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[31 Oct 2004|08:45am] |
Saw Stoney last night. Okay, I was there to do homework, but i'll make an exception when there's someone I rarely see at the Bell.
He was subdued, far worse that i've seen, but he still had a lot to say. I think the reason we talk well is that we offer no easy answers...that's the thing.
Life's not that simple.
Didn't really get any homework done after that, was too distracted by an annoying couple behind me giggling every five seconds about some inanity between them. The girls laugh was identical every time she used it, like a fucking morse code.
I shifted and sat at the bar, pleased generally with my day.
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[31 Oct 2004|10:07am] |
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music |
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U2 - Electrical Storm |
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I read somewhere that excessive yawning is possibly a symptom of heart disease. If this is true, then i'm in fucking trouble, really. I've been at it for an hour. And it's doing my poxy little out of shape head in.
I don't know. The essay is still shattered, pieces lying about like incohesive mouthes, all talking at once. SHUT UP! One at a time you little fleshy pricks!
It's Haloween, and the only scary thing about that is how many wretchedly strung together awful costumes you can see on a holiday such as this. Actually, calling it so, is like putting a policeman's hat on a cow. Bovine faker.
Anyway, best not to leave the house, lest you want a shower of eggs and flower slung at you like you're wearing a pair of stocks.
Stupidly tiring morning. I should get some more fucking irritating writing done, in the same way one would try and extract blood from their own vein using a sword and a drainpipe.
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[31 Oct 2004|10:39am] |
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My Cherie Amour - Stevie Wonder |
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Wide eyed and full of grace we are. But bitter with the stones and gravel in the wind, getting in the eyes, blinding us to the truthes. Look, for fuck's sake....
The homework is not going brilliantly. Frankly, I now feel like simply writing what I think and fucking the rest. I can't be bothered anymore. Quotes....QUOTES? QUOTES? Here's a quote: "Fuck Off".
Still trying to work out what's in my tedious little head. The fucking thing is slower than I am patient enough to handle.
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[31 Oct 2004|11:41am] |
One thousand, one hundered and ninety one words. I have absolutely no idea what i'm talking about, but to be honest, I no longer care. It's practise after all, and I have six months to finish reading the cocking BOOK to attain a better knowledge of it.
It's the feminism....that's bugging me.....
Actually, it ALL is. I hate not being able to study well. I'm a lazy student, nibbling a pencil and and picking bits of paint out of my mouth whilst the teacher gasses on like an old tractor.
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[31 Oct 2004|12:00pm] |
I do not think what I have written is too bad considering I have not studied the book entirely. I have only read six chapters or thereabouts. What irritates me is that my repeptitious points are all I have to show. I know i'm good at this sort of thing, so why can I not write more effectively about it?
The problem is this: I cannot attribute quotes to my points, because none really seem to fit. I like to give opinion based on my own views, rather than neat paragaphs of annotated text with evidence. Looking for the accursed things makes me irritable and tired. I have to open the book, search, flick, peer, read between the lines, and then feel more stupid than I did before I looked.
I am bored by it. I want to write about something else. Like Eddie Izzard, for instance. A man who can yak endlessly about anything and make it funny. Scattergun comedy straight from the subconcious. I'm quite sure what he does is largely unscripted, if not all of it. And it's all funny.
Bastard.
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| One of my bits....revisited. Not a diary update, more a retrospective |
[31 Oct 2004|12:26pm] |
That night I wondered what the fuck I was doing, being a whipping boy to the idiot, shifting props for people I really should be outclassing.
To demean myself so simply really should have told me something about my erosion of dignity. As I blinked through watching this colossal retread of a dull script rendered monotone and wooden by even the most flamboyant of local acting talent, she came to me.
That was the last time I could have felt a shiver, a slice of ice in the back, when her arm arced around me, curiously the hairs remained unmoved. I no longer had a fancy anymore. It had left me....I sat after she left, waiting for my cue, thinking about how the starltling revelations in my head could far usurp the child's play going on out there on the stage.
It was horrible. I knew I was better but could do nothing about it. The ravages of my torment had led me to an assumed inferiority towards this hierarchy I despised. I was a lapdog, a whore to the darkness. And all this thought because i'd decided to help out in a fucking play.
The next morning they'd had me scraping my skin off underneath the stage, returning the equipment to where it had been taken from, sawdust in my nose, and blood under my nails, toiling and sweating like a fool for what is apparent to me now was a lost cause. I then had to wash up for the dying and the obnoxious; this ended in another fatigue induced rage I could not stop. Banging everything I could find, I was without care for my fellows discomfort at my distress. Faces become grey ovals...devoid of consequence.
Nothing hits when you are this way. You are naked to the slightest provocation and irritation. Nothing helps, nothing relaxes you, the only thing that ever can is the release......and this is only ever temporary. I can feel it now, seeping in from the memory.
A feeling of tension, in the fists, in the arms.....in the blood.....the knives for my content are being sharpened. My fingers are acheing and my spirit is vulnerable again.
My friends thought I was selfish, that if I wanted to these things would not upset me. That is their choice...I never ask for any patience or give any excuse. Indeed, I have no patience myself when I am this way.
What hurts is that I am expected to simply get over it....that this is something I can easily quell if I wanted to. I try, EVERY time. Every sinew of my character fights against the tempers, the tears and the stress....but reason always gives out in the end.
Think of it like this....every sound you here is louder, and clearer, and every one irritates. What would normally be nothing but background sound becomes a choir of anxiety, and combines with every other sound to destroy the sanity.
Cups being set down, plates clanking, a yawn (Often my own), a whistle in the silence, a raised voice, a shifting behind you, when the mood is open to worsening, these can be the soundtrack. I am unhappy now, not just because i've brought this up, but because I can't describe it to you as well as I want, or should be able to.
Fuck.
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[31 Oct 2004|12:59pm] |
More unhinged yakking. My hair is deranged this afternoon, i'm trying to tie the messy flock into a pony tail. I look like i've got a bunch of wires in a bundle at the back of my head. The tail is apologetic, like shiving matchsticks through a tunnel.
Mistakes of Aviation: No 1:
The jaw shaped 747. All the people fell out of the mouth, and it crashed anyway. Stupid idea, frankly.
Today the clocks went back. So i've head an extra hour to sit and get more irritated. Objects jut out a little bit more when you're angry. Twice earlier I bashed a fucking body part on things. A door handle to smash my rib, and a pull out desk to batter my calf. It's so wretchedly annoying. I could only ever not get annoyed in an empty house with merely a computer for company. No, hang on, then the KEYS would irritate me, as I glide over them, making typo after fucking typo and angrily smashing the delete key.
Four times in that sentence! DAMN IT!
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| Scare 'em up! |
[31 Oct 2004|02:31pm] |
Hubble Bubble, toil and trouble...smash their dreams and burst their bubbles...
Yes, it's wwwoooooooooooooooooo time again, a time where street muggings and the ritual damaging of property is seen as slightly less unacceptable...yes.....IT'S HALOWEEN! Here's how to scare up your kids and give 'em a chortle!
Scariest thing is this essay. Too many words, too little substance. Fucking hell. My costume is the paper and my blood the writing, I shall walk the streets screaming and brandishing syllables...
"OH GOD! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! WUTHERING HIEGHTS! HOWWWLWLLL! What are the themes of romance and love portrayed? I DONT KNOW! I'M HYPOTHESISING! IM GOING TO GET A BAD GRADE FOR THIS! WOWOOWOWOWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
It's not going to scare many people other than myself. Batterred with a paragraph.
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| Things to replace Haloween with |
[31 Oct 2004|02:39pm] |
Stupid. For real Haloween madness, walk the streets thrashing a severed sheep head. That's scarier...dress as a goat with blood coming out of the eyes.
How about science fiction paranoia day? Kids dressed as security devices, parents floating about like omniscient drones, emitting high pitched screams to keep the populace under control?
What have you come as? Oh, a sentry drone........
1984 night.
Or Animal Farm....I have come as Boxer, watch me as I get drunk and break a leg trying to drag a big concrete slab across the bar. You're not bringing that half built mill in here...
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[31 Oct 2004|03:20pm] |
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mood |
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 annoyed |
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Not in a good mood. I hate everything i've written, it's all stupid and fucking way off the mark, and every time I try to add something it just looks stupidly vague and repetitive.
I'm beginning to think i'm shit at this, I really am. AS Level is too much for me to get my head around, and I SHOULD be able to fucking handle it.
Why can't I analyse this fucking prose? What's WRONG with me? I'm not a bloody caveman.
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[31 Oct 2004|03:29pm] |
Sorry about that. It is a grimly dark and opressive evening, and the heated air is filling my nostrils and throttling my head. I don't like this staring blinking, tedium.
It's important to know this about me. I'm an extreme sufferer of emotions. It's a see saw, and it's affected by the stupidest things. I should be so much happier than this, and I should be more proud of myself, but all I see in my work is shit....
If in a better mood, I don't know...perhaps this view would be different. I want to think on a level above the one I do now.
I want to be able to tell you WHY something is good, bad, life changing, amazing, and put that into great detail. I want to change minds.
But I can't do that with my dunce's sentence. My child's paragraphing, my futile words. I may as well be watching a film about child vampires for the rest of my life and analysing that.
For fuck's sake. Mona the Vampire. Oh no!
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[31 Oct 2004|03:36pm] |
What? I cannot believe that Spike out of Buffy was in fact an American. Apparently his was a pretty good approximation of the accent we here have, then.
Yes! There you go, if you've ever wondered what I sound like, folks. Think of how ol' Spiky boy sounds...sort of like that...more like Canterbury's very own Orlando Bloom. Similar, because that's only ten miles from here.
Now, where can I get the looks......
Oh Phylly, where did you get this new level of desperate self image hell from?
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[31 Oct 2004|03:40pm] |
I'm thinking of becoming a voice artist of some kind, actually. I think I have a pretty good reading voice, and would love to study the fluctuations of voice, acting, and make big piles of cash out of it.
There is much to be said for the depth of talking books....take the LOTR series...minimal sounds and more focus on the acting evokes an equal if not superior vision of Middle Earth and it's inhabitants. Ian Holm as Frodo was slightly more a mature and introspective sounding performance than Elijah Wood, although perhaps slightly too much. If you remember he played Bilbo in the film. He is a longtime servant of the adaptations. However, Aragorn slurs his words, and Shelob the great sounds like Mr Blobby being fellated by a clown.
It's good, very good...but for these eccentricities. It's as if the BBC had spent the audio budget on the sounds of wind and clashing swords, and thought "FUCK it, we'll use the Mr Blobby tapes for the big spider"
Thinking back, what truly makes this epic is a simple realism of fantasy here. It's an epic in a distant world that is tangible and real as it contains allegories and mirror events to match our own. Every character in this world has an inner as well as outer struggle. And the world, it's history and events leave an imprint in the mind that would often suggest to you that they happened.
It's as if a recording to me sometimes...the palpable griminess of Cirith Ungol...the steps from Minas Morgul.....Rohan's lands...Gondor with it's huge city of Minas Tirith. I love it all. I'm going to go there and take pictures. Helm's Deeps off though. Place is a dump.
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[31 Oct 2004|04:00pm] |
Sing a Song... | Created by KerianaWilliams and taken 2310 times on bzoink! | | What song... | | Fits your life as it is currently the most? | "Timewatching" Divine Comedy | | Reminds you to be grateful for the little things? | "Ms Sarajevo" - Passengers | | Makes you wanna get up and dance? | "Like I Love you" (Yes, really) - Justin Timberlake (Or Peanut boy) | | Makes you reach for a box of kleenex? | "Breaking of the fellowship" Howard Shore | | Reminds you of something you've lost? | "I just might fall in love - Eria Fachin | | Is the one you secretly like but would NEVER admit? | "Heartbeat" Steps. Fuck off. | | Reminds you of your crush/boyfriend/girlfriend? | In terms of crush..."Misty" - Ella Fitzgerald | | Is the most depressing? | Anything by the Magnetic Fields. That means, every song they've done. | | Can put you in a horribly depressing mood? | Bagpipes played by dogs | | Can put you in a hyperily happy mood? | "Going Downhill Fast" - Divine Comedy | | Causes your imagination to soar? | "Ameli"e Soundtrack | | Makes you want things you can never have? | "Where the streets have no name" - U2 | | Inspires you? | "Ten Seconds to midnight" - Divine Comedy | | Makes you kinda horny? | "Speaking in tongues" - Toni Braxton | | Is your all-time favourite? | "Let's Stay Together" - Al Green | | Makes you calm and rather content? | "Sprouting" Final Fantasy X OST | | Has personal meaning to you? | "Someone" Divine Comedy | Create a Survey | Search Surveys | Go to bzoink! |
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[31 Oct 2004|04:40pm] |
Nearly it for today...i've done really all I can on this essay, and will have to panic about it tomorrow five minutes before going to college tomorrow. I have a few notes on feminism too, to talk about with Paul. Soon as tomorrow is over i'll be happy. It's been a fucking splinter extraction, this whole exercise.
I've had enough of studying. I think i'm going to become a class layabout, snorting and stabbing compasses into the desk.
One more evening of reading, then.
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