GUNK

In the mood:

DeadGirl

Suzi9mm

Purple

Unknown Number

The problem is that I don't think enough when thought is required but I can't stop once I start and it's not. 

Times call for a change, of scenery and company. Both, either; either way everyone else's complacency is killing me. I am bored BORED B O R E D. 

Entertainment and distraction; pay me some fucking attention.

An interest of intrigue, an unbulletted list of  potential, precariously swinging between exertion and our apathetic state of conscious. An end to vicarious kicks and substituted affections; for once, in an existence that relies upon the quixotic daydreams of an over active imagination to stay at arm's length from the crazy shit that goes on, down there in Earth, there's more than the usual desire to be appreciated by bystanders.

Tonight, I crave proximity.

Underwhelmed

I'm listening to From First To Last's first album. It's not as bad as I remembered.

Today's high point: eating an entire box of Breadsticks in under half an hour and a text message that turned my frown upside down.

That actually was as good as it got - for future reference I AM THOROUGHLY BORED. Tormenting me right this second is the fact that the time of posting on this blog comes up as the time I begin writing, not when I hit 'publish'. To clarify this point, rarely is said button clicked before half 11 at night. More energy bytes go into these spurts than previously assumed.

Getting down to business; Microsoft and I are at war. Word has been playing up for about a week and so far I have been unable to open two files essential to my sanity of mind. The first contains quotes, jokes and bits from songs and books. It's a log that's been kept for quite a few years and is not something I would accept losing. Number second, my own and others spurts from journals, rhyming stuff and notebook scrawlings. The kind of spurts that work themselves together mid-doing something else, which is why I carry a scribble pad everywhere I go in case one pops up. Again, losing this file is not an option. Hence, when Microsoft word started throwing tantrums when I went to browse, I got pissed off.

Long story short, the files are now in Notepad. Not ideal. However, I refuse to use Microsoft anymore and shortly will be downloading free alternatives. I will NOT be controlled. Tough shit to whatever prick came up with it.

A change of direction; let me suggest to you some ways to spend your rainy days:
1. Pink Is The New Blog - Celebrity culture meets cynicism and sarcasm. A daily fix for anyone who doesn't give a shit but isn't anti enough to not touch the stuff.

2. Stay updated with Lara Jade's Flickr (or Official site here)

3. Splash some paint with Jackson Pollock

Alternatively, tune into Find Me The Face on BBC3, Tuesdays @ 8pm

download Queer as Folk from 4oD and enjoy

plug in some Code Name Pilot

In a worse case scenario resort to blogging where no one will see.


For a moment of reminiscence, a smidgen of old stains.
It’s a black and white world, short-lived highs and vicious lows, contradictions, irony, sarcasm and cynicism. But let’s think positively. The end gets closer every day, they keep reminding us. Caught on the hooks played on a loop in the shopping centre, don’t boast in overpriced happiness or paint you short-lived highs in rainbows. The underwhelming generosity, a love you can buy in sachets. What is it but one big advertisement for something we’ll never achieve? When the bones get old the bone yard takes it’s victims and new blood seeps into the centre of the world’s attention. Just pretty bits of flesh, dolls with porcelain faces and all the bits that make a person tick tied together with compromise and jumbled in an over sized, overpriced sweat shop shoulder bag. It’s a crumbling facade. I hate to break it to you, but this isn’t a game to see who has the most beautiful friends. Accelerate with your eyes closed. It’s a dangerous business being the boy everyone wants to know. Don’t you dare ever show anything but a happy face; agree with everything they say. You’re here to be used.

The new violence isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, we're as down as we seem. Fake it for the people that need you to be fearless. Every man for himself, we’ll destroy ourselves. If you were mine I would wrap myself around your indifference and never let you go. Some day I’ll make a choice to compromise with my imagination & come to find you. The stars will tell us if we're right.

Something more substantial will appear tomorrow because I have made the executive decision not to go to college. Friday night = party night therefore the spurt will be executed earlier than usual.

To give closure,

They should have left us in the dark
Where we couldn’t compare
Or see what we didn’t have
Maybe we’d still listen
If everything wasn’t so blindingly obvious
And organised
We’d still have the raw passion
For what we believed in
Before everything turned commercial
And life became a cliché
Love would still be blind

To You I Bestow

At the end of my tether with everything and everyone, every institution that's trying to fuck us over and every time something doesn't go my way. Consequential fist fights and fucks, this is the age of try your luck and it might turn out okay. Other than that there's no course of action but to drag a suffering self esteem along one of the fruitless paths offered to those that can't afford to buy every shortcut to the top. Spent and bored of walking the line between trying to be the person you want to be and missing the mark with who you really are. Lose contact with sense and self control; one, one-way ticket to dead end prospects and double negatives.

We don't need to have a reason to join forces, apart from the common denominator; hands up if being controlled fucks you off? It's incomprehendible; fierce or falling apart. The choice is yours, it could be us on the same team. Nothing is ever as bad when someone else is there to face it with you. Stand in the face of the future and maybe you'll agree that it's without limits or boundaries or half hearted Government tricks. Our's for the taking; mine for the taking. Who knows? This could all turn out for the best.

DOWNLOAD: Broken Social Scene - tbtf

you won't regret it.

An audience, the spectator. I write for myself and no one else, although anyone's welcome to read of course. Audience a) Spunky, to console in instances where my head gets too filled up to make sense b) Jimmy, no doubt she has a minor interest in keeping up with everything c) those who I have yet to meet and keep at arms length. And d) the object of my projected affections, NB: you do not exist in my reality yet.

Back to the,

Turn down the contrast. You and I, we're not so different.

A move to be made, words to be conveyed, skin to touch and eyes to hold each other for more than a fleeting glance. Every gesture takes ten times longer. I'm so out of my depth the prospect of intimacy sends shivers of terror down my spine. You take your time, take as long as I have; the days will run down until the X is reached and all this stops to make way for a new chapter, or interval, depending on how successful the next three years turn out to be.

Caught in the adolescent limbo of soul-searching and heart-wrenching. No matter how great an effort is made, one who does not know themselves cannot allow others to attempt to know them at any level that means anything. Canvas in features, attributes and character flaws that are in temporary position. Each flow, gush of hormones goes straight to the head and moulds a new aspect. What did you expect, stability? Unpredictable and unprecedented - it's all good until it's turned on it's head, and what you're left with. A work in fucking progress.

Needs: stimulation, inspiration, motivation, affection and attention, conversation, and pacification. I am in the priviledged position of having a friend who provides all these and more, most of the day, every day. She's level pegging with anyone else I have ever been close to in how much I open up and how far into my head she gets. It becomes a burden for anyone to carry another's impossibilities; I'm scared to be without her. I'm scared of being alone.

Your intensity kills me; that will never change and always hang over our heads and hearts. It will get too much to bear. All I can think of is George sitting in his room with a gun in his mouth and what it must have taken him to get there.

That's it.

The first thing on our minds

Early start, coffee kick start, punk rock playlist, light beams and the book's finally been finished. Fuel injection, douse the flames. Are you fucking listening?

Tarnation

One day when I think back to days as they are now, I like to think that the good bits will be appreciated and over exaggerated. Not torn and held under the waters of distant memory, until the struggling stops. Seems as though a point is reached where being young once doesn't matter any more and all that matters is being in control. Hate to break it to you, but there's a lot that goes on you have no idea about and there is no intention to involve you or the interference of others like you. Don't degrade yourself pretending to have false intentions and motivations up your sleeve.

60% of today was spent in the company of Jimmy. The other 40% was shit as hell and I don't care to recall any of it, other than to say that bothering with college has been one of the single most stupid mistakes of my reasonably short life.

Positive Progress:

Aside from how up and down, all over the place, inside out and back to front my head has been today, I've been channeling some brain power into my new short film. I'm pretty settled on my original premise of 'Hangers', a dark comedy about dead people. However, more ideas have been floating around. More like components; I think Jimmy's agreed to compose a score for at least one of my shorts. One of the reasons I have decided to keep my new MySpace account is so that I can keep potential contributors added, selfish yes, but user generated sites are founded on self-promotion and assuming someone out there gives enough of a shit to read the garbage on your profile, so I don't consider this an obstacle.

Filming wise, a new camera is on the agenda although a) my car is eating up my bank account and b) if I make it to Carlisle this September I will have top of the range gear at my disposal sans payment. Two choices: wait and make it this Autumn/Winter or skim over how old/rusty/bad quality my camcorder and get on and shoot some action. Once it's written I'm inclined to get it over and done with so the first term at University is freed up to consume copious amounts of alcohol and familiarise myself with some new faces.

I'll keep posting.

On a more serious note; my extended project is due by the end of this month. You could write in the amount of dust it's gathered in the last little while. My favourite pastime is avoiding doing anything constructive, this time around I might live to regret it. I haven't even finished 'Try' yet, which is annoying me profusely. I should be scanning that rather than clicking out this, then again my eyes are dying so either way it's time to close them for a bit. After all I still have to find time to pep talk myself into plucking up the courage to make a move this weekend. A victim of the hypodermic needle generation my fix needs to be fresh and instantaneous.

The track's almost over.

To wallow in 5 seconds of self pity, a hug would be the greatest thing in the world right now.

Blue Skied An' Clear

Today; what a day. The last few weeks have blurred into one insignificant haze of college, work and coursework. Exceptional, are the weekends, which are an oasis of sitting in our corner of the pub and drinking and talking. Just doing what we do.

I am the baby. Everyone's baby.

Fresh eighteen and not sure what to do with myself except down as many pints as I can convince other's to buy me every evening there's nothing to get up for the next morning, except plan the next night out and relish just how much it means to be there, together, and not have to worry.

Almost finished Dennis Cooper's novel 'Try' and almost, probably already did, spoil the ending by half dropping the book and it flicking to the last page by mistake. The last line is the most important part of the whole book, along with the opening one, and I saw it. Six pages to go and it's all over, almost. It's taken me forever to get through, not something I usually struggle with when it comes to good books, but I honestly haven't had the time beyond that which results in falling asleep over the pages.

Today: College, a visit to the bookshop and half an hour in the children's section feeling nostalgic about Hairy McClairy and The Hungry Caterpillar, stylish wrapping with pink ribbon, visit to see Baby Ellie & drop off the books I have my fingers crossed she'll have read to her when she's a bit bigger, college, work, MSN, marmite munch, MSN, and once this scrawl is over, passed out between the sheets smelling of Romance but not getting any.

In a world of my own making, entirely. Most of my lessons were spent day dreaming; there was a moment on Saturday that seemed infinite and I couldn't get it out of my head. Ten seconds? That's how long I was sure for. A good few minutes we drifted in possibility, but those ten seconds have been giving me spaced out headaches all day.

More importantly, perhaps, this month's i-D looks good; Frank Carter (Gallows) and some other really exquisite shots in the preview on their MySpace. Aren't I the lucky one having a 12 month subscription? My voyeristic tendancies are questionable. I get way too involved with thought processes that are intended for the page and nothing more, yet I build them up into something they are not and it drives me crazy that however hard I try they remain what they were made to be; 2D beauty. Jimmy and I were discussing this a few days ago, how we both fall for making more out of something than what it is. Character wise, we both tend to become over involved. I don't know about Jim, but I can only explain it this way, which is also my excuse for being so anti-social:

To withdraw yourself from a person allows you to imagine them in perfection, you may know them but never know them. Chances are that when a person is at arms length what you feel for them is doubled, tripled, and imagination runs away with itself. To then delve into their 'reality' and learn that they are flesh and blood like the rest of us, crumbles the facade. So to keep that image of the person you want them to be and not who they might really be, the arm stays outstretched and it is left to an over active imagination to fill in the gaps. If they were here, they would be immense and intense, but they are not so there is never a chance for them to not be those things.

All very well, it's worked a treat for me since I discovered the hard way that nobody can ever really know anyone, but living in a semi-real existence leaves you tired and with too much unspent affection and emotion to handle sensibly. The answer therefore: to become over involved with the words and pictures and portrayals that make up something that could be someone all that, love, could be unleashed upon. It happens too much to make sense, other than this confused explanation. My head is more of a mess than previously estimated.

The prospect of another night too short to sleep away how weary I feel is calling me to cut this short and get some shut eye. Slowdive and Air will sing me to somewhere my brain can switch off for a while.

When I was much younger, life after death made me angry because I didn't want to exist forever, I wanted to reach a point where I could simply, rest.

I don't know how I feel about that now.

Your Intensity Kills Me

If I'm deleting MySpace, which I am, there should be an alternate vent. By my reckoning, by the time I have made something of myself this spurt of discussion and interruption should have established some level of credibility. Therefore, this is what they call 'forward planning', in the best possible sense of the word.