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[19 Oct 2004|12:00am] |
Curious situation.....room empty apart from desolate floor bereft of carpet, and apologetic furniture lying around like people at a poorly attended group counselling session.
So then. College. It was fine...lots of hyperbole about Bronte...which I have trouble bringing to mind now as I was fast falling asleep. Not through boredom, merely because i'd had such a terrible trip that I was weary because of that. Firstly, I hurried beyond my nicotine infested lung's capacity to catch a mechanical vessel that was later than I was, and also because the lateness of the bloody train meant that the connection at Ramsgate was missed, meaning a tedious wait amongst chavs and others at that station. Smoking another special Phyllis cigarrette (meaing a fag free of tobacco and big on Rizla), I watched as the confused ran around like mice at a cheese convention in attempts to find out the next train.
I boarded the one they all ran to, it's always best. Follow the runners, they know where they are going, though they do more work to get there.
Sat on the train, peering into my fatigue, waiting for the lurching movement of the moving vehicle. It did, finally, and I reached Broadstairs fairly brisk of step, albiet having to leave my weekly pre college pint due to not only time constraints, but also lack of monies caused by a ticket collector. Fuck. I had to buy a ticket for a poorer service than usual. Splendid. Ironic that I usually manage to reach college in any other week without paying, despite those times being altogether smoother and better experiences.
Yes. So I was not in a learned mood. Or a learn-ING mood. But I did...probably through sub-concious forms...Carole's voice at one time appearing as a radio would appear if left on during one's sleep...a curiously clarified, and louder voice in the room...as if amplified....do you know what I mean?
Hmm...perhaps better ways to put that across exist. Anyhow...break appeared, and I smoked and talked to a lady I get on quite well with, despite the fact she seems resigned to being terrible at English...she's not..she just has low confidence due to the difficulty of one essay...that's what we're here for....to gauge our skills currently, and to learn accordingly from our efforts.
Trampling back up the stairs, we resumed our seats, and were given a horrific task..not only to create a 1000 word essay on any given question regarding the text, but also to make a fucking presentation on it.
In the case of I and Paul, (the brightest and most articulate student i've yet met) we have to talk of the feminist slant on the book, and to talk for ten minutes about these elements in the text.
Lots of work to do. I am overwhelmed. I am like a lamb in a field of literature, punching at isms. And I know not what the hell i'm doing. These things are all wolves, tearing at my coat and flesh. Wankers.
And so, Paul and I joined Carole in the "lift" car. This being the vehicle that she transports us home in on her way back to Canterbury. Nice trip, some discussion with Paul...then Carole and I talked of the effects of depression, and how...well.....you don't have to compare your rage...your unhappiness to others...because depression is NOT a comparable thing.
This is not something I can explain brilliantly after Guiness...but i'll make better efforts tomorrow. Be sure however, that this was a good chat. She left me as always at the curiously warm door of the Bell, always a nice sight on a post college night, with it's stout and contemplation.
I entered, and found the usual smattering of people, sat at the bar, talked to Di about animals, and drank. Stuart arrived, shortly followed by Bolb. Observations were that I was drunk.
I was not. Adrenalin and alcohol can be easily confused. I was if anything drunk on the fear of my work, and the excitation of it...the fact that although it's scary, this is vibrant energy to me...it's me fucking learning. the Guiness always goes down better.
Ah, Guiness. I am a little tiddled now though. But hey, that's after a good three pints.
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[19 Oct 2004|08:10am] |
Sitting here in a room with my winter coat on..it's freezing in here...only exacerbated by the disappearance of carpet. The cold feeling is accentuated by the dirty stained hard floor. It looks like a 2d drawing of the dead marshes in the Return of the King.
Anyway i'm up. All the remaining crap in here has to be moved soon, so the carpet can be laid. Luckily, I may be out for some of it, but I do have to move the bloody furniture.
Groan. And there's the small matter of twenty six people in just a single group at the Bell today. God's sake, at least I can relax this afternoon.
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[19 Oct 2004|08:42am] |
Urgh. AOR's most prevalent hawking shit merchant is on Lorraine Kelly, looking more like a shaved jacket potato turning slowly yellow with the weight of musical crime.
Yes, it's Phil Collins. Put him in an ove, watch him turn and burn.
Fucker. And now, upon swithching over to escape the kind of melodramatic idiot drummer we've been afficted with, we find another generic "people" sitcom from America...with a musclebound "woisecracking" car lover, shrugging and arching his shoulders like an albatross's wings. Cunt.
Morninsg are RUBBISH.
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[19 Oct 2004|08:56am] |
That would appear to be it...time to shift old crap.
See you later...don't know when.
Toodles!
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[19 Oct 2004|04:48pm] |
Well, moved the last few bits out this morning, in preperation for for the carpet laying, which duly began at about eleven. Decided to go to work early to avoid men banging the ground with big hammers, and arrived at work. Started early, cleaned some fridges, and luckily managed to clear the twenty six early. All done by three, having had a chat with Andy about me stress Saturday night. He thinks I can handle it if I try. I know I can, but it's not always easy in any given situation.
Came home, brand new carpet. I christened it immediately by lying in a Phylly Angel shape, sighing wearily and staring at the ceiling. Moved some stuff back in, and father presently arrived to help me get the important things back in, like this computer.
Ho ho. We have most of the furniture back in now, and I must say the place looks rather swish. Now all it needs is a whingeing mother finding something wrong with a perfect job, and Des to piss all over every inch of it in the time it takes to say "fuck".
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| Hey, hey..we're the Blurties, and people say we monkey around, but we're too busy filling out |
[19 Oct 2004|05:13pm] |
quizzes, to put anybody down...
1. RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Tediously single.
2. FAVORITE BOARD GAME: Pictionary, despite my attempts to singlehandedly destroy the art of...er...art..
3. FAVORITE MAGAZINE: Anything with the writings of Charlie Brooker, or similar humorous minds.
4. FAVORITE SMELL: Lawns freshly cut, in wide spaces. It lets the aroma float more.
5. FAVORITE SOUND: Glasses clinking in a pub.
6. HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE IN YOUR FAMILY: Five.
7. WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD: Loneliness.
8. FAVORITE COLOR: Black
9. HOW MANY RINGS BEFORE YOU ANSWER: I invariably ignore it. Patience with phonecallers is not something that comes naturally to me.
10. FUTURE CHILDS NAME: Amelie, James.
11. PIERCING YOU HAVE and TATTOOS: None.
12. WHAT'S THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN LIFE: *Cough* Love...I suppose.
13. FAVORITE FOOD: Chicken. Screw 'em and their eggs.
14. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA: Chocolate.
15. DO YOU LIKE TO DRIVE FAST: I don't drive, and if I did, no. Unless it was on a big cruved sloping road with just me and badgers driving buggies.
16. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL: No. Although i'd like to imagine a big stuffed animal with a tiny version of me.
17. STORMS-COOL OR SCARY: "Cool", but less obnoxiously..beautiful...vibrant, full of nature's wonder. And power cuts.
18. WHAT KIND OF CAR DO YOU WANT IN THE FUTURE? One with doors that fall off.
19. IF YOU COULD MEET ONE PERSON IN THE WORLD, WHO WOULD IT BE: Probably Chuck D.
20. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI: Sometimes, assuming i'm in the mood to choke them down. My body tends to reject them.
21. IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB, WHAT WOULD IT BE? Writing comedy sitcoms. Not ones with "familie values", however. They are all cock.
22. IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOR, WHAT WOULD IT BE? Black. Or tinged with red. I could pull that off.
23. EVER BEEN IN LOVE? Nope.
24. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE NUMBER? 8
25. SAY ONE NICE THING TO THE PERSON THAT SENT THIS TO YOU: I sort of pinched it from Pete's journal. He's got good taste, he likes Marvin Gaye. Hey, that's enough for me.
26. PERSON YOU SENT THIS TO WHO IS LEAST LIKELY TO SEND IT BACK: The fuck should I know? Geddoudaheah! For ah knock you spark aaahht sahhn!
27. PERSON YOU SENT THIS TO WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO SEND IT BACK: Well, I haven't "sent" it, but probably Bolby.
28. FAVORITE PLACE IN THE USA: Don't know at this time. I'll see.
29. FAVORITE T. V. SHOW: The Simpsons, Twin Peaks. Futurama
30. DO YOU HAVE A CELL PHONE: Yes. It runs on hamsters running in wheels.
31. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ON A PERSON OF THE OPPOSITE SEX: Eyes, demeanour, hair.
32.WHAT TURNS YOU OFF ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX: Cattiness, arrogance, bitchiness. I suppose that relates to the first. But what of it? EH?
33. AT WHAT AGE WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE MARRIED: late thirties.
34: WHAT KIND OF MUSIC DO YOU LIKE? Orchestral soundtracks, musical oddities, bees baking the trombones, eyeball dispenser sounds, parsnip denials, jazz ballads. Sixties soul.
35: WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE WITH YOU ON A DESERT(ed) ISLAND: Des, to present as a god to the island.
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[19 Oct 2004|05:42pm] |
It's getting on for evening now, in this airy and unusually tidy living room. I'm sure it will be flooded with papers, trinkets, and peripheral shit soon.
But for now, it feels like a decent working area, this desk. I've polished it up, and sitting here typing is a pleasant experience.
Not that it usually isn't, it's just more so.
Oh no. I just recalled my essay. Damned homework. I have to either think of my oqn question to answer, or take one of the prewritten ones. In any event i've two weeks to do it. I am SHITTING myself at the prospect of the bloody persentation. I may just scrawl a face on a ballon and perform a puppet show.
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[19 Oct 2004|05:50pm] |
Welcome to "Guess the Complaint", in which we try to second guess Mould's first complaint about the BRILLIANT carpet, and the excellent job we did putting things back.
GUESS NOW!
It's "Don't trundle mud into the carpet"!
WOO HOO!
Nobody wins.
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[19 Oct 2004|05:52pm] |
Having a lot of trouble...yes...writing again. Seems like the theory I have about Guiness being resposible for the lack of brain cells may be true. I try to counteract this by necking fish like peanuts.....but no matter how many oily fuckers I consume, it makes little difference. I merely end up with indigestion, and a hangover.
Fish and Guiness. Perhaps it's because the fish is battered.
So I have the idea for a play. Perhaps I should write that. CHARACTERS, DAMMIT. I need characters. Highly diverse, human people...well...not dog people or humanoids made from jam.
Real people. And a comedy element. All this will be in the dialogue, as it's only one set, and that is to centre on the intelligence and insight if any. Performance should always outweight scenery.
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[19 Oct 2004|06:31pm] |
Putting on..yes...some fish for my tea. Frozen...from a fucking box. Still, it's got garlic...at least I think it's garlic...or frozen mildew.
Ah well, at least mildew leaves less of a stink in the mouth. If not anything of advantage to one's health.
Okay, there are no new potatoes and I can't be bothered to make any mash. So, PEAS AND BEANS with my FISH PLEASE.
Ok, i'll do it. Fucking chicken egg timer on.
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[19 Oct 2004|07:11pm] |
Well. I suppose horseradish sauce is no substitute for tartare, no matter how much it looks like it. Not that it really DOES.
Beans, peas and fish. What a gourmet feast.
Was thinking about the chat show thing. I'd like to see the mutated dog out of the Fly II in the hotseat, pawing uselessly at the air, it's shattered bone and limbs flailing about like dead birds hanging on a washing line in the wind.
In fact, it's so amusing....(LOOK AT THE WAY IT TRIES TO EAT THAT SHIT IN A BOWL!), that i'm going to look for a picture of the fucking canine teleportation victim. GRAMMERS!
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| FUCKING YES! |
[19 Oct 2004|07:17pm] |
"Yes, David...that scene was without doubt my favourite.....the best piece of dragging my useless flaccid dog body across a dirty shitstrewn cell, to lick a vomit like substance from a bowl pitifully, that I have ever done! That, and Sesame Street...the "David Cronenberg special episodes""
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