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[09 Oct 2004|01:09am] |
Just back from the New Inn. Staying up to let four and a half pints of Guiness wear off, and enjoying the phenomenon of a parent free house.
Talked a lot tonight. Not initially, but heavily in the latter part, as I like it. Will say more tomorrow, I suppose. That's if my head is not banging. I hope it is not.
Bolb drew some pictures of Des. They are brilliant. It's not that they are of him, it's that they are off the cuff, beautiful sketches of life, with thought and soul and talent intertwined.
Now...I suppose I must eat. Or go to bed, as it is in the small hours, and my bones and body ache.
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[09 Oct 2004|01:14am] |
Now then, time for me to leave. I have a day tomorrow involving the horrors of two shifts, comprising many food consuming people, more clashes of thought and amibition, more doubts and intrigue than could keep a loner poet happy, and........
and I have a LOTR audio tape to lull me to sleep. Gorgeous Middle Earth fantastical subconcious dreamscape. I suggest it...it is something that the bitter bones of a reality steeped in normality truly needs of a night.
Finally....a footnote. Zoomeister is of a changeling. He does not want to be here, struggling for coinage, for soul, for love, for anything. It is his wish to be away from here in a year's time. Whether it be thousands of miles, or tens...as long as the food for personal and creative development is present, it could be anywhere. Where....we shall see.
I am a talented man. I think. I know. I want to find out. I am not a kitchen porter. It is the only job I have excelled at, for it is the only one I have taken on in any verve.
But I am more than this. I am not to be eaten by this existential cul de sac much longer. I want my life to be exciting. Next year....i'm out...bound for destruction or rennaisance. I do not care which.
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[09 Oct 2004|01:22am] |
For some odd reason, I am apparently more flirtatious with word whilst drunk, or at the least a little inebriated. Perhaps my mind loosens. Or is it due to the absence of parent? I do not know.
Let's face it, i'm still writing...and I in a recent post stated that I was with "final thought" and would be decamping to bed soon. And I am still here.
What of it. It's my diary, it's here for these asides.
What is definite...is.....that of my current status you can be sure that:
1. I am 28
2. I am of long hair, a naieve and reserve chap, and of reasonably nice demeanour.
3. I hate machoistic, leering lad pubs (But will happily sit in one merely to boost my standpoint)
4. I love the English language.
5. I don't know what the FUCK i'm doing in life.
And that's it. It in it's simplicity of condensed chart is the best encapsulation of me at this point. Oh, and I don't know what love is. But does anyone?
Yes, I suppose they do. Wish they'd lend me a few cupid arrows. For I do not know this lucky virus....if it even exists. Therin lies my problem. I am loveless....maybe I always will be. My heart is blackened so far.
Denise? She never came close. Zoe? HA!
Now i'm being dispiriting. I'm off to my unlikely comfort of a clean bed. Goodnight. Whoever is watching. Oh, and if you are...thanks.
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[09 Oct 2004|01:40am] |
Now I have consumed that last sobering mouthful of milk from the brandy glass (Yes, really), it is almost time for bed...but wait! An IM!
Just a little longer...tea anyone?
Yes.
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[09 Oct 2004|09:50am] |
Groan. My stomach feels as though someone is scraping a spoon coated with rust around it. This is not due to Guiness, I feel. It's been like that for three days regardless.
Yep...so I went to the New Inn with Lucy last night. Basically sat there in vague silence, as I was not particularly in the mood for cheery conversation. Watched in the main the sickening mass bellowing along to records best bereft of their attempts to drown them out with prole wailing. Also over there artlessley swinging a cue as though it were a baton, was the golf ball headed bitch that beat Lucy up a year ago. Sat and looked evilly at her pretty much all evening to try to give a subdued message of hate. Probably worked, don't know. Little matchstick bully.
Graham came in after work, weilding Malboro's and a hatred for Kingston. I gather it's not going too well, then. "121 words! That's all we've spoken to each other! All my flatmates! In a week! That's like five words a day!"
Student life. Yer can't beat it. Except you can. Remind me not to take anything from it except the cheap beer if I ever go.
Went home, Bolb with tales of Des. Then I wrote a lot of stuff, as you see. Talked to Suzanne, and went to bed.
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| LOOK AT THE SONG! READ THE POST! |
[09 Oct 2004|10:00am] |
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mood |
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 amused |
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music |
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I'll give you something hot! - FF X-2 |
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Investing a dull current life with an element of pride and articulacy. So let's do this shit....today is Saturday, that means two shifts at the Bell. Two yawning maws of washing up, from which I shall emerge bleeding of skin, wet of body, and dirty of feet.
Yeuch. Two opportunities to earn more money to smoke or drink. Or save. It is an overcast day, indeed one which brings to mind the washed out grey black of "Sleepy Hollow".
Moy is dead. You heard me. I'm having his incontinence, Graham is having his pipe. Don't cry for him, he was the most mean spirited of men. Like others, he deserves a modicum of respect, but the very least. Rude to all in life, and twice as wicked...his was at least a pure hatred.
Yeah, so i'm going to have his leaking bladder, so I can sit happily emptying myself all over the Public Bar seats, grinning and necking more stout to do the same five minutes later.
There's my toast.
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| Thanks. I'll have ten. |
[09 Oct 2004|10:19am] |
Beretta92fs. You're good. Almost as good as a Sig
but are cheaper. Thats why the US military
chose you. You're kinda scary.
What handgun are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
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| It didn't happen.... |
[09 Oct 2004|10:21am] |
"I've got you those frogs you wanted, mom...they bit me several times and now i'm bleeding fate and soul"
"Kangaroos? I ASKED FOR five pounds of rump steak!"
"Listen, Biffo. I'm sorry. But I can't have you working in a retirement home with a name like that. And there's the fact that you're known for randomly kicking jaws off"
"Prole Squadron! Depart!"
"thanks for the well wishes, mother. I'm sure the marriage will go splendidly, despite the omnipresent masturbation"
"YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH! It's Jim Davidson! Presenting the live funeral!"
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[09 Oct 2004|10:24am] |
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music |
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You Do - Aimee Mann...purely by accident. Beautiful though. |
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Yep, we are certainly having fun here this morning. It's definately an easier art writing free of distraction of parental chattering.
My heart is grinning, though it knows that the future may bring the frowns again, of varying soul ache. Who knows...
There is some change soon. I can feel it. I hope for it every day. I want you to have new things to read in this next chapter. Not just nights at the Bell and angry work.
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[09 Oct 2004|11:23am] |
Spent an hour brushing my hair. I feel perfectly vain this morning. Now to destroy it utterly by stepping out into a small gale.
Time for work! See you later! 100% less cheery!
It's already started. There are fucking dogs barking in tune on the television. Cunting hell, I can tell you.
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[09 Oct 2004|03:54pm] |
Well...ah...it was what you would call a "frivolous" afternoon. Almost...well...ALL were in a good mood, shared....and we did a mere eleven meals. You wouldn't think that though, with all the prep stuff slamming about like vegetable bombs and rice explosions. But we didn't care. We were dancing and singing to hideous party records.....
So not a bad afternoon then, and England are 1-0 up in their quialifier. Against Wales. In football. Bombadier careers.
Good afternoon.
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[09 Oct 2004|05:38pm] |
We will have work tonight, most of us...with any luck being as much fun as this afternoon's killer shift of dancing and dramatic mobile phone game playing.
Far more work to do, however. Though the bookings are all relatively early. I hope. Afterwards, some of us will head for the New Inn for bands and beer.
For an hour. This is dependent on my finishing time. Bolb has been drawing Des again.
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[09 Oct 2004|06:16pm] |
Enough. Time to get ready for work....get these freaks out of my studio...stinking peasants....
I'll be back tomorrow with more delights from my mind's graveyard...with faces on all the stones and screaming bats dragging wingless hides across the mud.
NOW GO!
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