Those perishin' spheres! Dozens of 'em!'s Blurty Day [entries|friends|calendar] Those perishin' spheres! Dozens of 'em! [ website | Sister Diary: Anive ] [ userinfo | blurty userinfo ] [ calendar | blurty calendar ]

[17 Oct 2004|09:57am] [ mood | angry ] You can always count on work to put the dampener on my mood. And it did, bang on cue. Everything was okay up until the latter part, when an overwhelming shitload of plates kickstarted the usual bout of depression in me. I don't know what the fuck is going on when this happens. Perhaps it is a psychological thing. This mountain of plates represents something horrid in my head. A task I cannot deal with. The truth being that the one in my head is untameable. I had to leave, stand out in the open air for five minutes. However, all I wanted to do was hit the fucking walls until my fists bled and my knuckles cracked. I didn't. I reined myself back, thought of last week. Almost in tears again, I finished this utterly forgetful shift, and shouted at Mel during it. Well, if you'll read this fucking journal, READ it properly. You haven't a clue have you? Your common misconception is perfectly detailed by last night. I wasn't blaming YOU for the washing up coming in, I was in the midst of a fucking bout of severe lows and was not too happy with the sight of more plates coming in. You chose to misconstrue it, you fucking opened your mouth, I fucking retaliated. End of story. I DO NOT INVITE IT. When i'm in that mood, I don't want verbal confrontation, but if provoked, the response will be hostile. Understand? Good. I'm STILL angry. FUCK'S sake. There's a carpet being put in here, so things are being moved about, mother is pissing about with newsletters and the likes, and the likelyhood is that this computer will be moved for a day, thus cutting off my one means of saying anything with any intelligent capacity, rather than trying to talk to my damned colleagues. Took me two hours to get on here this morning, and I have homework to do this afternoon, after more of that FUCKING pub, and it's excremental plates, antogonistic people, and tedious, crushing depressive stress. I am impatient with it. I want the people there and the times to make up for the meniality of the task. They do not. There is simply idiocy of the highest order. The banality of this rage is almost amusing. I am angry with everything. Hairs on the keyboard, tiny noises, tupid fucking newsletters, PEOPLE STANDING BEHIND ME. Jesus FUCKING Christ give me a cabin in the mountains. Probably would get irritated with logs after a while though. You're never happy, are you Phyllis? No. After work, smoked a BIG fucking cigar, exhcanged a glare with Mel, and fucked off, glad to leave the godforsaken place behind...making a brisk and frustrated walk to the New Inn, and found Bolb and Stuart. Immediately relaxed, knocking back the Guiness like cola, laughing and smoking another cigar. Finally crashed home about twelve, reasonably cheery. This morning I am livid, as you know. It's not looking like a good day. Get your lovely gas giants here!

[17 Oct 2004|10:19am] My clothes have been on the line for three days, like some kind on novelty windsock display. They're wet as a Pokemon' ballad, and there's no way I can wear any of them today. Great. Another thing to annoy me in a bafflingly massive way. Anything else? Yeah, I think i'm getting another bout again. Ace. I'm deleriously happy about being unhappy. Just want some fucking peace. I need a modem in the woods. And preferably a Guiness brewery. 2 Petty criminals| Get your lovely gas giants here!

[17 Oct 2004|10:26am] Okay, what I may do here is get changed, clean myself up, get some tobacco, and take a walk before work, just to get away from here and my own rage. I'm too angry even to type with forethought. Everything utterly desgined to wreak havoc on my mood. If I don't remove myself from it, then i'll probably trash the computer. This spiritless, boring, stupid, irritating, soul defeating FUCKING place. See you later. I'm going to do my hair. Get your lovely gas giants here!

[17 Oct 2004|10:31am] Right then. Shall be on this afternoon to finish homework. After this, the computer will be out of action I think until Tuesday, and so for the first time in a while, no updates for a day. Probably. Unless the library afford me the facilities. Perhaps I should join. They have a bank of computers free for use, and no squabbling parents, background noise (bar burblign chavs, typing hard on keyboard with single digits and open mouthed, creasing browed concentrative stares) and any distraction. Either that or i'll write the entries and post them later. Yes. This afternoon then. Get your lovely gas giants here!

[17 Oct 2004|10:44am] [ music | In your room - Depeche Mode ] Calmed down a little now. Whacked on some Depeche Mode, which oddly makes me cheerier. And now some more tea to consume. Now there's an image i'd like. David Gahan circa 1997's "Ultra" album. Mid length hair, suit jacket, black fingernails. Can imagine that one going down well at work. Look at it! The hair! Okay, so he looks predisposed to random lungings to camera but what the hell! My hair is currently about six inches long. Not far now. Sam was being sniggered about yesterday, be the priapic three. The chefs who are becoming increasingly like three machoistic cankers with every single passing day. Even Andy was debating whether to utter something disaparaging under his breath. And there was I thinking he was the epitome of maturity and such a nice bloke. Pricks. Lift me from this hell of rudimentary minds, all intelligence replaced by schoolboy sneers, and image facism. Fuck off, guys. Seriously. You're morons. 2 Petty criminals| Get your lovely gas giants here!

[17 Oct 2004|10:54am] Must specify that means the idiots mentioned are not you lot. Unless of course you are a shambling homophobic dunce with only a simple grasp of the English language, composed of "ugh"'s, and the word "Fit" I'm just fed up and depressed with this boring mob culture in the Bell. I feel like an interloper, a "wrong 'un", because I choose to not talk about tits, football, and dance music all shift. And i'm certainly not endeared to making cheap homophobic references to members of staff. That is what fucks me off. The bigotry displayed by some of these fucking arseholes is beyond me. Get your lovely gas giants here!

[17 Oct 2004|11:06am] Okay, it really is time for me to depart. I pray I do not succumb once again to a state of utter internal hell, resulting in plates being turned into 100 piece puzzles. Still, I always have music and tobacco. Yes. bye for now Get your lovely gas giants here!

[17 Oct 2004|04:34pm] You are a weird dream What kind of dream are you? brought to you by Quizilla Get your lovely gas giants here!

[17 Oct 2004|04:35pm] Groaners! You join me in an enptying room, with a Dad, a Bolb, and a Des. "He ate a bit of roll earlier!" said Bolb of Des.."He did until he found it was bread, then he stopped"...to which I replied simply "That fucking twat!". Work. 69. A good number, but not when it means your pub has knocked out sixty nine meals, and your washer upper hands are left with the lingering stench of each fucking roast dinner. My body needs a very rigorous clean, preferably with turps. And a wirewool. And somebody to do it for me. Yes. I am now sitting here, trying to knock my mind into thinking of some lofty statements to shit onto paper about Wuthering Heights. I have 420 words, which is probably enough for a practise essay such as this, but i'm sure the tutor would like more considering I have made the pretence of trying to impress with other works. However, if not I shall merely make the excuse that i've been busy, which I have. Not to mention drunk. Come on, THINK, Phyllis. How does Bronter convey a sense of horror? Well...er..she uses...er...windows and stuff...with appartions...key words denoting supernatural and ghostly circumstances, dreams turning to nightmare...the blurs between reality and the mind's eye....short, sharp language evocative of the senses, designed to draw out brooding horror in the dark scenery. Yowser. If only that was legible. 2 Petty criminals| Get your lovely gas giants here!

What i've got so far. [17 Oct 2004|05:00pm] It's patchy at best....I need to make this flow, goddamnit...essentially the ideas are there, but no real start, ending, or middle. Or anything else. How Emily Bronte’s conveys a sense of horror in the novel “Wuthering Heights” In this essay will I look at the context, from and style of Bronte’s novel, and the different ways that the author achieves the senses of horror in this story, talking of some of the mechanics of the story, and the methods used in it’s creation of the atmosphere it presents. Firstly, we can see from the opening chapters of Wuthering Heights, in both the hostile weather as well as the receiving of Lockwood, that Bronte has intertwined effectively both the background and the characters to provide a desolate scenery to the novel, to later build upon the sense of horror steeped then on in. The style used is one of almost bleak imagery, describing “thorn This use of language is particularly apparent in the third chapter (and indeed in the printed extract from this), as Lockwood is held under some duress, and takes refuge in an oak chamber. This third chapter is pivotal when looking at the answer to the above question. It is heavily steeped in themes of the supernatural and hazy dream like quality and as these are also intertwined with distressing moments, painted by dark vocabulary Bronte's style here reaches a peak of horror, at least by this point, as Lockwood is almost "maddened with fear", at the apparent apparition. Ghostly themes are described here, blood hits bedclothes, creating a classic image of horror. " Vocabulary is used to exacerbate images of horror, incendiary signposts to the mind, such as “maddening me with fear”, not only touching upon the reality of fear, but also the mental paralysis of it on the sanity in one’s mind, causing psychological defeat in this case. Bronte not only uses clarity of apparent fear, but also branches into other aspects and effects of horrifying circumstance, and this works tremendously well in building the feeling of horror in more than one sense, but combining to unsettle effectively. It is not only the vocabulary of horror that is important here, it is the setting, which is by turns slightly fantastical and manipulated by dream of course, and physical imagery is also used, as well as unsettling sparking of the senses. The reader is left with a view of a drowsy, comatose scene, punctuated with moments of alarm, visceral images of horrific happenings, underpinned by talk of the weather, the surrounding backdrop and the terrible dreams." “Melancholy” voice, lends an air of sadness to the prose, and the feel that the horror is mixed with sadness, giving an undeniable weight to the proceedings, as well as the driving of insanity that the narrator is inflicted with. 2 Petty criminals| Get your lovely gas giants here!

[17 Oct 2004|05:09pm] Still too many fucking commas. Little bent tadpole pricks, the lot of them. Any discerning reader would knock those out in a proofread faster than you can say "drown the puppies" Erm...not that I recommend you actually do that. Or anything. Limerick: The old man sold his house, to a couple with a dog and a mouse he thought this was strange but thought it was too late to change but what was really odd was that the mouse and the dog were wearing suits. Damned time wasters. Get your lovely gas giants here!

A fucking ace quiz from Suuuuuuuuuz's journal. [17 Oct 2004|05:53pm] Yep. Girl has all the best ones. Mine! YOUR PORN STAR NAME: (NAME OF FIRST PET + STREET YOU LIVE ON): Tigger Kenton YOUR FASHION DESIGNER NAME: (FIRST WORD YOU SEE ON YOUR LEFT + FAVOURITE RESTAURANT): World Zizi SOCIALITE ALIAS: (Silliest Childhood Nickname + Town Where You First Partied): Tea Bags Cliftonville "FLY GIRL" ALIAS (a la J. Lo): (First Initial + First Two or Three Letters of your Last Name): N. Sti ICON ALIAS: (Something Sweet Within Sight + Any Liquid in Kitchen): Banana Milk DETECTIVE ALIAS: (Favorite Baby Animal + Where You Went to High School): Bat King Ethelberts BARFLY ALIAS: (Last Snack Food You Ate + Your Favorite Alcoholic Drink): Roll Guiness SOAP OPERA ALIAS: (Middle Name + Street Where You First Lived): Alan Irving Drive Get your lovely gas giants here!

[17 Oct 2004|06:04pm] You know when as a child, upon being smacked...on an arm or a leg....you get that warm tingly feeling that precurses the stinging? I just got that now. For some reason this greatly amuses me. I think back to when I was so apallingly bad that the only measure left was a stinging slap, and I shed a tear of nostalgic naughtiness. Somebody teach me to be bad again, lest I become bitter with my own normality. Get your lovely gas giants here!

[17 Oct 2004|06:31pm] I think i've finished. I'll have to write it out in my childlike scrawling in the Bell later, as it states on the sheet that the essay must be handwritten, though having been clearly pilfered from a former exam sheet, this is perhaps not the case. However, I will follow this paper religiously. I have enough, certainly for this point of the course. Came up with some very decent analysis of the uses of language and physical/metaphysical elements in the vocabulary and it's manipulation. And if I knew what THAT meant, i'd tell you. Anyway. Printing and proofreading time, folks. Looking forward to this week very much, it may be the case that it is my last, as Lisa could be covering for me on her half term, giving me a break sooner rather than later. Which would be welcome, after the near breakdowns i've experienced lately. If only I could find out what is causing them. Get your lovely gas giants here!

[17 Oct 2004|06:50pm] Plodding, ponderous eveing. It is currently deciding how to unfold for me....perhaps a film? Take in a theatre production? Dance the lambada with ballet dancers dressed as garish bees? Yellow and black? Not where THESE BEES come from! Our stripes our many colours, our steps as stinging as the proboscis from our arseholes. Bee women. God love 'em. Or, will it be another night of smoking trombone shaped roll ups, swigging Guiness, and wondering how much more worn the bar is than last night? Look at it, it's like somebody spilt a beaker of acid on it, then frantically wiped it off, spreading it in random sprays, eating the varnish off in rakish streaks. It needs work, frankly. And those new rectangular shaped beer coasters are unsoundly shaped too, a waste of advertising. Or a waste of cardboard. Probably both. I also have to scribble this essay too. I'm sure I can get that done before i'm too drunk to hold a pen, or a glass. 2 Petty criminals| Get your lovely gas giants here!

[17 Oct 2004|07:32pm] When I think of the celebrities hawking rubbish on chat shows like Letterman, and the likes...I feel like punching a cloud of blood and piss at their noxious faces. You know what i'd like to see? Guests like these: 1. A man with a permanent, untameable itch. That gets progressively worse throughout interview....see him get more and more agitated and hurriedly scratchy! 2. An old lady with a spider on her face. Not a tattoo, a real one. 3. A cross legged shrew. 4. Fifteen tons of lead piping, piled in a clumsy pyramid. 5. Thieves, vagabonds, petty criminals. 6. Tall dwarves. 7. The host's most potent life enemy. 8. A person whose one affliction is randomly stabbing the air in front of them with a massive outsretched knife. 9. The Krankies. 10. The Krankies faces on gigantic inflatable sperm. Get your lovely gas giants here!

Don't Do It! [17 Oct 2004|07:40pm] Thinking of getting married? Avoid these passion killers! What these fools would have done for a matrimonial warning! Top five stupidest places to get married. 1. In front of a spitting, angry drunk. Our happy couple's lifelong partnership decrees were smashed like a pauper's dreams as they realised the perils of choosing to get married in front of a disenchanted pissed up freak. They were liberally pelted with abuse, coughing, "yersshhs the beshht fucking couple getting married in front of a drunken me i've eversss hshaaa...ddd...yer fuckerssshh"'s, and being splased in the side of the faces with vomit as they tried to read their vows. FOOLS! 2. In a queue. Might have seemed a good idea at the time...but in a line of people waiting for service, it was far from ideal for our lovebirds, as they were jostled, pushed aside, and eventually asked what sort of train ticket they required as they were about to say "I do". 3. In a boxing ring. Not so much a White Wedding, as a fucking bloody mess wedding, as our foolhardy Valentine dreamers were pushed, punched, smashed, bashed and K.O'd around a ring by a world class head crasher. 4. In a pigeon storm. Needless to say, being pelted with pecking head bobbing pricks heftily dumped on you by a nearby tornado can somewhat fucking crush any marital bliss. The couple in this instance had to run for cover as the vicar got a beak through the neck. CUNTS! 5. In a wind tunnel Hope the bride's wearing knickers! Vicar at one end, couple at the other. Can they float towards each other before the end of the service? This pair of swans on the river of love decided to make things more interesting in their quest for lifelong romance, by filling the tunnel with razor blades, knives, excrement, bufallos, and an elbow cut from every person in the world. That's a lot of right angled arm joints for one wedding. Crazy! Get your lovely gas giants here!

GRAMMERS! [17 Oct 2004|08:01pm] [ mood | amused ] That means nothing! GROOMERS! There's just something about a plural word involving the letters "G" and "R" adjacently in massive lettering that I find intensley amusing, especially in captials. GRAWNER! Made up words baked in a pie, get them out, shove 'em in my eye! Anyway, knapsack jump jacks...i'm off....there is a small corner and a pint of Guiness waiting, and an essay to copy into my famous idiot's handwriting. The kind of writing that looks like it was written by a dog lazily dragging a pen across paper with it's mouth only, drooling and sighing with each clumsy stab. GO! 2 Petty criminals| Get your lovely gas giants here!

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