that they'd found graffiti messages from some others who'd made it in. And we danced.

These pictures make me grin

2010-03-20T15:13:00.002Z

And if I'm gonna talk, I just wanna talk

2010-03-19T22:32:00.001Z

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead mean naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

break out break out

2010-03-17T00:13:00.002Z

Some days I just want to look in the mirror and go AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Sing me to sleep

2010-03-08T21:32:00.003Z

After the dance, we left in Sam's pick-up. Patrick was driving this time. As we were approaching the Fort Pitt Tunnel, Sam asked Patrick to pull to the side of the road. I didn't know what was going on. Sam climbed in the back of the pick-up, wearing nothing but her dance dress. She told Patrick to drive, and he got this smile on his face. I guess they had done this before...Anyway, Patrick started driving really fast, and just before we got to the tunnel, Sam stood up, and the wind turned her dress into ocean waves. When we hit the tunnel, all the sound got scooped up into a vacuum, and it was replaced by a song on the tape player. A beautiful song called "Landslide." When we got out of the tunnel, Sam screamed this really fun scream, and there it was. Downtown. Lights on buildings and everything that makes you wonder. Sam sat down and started laughing. Patrick started laughing. I started laughing. And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.

Eric Schwartz

2010-03-04T14:19:00.001Z

Keep your Jesus off my penis
Keep your bible off my balls
Keep your prayers out of my ears
And your crosses off my walls
You can keep the virgin mother
And the resurrection too
Keep your Jesus off my penis
I'll keep my penis off of you

Dorothy Parker

2010-03-03T18:05:00.002Z

Oh life is a glorious of cycle of song
A medley of extemporanea
And love is a thing that can never go wrong
And I am Marie of Romania

The extraordinary eloquence of Mr. Kie O. Pie

2010-02-28T17:23:00.002Z

The night is gonna be filled with shit talk, jokes, laughter, guitar, walks, heart to hearts, loving, screaming, tittering, giggling, jumping, falling, slapping, cuddling, snorting, drinking, singing, listening, sighing, sitting back in the chair for a second to just go "Aaaaaaah...", dancing, darting, freaking out, freaking in, going out there, suggesting, making mess, cleaning up (metaphorically), toilet runs and holding it in, broad smiles, little smiles, bouncing on the bed and having a well wicked time

Untitled

2010-02-28T14:15:00.003Z

Letter to my inner child
We're not so different, you and me
As you stand wide-eyed, meek and mild
And stare
Accusingly

But listen little man, it's the truth, okay?
It's important to me that you know
I never strayed too far from the source
Despite all suggestions to GROW...up.

I still laugh at the word bogey
I still can't fucking dance
I still find people baffling
And find it hard to take a chance
I'm still all these things and more to spare...
But still that accusing stare.

Alright so I've had sex with girls now
I've snorted lines and necked a few pills
I like dance music instead of rock?!
And it's less books - more thrills
As I rampage hedonistically through this world
That used to fill me with awe
My jaded eyes are wide awake,
I've left my wonder at the door

Actually, shit.
Maybe I'm not you any-more.
Not that boy who had a hundred dinosaur magazines
Who could do sums quick as lightning
But couldn't start a conversation to save his life

Maybe I'm really not that kid
Who flew kites in the summer and fell into streams
Grazed his knees habitually
And dreamed impossible dreams

:o

2010-02-10T19:19:00.002Z

10/02/2010	00:55:37	[b][c=3]('.') Flowerbie ('.')[/c][/b]	Alex	:L:L:L
10/02/2010	00:55:40	[b][c=3]('.') Flowerbie ('.')[/c][/b]	Alex	HE LIES
10/02/2010	00:55:42	[b][c=3]('.') Flowerbie ('.')[/c][/b]	Alex	HE LIES
10/02/2010	00:55:48	[b][c=3]('.') Flowerbie ('.')[/c][/b]	Alex	HIS PENIS WOULDNT EVEN REACH INSIDE HER
10/02/2010	00:56:13	Alex	[b][c=3]('.') Flowerbie ('.')[/c][/b]	What are you trying to say about kie's penis abbie? :-O
10/02/2010	00:56:26	[b][c=3]('.') Flowerbie ('.')[/c][/b]	Alex	its so tiny it cant even fit inside a kitty VV_
10/02/2010	00:56:28	[b][c=3]('.') Flowerbie ('.')[/c][/b]	Alex	V_V*
10/02/2010	00:56:32	[b][c=3]('.') Flowerbie ('.')[/c][/b]	Alex	sorry i had to tell you this
10/02/2010	00:56:32	[b][c=3]('.') Flowerbie ('.')[/c][/b]	Alex	V_V

Ross Sutherland rocks my socks.

2010-02-09T23:57:00.001Z

Honey you cannot wrestle a dove

2010-02-08T02:19:00.001Z

BANGFACE 2010

2010-02-07T16:52:00.005Z

Conversation on the nature of science

2010-02-06T19:09:00.002Z

I thought I would post a debate I had with another uni student about the nature of science, partly so it doesn't get lost in the churn of the net, and partly so people can look at it and see what they think about the the issue and all that. Here it is. :)

SAM: I would like to call into question the idea of 'scientific fact' ...

Plus, belief in a God, Gods, etc. is perfectly okay, as much as belief in any 'ideal'. It's organised religion, not some unknown quantity, which is the enemy.

Most of us, I'm not including Richard in this, tend to believe what we're told by 'scientists'. I'll be fucked if any of us actually understand what's happening. It's ridiculous to condemn belief in a deity or deities and then prop up science that it has 'facts' - the theories behind science are being revised, updated, changed all the time. And, do... See more you REALLY understand what quantum physics is, how the world works, or are you just taking what you're told and choosing to believing it? Also, you seem to be implying that deity/deities is purely a humanoid, rather than a dimensional, spiritual, or even scientific thing. And also forgetting that, a lot of the basis of our understand of our world has come out of people trying to prove God right, or real.

ME: Believing what scientists say isn't the same as just accepting what you're told, because what scientists say isn't arbitrary; it's logical conjecture based on a method that has shown itself to be reliable. The scientific method works. It objectively works. If it didn't, you wouldn't be on a computer, and planes would be crashing all around us. Or never taking off.

That's not to imply that it's completely infallible. But it's inaccurate to say that scientific theories change all the time, as if it were all a massive flux of equally valid ideas. A lot of the big theoretical stuff has stuck - Newtonian physics, despite not being the most perfect description of reality now that we have relativity and QM, is still basically spot on if you're dealing with ordinary things instead of sub-atomic particles. That's been around since the 17th century. The fact that science expands, updates and revises is a strength, not a weakness.

SAM: You imply that logic is logical ...
If you prayed to a God about the same time every year that something would grow and be ready to harvest every year, it would prove God. Now as a scientist, one could go into detail, but as lay peeps, we just accept that it happens for whatever reason we're told. :P

Also, I gave a list of things that scientific ... See moreidea's can be doing: "revised, updated, changed", not just "changed". And no one ever said science was bad, I'm attacking the use and the claim of it (despite doing it myself) in everyday occurrence without knowing what we're talking about.
Also, eugenics. What a great, non-arbitrary thing that was/is.

ME: No it wouldn't prove god, because you wouldn't have used the scientific method - you wouldn't have isolated your variables. You'd need to pray at different times of the year and see if you got food to make it scientific. This is the classic rule that correlation doesn't equal causation. Like someone made that graph showing that as the number of pirates had gone down over the centuries, global temperature had gone up, so pirates were needed to stop global warming. =p

Well, often we can know what we're talking about scientifically without having technical training. I could explain evolution to you pretty satisfactorily, and why it's true, and I'm a pile of shit at science.

Eugenics was a political issue, not an "is science reliable" issue.

SAM: The theory of Eugenics was based around the theory of evolution: selective breeding (and killing). Note the word theory. Also, note the world of 'theoretical science', if you please, whilst we're at it. It was political, yes, but it was based around a scientific idea. And, anyway, theories such as evolution were amazingly political for their time, undermining the institutions that said how the world works. Same with the Earth going round the Sun. They're not mutually exclusive: these theories have political and social repercussions.

Plus, you're still using the 'experiment' to prove something, whilst I'm arguing that people take scientists word for it. Ergo, someone says eugenics is workable and, HG Wells, George Bernard Shaw, and Hitler say "okay, yes."

The sun goes around the Earth.

ME: Well saying that eugenics was based on the theory of evolution is about as useful as saying that hanging was based on the theory of gravity. You can't blame science for finding out the truth if that truth is then abused. It was politicians, not the scientific method, that created eugenics. Science deals with what is; philosophy and politics deal with what ought to be, and eugenics is a 'what ought to be' idea. Noticing that genetic traits which help us survive and reproduce naturally get passed on more than ones that don't is science. Saying that we ought to fiddle about with people's genes to create a master race is politics. Interestingly, Darwin actually explicitly warned against the social Darwinism idea that we should try to eliminate the genetically weak in society.

I agree with you that scientific theories can have repercussions outside of the scientific sphere. Clearly evolution and heliocentric ideas re-defined how we view our place in the universe. But what you were saying is that eugenics is an example of an arbitrary idea coming from science; it isn't. Nowhere did Darwin start saying let's genetically create a master race. And even if he had, it would have been a political idea he was expressing, not a scientific one. It's an arbitrary idea coming from racist politicians.

As for taking the scientists word for it - this is effectively the same as trusting in the explanatory power of the experiment, because that's what scientists do. They don't just make shit up. It doesn't mean taking what they say and assuming that it's some kind of revealed final truth on a matter - scientists themselves don't pretend that they have that kind of authority - but it does mean accepting that this is probably our best guess at the time, and at the moment there doesn't seem to be any reason to doubt it.

SAM: They don't make shit up ... hmm ... as I mentioned, theoretical science is theory, it is not yet cohesively proven or completely disproven. String theory. Therefore, as there is theoretical science, science doesn't necessarily just deal with 'what is' but the also theory of 'what ought to be', or could be. Jesus, poor bloody quantum physisits who only deal 'with is': isn't that part of the problem? What appears isn't necessarily what is, was or will be.

Eugenics wasn't just politics, it was based in the theory of natural selection, a scientific theory. It was originated by a polymath called Francis Galton, who was a bit of a scientist. He, according to Wikipedia, coined the phrase 'Nature vs nuture'. It was a scientific idea with political implications ... like all scientific theory.

Phrenology, too. That was a fantastic bloody science. It is amazing discredited, but it was right popular for a while a way back. I'm also informed by a scientist friend of mine that particle science is running out of space to work, too.

ME: I don't mean to be flippant, but you're just repeating the content of your last post. I have already responded to all of those arguments.

1. If something isn't 'cohesively proven', it will not be presented as such by scientists. Problem solved. If it is, it will be. Problem solved again. As Richard pointed out, it's very rare that anything misleading would survive peer review. I said words to this effect last post - they don't just make shit up.

2. Social Darwinism is a political idea. Galton's idea was political. The fact that it referenced a scientific theory doesn't mean it was the fault of science, any more than hanging people was the fault of the science of gravity.... See more

3. Phrenology was a pseudo-science, and the advocates of it basically did not use the scientific method when saying that the shape of your head was directly connected with your personality. It didn't last very long in the grand scheme of things, and it wouldn't survive peer-review nowadays.

SAM: All I have to say, is question everything all the time. It's the only way to be almost confident that you don't know anything, or at least much.

First poetry slam.

2010-02-05T17:07:00.004Z

Went well! :) I came 5th out of 14, and the people who beat me were fucking sick so I feel no shame. Tbh I'm quite surprised I wasn't somewhere more around 10th or 12th, it was such a high standard there. So yeah, chuffed. :D And a poet I think is amazing told me afterwards that she really liked my poem, I can't even really remember my response, I expect I flustered out a thank you and looked a tit, but hey ho. =p

I also got to say, on stage, referring to Margaret Thatcher, "lets hope the bitch dies soon." Which received laughs, scattered applause, a gasp or two... win. haha.

So... hmm. Target. Win one before I leave Uni? Yeah? Too ambitious, too modest? We shall see. Next one March the 11th. ^^

Tim Minchin - Storm

2010-02-03T14:32:00.001Z

“Storm”

Inner North London, top floor flat
All white walls, white carpet, white cat,
Rice Paper partitions
Modern art and ambition
The host’s a physician,
Lovely bloke, has his own practice
His girlfriend’s an actress
An old mate from home
And they’re always great fun.
So to dinner we’ve come.

The fifth guest is an unknown,
The hosts have just thrown
Us together for a favor
because this girl’s just arrived from Australia
And has moved to North London
And she’s the sister of someone
Or has some connection.

As we make introductions
I’m struck by her beauty
She’s irrefutably fair
With dark eyes and dark hair
But as she sits
I admit I’m a little bit wary
because I notice the tip of the wing of a fairy
Tattooed on that popular area
Just above the derrière
And when she says “I’m Sagittarian”
I confess a pigeonhole starts to form
And is immediately filled with pigeon
When she says her name is Storm.

Chatter is initially bright and light-hearted
But it’s not long before Storm gets started:
“You can’t know anything,
Knowledge is merely opinion”
She opines, over her Cabernet Sauvignon
Vis-à-vis,
Some un-hippily
Empirical comment by me

“Not a good start” I think
We’re only on pre-dinner drinks
And across the room, my wife
Widens her eyes
Silently begs me, Be Nice
A matrimonial warning
Not worth ignoring
So I resist the urge to ask Storm
Whether knowledge is so loose-weave
Of a morning
When deciding whether to leave
Her apartment by the front door
Or a window on the second floor.

The food is delicious and Storm,
Whilst avoiding all meat
Happily sits and eats
While the good doctor, slightly pissedly
Holds court on some anachronistic aspect of medical history
When Storm suddenly she insists
“But the human body is a mystery!
Science just falls in a hole
When it tries to explain the the nature of the soul.”

My hostess throws me a glance
She, like my wife, knows there’s a chance
That I’ll be off on one of my rants
But my lips are sealed.
I just want to enjoy my meal
And although Storm is starting to get my goat
I have no intention of rocking the boat,
Although it’s becoming a bit of a wrestle
Because – like her meteorological namesake -
Storm has no such concerns for our vessel:

“Pharmaceutical companies are the enemy
They promote drug dependency
At the cost of the natural remedies
That are all our bodies need
They are immoral and driven by greed.
Why take drugs
When herbs can solve it?
Why use chemicals
When homeopathic solvents
Can resolve it?
It’s time we all return-to-live
With natural medical alternatives.”

And try as hard as I like,
A small crack appears
In my diplomacy-dike.
“By definition”, I begin
“Alternative Medicine”, I continue
“Has either not been proved to work,
Or been proved not to work.
You know what they call “alternative medicine”
That’s been proved to work?
Medicine.”

“So you don’t believe
In ANY Natural remedies?”

“On the contrary actually:
Before we came to tea,
I took a natural remedy
Derived from the bark of a willow tree
A painkiller that’s virtually side-effect free
It’s got a weird name,
Darling, what was it again?
Masprin?
Basprin?
Asprin!
Which I paid about a buck for
Down at my local drugstore.

The debate briefly abates
As our hosts collects plates
but as they return with desserts
Storm pertly asserts,

“Shakespeare said it first:
There are more things in heaven and earth
Than exist in your philosophy…
Science is just how we’re trained to look at reality,
It can’t explain love or spirituality.
How does science explain psychics?
Auras; the afterlife; the power of prayer?”

I’m becoming aware
That I’m staring,
I’m like a rabbit suddenly trapped
In the blinding headlights of vacuous crap.
Maybe it’s the Hamlet she just mis-quothed
Or the eighth glass of wine I just quaffed
But my diplomacy dike groans
And the arsehole held back by its stones
Can be held back no more:

“Look , Storm, I don’t mean to bore you
But there’s no such thing as an aura!
Reading Auras is like reading minds
Or star-signs or tea-leaves or meridian lines
These people aren’t plying a skill,
They are either lying or mentally ill.
Same goes for those who claim to hear God’s demands
And Spiritual healers who think they have magic hands.

By the way,
Why is it OK
For people to pretend they can talk to the dead?
Is it not totally fucked in the head
Lying to some crying woman whose child has died
And telling her you’re in touch with the other side?
That’s just fundamentally sick
Do we need to clarify that there’s no such thing as a psychic?
What, are we fucking 2?
Do we actually think that Horton Heard a Who?
Do we still think that Santa brings us gifts?
That Michael Jackson hasn’t had facelifts?
Are we still so stunned by circus tricks
That we think that the dead would
Wanna talk to pricks
Like John Edward?

Storm to her credit despite my derision
Keeps firing off clichés with startling precision
Like a sniper using bollocks for ammunition

“You’re so sure of your position
But you’re just closed-minded
I think you’ll find
Your faith in Science and Tests
Is just as blind
As the faith of any fundamentalist”

“Hm that’s a good point, let me think for a bit
Oh wait, my mistake, it’s absolute bullshit.
Science adjusts it’s beliefs based on what’s observed
Faith is the denial of observation so that Belief can be preserved.
If you show me
That, say, homeopathy works,
Then I will change my mind
I’ll spin on a fucking dime
I’ll be embarrassed as hell,
But I will run through the streets yelling
It’s a miracle! Take physics and bin it!
Water has memory!
And while it’s memory of a long lost drop of onion juice is Infinite
It somehow forgets all the poo it’s had in it!

You show me that it works and how it works
And when I’ve recovered from the shock
I will take a compass and carve Fancy That on the side of my cock.”

Everyone’s just staring at me now,
But I’m pretty pissed and I’ve dug this far down,
So I figure, in for penny, in for a pound:

“Life is full of mysteries, yeah,
But there are answers out there
And they won’t be found
By people sitting around
Looking serious
And saying isn’t life mysterious?
Let’s sit here and hope
Let’s call up the fucking Pope
Let’s go watch Oprah
Interview Deepak Chopra

If you’re going to watch tele, you should watch Scooby Doo.
That show was so cool
because every time there’s a church with a ghoul
Or a ghost in a school
They looked beneath the mask and what was inside?
The fucking janitor or the dude who runs the water-slide.
Throughout history
Every mystery
EVER solved has turned out to be
Not Magic.

Does the idea that there might be truth
Frighten you?
Does the idea that one afternoon
On Wiki-fucking-pedia might enlighten you
Frighten you?
Does the notion that there may not be a supernatural
So blow your hippy noodle
That you would rather just stand in the fog
Of your inability to Google?

Isn’t this enough?
Just this world?
Just this beautiful, complex
Wonderfully unfathomable world?
How does it so fail to hold our attention
That we have to diminish it with the invention
Of cheap, man-made Myths and Monsters?
If you’re so into Shakespeare
Lend me your ear:
“To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
To throw perfume on the violet… is just fucking silly”
Or something like that.
Or what about Satchmo?!
I see trees of Green,
Red roses too,
And fine, if you wish to
Glorify Krishna and Vishnu
In a post-colonial, condescending
Bottled-up and labeled kind of way
That’s ok.
But here’s what gives me a hard-on:
I am a tiny, insignificant, ignorant lump of carbon.
I have one life, and it is short
And unimportant…
But thanks to recent scientific advances
I get to live twice as long as my great great great great uncles and auntses.
Twice as long to live this life of mine
Twice as long to love this wife of mine
Twice as many years of friends and wine
Of sharing curries and getting shitty
With good-looking hippies
With fairies on their spines
And butterflies on their titties.

And if perchance I have offended
Think but this and all is mended:
We’d as well be 10 minutes back in time,
For all the chance you’ll change your mind.

TS Eliot gets involved

2010-01-28T14:59:00.000Z

S she laughed I was aware of becoming involved
in her laughter and being part of it, until her
teeth were only accidental stars with a talent
for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps,
inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost finally
in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by
the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter
with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading
a pink and white checked cloth over the rusty
green iron table, saying: "If the lady and
gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden,
if the lady and gentleman wish to take their
tea in the garden ..." I decided that if the
shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of
the fragments of the afternoon might be collected,
and I concentrated my attention with careful
subtlety to this end.

I may have just had the best debate of my life.

2010-01-26T15:18:00.002Z

It was amazing. We were discussing Thomas Hobbes, who is usually considered the intellectual father of the state. His idea was that fear was the deepest and most powerful emotion humans have, and it was also it's most creative and positive, since fear forces people to act in a reasonable way to escape that fear. So, first point, the theory of the modern state is that fear is the guiding principle on which all human interaction is supposed to rest. Second, the state is a 'social contract'. Essentially, scared people sacrifice some of their liberty in order to be governed, and thereby kept safe from whatever unknown dangers might be out there. A necessary evil he called it. He went further, though, and said that in times where no genuine external threat is present, fear must be artificially created - the state must terrorise it's own people - to justify the continued existence of government and avoid a return to a state of 'natural savagery' where people were irrational. We also looked at Augustine, who said that the world should be actively maintained as a terrifying place in order to encourage people to look to heaven for escape.

The debate started with several people claiming that despite this being a bleak philosophy, it was basically spot on. If people weren't scared of external threats or the state, there would be no need to behave in a civilised way, and we would fragment. Fear was presented as unifying force which we could all rally around. I actually almost felt too beleaguered to bother arguing against this awful shit at first. I was tired, no one seemed to want to look beyond a generic and all pervasive cynicism that we were naturally evil bastards and needed a tyrant to terrorise us into submission so that we would be safe from ourselves.

However. I thought I'd at least try to demonstrate why fear was not desirable in itself. I asked everyone to remember a time when they felt scared, and to comment on whether they acted and thought reasonably as a consequence or unreasonably. Personally, I am never so unreasonable as when I'm scared, I think. There was instant and widespread agreement about the irrationality that fear encourages. Thank god I thought. Some hope. Then another guy who often speaks and who I disagree with as much as agree with chimed in and said that fear did not produce unity, it fragmented people. Spot on. If you're scared of Johnny Foreigner, you will unite with non-foreigners but only by at the same time fragmenting yourself into a tiny little group against the world. If you're scared of terrorism, everyone with a backpack on public transport is a threat. No unity there. It is fear that breeds the irrational savagery that Hobbes thinks he's fighting against, not some natural evil in us.

Anyway the long story short is that Hobbes and Augustine were utterly, utterly destroyed in the debate. And I ended up with basically an audience - everyone was listening attentively - and was asked what my solution was. I said I wasn't a genius of social engineering, which got a laugh, but that clearly fear was the problem, not the solution, so we had to start addressing it as a problem. We had to start addressing people's desperation for resources which causes crimes and atomisation, and so on. Widespread agreement.

As utterly egocentric as this blog has been... no, I'm not even going to be apologetic about it. I convinced a room of people that humans weren't evil and that we don't need tyrants or masters to keep us safe. I feel happy about that. :) Stage 3 ftw.

MILK EARS

Everything Everything are an odd band.

2010-01-22T16:36:00.000Z

Blitz, you test me, no more
I'm calm, now absent, I'm date-rape yellow, black to the liver come on

Take my lung, take my loose tongue, take my sum, take my memory
Of nothing at all, nothing at all is what you remind me
No thread, no lips, no postscripts, no eclipse of my liberty
Oh pedigree chum, pedigree chum I'm never your father

Cause you're gonna sit on your fence when I'm gone
Cause you're gonna sit on your fence when I'm not there

More, my arc light, my knees
When she casts off her clothes I don't know what is reality

My death throes, this indefinite pose, her flesh codes (inconceivable)
Oh suffragette, suffragette I wanna be outlawed and AWOL
No alphabet can be used yet no cassette is available
Oh I dunno how, I dunno how I'm gonna reset my whole radar

(Forget) Cause you're gonna sit on the fence when I'm gone
(Forget) Cause you're gonna sit on the fence when I'm not there

Cause you're gonna sit on the fence when I'm gone
Cause you're gonna sit on the fence when I'm not there

(To the back, to the back row)
Of nothing at all, nothing at all is what you remind me
Oh suffragette, suffragette I wanna be outlawed and AWOL but

Cause you're gonna sit on the fence when I'm gone
Cause you're gonna sit on the fence when I'm not there

My blog needs cheering up

2010-01-22T13:59:00.002Z

I just woke up from an AWESOME dream where me and jess ran away from policemen who were chasing us. We had baseball bats which were for some reason dangerous beyond their being a baseball bat. We escaped by running into the london underground and different trains to anywhere, chucked the bats and changed our appearance, off at next stop, new train home. It was amazing. And then we called eachother up.

A prelude to re-entering the world

2010-01-22T02:27:00.004Z

Have some bleak, stupid, crap writing.

Lights up. We see Jack, about 23 years old, dishevelled hair and generally blotchy, sitting on the floor hiding his face from t he audience with his hands. He has various dried blood stains on his clothes, hands and arms. A wise voice rings out; like god but with less bass rumble. The voice should be reassured, like Michael Caine or Morgan Freeman, and in slight comic contrast to Jack's frantic pace. Jack first addresses the audience only, and gradually more the voice.

-Jack. Jack, are you listening?

-How do I get out, that's my first question. How do I get out of here. Just give me my escape I don't want anything else. Oh resolution you say. I don't want your resolution. I don't want any fucking compromise with evil. You get me out. When was the last time anything got fucking resolved anyway, in your life, really? Come on now. Nothing is ever resolved. We just stop talking about it you know. We're all gonna die. There's our problem, where's our resolution? There's no resolution, none, we just don't really talk about it seriously because it's this great ugly mountain of a fact, and a mountain doesn't change with perspective, it's just a mountain.

-Jack, you're talking shit again. Now are you ready?

-Oh son, I was born unready.

-That's fine Jack, because your personal frailties don't excuse you from your duty.

-My duty to what exactly, what duty is there? I can't FACE this, what are you joking? Joking with me? I am Satan, death, a thousand plagues, and you're about to re-inflict me on the world you stupid, stupid old man.

-Jack, you're over-dramatizing how destructive you are as a defence mechanism again.

-Will you just stop that, okay? I'm not interested in your pot-shot psychology. The objective record is there, I am bad news and if I am not bad news it is due to having a muted effect on the world more than any deep inclination to the good that you keep saying you see in me. How many times do I have to fuck things up for you to see that, man.

-How many more times will I have to throw you back in, Jack, before you realise that escape is in the world and not outside of it? Or that you have responsibilities? Or that the universe does not sink or swim according to your failures and successes? If narcissism has got you this far... well it's time to look for alternatives, old friend.

-You're talking shit again.

-See you soon Jack.

What the fuck is wrong with me.

2010-01-22T02:16:00.002Z

What a hero.

2010-01-20T21:33:00.000Z

I am opposing a social order in which it is possible for one man who does absolutely nothing that is useful to amass a fortune of hundreds of millions of dollars, while millions of men and women who work all the days of their lives secure barely enough for a wretched existence. - Eugene Debs

War is a spectator sport

2010-01-20T01:55:00.002Z

One day we were arguing about the war
In the pub

With massive gravitas, Ma said
Our Jonathon's gone away to fight
He's fighting for democracy and our right to be free
He's keeping us safe while we sleep at night
We're all to be proud of him, proud as can be

With what I hoped was equally massive gravitas I said
Our Jonathon's gone to die as a puppet and slave
And get innocent blood on his hands
He'll think it's civilization he's going to save
Not just dropping bombs on strange lands

Then I saw an old man, with medals, in the corner
And I thought
And I thought

That war is a spectator sport
From the sidelines come our claps and jeers
And our touching eulogies for those who've fought
Then we shake our heads.
And drink our beers.

Hardy

2010-01-20T01:54:00.000Z

“’Peace upon earth!' was said.
We sing it,
And pay a million priests to bring it.
After two thousand years of mass
We've got as far as poison-gas.”

So

2010-01-17T00:19:00.002Z

Poetry went well tonight, got warmly received and personally invited to a slam by the guy who ran it. That was cool.

New Poem - No Offence To Robert Burns, But

2010-01-16T02:06:00.007Z

My love for you is nothing like a red red rose
You aren't really like a summer's day
I couldn't spend a lifetime with the scent of your clothes
And I wouldn't fall apart if you felt you couldn't stay

I don't think you're an angel, or anything transcendent
You're not necessarily the first thing I think of when I wake
I don't need you, you aren't my saviour, I'm not dependent
And I won't mischaracterise us for poetry's sake because

My love for you is honest, honest and real
Grounded in our conversations and every kiss we steal
Humming loud out of our cuddles
That's how I feel, anyway

There's no need to write a sonnet or put on some big display
My love for you is simple. And that's okay.

Milky Joe loads webpages well fast now.

2010-01-11T04:12:00.001Z

About:config for the win. :L

Sleep Walking

2010-01-10T23:28:00.002Z

Dear older self, as I write this I’m already trying to work out how to impress you. Or at least, you know, avoid embarrassment. Straight away I want to try to apologise for myself, hide embarrassing stains underneath the rug like a paranoid mother before a visit from Gran. But then, I suppose it’s impossible to legislate for the future, and I suppose I should stop worrying or I’ll never get anything done. So I’ll just say hello. And, obviously, I hope you’re okay.

Dear older self, I think I think too much and I realise that that’s ironic. It reminds me of what that girl said to me at the party. She came over to me smiling and held my temples like she was going to read my mind. She said, “Honey… don’t think too much” and smiled wider but with pity in her eyes. Then she danced away into another room. It was as if she didn’t have to work at being comfortable with herself like the rest of us do. As if self-assurance just uncoiled from somewhere in her tummy and warmed her head quiet. Actually, a lot of people seem like that. Anyway another thing that bothers me is you can’t stop thinking too much. Never just like that, anyway, and surely not in the same way that you can stop eating too many iced buns. Minds don’t go blank… Do they? Perhaps one day they’ll invent some kind of neurological slim-fast to help you deal with all the unnecessary mind-fat. That would be nice. I don’t think I’d eat it, though. I want an iced bun.

Dear older self, I realise that it’s a faux pas to talk directly about ideas in writing. You’re supposed to show them. You have to hint and imply them by describing events that happen in reality. If I said to you that I feel sad, that’s insufficient. I’ve got to talk what happened that made me sad, how the sadness is expressed. I’m supposed to couch it in metaphor and tell you all about my deep oceans of alienation and all the rest of it. But I think that metaphor can cloud the world as much as illuminate it. And, you know, I really want to talk directly about ideas. I want to talk about immortality and euthanasia. I want to talk about our tendency to be too anthropomorphic and at the same time subscribe to an entrenched misanthropy, and how it’s silly to hate humans in the abstract because we had no hand in our own creation and we only do what comes naturally to us. I want to talk about how god doesn’t exist. I want to talk about how we all used to be babies and how we have to squeeze each drop of our maturity from experiences, and how these experiences are usually things going wrong. But the trouble with talking directly about your ideas is, people don’t really care very much about each other’s ideas. Most of the time that is. My mum says I have to experience life before my ideas can have validity. My stepdad says if I don’t get my head out of the clouds he’ll drag it out for me. I think he says that because he has had a tough life, and because he is drunk quite often. He’s always asking me when I’ll move out, and why don’t I give him and my mum some fucking space and if I think my thoughts will pay the bills. But this is a letter to myself, and I don’t feel too bad about breaking the rules. By the way, I hope you are still breaking the rules.

Dear older self, Becca sat next to me in maths today. I did the work; of course, I always do the work, but about 98% of my mind was locked tight on the feeling of the smooth, cool skin of her arm brushing against mine. It made me feel a bit light-headed and I don’t quite know why because I’d never thought of her like that, in fact I’d never really thought about her at all before today, but I liked the feeling I must admit. So anyway I went looking for her at lunch and tried to say hi, but she just looked away, as if she was really embarrassed.

Dear older self, maybe we’re all just trying to escape, and leap up out of this grey-faced, messy, baffling planet to some place where strife is foreign, like a chocolate factory.

Dear older self, I sleep walk most nights. I wonder if you still do when you read this. Perhaps you’ll have outgrown it. Probably you will.

Dear older self, my stepfather hit me today. Wake the fuck up, you fucking self–absorbed little CUNT, he said. Wake up, wake up. It was dark outside, and I was about to start writing another letter to you and I heard him pace into the room breathing like a rhinoceros in labour or something, and I thought that was pretty funny so I started laughing. I hear the footsteps stop but the breathing carries on, right, and I just keep laughing, I’m pretty much cracking up, and I hear the breathing stop but I’m still tickled pink by my rhino image and there’s tears rolling down my face where I’m laughing so much, and then he hits me really hard on the side of my head and lifts me off the chair onto the floor, and I sort of still want to laugh, but I feel a bit sick, and so I get up and hobble towards the kitchen to get some water and Becca is in my mind for some reason, wake up Daniel, wake up, wake the fuck up you self absorbed little CUNT, and I just keep walking and then I’m back on the floor and I can’t really move much and there’s blood all over my pyjamas and I think I can hear my mum crying.

Dear older self, I actually don’t much mind hospitals. They’re nice there, and you can just let your mind float out into space a bit.

Dear older self, even though my mum and the doctors say I shouldn’t feel responsible, I think he was sort of right about waking up, and so I’m going to stop writing letters to a hypothetical me that doesn’t even exist yet. (No offence) Living in the clouds is only fun if the ground you stand on is steady. My aunt Julie read that last sentence half an hour ago, and she says I should try writing poems, but I think that she missed the point a bit. I’ve stopped sleep-walking, but my chocolate factory dreams swim through my head at night, more vividly than ever. I haven’t told anyone.

Yep.

2009-12-13T17:35:00.001Z

When the rhythm calls the government falls Here come the cops
From Tokyo to Soweto viva la musica pop We are black & white
and we dance all night down at the hop and the letters were tall
on the Berlin Wall viva la musica pop so if you're feeling low
stuck in some bardo I, even I know the solution
love, music, wine and revolution love, love, love music, wine and revolution
This too shall pass so raise your glass to change and chance
and freedom is the only law shall we dance...

Certain half deserted streets

2009-12-12T05:03:00.003Z

Almost completely deserted, actually.

Just got back from Matter. It was... alright. The music was *fucking blinding*, the club was not actually as good as B2t in Birmingham or Bangface, most of the crowd were trendy wankers or rudeboys, and I had shitty pills that did nothing. However, I did see Chase & Status who were excellent despite having their stupid MC talking stupid incomprehensible shit into a microphone straight out of his stupid, self-assured face. I swear for the most part all he said was "widiwidiwidiwidiwidiwidiwidiwidiwoah-oh-ho, let's go", and occasionally paused to shout "Chase and Status" in increasingly ridiculous accents. "Cheehyus un stee-yah-tus". SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU STUPID PRICK. (I don't like MCs) Noisia were good too, as to be expected from old bangfacers. :) I thought Andy C was shit and boring as were most of the other acts. A few randoms in room 2 were wicked, Culture Shock was the best of them, played some stupidly hardcore neurofunk, I felt a bit like I was in World War 1, in a positive way. Wow that was a weird phrase.

Also - while I was on the bus to the O2, meant to be feeling excited and up for it, which I sort of was, I predominantly thought about jess dreamily. And when I met the girl I went with and her mates, supposed to be all sociable, which I sort of was, but I mostly thought about jess still. And when I was in the club, dancing about and whatnot, and when I was at the bus station talking to this big gang of guys, watching fights break out and talking to one about the racist character of the police, and when I was talking to a welsh bloke who'd had 2 grams of coke and a gram of speed taken off him, and a german tourist girl, and when I decided crazily to just walk home from Greenwich, literally a few towns away from home, and when I even more crazily made it, with a flawless route... still just thought about jess.

Being in love is weird, man. =p

There is nothing like a big crowd of macho slick-haired morons determined not to smile at anyone to bring out the closet elitist in you

There is nothing like a cheese and salad cream sandwich to replenish one's energy stores at 5 in the morning

There's nothing like Jacob

sorry but this is just too good.

2009-12-10T22:54:00.001Z

Dance music dance music dance music dance music

2009-12-10T16:31:00.003Z

God I would love some speed right now.

One of my favourite poems ever.

2009-12-08T22:39:00.003Z

I have no adequate interpretation of what is being communicated here, no sense of the poem's structure or the author's intentions, but it is... completely amazing. The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question. . .
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions
And for a hundred visions and revisions
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all;
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet–and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while, 90
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say, "That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."
. . . . .

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

John Winthrop, you fat fuckin' legend.

2009-12-08T15:42:00.002Z

We must delight in each other, make others’ conditions our own, rejoice together, mourn together, labor and suffer together, always having before our eyes our commission and community in the work, our community as members of the same body. - John Winthrop, 1630.

Possibly a nutter apart from this quote, but it's nice to remember that the past wasn't characterised by total idiots all of the time, and that this kind of idea is not new. :)

I know you're a recluse you know that's no excuse

2009-12-08T15:34:00.002Z

Oh my actual days. A few days of learning, chilling out, christmas shopping and drinks at the hobgoblin.

And theeeeen.

A whole MONTH living at Molly and Jacob's house. :D I'll get to see them all the time. And all my friends all the time. And Jess. :) And it will be christmas. And we'll have whiskey and wine and hot food and it'll be cold outside and cosy inside and we'll play instruments and gorgeous music to eachother and get out of our little heads.

I'm literally laughing aloud at how happy this idea makes me.

It's well your birthday soon

2009-12-01T18:09:00.003Z

So I was thinking I might let you off maid duty for the day. If you're good. And you make me trifle. =p

<3

Me and Kie on Facebook Chat

2009-12-01T17:52:00.001Z

Alex

You wake up, with a boner, in a bin filled with shit.

17:51Kieran

And you wank up the walls until, exhausted, you sink back into a delirious, dream filled sleep.

It's December! :D

2009-12-01T15:30:00.003Z

That means it's literally practically christmas now. :D Time for warmth, cuddles, family, rampant sentimentalism, becoming significantly fatter, mulled wine, eggnog, pine needles, mince pies, rudolph and fuck it, it might even snow!

Get. Right. In.

Battered Accoustic

2009-11-30T21:05:00.003Z

Here is my version.

One night in December the four of us came staggering back to my place, laughing and singing loud into the deep; as if we could, this time, chase despair away for good. We never had much food in my flat, but there was a battered old acoustic in the corner, a view from the loft window that could be used to see the stars on cloudless nights, and love on tap.

The door was stubborn, but eventually relented to a shoulder barge. This prompted a totally disproportionate cheer from the others. I grinned and shook my head as we shuffled in, shedding our wet winter coats and boots in the landing and talking happy nonsense. I turned the heating right up, and listened to the strangely comforting groans and complaints of the pipes. Sophie danced into the kitchen and began to pour everyone some wine. I watched as she stretched to reach the glasses, and her white tee-shirt rode up a little, revealing the perfect skin around her hips. Mike was at the computer and had put Radiohead on, and Lily was busy with powder and credit card on the coffee table.

I came up behind Sophie and hugged her, feeling her smile through her back. We stayed like that a little while… I closed my eyes. After some time she turned, still hugging, to face me, her forehead resting against mine.

“Let’s drink our wine, Jake”

I breathed a laugh, and we took our wine through to the other room, where Mike was laying stretched out on the floor, grinning at the ceiling, and Lily was sitting propped against the sofa, eyes up, sniffing and breathing out.

“What would we do without MDMA” she sighed.

We all giggled and looked knowingly at each other. Mike spoke from the floor.

“We would stay inside, you know… We would withdraw, and we’d be those petty little creatures that our parents all became, live the 9-5 and get excited when a special of fuckin’, the bill is on, or something.”

“So cynical, Mikey” Sophie purred.

“We’d do coke instead” I said. Everyone giggled again, and we each took turns to sniff a line of those magic crystals. Then we knocked it back with our wine.

I stretched out on the floor like Mike, breathing heavily to keep some control. I think everyone else did the same but I can’t be sure. I know the floor felt more comfortable than usual, and I knew I was in one of those rare spots where I wasn’t out of place. A brief moment of sanity, I thought, and smiled.

At some point all the lights went out.

A t s o m e p o i n t ... a l l o u r l i g h t s w e n t o u t .

The warm waves of Everything In Its Right Place washed over us, and we… simply flowed, with the tide. Problems couldn’t touch us. Not there. Not then. It was the Promised Land that our young minds craved to live in. The moon, the air and all the world gently tingled with attunement and approval, whispering reassurances in our ears, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.

It’s okay, I remembered.

I felt Sophie’s delicate fingertips touch mine and lightly rake along them. I reached for her hand and held it. After a minute or two, she rolled over to me and nuzzled my shoulder. We looked at each other with spaceship pupils, and smiled. I closed my eyes and listened to her contented sighs, wondering how I’d gotten to this beautiful point. After a while, I sat back up at the coffee table, with the idea of having more. Mike, Lily and Sophie all had the same idea, funnily enough. We chuckled.

“Addicts…” muttered Lily, grinning.

Mike hadn’t stopped smiling, and stretched out his big arms, pulling us all into a group hug. Our heads rested together. We stayed like that for a long time, nobody said anything. We swayed a little.

Sophie brushed her lips across my cheek, and then round to my face. Our lips were still but touching for a few seconds, and I held my breath. Then we kissed and kissed and kissed, sighing into each other’s mouths with relief. And then all of us were, Me, Sophie, Lily and Mike, heads turning to one another without discrimination or care as we pressed our lips together and ran our hands over each other, delirious and drunk on indeterminacy, consequences a faint memory in the flush of instinct and absence of fear.

What goes up must come down… The pedestrian hesitation of our interactions the next morning presented itself as it always does; a little jog back out of reality, a reminder that mental health is a temporary pleasure and nothing more. I didn’t care, though. I woke up cuddling Sophie underneath sleeping bags. And besides, we had touched the infinite, or nearly at least. Mike quietly played Blowin’ In The Wind on the acoustic in the corner as I cuddled closer for warmth and comfort, and though the world outside was bright grey and there was scarcely food for breakfast, we were at peace that day.

My copy of No.1 Fake arrived today

2009-11-30T18:37:00.002Z

It was cooool. My flatmates read it, all liked my poem and it sparked off a general discussion about poetry and technique in art. Get in. :)

Today I got lost in Lewisham. Funny times. I asked some chavs for directions, they were actually compeltely polite and pointed me the right way.

Man... we actually have the most delicious takeaway pizza place near us. It's proper nice. I wolf their pizzas down in nooo time. Like I literally ate my whole pizza in a 2 minute walk to the library just now. That's good pizza.

Mmmhmmm.

2009-11-30T03:37:00.001Z

Sometimes.

2009-11-30T03:36:00.000Z

I'm living in fear, a little bit...

What is simple in the moonlight by the morning never is

2009-11-29T18:35:00.000Z

Why actually is that?

Edward and The Thieves Part 2.

2009-11-26T14:12:00.002Z

Rory crumpled to the floor, spitting up blood and clutching his stomach. Keith stood still, eyes wide as they could go, as if their very widening would prevent further bloodshed. Edward stood quivering in the centre of the room, tranquil. Tears still snaking across the little trenches of his worn-out face. His eyes were closed, and it seemed for all the world to Keith that any minute now the wind from the kitchen window would sweep this poor old man away. Everything was quieter in the aftermath of the gun shot... In the distance, birds sang.

Fuck, thought Keith. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. What now? I'm not prepared for this, for fuck's sake. I'm not a violent man. He nervously felt for the Animal Liberation Front badge by his breast pocket. 20 years in this cause... is this it? Is this little loopy loo with some antique shooter gonna finish me off? His heart raced. He thought about his family and, hating himself, let a few silent tears grizzle their way out from his veteran eyes.

Suddenly, Rory croaked "A...amm, muh, muh... ambulance"

Keith stared horrified at the blood-soaked American. So he's not dead. He reached for his mobile.

"I can't take that risk, I'm afraid" said Edward. The gun was trained on Keith.

Keith took a few shuddering breaths. "Edward, now, just... listen alright? It is Edward isn't it?"

No reply.

"Edward he's gonna die if we don't call an ambulance. Alright mate? You'll be a murderer. None of us want that."

No reply. Despite the horror of the situation, Keith felt a twinge of every-day frustration at the old man.

"Edward for fuck's sake!" Keith cried, voice cracking.

"No... no. We can't call him an ambulance. I've already shot him, that's jail time, and I don't rate his chances anyway. Now who the bloody hell are you people?"

What the fuck is going on. It really, really wasn't meant to be like this. Keith's hands shook.

"We're... we're animal liberation activists, Edward. Please let me call an ambulance, alright? Please."

Where is this old boy gettin' confidence. Jesus fuck I didn't sign up for this.

Edward's face switched from glaring anger to a contemptuous sneer. He gave a low chuckle.

Fucking LAUGHING?

"You mean to tell me that my home has been invaded by bleeding heart hippies? You mean to tell me that you are responsible for stealing that letter?"

Keith just stared.

"Well then. I shall dispose of you both in the river. I daresay you'll enjoy getting back to nature"

"You know what Edward? Fuck you, mate. Fuck you, you silly bourgeoisie cunt. It'll be an honour to die by Rory's side, fightin' against your fuckin' cruelty! And that daft old bitch is never gonna love you. In fact, I bet she thinks you're a tit."

Scarcely believing what he was doing, Keith walked towards Edward, arms outstretched, leaned his chest into the barrel of the gun and spat full into his face.

Edward had been struck momentarily rigid with rage, but on feeling Keith's spit slap into his cheek, snapped out of it.

"Well then. This is it. Get ready".

Keith thought about adopting a crucifix pose, emulating Jesus, but decided it was too pretentious. He mentally made vows of undying love for his family and his wife. He was ready. He braced himself for the bullet. In the distance, the birds sang.

And a car pulled up.

What?

"It's Margaret!" hissed Edward, scrabbling around frantically, gun cast aside.

Keith stood dumbly blinking, wondering if he was dying and this was all a hallucination.

"It's Margaret, you unwashed brat!" Edward seethed, slapping Keith into the moment. "Help me! Hide! Get behind the TV and take Rory with you".

Keith was so shocked that he simply obeyed, thinking longingly of the roast dinner he would have been enjoying by now.

Edward danced about the room like a man possessed, throwing a rug over the pool of blood where Rory had been and trying, ludicrously, to correct his appearance. Keith heard the sound of the door open and shut, and footsteps.

Keith heard a woman's voice.

"Edward... I've been meaning to say this for a long time... Look I know you're a good man. I'm not promising anything but... oh, god. Will you take me to our spot in the park, like old times? Just once? I know you want it too. I know it."

She sounded more hopeful than confident. Hang on, thought Keith. This is my chance. The old man hasn't got his gun on him and he won't wanna ruin the moment. I can walk out of here.

Once more, Keith leapt from behind the television. Margaret let loose a deafening scream and nearly fell over as she staggered back in terror. The look in Edward's eyes was baleful.

"...Edward. I'm gonna walk out of her now, okay mate? This is over. It's all over."

Keith began to walk slowly towards the door, hands raised. Once more he heard the gun click, and froze.

"Edward... Edward, what are you doing?" sobbed Margaret.

Edward blurted out what had happened in a half-crazed shout. Nothing to lose now, thought Keith. He turned to face the two of them, and noticed that Margaret had a strange, distant look in her eyes.

"All... All I know is I should like to be taken to our spot in the park a few more times, at least. And if my Edward gets locked away for murder that can't happen... and I don't suppose that between two of us we can lift that man's body..."

Suddenly her voice hardened. "You there. Thief. If you help us get rid of his body, we'll spare you".

A little flame of idealism deep in Keith's belly guttered and died as the tempting scent of continued existence wafted over him.

"Alright. Alright you old bastards."

I have an idea

2009-11-26T02:39:00.002Z

I am blocked on this opening for a short story. So, maybe anyone who reads this should just comment and continue it how they want to. I do have my own version but it's not working for me. Bah, here it is anyway continue it as you will, I've called it battered accoustic:

GET INVOLVED

2009-11-26T02:11:00.003Z

Get Involved
Interesting
Good times
Interesting times
You love it
Hab
Han
Brynevere
Is that the original
Is that a bit freudian
is that a live version
sandwich bags
i'm harny
habby days

...Writers block can fuck off. :(

I really, really miss my girlfriend.

Distant dial tones

2009-11-25T16:22:00.002Z

I dreamt that I was going to meet Molly&Jacob and it was summer. I was in a new house with my mum and it was kinda nice and I was wondering how I would be able to get in touch with them. Then I heard someone shout "Jacob!" from outside and it was Molly's voice. I went outside and it was a gorgeous day, bright clear blue sky and awesome sunshine. No one was on the street, but then I thought, hang on, this is stonehouse drive. So I ran in the direction of their house, but it had been replaced by a a big detached house that was sort of circular in shape, and decorated in a really bourgeoisie way, and you had to go to up some little spiral stairs to get to the door. and cleo was knocking on the door and some guy I didn't know, so I said hey to them. And then some distant friends of the family of a slightly chavvy and matriarchal bent opened it, and beckoned them in, and then saw me and in total shock ushered me in where there were more of that crowd and they all wanted to ask me about stuff in that really loud, outgoing and superficial and overly concerned way that they do. Then I saw Freya Samuelson who I've met like 3 times and never spoken to, and a guy from my uni. They said hey, I asked how they knew eachother. The guy said "well, we're friendly now, but we used to step out back in the day". I laughed and mocked his use of the phrase 'step out', comparing it to how an 18th century gentleman might say it. He laughed and expanded the joke a bit.

Then Dan knocked on my door and I woke up. He wants me to go to the science museum with him and emily in a bit to make some robots. :) I might go.

Whenever I wake up from afternoon sleeping I feel strangely floaty and egoless, and like I want to just be meekly nice to everyone.

Someone give me something new and geeky to get into

2009-11-24T02:07:00.002Z

I like getting into things that are new and geeky. It can be anything. TV shows, films, intellectual subjects, books, games, whatever. :) *nods*

God... fox hunting. =s

2009-11-23T15:08:00.003Z

You loved the fucking poll tax, and you propped up Maggie Thatcher, and you didn't give a fuck about Tony Blair until he threw your hobby back at ya

Hyperdub, hyperdub

2009-11-22T16:59:00.003Z

I went to the hyperdub launch last night. It was a totally elite dubstep rave. It was in elephant & castle. I took drugs. There were famous DJs. The club, corsica studios, was actually a squat, and is run by a not-for-profit art collective, so there was no commercial shit on the walls and it had a very underground feel. Well, technically it was slightly underground. I spent the night with some students from Oxford that I met. One random bloke was talking to a mate of mine in the toilets, and when I came in stopped me and went "ahhh. See this guy's got it locked up you know what I'm sayin' man he knows I know you know" and then he started laughing and shook my hand. And then he said "but seriously though the girls they love it don't they? *gestures at me* these broad shoulders?". I just laughed. "he went nah nah seriously tell me man do they or do they not." I said "Well it's probably more to do with confidence than shoulders really". My friend laughed and agreed. The bloke said "weeeeeeeeeell you say that but fuckin'... I'm confident man, you know what I'm sayin', and they ain't flockin' to me" and laughed again. "You've gotta admit it man, girls love dat shit". I said "Well, my girlfriend does like my shoulders. but I'm not some fuckin' casanova mate. I wouldn't worry about it really." And smiled. He grinned and said "yeah yeah, fair play boss". Then I said "Right I'm gonna do some drugs in the toilet now. It was nice meeting you man" and we shook hands and that. I saw him later and he pointed me out to someone, and like mimed a wide frame.

What the fuck? :L I wonder if he was gay. It was a funny encounter though.

Another strange one was this guy on the dancefloor near me at one point. We were both raving away, and we caught eachother's eye and grinned as you do, and he was really going for it. Then he leaned over to shout "THIS IS FUCKING RUBBISH!!!" still dancing like a madman and grinning. I laughed and shouted back "WHY ARE YOU HERE THEN?". He shouted "Absolute fucking shit!" and laughed and carried on dancing.

London life, yo. Got back at half 7 this morning. Chatted with the people I went out with for a little while, then went to bed about half eight. It almost felt like old times. :)

xxx

That is just amazing.

2009-11-21T04:09:00.000Z