Geek blog

My favourite comic character:

The mysterious Stick is a sensei who trained the young but experienced Matt Murdock (Daredevil) to control his enhanced senses and taught him the acrobatic martial arts that would make him so formidable.

Unlike Matt Murdock, Stick was born blind, so he has trained his techniques to a very dangerous style enabling him to protect himself better than a seeing person could. Stick is the master of the Chaste, a group of mystical ninja which seek spiritual purity and enlightenment as well as physical toughness. They have feuded with their rival group, The Hand, for centuries in a legendary secret war that stretches back to feudal Japan.

Stick has made it his mission to keep the Chaste pure and clean from any evil infection. He forbade another of his prominent students, Elektra Natchios, from staying between their lines because of her vengeful personality, in spite of her formidable progress.

Stick is quite punishing and arrogant with his charges. He encountered the X-Man Wolverine when he was in his feral state and brought him back to reasoning, in part because of continued battering from his bo (staff) and hard nose advising.

Eventually, the Hand sought to wipe out Stick and the good warriors of the Chaste altogether. Stick thwarted an assassination attempt by four Hand operatives; he then summoned the other members of his order to New York City. With the assistance of his clan, Stick defeated Kirigi, the Hand's most lethal ninja at the time. The Hand regrouped and attacked Stick and his band of warriors that now included Daredevil and his then current lover, Black Widow. The Hand had almost overpowered the small band of warriors, when Stick and Shaft resorted to an ancient technique that drained the life force from all ninja present. Unfortunately, the technique resulted in the explosion of Stick and his comrade as a result of the excess energy they had absorbed. The Hand considered the destruction of their arch-nemesis and leader of their enemy a victory and turned their attention to other schemes.

Years later, the Hand again turned its attention to the leaderless Chaste, once again attempting to destroy them, this time to prevent the Chaste's members from locating the new-born child that would bear Stick's reincarnated soul. The Hand severely crippled Stick's soldiers, reducing their number to a handful of warriors. The few remaining traveled to New York, seeking the assistance of Daredevil. Reluctantly, the Man Without Fear aided his former mentor's disciples, returning with them to Japan. Once there, The Hand attacked the Chaste and Daredevil relentlessly. Fighting alongside Daredevil, the Chaste barely managed to escape and safeguard their master's reincarnated spirit.

Stick is a reference to the Zen master Nantembo (1839-1925) - who was famous for striking his students with his nantin staff.

More babbling

Long live Icarus

Here’s howling at the barriers…

Here’s howling at the barriers

Those wretched limitations

Those niggling frustrations

That crop up in all our conversations

Like an implicit strangulation

On the young throats of our ambition

To keep us in our given position

And mock us with their solidity

And their mutually agreed validity

Here’s howling at the barriers

Here’s howling at the barriers

And the strange culture of commerce,

Versus what’s natural and true

And the softly sickening distance

Stopping me from kissing you

And the insidious creeping shyness that never really goes away

And the ever-smiling Christians who with straight faces say

“You’re welcome to romantic love… provided you’re not gay”

Here’s howling at the barriers

Here’s howling at the barriers

And the neo-conservative pundits who sneer

“There’s no soul in the human, just jealousy greed, and fear”

“And our only natural place is locked up behind bars”

“We are dogs, fit only, to bark at the stars”

But we are not.

We are astronauts.

We are everyday magicians.

We are friends who open the door at 5am with a wry smile.

We are soul-saturated.

Beneath a brittle veneer of cynicism and defensiveness

We are dancers, poets, comedians, child-like lovers

Free-wheeling anarchically through the unknown, Therefore:

Let’s live on the edge of every second

And scream out what we feel

Let’s set fire to the rulebooks

And let’s keep it unreal

And tomorrow we’ll start an amazing plan

Here’s what will do the trick for us

We’ll fly ourselves straight into the sun

Long live Icarus.

I get to see you

In a week's time. For the last Sunday Veg. :)

...*waits*

House Party

I've slept twelve hours two nights in a row and had two lazy days. I look... healthy. lol. No bags under my eyes, complexion is alright, mood is good, etc. Happy days! :)

However, I'm gonna ruin it all tonight by going to a house party and getting completely obliterated. Equally happy days.

just watched Hellboy 2. It was a load of fucking shit. but I quite enjoyed watching it regardless. And there was a single one-liner that was actually quite funny, believe it or not.

Loveage.

Might chill on the drinking, for like a week...

• 2 litre bottle of strongbow
• Triple shot of famous grouse
  
• Half a bottle of wine

Got into my lecture this morning - was a struggle to stay on my chair let alone pay attention. Went and got myself a jacket potato with cheese and beans and salad. Sorted me out. Still not really compus mentis though. Fuuuuck. Going to a meeting in an hour about fighting the BNP, hope we get to go and harass them/beat them up or something. Hmm I'm well hungry.

The Perks Of Being A Wallflower

"Do you always think this much, Charlie?"
"Is that bad?"
"Not necessarily. It's just that sometimes people use thought to not participate in life."
"Is that bad?"
"Yes."

Some stuff for your eyes.

The Terminus

Oh god, home. Home… Safe, with food, comfort, warmth, sex, love, media, escape, sanctuary, romanticism, alcohol and quiet to deliciously indulge myself in. The comfort is enormous and I shuffle my way back to 14 South Street, a bedraggled zombie but with soul intact, while that voice soothes away the occasional suspicion that everything is futile. “That thought,” the voice confidently reassures me, “is too enormous for this wet Friday evening, almost definitely unfounded, and cannot possibly benefit its thinker. Just hurry home, hurry home, hurry home, where your dinner, your jazz records and your girl are waiting. Hurry home, Hugo, and drown yourself in their comforts, and these ideas will slide away.” My head nods numbly and I get on the train, as the mental baggage of a week’s work grudgingly slips away into the darkness of the tracks, promising only to return.

Home to my sweet Helen’s where I’ll go. She’ll be there like always with her inner peace and happiness radiating from her warm face, having been blessed with some natural immunity to the shocks and hardships of the nine to five. Thank god for Helen. The face of every rat on this train, drained and damned to do this again next week, wet from the rain, is a million miles from her. I’m a million miles from her. Maybe they all have Helens too.

Brisk and silent off the train and out into the station, no one’s around – but then I notice him. Sat cross legged on the ground and in neat parallel with the wall, well dressed, junky needles all about him.

“You alright?” I ask hesitantly.

Silence. He lifts his head so that I can see his face, shadowed by a bowler hat. We stare at each other. I tell him, “You shouldn’t do that” and gesture to the needles.

More silence and more staring. He’s winning just by looking at me. Well, fuck you. I have my Helen and you have your heroin. I glance down at my watch, more as an excuse to leave this disquieting man than to check the time.

“You shouldn’t do that” he says suddenly, in a wheezing death-rattle. And then starts laughing. A quiet, self satisfied chuckle at first, but quickly building into a full-blown, sneering, throaty laugh. I stride away into the rain, resisting an impulse to run.

“You shouldn’t do that, Hugo!” he cries after me through fits of machine-gun laughter and the now massive, blasting rain. Fuck this shit. Fuck. I run home. I run home through the rain to safety, food, warmth all that shit and, Helen.

I practically burst through the door showering the cat with cold water to her disgust, and she runs away hissing. The lights are off and the usual tones of Joanie Mitchell are darkly absent. I walk into the front room a little dazed.

There she is. My raison d’etre. Sprawling naked on the floor. And there he is. My best friend Martin. Sprawling naked on the floor. Next to Helen. Ridiculous looking ornate bong next to them, the house stinks of weed, doesn’t take a genius. Surreally, none of us have said anything yet.

I say calmly, softly “What the fuck is going on?” and I surprise myself because there’s no crack in my voice.

Helen looks as if she’s about to say something, her beautiful mouth is opening to explain everything and she’s going to put Joanie Mitchell on and we’ll have sex and I’ll go to bed and have no dreams and she’s… giggling. Martin joins in. They’re laughing. They’re laughing at me. EVERYONE IS FUCKING LAUGHING AT ME. These motherfuckers have fucked me what the fuck is going on SHIT. I’m going to kill them. There’s a hammer in the shed I’m going to kill them. Don’t fucking kill them. They’re still laughing. Today is real funny. Oh yeah today’s real funny. Fucking cu-

The door slams shut behind me but I don’t hear it because of the ringing in my ears. Rain washes some blood off my hands and shoes. I can hear my name being called somewhere. At first it sounds like it’s from home – my old home – but now…

By the time I get back to the train station I’m drenched from head to toe, which I’m relieved about because that way no one can see that I have cried my eyes raw. Not that anyone is here. The man in the bowler hat has gone. I don’t really know why I thought he would still be there. I sit down in a puddle and I don’t care. Then I notice a piece of paper on the wall, where the man who knew my name had sat.

Dearest Hugo,

You got off more than one train today. Don’t deal with the fuckers anymore. Meet me at The Honest Lawyer inn, bring your head.

Love, Me.

PTO

Strapped to the back of the letter was one of his junky needles, full up and shining in the street lamp-light.

Originality

Back in London.

I was sad to leave everyone again. That said, I think coming here has been the right thing for me. Good old shake up. New life. :)

I saw a vague acquaintance on the train from theatre, and spent the journey talking to him about the responsibility of each generation to it's successor. It was pretty cool. Tomorrow's dubstep takeover down my student union bar, whoop whoop, and I think Rowan will be here. :D

This is not really gonna interest anyone else, but I'm really enjoying Richard Evans book In Defence Of History which is discussing the extent to which we can find out historical truths as opposed to just best-guess story-telling and subjective speculation. It's intensely academic, but well, I really like it so yeah. I'm a loser. ;)

Rave on, campers.

Drinking with strangers

Subtle nerves and slightly euphoric anticipation
Still in my own head, really, but with
Bags packed, ready to leave
Not-quite-stunted conversation -
Flows fine ya know, but
We all still adjust our sleeves
Occasionally wonder what the time is

1st beer, sinks down smooth quick liked it
Doesn't really matter if this event's shit
I think
Talk to this man and these girls sat near me
All smiles and interest in eachother's situations
Slightly rush-released conversations
But that's fine, yeah, understandable

2nd beer, take my tiiiime on this one... yeah
'Cause I like beer you know I can savour it
Either I pretend, or just forget it tastes like shit
Starting to offer insights now
Jokes, commentary, witty quotation
The odd probably misinformed topical observation
And gone that hold-back shrinking sensation
Gone that awkward socio-desperation
And let the good times roll, 3rd beer
Laughter and irreverence and existential cheer
If I wasn't taken now I spose I'd be flirting
But it's alright everything's cool man nothin' is hurting
We're all together here, there's grinning faces all around
And ten thousand acres of precious common ground

6th... beer I, pleurghh,...
I DON'T KNOW I
Fall down I spoooooooozee......
Oblivion and the holy attitude,,,, fuck it.
Happy days.

We believe...

...that as a people living in the United States it is our responsibility to resist the injustices done by our government in our names.

Not in our name will you wage endless war.
There can be no more deaths.
No more transfusions of blood for oil.

Not in our name will you invade countries, bomb civilians, kill more children, letting history take its course over the graves of the nameless.

Not in our name will you erode the very freedoms you have claimed to fight for.

Not by our hands, will we supply weapons and funding for the annihilation of families on foreign soil.

Not by our mouths will we let fear silence us.

Not by our hearts will we allow whole peoples or countries to be deemed evil.

Not by our will and not in our name.

We pledge resistance!
We pledge alliance, with those who have come under attack for voicing opposition to the war or for their religion or ethnicity!

We pldege to make common cause with the people of the world to bring about justice, freedom and peace!

Another world is possible - and we pledge to make it real.

Bullshit art quote?

Byebye. <3

Today, I stood, and walked away
I'm never coming back this way
I've got my things, I'm here to stay
I'll try to walk another way.

New Poem! God why do I keep putting this crap on my blog, go read jess's or molly's. =p

Peter Pan has fucked off

Don’t, don’t disillusion me yet

The illusions are far too wonderful and wild

The adult world is beckoning me with problems unmet, just

Bury me in fiction, let me remain a child, just

Let me dream a day longer

Let me live for free

Let me indulge and love and fantasise, and

Ignore what I’m supposed to be

Take back your shackles of responsibility,

Turn back them hands of time

Take me back to an age when I

Was enthralled by sweets, and pantomime

Give me my long lost innocence

Make me naïve and pure

Growing up’s a subtle disease, I’m

Subtly SCREAMING FOR THE CURE

Hey, hey man. Calm down. It’s all okay.

The big wide world is scary, yes

But trust me you’ll find your way

And it’s not all about dodging bullets

Or working to stay alive

The world can be a magical place

A place where you can thrive

A place where you can do your own thing, like

Start a career

Make friends

Join clubs

Snort cocaine

Have mid-life crises

Cook your favourite dinners

Go for long walks

Philosophise

Make art

Get paranoid

Discover new perspectives

Fall hopelessly in love

Fall hopelessly out of love

Realise that ultimately nothing matters and

Make endless cups of tea!

So you see

And I’m sure you’ll agree

Adult life is a diverse tapestry

Spose you’re right mate. Here goes then.

Here comes the world, with independence and depression,

With boredom - and ecstasy - and many chaotic storms,

I’m going from security - and domestic oppression,

To a world of freedom… and council tax forms.

READ IT YOU SCHLAAAAAGS

THE FUTURE OF HUMANS

Which reminds me that I have to show Jacob some essays...

Love you all, so much. x

Paul Aitchison - Mind The Gap

the carriage
sits heavy at platform lines
two minutes early
rushed deadline faces
march in black trouser suits
leaving offices empty

they board together
minding the gap
sucked into this carriage vacuum
as shuffling raced paces force the doors
first come first served seat selection
leaving those left panting to stand

fume heavy breaths fill the space
as the doors slide and fuse shut
the engine hums and hisses
leaving the passing station viewed
behind evening edition news

the air is stale with coughs and sighs
awkward glances followed by
small advances for the paper
which rises dividing eyes

they sit confined in domino rows
waiting for the first to fall
decision makers and no.1 fakers
folding dreams neatly away to make room
for mortgages and schools

the carriage reels off destinations
counting down the track
leaking commuters at each station stop
squeezing me the last drop
as I make my leave from this repetitive drone
minding the gap
between work and home

Stars Amongst The Gloom

Stars Amongst The Gloom

Just another boy who hates things

Striding without purpose, into the heart of our town

A down-trodden denizen of Hastings

With special brew in his hand, and a long-learned frown

To his mother a misunderstood hero

In a world beset by urban decay

To the papers, a social menace;

A benefit fraud; a church-starved stray,

To his mates jack-the-lad, a diamond kid,

A party animal always ready to play,

To himself an elusive phantom…

A ghost, just finding his way.

As he strides into town though none of that matters

It’s Saturday night – leave the philosophy at home

But as he hits the club, his composure shatters

‘Cause his girl’s kissing his dealer and suddenly he’s alone

…

And then his fists start flying with sickening speed

No thoughts of consequences or how he might plead

Just a perversely sweet oblivion, an ecstasy of revenge

He picked the wrong target though, that dealers got friends

And no one saw our boy again.

To his mother, a source of endless pain

To the papers a story for profit gain

To his mates a tragic reason to pray

To himself an elusive phantom

A ghost, just finding his way.

This is all we’d normally see of the story

The sad surface angles of inescapable doom

But his life had some beauty and a humble glory

There were stars amongst the gloom…

…A fact not captured by any home-office tally:

That boy found joy in The Hastings Arms

And confused young love in Bottle Alley.

Listen to Come On Coma Victim.

Seriously they're really good. They get better the more you listen. Why are they just local, who knows?

Shit son.

I just had a fucking HORRIBLE dream. Not even a nightmare, just a really savage dream. Not scary, but just bad bad bad bad bad bad bad. I spent like 10 minutes after I woke up literally sighing with relief that it wasn't real. I'm still feeling pretty relieved. It seemed like life. Maaaannn.

Talking to Rowan about her caravan and her magic mushrooms growing outside the caravan is cheering me up. :) Can't you just imagine her? Little Rowan? In the caravan? With the mushrooms outside? It's somehow kinda sweet and faintly ridiculous as an image.

My parents are leaving for the weekend. Yay. :)

I love you all. x

Howl!

Oh my god I have a new found hatred for bureaucracy. It's such a fucking stress man. Jesus. That said I've got the internet back now YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY communication and absorption of the world's media can now resume, bring on the puppets and dragons and let the ceremony begin, I wanna join the circus.

There's no performance poetry society at my Uni - I'm gonna start one. We WILL have a vibrant, anarchic, revolutionary and family-like spoken word scene in south-east london, if it kills me. Here's Maya Angelou:

The highway is full of big cars
going nowhere fast
And folks is smoking anything that’ll burn
Some people wrap their lives around a cocktail glass
And you sit wondering
where you’re going to turn
I got it.
Come. And be my baby.

Some prophets say the world is gonna end tomorrow
But others say we’ve got a week or two
The paper is full of every kind of blooming horror
And you sit wondering
What you’re gonna do.
I got it.
Come. And be my baby.