| Yawn........... |
[25 Oct 2004|08:07am] |
Taking an "early night" proved not to be quite the relaxing and wholesomely relaxing experience i'd hoped. It took me a full seven FUCKING hours to fall asleep.
I was not happy by three in the morning, I can tell you. After the trillionth turning over, and staring at the red lights on my little cd player, feeling more wide awake than ever....staring and waiting for something like sleepness to envelop me. I dread doing this again, and I do not think I can.
Sobriety may preserve the cash flow and the liver, but it does nothing for my sleep or mood. It's had me almos bashing pillows in frustration, and near fever with every wasted moment of wakeness. I was at one point debating with sanity whether to knock myself out with a fucking brick.
Serious problems. I did have some excellent ideas though, in the initial part of the evening. Based on the "late night grooves", which I listened to on the local commercial radio station...a pursuit i'd hardly be endeared to normally.
A sketch based on that later, probably.
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| For Suz |
[25 Oct 2004|08:39am] |
If you like a lot swear words on your lampshade join our club....
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| Love is......... |
[25 Oct 2004|10:07am] |
"Yes....just coming up to........twenty to twelve...on your favourite love songs hour, that was sweating man mountain Meat Loaf there, groaning through another piece of overlty grandiose sub operatic rock wank....and "I'd Do Anything For Love", Jim Steinman must die....preferably shredded in a big machine with iron teeth....dedication here from a lovely young lady called Laura...this one's going out to Steve...she says "Dear Doctor Love..." I told you i'm not a fucking medical practitioner!...er..."Please play a song for my ex boyfriend Steve....and it reads.....I hope you're happy with your whore, you lying, two timing dickless prick...may you both rot as rubbish does together in a tip along with old tins and beetroot...one day womankind will crush all men like you and be queens forever. Love and hugs, Laura xxx"...
here's Phil Collins..."
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| Love Is... |
[25 Oct 2004|10:13am] |
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"Yes...and remember, it's heartbreak hour, so if you've been recently smashed down to nothing by an ex lover, you can phone up between songs and bawl your lungs bloody to the backing tune of a single sad flute amongst the cold blank darkness of night. Coming up...Gun's and Roses, and then some long drawn out crying from Sarah, and i'm hehe.....sure she's throw a few "PLEASE GOD FUCKING TAKE ME BACKS" in there too. "
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| Love is.... |
[25 Oct 2004|10:17am] |
Like the idea of utterly inappropriate love zones...late night radio slots rendered chronically unromantic...by a few choice elements. The presenter is a man dragging his knuckles along a washboard, whilst trying to eat a raw onion at the same time as talking.
Scary sound effects played unexpectedly...during "Let's get it on", or something.
"Come on come on come on bab.....*WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO* beeeeeeee!"
You've got to think about the detail.
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[25 Oct 2004|10:22am] |
Punk Journalling. Wresting blogging back for the art of expressing soul and intellect, as should be intended, rather than the degenration into phone text language. That's the word...it's a bit onboxious and flippant, but it's my theory.
Right, i'm now sitting with a worksheet, trying to make a start. All I can see is the word "Feminist" grinning up at me like an oblique greeting card. "Happy vague homework assignment. Here's to another 1000 words of utter desperate scribbling...with a picture of an essay and a bottle of champagne."
I think i'll just spend an hour scowling at the monitor as usual.
Hey, it's half term! I can and will lounge! Right, this is me lounging........................
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This is boring. Okay, let's see. We'll take the English interpretation of feminism to begin our quest to understand Bronte's views as pertaining to the text in her novel. It says in this sheet that it is essentially Marxist, which I would assume to be exactly the case. Now, to understand if Emily had this in mind when writing "Wuthering Heights", or was assuming another tack of writing about the power of a woman over a man, or vice versa, I have to read the bloody book.
It's very clear that a stereotype, or indeed a society rule was being ripped apart in this novel. Catherine is not a shrinking violet...she grows from a rebellious teenager freeing herself of the shackles of Victorian roles of girls and women, whilst still maintaining her femininity. Her relationship with Heathcliff is the catalyst, the spark, though later she begins to be reined into a more orthadox role, emotionally against her will, economically beneficial to her. She chooses this route, the marriage to Edgar, which ultimately - like most things in the novel - ends in misery. This makes it hard to pinpoint what exactly Bronte is trying to say about the role of women. Was she writing the book with a view to changing attitudes? If so, why was this book released under the male assumed name "Ellis Belle"? Was it a means to an end?
This is good, rambling though it is...it's good to have something written, albiet it on Blurty. Don't fucking crash, guys...I need this material.
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[25 Oct 2004|10:49am] |
Five minutes cruddy typing. I've created a hundered and twenty six sodding words...about a tenth of what I need for the 1,000 word essay, and i'm not sure that will be any good. Still, another seven days and all that...not a bad start...throwing some shit at the canvas already. It's just a pity some splashed back and hit me in the eye.
There's an undignifed thing; stepping into the living room earlier to retrieve something....placed a foot squarely onto a marble shaped turd left by Des yesterday. Luckily, it was dry, but still like having a slippery snail underfoot. Fucking cat.
It's possibly encouraging this morning that the only thing to lead me to frustrated swearing was not my homework, but my failure to progress beyond 80,000 points on Lightning Pool. Still, at least there was no man gristle prole fat ball watching me play this VIRTUAL version. Perhaps I should employ a pint swallowing sack of unwashed flesh to belch and bellow at my online pool skills from behind me....occasionally catching the reflection behind me of his dark ugly open mouth, spitting half legible tosswitted dismissive sentences at me whilst I miss the easy pots.
Fucking New Inn. It has a nice jukebox, but it has idiots too.
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| For old time's sake.......... |
[25 Oct 2004|11:07am] |
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| Furry PRICK |
[25 Oct 2004|11:31am] |
AAAAH! You're FLUFFO! You are mean to EVERYONE,
except those who may feed you or pet you.
You're small and fast, like a little black
cloud, so people often underestimate your
strength. Bad idea! You kick serious ass! You
go psycho and attack people for no reason,
usually right as they're petting you and you're
purring. You've been known to leap on
Rosiekins, and bite her neck and head viciously
when she's trying to sleep. You spend most of
your time in her room, because you're
manipulative, and knows she will feed you.
MEEEEEAN KITTY! But AAAW, FWUFFY! WE WUV YOU!
Which CAT Are YOU?!
brought to you by Quizilla
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[25 Oct 2004|11:52am] |
Hardly a day goes by without mention of cat, feline trickery, paw crying out loud.
Today is no exception. Meow. I have just eaten a soft, stringy overly soft pastried pizza thing, that nearly took my mouth off with heat. I suppose I should have read the only piece of good advice on the box which is "Take care, contents will be extremely hot.
What they should have said is.."Don't eat this...it's too sweet, the pastry is softer than a damp corpse, and the cheese is stringier than a saucy underwear convention."
I hardly know what level of depressing inanity i've reached when I find myself trying to sever a rubbery length of cheese with a finger, whilst attempting to stop the fucking thing sticking disgustingly to my chin. Horrible thing.
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[25 Oct 2004|01:08pm] |
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music |
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Ella - I've got my love to keep me warm. |
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I've got central heating...hardly the stuff of romantic sparkle, but it does the trick nonethless...
As previously mentioned on this diary, B3ta had a link to the website for a cat shelter, complete with video of cats looking desolate.
This one's even better, and from the same site. It's an advert created for broadband, and features destitute lonely kittens sprawled on furniture, bunched up together like bags of nuts, and staring out of bean bags.....to the tune of...."MAD WORLD" by Gary Jules.
Well, who'd have fucking thought it?
BLURTY, WILL YOU PLEASE JUST FUCKING POST BEFORE ONE OF US IS DEAD? GOD. PLEASE. NOW. FUCK!
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[25 Oct 2004|07:42pm] |
Egads...what a tedious day. Slept for a while with the radio blaring in one ear and got to thinking about age. Again. The speed of years is frightening. I listened to the heart beating in my chest, wondering how many decades it would last, how many wonderful nights...how many exciting years.
Who knows. Future is there to be shaped. Best not to dwell...it is time I lived. So what am I doing tonight? Writing homework in the Bell. Fuck.
Still, BIRTHDAY BOLB ACTION! SOON!
Bye for now.
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[25 Oct 2004|07:53pm] |
Greg had some faces,
with all sorts of airs and graces
he kept them in a box
with his ties and socks
The sick face keeping cunt
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