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[12 Oct 2006|12:00am] |
Just as Spring falls to Summer, just as...something heavy and leaden falls to something else, tonight England fell to a hilarious defeat to Croatia, in their fourth qualifier for Euro 2008.
A backpass from Neville compunded the misery, which keeper Paul Robinson uselessly flapped at, like a budgie with a broken wing, as it rolled past him and into the net. 2-0.
Hilarity all round then. But a pretty decent night in the Bell. I got wasted with my young chums and they have now gone to drink wine and get up to things that god only knows about. I jumped out like a pilot evacuating a plummeting plane. And now I am here. For your entertainment. I could drop my boxers, but you wouldn't see, and would not particularly find amusing. It's a penis. Most of you will have seen one before.
On the plus side, i've almost lumbered my way through another uneasy slog of rubbish for my homework. It's not great, but it's reasonably diverting, and at least is not about war or misery. Hey, it's likely to stink like a beetle's feast, but you know, this course has been nothing but torture so far, so what the hell, eh?
It's just..I don't know..difficult. I am in my heart someone who writes through inspiration..I cannot do it to order, and it's especially hard when you're asked to read it aloud..I flail amongst people with personal skills and the ability to focus their art into 300 words. I find it hard. I could do it over more words. Words cannot be condensed to me. I can write a great and humorous piece about the embarrassment of dentists over 1000 words, but when I have to split 300 into two narrators, it's not easy.
I shall try. I have to. I'm not giving up this course. It was pricey, and cannot ultimately harm me, even with sustained humiliation. I am not chicken, and I won't buckle. No matter what. I'm strong.
I think i'm caught at a point where i'm worried about running out of ideas, that's all. I should see this as enriching me, not taking me back.
But I won't think about it tonight. I've got football tomorrow, and Friday and Sunday to finish it. I will focus on it then.
Rain is back. All over the pavement, wet shiny shimmers convince me I can't die, cannot fade. She comes to me again, her face is pearl and round, and speaks to my lips in a red i've not been captivated with for a while. There she comes, she's driven by night and shadowed by stars.
And I love her for it.
She asks nothing back, but i'd like to give her something. I'd like to pull teeth in her skin..i'd like to yank the lace from her...I want to roar across her desert. I want to play wolf to her trees.
And hide....in amongst her..until the rain stops.
But in a way, I don't want it to stop.
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[12 Oct 2006|05:08pm] |
I have summised you know that the only way i'm going to provide something successfully written for Monday is to use experience, and this is what I shall do. I was going to do a humorous piece, because up until now all i've done are things that are quite, quite serious. However, I cannot write it just because of that.
So i'm going to write about an experience that happened, and use all my powers of poetic proficiency to paint it in the most beautiful colours I have at my disposal. I'm going to put myself into my shoes, a little while ago. I don't feel that way anymore, but I shall adopt the feelings and scents, all the things that made that time what it was, and write it, as if I was watching someone else.
Because you know, my writing is best when I live it. And I can still live things, even if they're of a time and a place my soul is not attached to anymore.
It's like chapters in a book, I suppose. They happen and leaves fall and die, but they are there to read back and to know, it's how we all grow. And I haven't read that page in a while. I want to write it like I was watching, and not being, if you see what I mean. It needs to have a new perspective.
Work is fine, currently. Our fan is fixed and it's like a little holiday in the alps. Without skis, snow, bobble hats or instructors called Sven. Forty five.
And to think I was sweating on my writing. I can...sorry to go back to that again...I can do it. I just needed the scenes in my head. And i've got them. I just needed to think and to see..something that grabs me, some old Winter in my head, some wet leaves throwing a tundra under the wheels, some old counting of breaths and watching ink slip and slide out of the book i'm reading. My mind isn't regressing, or going back, don't get me wrong, it's just using something good that happened to make something good for homework. And that will be very good indeed.
And in some ways, it is a way of showing classmates my true skill. If such a thing exists.
Yes. I'll set my mind to it tonight, when I get home from work.
Yes, football after work this afternoon. It's a warm Autumn afternoon and the ground is wet from last night's rainfall. David, Ben, Dan and I took turns cracking shots at the goal, and I scored three times, all with perfectly powered strikes. Deeply satisfying.
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| Lyric of le weekeh, mah flends. |
[12 Oct 2006|05:20pm] |
This is from Sam's town, the sophomore collection by the Killers. It's a tight driven rhythm and a neat melody, and is the current favourite of Rich and myself. So, for the GEEEEEE-ZAH, here it is.
Wonderful anguished vocal on that chorus.
For Reasons Unknown
The Killers
I pack my case, I check my face
I look a little bit older
I look a little bit colder
With one deep breath, and one big step
I move a little bit closer, I move a little bit closer
For reasons unknown..
I caught my stride, I flew it by
I know if destiny's kind, I've got the rest on my mind
Well my heart, it don't beat, it don't beat the way it used to
And my eyes, they don't see you no more
And my lips, they don't kiss, they don't kiss the way they used to
And my eyes don't recognize you no more
For reasons unknown
For reasons unknown
It was an open chair
We sat down in, the open chair
I said if destiny's kind, I've got the rest on my mind
But my heart, it don't beat, it don't beat the way it used to
And my eyes, they don't see you no more
And my lips, they don't kiss, they don't kiss the way they used to
And my eyes don't recognize you at all
For reasons unknown
For reasons unknown
I said my heart, it don't beat, it don't beat the way it used to
And my eyes, don't recognize you no more
And my lips, they don't kiss, they don't kiss the way they used to
And my eyes don't recognize you no more
For reasons unknown
For reasons unknown
For reasons unknown
For reasons unknown
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[12 Oct 2006|05:43pm] |
No, not the one out of Neighbours. The English goalkeeper. During last night's 2-0 defeat to Croatia.
Always better to be wise after the event. Gary Neville passes the ball back to his keeper at approximately four miles an hour, and Paul goes to kick the ball into play.
Unfortunately, he doesn't allow for a small lump in the ground, and the ball rolls cheerfully past him into the open net.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=F4607dtgtTo
What amuses even more is Paul spends the humiliating aftermath trying to stamp the micro-hillock flat, even though he'll never likely go there again for a long time. Yeah, best make that safe in cast it happens again.
What fun.
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[12 Oct 2006|11:53pm] |
Nothing like being dropped off home by a car pumping out Method Man. Makes me feel young enough, just enough.
Work promised to take off busy tonight, but went quiet after an initial flurry of tickets. We settled into cleaning mode and were soon all out, for half past nine. I reclined onto my stool and drank soda until Dan appeared and Tom soon followed. I then drank Murphy's which I think is a volatile cocktail when mixed with the old blackcurrant, as it makes me hyper. I started jabbering about the bit in Crocodile Dundee 2 when Mick Dundee lobs dynamite in the water to blow some fish up.
Crazy.
I shall try and get some more writing done tomorrow. As long as I can shit out something half decent in 300 words, i'm okay. I think...i'm going to get more out of this course if I just let it get out of me what my strong art is, rather than trying to find something necessarily new.
Because i'm finding that the most effective thing about it is not trying to write forced material, but strengthening my good writing.
And it's working, slowly.
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