Alex James' Blurty|
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Alex James' Blurty:
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|Wednesday, 12th February, 2003|
I've cleaned out my friends list. Anyone who's not updated since last year was removed. I went from 55 friends to 27. 49% decrease. Fuck, man.
Graham, I am waiting for your next recipe with bated breath. I look forward to something new to cook.
This entry is pointless. No sense in denying it.
The mind gets dirty as you get closer to thirty
My life has never flashed before my eyes any of the times I've come close to death, but I quite enjoy sitting back on the couch with my elbow resting on the arm, my chin in my hand, and staring into space while I reminisced.
Sometimes I think that life has passed me by. I would be out having bottle after bottle of drinks, it never mattered what so long as they were alcoholic. Taking whatever drugs were offered, doing the ones that were in vogue for that reason alone. Pot. Acid. Cocaine. Pain killers. Never mattered, as long as it was strong. I was having the time of my life.
I was missing everything. I missed thrills from the beginning of our popularity that had nothing to do with drugs. The exhilaration of playing sober to an arena crowd all chanting "Parklife" or "Girls and Boys" or whatever their favourite song was. Back when it was fun, back before we all became bitter with our profession, our work, and each other.
That was a disconcerting moment. I woke up, feeling like my head had been driven over by a lorry a few times, and heard Damon on the phone talking to someone. I don't know who it was. I don't remember the words, but I remember Damon's voice, filled with contempt and arrogance, and I realized that I hated all of it. Screaming girls, the typhoon of drugs and self-absorbed people, being Alex from Blur.
The bitterness stayed with me, even if the hate didn't really last too long. The bird I'd shagged the night before woke up and pulled me down for a bit more of the same, and I decided that being Alex from Blur wasn't so bad, if it got me lovely brown-black haired girls with nice tits. Round ones, areolas a shade darker than ghost-white skin, with a bit of pink added in.
I could imagine Graham having painted it. I sat watching him enough, watching the way he mixed colours on the canvas and not on a palette. Graham's never really used the palette for anything other than figuring out what colours he has to work with. And making a masterpiece, or at least something that always had a deeper meaning than the obvious and gave everyone a little glimpse inside the mind of the most complicated person I've ever met.
I think that when you figure out how to mix a colour perfectly, like mixing a beat and a melody in a way that sends a shiver down your spine or makes you tap your foot and bob your head, it's amazing. A little glimpse of perfection. Those are the times when I grin and think, maybe I haven't really missed out too much on life.
|Monday, 13th January, 2003|
|Subject optional, for use on longer entries
Did you know that the keyboard could give you Tendinitis or Tenosynovitis? The mouse could give you Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. Coffee can burn you, as can toasters and ovens. Petroleum is flammable. The grease filter could use frequent cleaning, at least once a month. This toy has small parts and is not appropriate for children under the age of three.
Where would I be in life without these lovely little warnings and instructions for every-bloody-thing that exists? The awful part in all of it is that those who really should be heeding the warnings look over them.
In the States, cigarettes come with a rather vague warning. "May be hazardous to your health". Cigarettes may
be hazardous to your health. Perhaps that cloud of what doctors have said is one of the most poisonous substances known to man is hazardous to my health.
The EU is a bit more clear with their warnings: "Tobacco seriously damages health", "Smoking kills", "Smoking causes fatal diseases", and so on. It's a wonder why these warnings are there, innit? A cigarette can contain anywhere from 41 to 52.5 micrograms of arsenic. When I smoke, one third of that arsenic (roughly 13.7 to 17.5 micrograms) remains in the butt. Another third is ash. The last third goes into smoke. Out of all of that, 5 micrograms is around the total amount of arsenic trioxide that I inhale into my body. 36 to 47.5 micrograms of the stuff stays around as little reminders to smokers of their habit.
I suppose I'm just trying to justify my quitting, but I really don't need to. I'm growing up, look the fuck out. I'm not among those who really should be heeding the warnings any longer.Abell 1689
looks like nothing more than a multitude of fireflies and other insects in the night sky, but it's really one of the most massive objects in the universe. It warps space and bends light, and is hundreds of galaxies. Far out. Mood: peacefulMusic: Depeche Mode - But Not Tonight
|Wednesday, 18th December, 2002|
Riding horses is amazing. Wicked. Learning to ride horses isn't the fairy tale that most would make it out to be. It's very difficult at first, cos you learn to use muscles that you never really used before.
The posting trot was the bane of my existence a couple weeks ago. Last week I learned galloping - it's much easier. You'd think that going faster would be more difficult, but really it's not. It's only slowing down after you've been galloping for a distance that is difficult. You can't really go at a true gallop for a long while, either, both you and the horse get too worn out too quickly.
So you go fast for a bit, then you slow down. I'm going slow, but speeding up.
|Friday, 13th December, 2002|
I've become neglectful of my journal. No promises that I won't do it again, because I probably will.
This morning, I woke up groggily. It's not an unusual occurrence, but today was worse than usual. That dreadful feeling where you can hardly hold your eyes open for a second. You groan, roll over and hide your face in the pillow, but it's too late. You're awake, you cannot go back to sleep.
So I laid in bed for a while. And I thought. It's odd not living with my bandmates and other people who worked on the record. I've gone from constant people to me, myself, and I sharing my flat. No more yelling down the hall to Damon, telling him to bring me another beer. No more toying with Ben and Norman about their profession. No more big, happy family.
We're still very together in spirit. At the very least, I think like we are. I've been spending most of my time at others' homes, making a nuisance of myself and being sure that everyone has the Christmasy feeling.
Every day should be Christmas. The world would be a better place, but it'd not really be special anymore. So I suppose every day cannot be Christmas.
They're developing the International Space Station
as I write. Lovely Christmas gift. I wonder who's going to be sending the astronauts Christmas presents? Mood: ChristmasyMusic: The Beatles - Here Comes The Sun
|Thursday, 5th December, 2002|
Streetlights pass by the window so fast they become lines instead of spots, and I can close my eyes and ignore them because I'm not driving. We're home again. I'm back in my flat, and Justine was here to greet my return.
Seeing her hazel-brown eyes staring back at mine, the lewd way her mouth wraps around the bottle as we suck down a six-pack and a half of cider, brings me to the old days. But now we're old enough to know to stop when our heads start with the pleasant buzz of drink, lest we suffer hangovers tomorrow morning. Stop drinking and climb into my bed, giggling and touching her sun-tanned skin, feeling more alive than I have in a long while. There's something about touch and your lover that does it.
This morning I rolled over to watch Justine sleep the way I normally do. Empty, The place where she'd slept was still warm. Up and through the flat, but to no avail. She'd left me a note on the table. It ends with "Ring me".
I can't find my mobile.
|Friday, 29th November, 2002|
Journals are a very popular thing. Online journals as well. A bit of a fad. People will register for/buy one and keep it happily for a time, then slowly make less and less entries, more that say either "I haven't got the time for this anymore," or "I'm going to make a real effort to keep this more up-to-date" in so many words or less. And they’ll eventually give it up for a lost cause. It's a very fickle thing.
Take Dave and his question-answering, for instance. A few weeks ago he'd be extremely excited about sitting down to shoot out answers to the people who subjected questions to him. Now, it's 'oh, time to answer questions I suppose.'
It's the newness wearing off that makes things less interesting.
A child receives a toy and their sibling asks to play with it the next day. 'No, you cannot. It's mine.' If the sibling waited four weeks to ask, they'd most likely get a 'Yeah, sure, I don't care.' But the downfall in this is, after four weeks the sibling most likely isn't interested in the toy either. Continuing to care for interests after the shiny coat of 'new toy!!' wears off requires not only much effort, but also love for whatever it is you're engaging in.
Being in a band is the same way, I think. Many of the pop bands stop after one hit. Why? They got bored with it. We got bored with Blur, after 10 years. A year ago we also got bored with the new things we'd picked up, and in a roundabout way rediscovered Blur. We dusted Blur off, bought the bloke a new wardrobe, and sent him to the stylists for the final put-together and approval.
Soon we'll be taking him out for a night on the town. With any luck, it shall go smoothly.
|Saturday, 23rd November, 2002|
|He thought of planes and where to fly them, and who to fly there with.
Remind me never to write a diary entry
while high. People'll start to think I'm mad. Not that they're wrong. Quite mad, here. Looney bin. Grab a straight jacket and join in.
It's my party and I'll get high if I want to, high if I want to... I could get drunk too if I cared to. Messed that up. Nothing better could be thought of. I suppose that's why Damon's the one who writes the lyrics and not your humble narrator.
Had a lovely birthday. Damon was brilliant, Dave made far too many dirty jokes, Roy and Stephen and Ben and Jason kept me busy for most of my party with various drinking games, and Graham wrote an entry especially for me
. Isn't he nice?
I wonder when his first recipe shall be posted. So long as he doesn't try to cook them for me it'll be brill. He's a horror in the kitchen. How he does the single dad thing I cannot fathom, unless someone taught him how to cook. Still can't imagine it. Graham in an apron. Graham bouncing baby on knee and making goochy-goo faces at her. Goo goo, Graa daa.
Did anyone know that Graham has this smile where his eyes sparkle and he's transformed into the most handsome bloke I've ever seen in my life? He does. A lot of people have nice smiles. Me, for instance. But his smile is nearly blinding, its so bright. Probably because he hardly ever shows it.
I miss Justine. She called last night and we talked for five hours. She's an amazing woman. Anyone who hasn't an amazing woman in their lives needs one. Right now. Go out to your local pub or walk down the street or wherever it is you go to meet people. Smile and chat a few birds up, take them home and find out if they're amazing. Rinse, lather, repeat, unless you're lucky enough to get it right the first time. Mood: spaceyMusic: Blur - He Thought of Cars
|Thursday, 21st November, 2002|
Happy birthday to me!
Damon and Graham have already given me their pressies. What about the rest of you?
|Tuesday, 19th November, 2002|
For those that have viewed the greatness that is my arse, today on BlurCam, you are blessed. If you haven't looked yet, do it. http://blur.co.uk
is the page. Click in the studio. Click today's date. Be awed.
Dave suggested that we've been toying with hard drugs again and Damon and I cheerily reminded him that we only ever really stopped toying with hard drugs because our birds made us. I was going to write a serious entry about completing the album and challenges but right now my mind's not working that way so I'm not going to. This will have to suffice.
My arse is lovely. Innit? Mood: flirtyMusic: Beatles - Magical Mystery Tour
|Monday, 18th November, 2002|
|And now for something completely different.
Apparently, the person I am most compatable with
is Damon. And Dave.
I felt the need to share this information. Mood: amused
This is a survey. It is pointless yet time-consuming.
01. LIVING ARRANGEMENT? A living arrangement is the way/place/etc that a person is currently residing. Glad I could clear that up for you.
02. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? Simon Schama's A History of Britain III: The Fate of Empire 1776-2001.
03. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? I haven't a mousepad. I've this nice track ball mouse. The ball is spotted, which I find amusing.
04. FAVORITE BOARD GAMES? Scrabble. and Monopoly when I'm in the mood.
05. FAVORITE MAGAZINES? The Idler and various others.
06. BABIES? ...WHAT ABOUT THEM? No comment.
07. FAVORITE SOUND? How could you possibly expect me to choose one favourite sound?
08. WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD? Being looked right through, like you don't even exist.
09. BEST FEELING IN THE WORLD? The wonderful, warm sensation when you're cuddled up with your partner after extraordinary sex.
10. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE UP IN THE MORNING? What time is it?
11. HOW MANY RINGS BEFORE YOU ANSWER THE PHONE? Depends on how quickly I can get to it.
12. FUTURE CHILD'S NAME? I most likely won't be having any children.
13. WHAT IS MOST IMPORTANT IN LIFE? Pleasing yourself.
14. FAVORITE FOODS? Again, one out of so many wonderful things? I'll go with what everyone thinks I'm going to say: Cheese.
15. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA? Chocolate.
16. DO YOU LIKE TO DRIVE FAST? I fly faster than I could ever drive.
17. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL? No.
18. STORMS - COOL OR SCARY? Cool! Like, man, they're so, like, fun to watch!
19. WHAT TYPE WAS YOUR FIRST CAR? I honestly cannot remember.
20. IF YOU COULD MEET ONE PERSON DEAD OR ALIVE, WHO WOULD IT BE? I'd like to meet Damon dead, just to see what he's like.
21. FAVORITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK? Anything alcoholic is perfectly fine with me.
22. WHAT IS YOUR ZODIAC SIGN? I'm a cusp - Scorpio/Sagittarius.
23. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI? Of course. They're the best part, despite what many believe.
24. IF YOU COULD HAVE ONE JOB IN THE WORLD, WHAT WOULD IT BE? I have that job right now.
25. IF YOU DYED YOUR HAIR, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU PICK? Black. My hair isn't really black, it's dark brown, but if I were to dye it I'd dye it black.
26. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE? A few times, with a few people. I'm currently in love with life in general. You should meet her; she has a fabulous rack and shags like there's no tomorrow.
27. IS THE GLASS HALF EMPTY OR HALF FULL? That's something you should ask yourself.
28. FAVORITE MOVIES? I'm more of a books type of man.
29. DO YOU TYPE WITH YOUR FINGERS ON THE RIGHT KEYS? Sometimes. Dave gives me stern yet sexy looks when I don't. I try not to as often as possible.
30. WHAT KIND OF CAR DO YOU DRIVE? I have other people drive cars for me. I fly a Beechcraft Bonanza.
31. WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED? Dirty clothes and various other things.
32. FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH? Football.
And I've changed my journal around a bit. It's beautiful, now. Has a bit of pink and red with blues, and matches my default user picture.
Music: New Order
|Tuesday, 12th November, 2002|
I'm sure you're only dreaming
Humans spend about half of the time they are asleep dreaming. By the age of 60, most people will have slept 175,200 hours, dreamt 87,000 hours and had at least 197,100 dreams. About two dreams an hour. You will have been alive for 525,600 hours alive by age 60 (assuming you've lived through 14 leap years)... about 17% of your life is spent dreaming.
When I was a teenager, I firmly believed that my life-long dream (i.e., the only dream I'd ever have) was to be in A Big Pop Band and be A Popstar. To get drunk/stoned/high every night, go to places only Popstars can go, have everyone want me, and so on. That entire deal. Then I came to London for the outward reason of going to college, but in my mind I came to London to become a Popstar. And it happened. It's still happening, really. I've fulfilled my dream.
Graham's dream used to be playing with Mission of Burma. They're one of the few bands that he's kept on his list of favourites through all of the different phases he's gone through. His dream became reality last year. It was an amazing show. He was brilliant. Both his playing and him were amazing; he glowed. Big arsed grin, sparkling eyes, all of it. He fulfilled his dream as well.
I don't believe I ever really knew Dave's dream before he was sober. He never talked about anything then. Nothing relating to himself, at least. Now I know he's doing just what he wants. That's Dave's dream--and has always been his dream, he says. It's his reality. Another dream being lived.
Damon had always wanted to have a child of his own. Not an adopted one. His very own bundle of joy and nappies filled with shit. Justine never wanted one. Suzi ended out birthing Missy by a bit of a fuckup on Damon's part. The mistake that became in many ways a miracle. All of that rubbish. So he's carried out his dream.
As soon as the first dream is done for all of us, we dream of something else. I know what mine is, but no longer the others. But I know they're dreaming, because they're always wanting; it's human nature to strive after the unattainable. (Why do you think men like lesbians so much?)
We never really stop dreaming, do we?
Music: The Bangles - Manic Monday
|Sunday, 10th November, 2002|
Googlisms. Just to get on Graham's shit list.
Alex James is a renaissance man, a man of action, a man of means, a man of lofty ideals, and a man for all seasons.
Alex James is the answer.
Alex James is so bloody cool, he'd freeze his ass off if he got any cooler.
Alex James is fucking gorgeous.
Alex James is the best member of Blur.
My birthday is in 11 days.
What're you giving me?
Music: Graham Coxon - Good Times
|Saturday, 9th November, 2002|
Between Damien Hirst and mixing the record, my time's been rather strained lately. But I am on IM tonight and simply relaxing. Because I can. Isn't that lovely? I can do it therefore I do it. I think I'll apply that to the late-night activities that Damien is offering.
Music: Queen - Killer Queen
|Tuesday, 5th November, 2002|
It's not until I'm sitting in front of the computer nearly too smashed to type, and not only via the usual means, that matters truly come into prospective for me. Everything makes much more sense when I'm smashed. Of course, I'll probably look at this update tomorrow morning and think, "What the fucking hell did I take?" because at the present moment I've forgotten what else it was that I took. But that's unimportant.
I've been remembering.
Remembering lying on a beach blanket in Bournemouth, bottle of wine cradled between Justine's and my own body as we kissed--really kissed--for the first time. Best fucking kiss of my life. Nothing will ever compare.
Remembering old days in college, stealing wine and going to Tobey's flat where he had his homegrown and being anything but sober for days on end. Staring at the white plaster ceiling my first time on acid and I couldn't sleep. I watched hallucinations dance in front of my eyes, brilliant colors painting pictures clearer than any I'd ever seen by Monet.
Remembering a night in New Orleans where it was so hot and humid that I could've bathed in my own sweat. Graham and I took a walk out on the byou. I cannot remember how or why or any of the other particulars, but we both ended up doing cocaine for the first time that night. Damon nearly went ballistic when he found out, but neither of us could be bothered to care. We were too happy. I don't think I've ever been as blissfully high since then, and the question of whether it was the dosage or the company that made it so remains a mystery to me.
Remembering lying in bed with Justine, tracing little circles on her flat, tanned tummy. She'd left me for the first time a year before, and came back little later than a month before that. She smiled at me and told me she was pregnant. I passed out.
I suppose that's enough remembering for the moment.
|Monday, 4th November, 2002|
| Some people
will never open their eyes.
I suppose it's just as well, they're happier with them shut. Mood: crypticMusic: Mr Mister - Kyrie
|Sunday, 3rd November, 2002|
I do believe I've just done something that ranks in the top five on my 'Stupidest things Alex James has ever done' list.
No, I won't tell you what it was. If I wanted to share I'd write an entry on it wherein I stated what it was.
|Saturday, 2nd November, 2002|
You've got talent, and good looks to match. Everyone wants to know you and look at your picture pinned up on his or her wall. You're doing exactly what you want to be doing, when you want to be doing it, and fuck (literally or figuratively, choose your fancy) the people that you think know. You've got everything in your world under control, but you still can't be happy.
I love pop. I love dance. I love being a celebrity in today's society. But I'm so sodding sick of the poor, tortured popstar who has everything but is still dissatisfied and would like for more to be given
on a silver platter mentality. If you want more, earn it. And when you've already got life on a silver platter, live it and quit bloody complaining about the side effects.( OOC question(s) ) Mood: irritatedMusic: They Might Be Giants - Everything Right is Wrong Again