Tunes in my head: Funky Bitch by Phish
Atmosphere: New mobile, woot.
As humans, we are too preoccupied with technology.
I just got a new phone (a Nokia N97, for you technophiles) and am utterly fascinated with it.
Why?
I dunno. I always said I'd be against the whole proliferation of technology, the obsession with phones.
And now I myself am getting sucked endlessly into it.
As a whole, we are generally fascinated with shiny things.
But why? Is it just for being new?
What happens after a few weeks? Will the new Ferrari get tossed in place of the old, beaten down Audi?
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
It's never too late to get up and go.
Tunes in my head: Doing The Unstuck by The Cure
Atmosphere: Thoughtful
I could write nothing here and it would mean more.
Atmosphere: Thoughtful
I could write nothing here and it would mean more.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
The thrill, the sweetest chill.
Tunes in my head: Fragile Dreams by Anathema
Atmosphere: Uplifted
Why do we have doubt within ourselves?
Is it because the moment of doubt is so much more potent than the moment of elation?
I basically taught a class today. And apparently I did extremely well. But even afterwards, I still had this lingering taste of doubt flowing through my mind.
I got the oppurtunity to do what I love - write. And to be paid a significant sum for it.
But what do I do? I doubt the fact that it may happen. I doubt my abilities to do what I apparently do so well.
Why do we do this, humanity?
Atmosphere: Uplifted
Why do we have doubt within ourselves?
Is it because the moment of doubt is so much more potent than the moment of elation?
I basically taught a class today. And apparently I did extremely well. But even afterwards, I still had this lingering taste of doubt flowing through my mind.
I got the oppurtunity to do what I love - write. And to be paid a significant sum for it.
But what do I do? I doubt the fact that it may happen. I doubt my abilities to do what I apparently do so well.
Why do we do this, humanity?
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Can We Hear
Tunes in my head: Sitting Still by R.E.M.
Atmosphere: Creative
where do all of the children sleep
under stars where boys cannot see
under sun shooting stares at them
kitchen man is not impressed
as breaking down of things concurrs
get so far and no-one knows
sitting time and wasting plan
nothing more than standing still
Atmosphere: Creative
where do all of the children sleep
under stars where boys cannot see
under sun shooting stares at them
kitchen man is not impressed
as breaking down of things concurrs
get so far and no-one knows
sitting time and wasting plan
nothing more than standing still
Friday, November 20, 2009
I don't usually do these, but...
Tunes in my head: Natural Science by Rush
Atmosphere: Desolate
I thought this one was good.
--
10 things you wish you could say to 10 different people right now
1. You know how much I love you. You know that I'd do anything for you at anytime. I don't know why, but I would. I'd like you to actually appreciate this and return it. I feel you take me for granted a bit.
2. You've changed too much, look at what she's done to you. You've gone from someone who I can trust to someone who disgusts me.
3. You make me cry a lot. Sometimes happy tears. Sometimes sad tears. But always a raw emotional response whenever I think of you. It's strange, but what can I do about it? It's who I am, and you know that better than anyone.
4. Hurry up and come back already, I barely know you and I already miss you to bits.
5. I don't know, dude. I feel bad that she's taken my place somewhat. And I know she destroys you. I want you to get out. But I can't do it. And I don't want to at the risk of your happiness.
6. Do you really realise how many people hate you?
7. Even though I may have told you to some extent, there is still nothing I could ever say or do to ever encompass the respect I have for you.
8. You're a fucking arsehole. I specifically ask you not to do things that I know would make me out to be an idiot and you do them anyway. Thanks for ruining my chance.
9. Why can't you die?
10. I don't know where this is going. But it may end up good or bad. It'll be an interesting ride.
9 things people may not know about you
1. I still bite my nails.
2. I hate eating. Really.
3. Sleep is a rarity for me. It's hard especially in this heat.
4. I could once speak semi-fluent Spanish.
5. If you have green eyes, I will love you.
6. I don't actually enjoy drinking, contrary to my heritage.
7. If I could be a politican, I would run like hell to Europe.
8. I've never wanted nothing more than to be in a successfulish band.
9. My mind can run in circles and be a blank whiteboard.
8 ways to win your heart
1. Have a cute smile.
2. Be open to new things, experimentation, new music.
3. Affection.
4. Read as much as possible.
5. Know there is a time to be outgoing, and a time to be insular.
6. Make me smile.
7. Be yourself, it's most important.
8. Love me, for who I am, no matter what happens between us.
7 things that cross your mind a lot
1. The past.
2. The present.
3. The future.
4. Wishing.
5. Music.
6. What could have been.
7. Novel ideas.
6 things you do before you fall asleep (not in order)
1. Listen to music.
2. Brush teeth.
3. Wish.
4. Reminisce.
5. Try to make someone smile.
6. Generally, fail.
5 things you notice in the opposite sex
1. Personality.
2. Eyes.
3. Sense of humour.
4. Affection.
5. Openness.
4 things you wish you never did/had
1. Given up.
2. Been run over. Not by a car. But by people.
3. Let go of things dear to me.
4. Been convinced to do that subject.
3 songs to describe your life
1. The Sweetest Chill - Siouxsie and the Banshees.
2. World Leader Pretend by R.E.M.
3. Anything But Me by Phish.
2 things you want to do before you die
1. Make someone happy. Truly happy.
2. Make my impression on the world. Artistically, preferably.
1 confession
1. I am who I am. You all know who that is. Because I am so different from most of you, I'm so alone. I don't know what to do most days. And I'm more scared and afraid of life than anybody thinks. It sucks. But what can I do? The few people who actually can access me choose not to. So I sit, alone. And it fucks with me. I wish for impossible things. Knowing they will never come to fruitition. It only makes me more alone, more miserable. It's only a matter of time before the break. I'm not okay.
Atmosphere: Desolate
I thought this one was good.
--
10 things you wish you could say to 10 different people right now
1. You know how much I love you. You know that I'd do anything for you at anytime. I don't know why, but I would. I'd like you to actually appreciate this and return it. I feel you take me for granted a bit.
2. You've changed too much, look at what she's done to you. You've gone from someone who I can trust to someone who disgusts me.
3. You make me cry a lot. Sometimes happy tears. Sometimes sad tears. But always a raw emotional response whenever I think of you. It's strange, but what can I do about it? It's who I am, and you know that better than anyone.
4. Hurry up and come back already, I barely know you and I already miss you to bits.
5. I don't know, dude. I feel bad that she's taken my place somewhat. And I know she destroys you. I want you to get out. But I can't do it. And I don't want to at the risk of your happiness.
6. Do you really realise how many people hate you?
7. Even though I may have told you to some extent, there is still nothing I could ever say or do to ever encompass the respect I have for you.
8. You're a fucking arsehole. I specifically ask you not to do things that I know would make me out to be an idiot and you do them anyway. Thanks for ruining my chance.
9. Why can't you die?
10. I don't know where this is going. But it may end up good or bad. It'll be an interesting ride.
9 things people may not know about you
1. I still bite my nails.
2. I hate eating. Really.
3. Sleep is a rarity for me. It's hard especially in this heat.
4. I could once speak semi-fluent Spanish.
5. If you have green eyes, I will love you.
6. I don't actually enjoy drinking, contrary to my heritage.
7. If I could be a politican, I would run like hell to Europe.
8. I've never wanted nothing more than to be in a successfulish band.
9. My mind can run in circles and be a blank whiteboard.
8 ways to win your heart
1. Have a cute smile.
2. Be open to new things, experimentation, new music.
3. Affection.
4. Read as much as possible.
5. Know there is a time to be outgoing, and a time to be insular.
6. Make me smile.
7. Be yourself, it's most important.
8. Love me, for who I am, no matter what happens between us.
7 things that cross your mind a lot
1. The past.
2. The present.
3. The future.
4. Wishing.
5. Music.
6. What could have been.
7. Novel ideas.
6 things you do before you fall asleep (not in order)
1. Listen to music.
2. Brush teeth.
3. Wish.
4. Reminisce.
5. Try to make someone smile.
6. Generally, fail.
5 things you notice in the opposite sex
1. Personality.
2. Eyes.
3. Sense of humour.
4. Affection.
5. Openness.
4 things you wish you never did/had
1. Given up.
2. Been run over. Not by a car. But by people.
3. Let go of things dear to me.
4. Been convinced to do that subject.
3 songs to describe your life
1. The Sweetest Chill - Siouxsie and the Banshees.
2. World Leader Pretend by R.E.M.
3. Anything But Me by Phish.
2 things you want to do before you die
1. Make someone happy. Truly happy.
2. Make my impression on the world. Artistically, preferably.
1 confession
1. I am who I am. You all know who that is. Because I am so different from most of you, I'm so alone. I don't know what to do most days. And I'm more scared and afraid of life than anybody thinks. It sucks. But what can I do? The few people who actually can access me choose not to. So I sit, alone. And it fucks with me. I wish for impossible things. Knowing they will never come to fruitition. It only makes me more alone, more miserable. It's only a matter of time before the break. I'm not okay.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
The echo of whomever spoke.
Tunes in my head: Bouncing Around The Room by Phish
Atmosphere: Miserable.
I wish.
I wish I could do something about the people I care about. They're quite few in number, really. Some say I'm massively caring. But the people who know know that I only care fervently and few.
And those people are the ones who I can't do much about. They seem to be constantly sad, they seem to have problems that are out of my reach.
So what can I do? Try and fail or sit and feel horrible?
Both are pretty shitty options.
Formal was quite good, but I spent too much time thinking. Even though that person has such a bright life from my perspective anyway, I was just thinking about how I could make it a little bit brighter, a little bit happier.
How I could access the darkness I have glimpsed and wash it all away.
There are others who seem to be in constant pain, in agony. And yet I try and try and try to make them happy, I do anything. I make myself look like an absolute idiot and degrade myself in front of them for it.
And what do I get for that?
Nothing but pain and tears.
I'm still waiting for the moment of happiness. Just one that I create. Whether with someone or not.
But what can I do?
I wish I could make people happy.
But all I seem to do is wish impossible things.
Atmosphere: Miserable.
I wish.
I wish I could do something about the people I care about. They're quite few in number, really. Some say I'm massively caring. But the people who know know that I only care fervently and few.
And those people are the ones who I can't do much about. They seem to be constantly sad, they seem to have problems that are out of my reach.
So what can I do? Try and fail or sit and feel horrible?
Both are pretty shitty options.
Formal was quite good, but I spent too much time thinking. Even though that person has such a bright life from my perspective anyway, I was just thinking about how I could make it a little bit brighter, a little bit happier.
How I could access the darkness I have glimpsed and wash it all away.
There are others who seem to be in constant pain, in agony. And yet I try and try and try to make them happy, I do anything. I make myself look like an absolute idiot and degrade myself in front of them for it.
And what do I get for that?
Nothing but pain and tears.
I'm still waiting for the moment of happiness. Just one that I create. Whether with someone or not.
But what can I do?
I wish I could make people happy.
But all I seem to do is wish impossible things.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
My hair's on end about you.
Tunes in my head: Terrapin by Phish
Atmosphere: Insomnia
It's ridiculous, even. Our need for companionship. We put our hopes, our prides, our needs in the hands of people who could possibly fail in their endeavour to make the other happy.
But yet we still do it. We still aspire to not be alone, we still wish to take a few companions on this strange ride.
It's not even neccesarily in a kissy kissy let's make out sense, per se. People can be platonic companions on the ship. They can sit in the seats at the front of the lifeboat and discuss the virtues of Robert Smith with much passion and valour.
I'm depressed, guys.
I remember this time when I really needed some help. It was not massive, it wasn't life threatening in any means, but it was extremely rough at best.
I got abandoned. Completely and utterly abandoned. It's not neccesarily most of the people's faults, I can't blame them for it. Some I can, but whatever. That's not the point, really.
The point is that I felt so alone in my moment of need. My moment where I needed people to rally behind me for once, who was there?
Nobody.
And it fucking sucked, to put it lightly. It was one of the worst things ever. Because there were several nights where hey, I needed some fucking help and there was nothing I could do about it because I didn't know who to reach to.
I didn't know who I could trust, and I still don't. Yes, people do get preoccupied with things, the notion that I'm the centre of anybody's universe aside from my own (and even that one is questionable) is ridiculous.
But there are times where people should put down what are doing to help. The English homework that people are working on is rather, in fact, very insignificant when on the other end of the line is a person holding a knife to their own throat. Or a similar sort of situation in terms of emotional potency, you know?
When there is a breakup of kinds or an emotionally traumatic event or even just a random breakdown in the middle of the night, there needs to be support there when one needs it. You can't just go "oh, you'll be fine, shut up."
People do that. All the time. It gets rather infuriating.
We all have our own problems, and we all deserve to have them heard. There is no reason why we should be unneccesarily, unfairly condemned to silence.
But when we don't have someone to listen, to hear the words we sail upon, what choice do we have but that torture?
Atmosphere: Insomnia
It's ridiculous, even. Our need for companionship. We put our hopes, our prides, our needs in the hands of people who could possibly fail in their endeavour to make the other happy.
But yet we still do it. We still aspire to not be alone, we still wish to take a few companions on this strange ride.
It's not even neccesarily in a kissy kissy let's make out sense, per se. People can be platonic companions on the ship. They can sit in the seats at the front of the lifeboat and discuss the virtues of Robert Smith with much passion and valour.
I'm depressed, guys.
I remember this time when I really needed some help. It was not massive, it wasn't life threatening in any means, but it was extremely rough at best.
I got abandoned. Completely and utterly abandoned. It's not neccesarily most of the people's faults, I can't blame them for it. Some I can, but whatever. That's not the point, really.
The point is that I felt so alone in my moment of need. My moment where I needed people to rally behind me for once, who was there?
Nobody.
And it fucking sucked, to put it lightly. It was one of the worst things ever. Because there were several nights where hey, I needed some fucking help and there was nothing I could do about it because I didn't know who to reach to.
I didn't know who I could trust, and I still don't. Yes, people do get preoccupied with things, the notion that I'm the centre of anybody's universe aside from my own (and even that one is questionable) is ridiculous.
But there are times where people should put down what are doing to help. The English homework that people are working on is rather, in fact, very insignificant when on the other end of the line is a person holding a knife to their own throat. Or a similar sort of situation in terms of emotional potency, you know?
When there is a breakup of kinds or an emotionally traumatic event or even just a random breakdown in the middle of the night, there needs to be support there when one needs it. You can't just go "oh, you'll be fine, shut up."
People do that. All the time. It gets rather infuriating.
We all have our own problems, and we all deserve to have them heard. There is no reason why we should be unneccesarily, unfairly condemned to silence.
But when we don't have someone to listen, to hear the words we sail upon, what choice do we have but that torture?
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Fuck you.
Tunes in my head: This Corrosion by The Sisters Of Mercy
Atmosphere: Die
LOOK. THIS FUCKING STOPS NOW. IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH ME, YOU TAKE IT UP WITH ME. NOBODY ELSE. IF YOU WANT TO SAY SOMETHING TO ME, YOU SAY IT TO ME. NOBODY ELSE. I CANNOT FUCKING STAND THIS SHIT.
Atmosphere: Die
LOOK. THIS FUCKING STOPS NOW. IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH ME, YOU TAKE IT UP WITH ME. NOBODY ELSE. IF YOU WANT TO SAY SOMETHING TO ME, YOU SAY IT TO ME. NOBODY ELSE. I CANNOT FUCKING STAND THIS SHIT.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Jewel of Wilson's foul domain.
Tunes in my head: Tela by Phish
Atmosphere: Sleepy
Why are we compelled to create art?
What exactly is that magical feeling we get when we've created something truly great?
Do we do it for the misty eyed moments when we're playing the melodic jam of our lives?
Do we create for the purpose of writing lines that amuse?
Artistry is a tough thing to create.
So many try, so few succeed.
So few actually create something worth crying over, laughing for, engaging with.
Most of modern art is disposable. It's listened to for three minutes and forgotten promptly thereafter.
Why do we still create, then?
Atmosphere: Sleepy
Why are we compelled to create art?
What exactly is that magical feeling we get when we've created something truly great?
Do we do it for the misty eyed moments when we're playing the melodic jam of our lives?
Do we create for the purpose of writing lines that amuse?
Artistry is a tough thing to create.
So many try, so few succeed.
So few actually create something worth crying over, laughing for, engaging with.
Most of modern art is disposable. It's listened to for three minutes and forgotten promptly thereafter.
Why do we still create, then?
Sunday, November 8, 2009
He was just like Jesse James.
Tunes in my head: Poor, Poor, Pitiful Me by Warren Zevon
Atmosphere: Sore
You'll notice I haven't been writing here much recently. (yes, only in my world is every other day "not often".)
I feel that I'm becoming slightly stagnant as a writer.
Nothing much has really happened to me recently, so I'm running out of things to say.
And what is to be said is for the novel.
The HSC finishes on Thursday. Perhaps after then I'll get a job or what have you to break the creative deadlock.
It's all I can really do now.
Atmosphere: Sore
You'll notice I haven't been writing here much recently. (yes, only in my world is every other day "not often".)
I feel that I'm becoming slightly stagnant as a writer.
Nothing much has really happened to me recently, so I'm running out of things to say.
And what is to be said is for the novel.
The HSC finishes on Thursday. Perhaps after then I'll get a job or what have you to break the creative deadlock.
It's all I can really do now.
Friday, November 6, 2009
He blew him to Johannesburg.
Tunes in my head: Rolane Chorale by Warren Zevon
Atmosphere: Angry
I remember when things were ideallic and nearly perfect.
I was writing constantly, it was a period of great creative strife.
I'm trying to recreate it.
It's not quite working.
Is to recreate the best way to do such things?
Atmosphere: Angry
I remember when things were ideallic and nearly perfect.
I was writing constantly, it was a period of great creative strife.
I'm trying to recreate it.
It's not quite working.
Is to recreate the best way to do such things?
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
How long can you stare?
Tunes in my head: King by Marillion
Atmosphere: Grumpy
What happens when we love?
What happens when we love someone we're not meant to?
We feel conflicted.
We feel like we shouldn't be doing this, we shouldn't be feeling these emotions.
But at the same time, we can't control our emotions.
And it feels kind of good to feel that way.
Even though you know that it will never come to fruition.
Somehow this is a better thing, really.
A fantasy that isn't ruined.
Atmosphere: Grumpy
What happens when we love?
What happens when we love someone we're not meant to?
We feel conflicted.
We feel like we shouldn't be doing this, we shouldn't be feeling these emotions.
But at the same time, we can't control our emotions.
And it feels kind of good to feel that way.
Even though you know that it will never come to fruition.
Somehow this is a better thing, really.
A fantasy that isn't ruined.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
I'll pull the thorns from your feet.
Tunes in my head: Be Mine by R.E.M.
Atmosphere: Grumpy
it's a sort of here comes the flood
lumina tastes like fear
i look up and what do i see?
a band of u.s. marines playing death
i can smell the sweetness on your breath
here we go again
tastes like fear so sweet
so fast so numbing
there's a desert where palm trees sway
near some form of wild heaven
aluminum tastes like hope
bittersweet lollipop
imperative mood imperative moves
still slightly delayed
here we go again
Atmosphere: Grumpy
it's a sort of here comes the flood
lumina tastes like fear
i look up and what do i see?
a band of u.s. marines playing death
i can smell the sweetness on your breath
here we go again
tastes like fear so sweet
so fast so numbing
there's a desert where palm trees sway
near some form of wild heaven
aluminum tastes like hope
bittersweet lollipop
imperative mood imperative moves
still slightly delayed
here we go again
Sunday, November 1, 2009
We're replaying 1961.
Tunes in my head: Living Through Another Cuba by XTC
Atmosphere: 4068/50000
In reality, we're just reliving the Cold War all over again.
There's all this tension with a region of the world (The Middle East), but there's no actual fighting being done between us and them (thank god.)
Can the Americans just not stay out of war for five seconds?
There's no reason for them to be getting involved in these issues at all aside from their own greed.
It's rather ridiculous.
Surely the fucking Yanks can get their nose out of someone else's affairs for five seconds?
I mean, I do admire Obama, no doubt, and I enjoy the fact that he intends to get out of Iraq ASAP. But they should never have been there in the first place.
And even if there is a withdrawal now, there is no excuse for how badly they have fucked up Iraq and Afghanistan and the general balance of power in the Middle East.
The fact that they're supporting someone in the Israel/Palestine conflict further complicates matters.
It's not so much that they're supporting Israel, but just that they're getting involved unnecessarily in such a volatile situation.
No matter their position on the world stage, it's unacceptable. And will lead to our demise, sooner rather than later.
Atmosphere: 4068/50000
In reality, we're just reliving the Cold War all over again.
There's all this tension with a region of the world (The Middle East), but there's no actual fighting being done between us and them (thank god.)
Can the Americans just not stay out of war for five seconds?
There's no reason for them to be getting involved in these issues at all aside from their own greed.
It's rather ridiculous.
Surely the fucking Yanks can get their nose out of someone else's affairs for five seconds?
I mean, I do admire Obama, no doubt, and I enjoy the fact that he intends to get out of Iraq ASAP. But they should never have been there in the first place.
And even if there is a withdrawal now, there is no excuse for how badly they have fucked up Iraq and Afghanistan and the general balance of power in the Middle East.
The fact that they're supporting someone in the Israel/Palestine conflict further complicates matters.
It's not so much that they're supporting Israel, but just that they're getting involved unnecessarily in such a volatile situation.
No matter their position on the world stage, it's unacceptable. And will lead to our demise, sooner rather than later.
A little addenum.
Tunes in my head: About To Crash by Dream Theater
Atmosphere: 2077/50000
By the way, this blog will probably be fairly quiet while I'm actually writing. I'm sure I'll still have the time to post a blog once a day (maybe once every couple of days) but I wouldn't be expecting any massively cosmic rants.
Atmosphere: 2077/50000
By the way, this blog will probably be fairly quiet while I'm actually writing. I'm sure I'll still have the time to post a blog once a day (maybe once every couple of days) but I wouldn't be expecting any massively cosmic rants.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Words of the prophet on the city walls.
Tunes in my head: The Spirit of Radio by Rush
Atmosphere: Excited
What motivates us to write in these little white boxes?
Do we actually have an aim in these snippets of thought?
I'm sure some of my fellow writers would. They would try to persuade a reader over to a particular line of thought.
On my end, I merely write to entertain and to engage.
In April, some of you know that I wrote a play. Sleeping Monkeys. A torrential love story, ending in a happy ending (yes, what the fuck. I NEVER end things happily.)
The amount of joy I got when finishing it up was immense and intense.
Life got put on hold for thirty days.
This time, I'm writing a novel for NaNoWriMo. I alluded to it early.
Fifty thousand words, thirty days to write them in.
Of course, they picked a fantastic month to throw it in. It's not like I'm busy or anything.
But I will get it down. Anything to get that sense of satisfaction, right?
The journey of the first novel begins in an hour and twenty two minutes.
We'll see if I survive it.
Atmosphere: Excited
What motivates us to write in these little white boxes?
Do we actually have an aim in these snippets of thought?
I'm sure some of my fellow writers would. They would try to persuade a reader over to a particular line of thought.
On my end, I merely write to entertain and to engage.
In April, some of you know that I wrote a play. Sleeping Monkeys. A torrential love story, ending in a happy ending (yes, what the fuck. I NEVER end things happily.)
The amount of joy I got when finishing it up was immense and intense.
Life got put on hold for thirty days.
This time, I'm writing a novel for NaNoWriMo. I alluded to it early.
Fifty thousand words, thirty days to write them in.
Of course, they picked a fantastic month to throw it in. It's not like I'm busy or anything.
But I will get it down. Anything to get that sense of satisfaction, right?
The journey of the first novel begins in an hour and twenty two minutes.
We'll see if I survive it.
Friday, October 30, 2009
I was hearing something else.
Tunes in my head: Marquee Moon by Television
Atmosphere: Headache
To wander is to think.
To think is to dream.
To dream is to believe.
To believe is to hope.
To hope is to get let down.
To be let down is to fail.
To fail is to repeat.
To repeat is to wander.
Atmosphere: Headache
To wander is to think.
To think is to dream.
To dream is to believe.
To believe is to hope.
To hope is to get let down.
To be let down is to fail.
To fail is to repeat.
To repeat is to wander.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Piece by piece you perform your story.
Tunes in my head: The Funeral Party by The Cure
Atmosphere: Depressed
What job do you all see me in in the future?
Atmosphere: Depressed
What job do you all see me in in the future?
Isn't it obvious?
Tunes in my head: 2001 by Phish
Atmosphere: Depressed
tears apart
we carried on
we carried alone
bricks to build a bridge
stick to break the stone
at least there's something
we left behind
for other people to learn
to see and to hide
we never talked
under dull red
under water bed
tears to flow on by
fears to leave us fed
at least there's something
we left behind
a bridge to walk upon
underneath the raging tide
we never talked
we ran away
we ran astray
alone to gain some peace
at home without a piece
at least there's something
we left behind
a piece to weigh us down
a shortened trip to ride
we never talked
under bed sheets
under snow, sleet
a fervour, almost crazed
wooden walls to be erased
at least there's something
we left behind
a hole in some forbidden keep
some thought that we'd always find
we never talked
Atmosphere: Depressed
tears apart
we carried on
we carried alone
bricks to build a bridge
stick to break the stone
at least there's something
we left behind
for other people to learn
to see and to hide
we never talked
under dull red
under water bed
tears to flow on by
fears to leave us fed
at least there's something
we left behind
a bridge to walk upon
underneath the raging tide
we never talked
we ran away
we ran astray
alone to gain some peace
at home without a piece
at least there's something
we left behind
a piece to weigh us down
a shortened trip to ride
we never talked
under bed sheets
under snow, sleet
a fervour, almost crazed
wooden walls to be erased
at least there's something
we left behind
a hole in some forbidden keep
some thought that we'd always find
we never talked
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Two lyrics.
Tunes in my head: Everybody Hurts by R.E.M.
Atmosphere: Lazy
from the edge of the world
clasping hyena smile
taken to testify
all the while
the sheltering sky
turns to dust
and falls away
all stars must
turn far away
we're going down
under the sea
so far down
things never seen
day is done
and nothing changed
sickly fun
book turns page
so short lived
change and back
does it give
some way back
we're going down
diving for her
so far down
past the edge of the world
--
the sounds of a dark alleyway
secret smile
of long lost child
smiles within
the poison skin
reach for taste
with much post haste
do we really understand
or maybe we don't comprehend
a flirty laugh
in acidic bath
fulfulling look
and frailness took
dark alleyway
no-one to pay
she gives her services for free
it's not as if she repsects for she
Atmosphere: Lazy
from the edge of the world
clasping hyena smile
taken to testify
all the while
the sheltering sky
turns to dust
and falls away
all stars must
turn far away
we're going down
under the sea
so far down
things never seen
day is done
and nothing changed
sickly fun
book turns page
so short lived
change and back
does it give
some way back
we're going down
diving for her
so far down
past the edge of the world
--
the sounds of a dark alleyway
secret smile
of long lost child
smiles within
the poison skin
reach for taste
with much post haste
do we really understand
or maybe we don't comprehend
a flirty laugh
in acidic bath
fulfulling look
and frailness took
dark alleyway
no-one to pay
she gives her services for free
it's not as if she repsects for she
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Darkness with an empty smile.
Tunes in my head: Wearing the Inside Out by David Gilmour
Atmosphere: Empty
So yeah. Realising someone's actually pretty just because you sat down and had a decent conversation is pretty awesome.
--
Leaving was never quite my proud.
The sudden nature of life saddens me, I guess. One day something can be there, the surest, most stable thing in the world.
Last year, Richard Wright died. He seemed an institution of the English music scene. Someone who would seemingly always be there in the shadows, adding delicate piano licks or whirling organ chords or searing Minimoog solos.
Little did we know that he was battling cancer for a long period of time, and probably only embarked on the last tour with Gilmour knowing that it would be one of his last.
Do we understand what we truly have until it's gone?
Sometimes. The audiences at this final tour were so appreciate of him, giving standing ovations at every show.
It's nice to actually embrace it on occasion.
But still, we have our things torn from us. And it really does destroy the human psyche when it happens.
I cried when he died. I'm not ashamed at all to admit that. This sarcastic extrovertness and the very real introversion that he exuded was something I felt I could truly empathise with.
Do we really know what we have until it's taken from us?
Atmosphere: Empty
So yeah. Realising someone's actually pretty just because you sat down and had a decent conversation is pretty awesome.
--
Leaving was never quite my proud.
The sudden nature of life saddens me, I guess. One day something can be there, the surest, most stable thing in the world.
Last year, Richard Wright died. He seemed an institution of the English music scene. Someone who would seemingly always be there in the shadows, adding delicate piano licks or whirling organ chords or searing Minimoog solos.
Little did we know that he was battling cancer for a long period of time, and probably only embarked on the last tour with Gilmour knowing that it would be one of his last.
Do we understand what we truly have until it's gone?
Sometimes. The audiences at this final tour were so appreciate of him, giving standing ovations at every show.
It's nice to actually embrace it on occasion.
But still, we have our things torn from us. And it really does destroy the human psyche when it happens.
I cried when he died. I'm not ashamed at all to admit that. This sarcastic extrovertness and the very real introversion that he exuded was something I felt I could truly empathise with.
Do we really know what we have until it's taken from us?
Monday, October 26, 2009
If you expect me to care, I won't.
Tunes in my head: D.I.Y. by Peter Gabriel
Atmosphere: Sore
So Ancient was really nothing to worry about, and was so piss easy.
Uh. That was all for now, me thinks.
Go and get yourselves some Hunter Thompson, people. He's an interesting guy.
Atmosphere: Sore
So Ancient was really nothing to worry about, and was so piss easy.
Uh. That was all for now, me thinks.
Go and get yourselves some Hunter Thompson, people. He's an interesting guy.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
The rain pours down, steam on my head.
Tunes in my head: Silent Air by The Sound
Atmosphere: Wet
The notion of the flood is one that scares me.
Yes, I was inspired by being in the shower. Hey, it inspires me for some strange reason.
What happens if we're all underneath a sea of water or ash (for all of you Ancient historians out there) or radiation?
Everything of society just buried. Lost forever. Or at least what seems like forever. Maybe not if we're discovered, but it's not likely. I mean, the discovered cities of the past were found merely by chance.
And then what happens, once it's gone underneath the ether?
Do we cease to exist?
Imagine a society underneath the ground, if you will. One devoid of sunlight, of any contact with anything above the surface.
Would it be as idealistic as some have written about? Or would it truly just be detached from anything above?
The notion of a floodland is interesting. Water washing it's way through society's cavities, drowning us all in it's wake.
Uplifting thought, isn't it?
Would that be so bad?
Maybe if we can die in the arms of beloved, maybe. But who actually finds their loved ones these days, anyway?
Atmosphere: Wet
The notion of the flood is one that scares me.
Yes, I was inspired by being in the shower. Hey, it inspires me for some strange reason.
What happens if we're all underneath a sea of water or ash (for all of you Ancient historians out there) or radiation?
Everything of society just buried. Lost forever. Or at least what seems like forever. Maybe not if we're discovered, but it's not likely. I mean, the discovered cities of the past were found merely by chance.
And then what happens, once it's gone underneath the ether?
Do we cease to exist?
Imagine a society underneath the ground, if you will. One devoid of sunlight, of any contact with anything above the surface.
Would it be as idealistic as some have written about? Or would it truly just be detached from anything above?
The notion of a floodland is interesting. Water washing it's way through society's cavities, drowning us all in it's wake.
Uplifting thought, isn't it?
Would that be so bad?
Maybe if we can die in the arms of beloved, maybe. But who actually finds their loved ones these days, anyway?
Saturday, October 24, 2009
It was only two years later.
Tunes in my head: The Village by New Order
Atmosphere: Creative
I walked out of the flat and into the misty boulevard. Sights of Soho in the rain, which clouded the streets. The clitter clatter of heels and hells crashing down onto the cement, like some out of tune, out of time symphony playing Pink Floyd while staring at a TV showing increasingly Kafkaesque films. (Are they doing an adaptation of The Metamorphosis, I wondered.)
I lit up a cigarette and let it caress the insides of my mouth, delicately kissing the ulcer on my tongue. The smoke was a strange sensation - knowingly malignant and yet ultimately and fleetingly satisfying. Much like sex. A sense of relief from the tedium humdrum of modern life, tearing it's way through my delicate lungs.
Across the street, a cheap fare is asked for, and acquired. The actress drifts off quickly and quietly into the knowing and yet foreign arms of some desperate Londonite. The sort who would have led the girl to some headline in The Daily Mail, some which would shock many of the readers. Whether it would be some cocaine fueled binge that would lead to a sense of notoriety and 15 seconds of fame, or one that would leave the parts of her which were discovered in the books only read by aspiring red light travelers. I did not know the eventual outcome. I could merely predict that she would not be there upon the next glimpse into the shadows of underground life.
It was ten thirty in the morning.
Atmosphere: Creative
I walked out of the flat and into the misty boulevard. Sights of Soho in the rain, which clouded the streets. The clitter clatter of heels and hells crashing down onto the cement, like some out of tune, out of time symphony playing Pink Floyd while staring at a TV showing increasingly Kafkaesque films. (Are they doing an adaptation of The Metamorphosis, I wondered.)
I lit up a cigarette and let it caress the insides of my mouth, delicately kissing the ulcer on my tongue. The smoke was a strange sensation - knowingly malignant and yet ultimately and fleetingly satisfying. Much like sex. A sense of relief from the tedium humdrum of modern life, tearing it's way through my delicate lungs.
Across the street, a cheap fare is asked for, and acquired. The actress drifts off quickly and quietly into the knowing and yet foreign arms of some desperate Londonite. The sort who would have led the girl to some headline in The Daily Mail, some which would shock many of the readers. Whether it would be some cocaine fueled binge that would lead to a sense of notoriety and 15 seconds of fame, or one that would leave the parts of her which were discovered in the books only read by aspiring red light travelers. I did not know the eventual outcome. I could merely predict that she would not be there upon the next glimpse into the shadows of underground life.
It was ten thirty in the morning.
So evil must die.
Tunes in my head: Grass by XTC
Atmosphere: Bloated
moonlight shines upon the darkened soul
gleams and sacrifices to the bonfire
the fiendish grin of the night's teeth
looks through and gets taken higher
in the cramped chamber breathing
comes close and comes harder
fingers pulling, breaking at the strings
echo through the mind of a martyr
the glisten of water hits the windscreen
new as falling sand on the beach
the clearing comes the goal is near
it seems within such close reach
(i take you over)
what is there to be seen in dark
nothing to the naked eye
the badge of honour is some sort of pain
but not one to decry
(i take you over)
it tastes like fear coursed in stream
and yet continues to flow the flood
it's just another dream and not as found
takes a while to be understoof
(i take you over)
--
An exercise.
What do you all think this is about?
Atmosphere: Bloated
moonlight shines upon the darkened soul
gleams and sacrifices to the bonfire
the fiendish grin of the night's teeth
looks through and gets taken higher
in the cramped chamber breathing
comes close and comes harder
fingers pulling, breaking at the strings
echo through the mind of a martyr
the glisten of water hits the windscreen
new as falling sand on the beach
the clearing comes the goal is near
it seems within such close reach
(i take you over)
what is there to be seen in dark
nothing to the naked eye
the badge of honour is some sort of pain
but not one to decry
(i take you over)
it tastes like fear coursed in stream
and yet continues to flow the flood
it's just another dream and not as found
takes a while to be understoof
(i take you over)
--
An exercise.
What do you all think this is about?
Friday, October 23, 2009
Three weeks in my bed.
Tunes in my head: Down With Disease by Phish
Atmosphere: Shitty.
i've got blood on my feet
like anaconda flesh
it's not very strange
when looked at from here
it's not valourous feat
to escape from the war
get so far from range
out of some minor fear
it's what keeps me
it's what keeps me
it's what keeps me
grounded in here
i've got some kind of raise
from people who stare
it's all so so weird
to think of those dreams
all walls can be raized
and escape can be made
from what we once feared
if for just one day
it's what keeps me
it's what keeps me
it's what keeps me
grounded in here
believe in me
and i can fly free
receive in me
annd i can die free
i've had some deceive
from some eagle's nest
they learn to detach
so scars will concede
it's all a deceit
when they go to fly
they will reattach
when time comes to give
it's what keeps me
it's what keeps me
it's what keeps me
grounded in here
believe in me
and i can fly free
receive in me
and i can die free
so don't cut me
from the hand that feeds
i'll shake it so hard
it falls to it's knees
don't cut me
from the hand that needs
i'll bite it so hard
it will always keep bleed
Atmosphere: Shitty.
i've got blood on my feet
like anaconda flesh
it's not very strange
when looked at from here
it's not valourous feat
to escape from the war
get so far from range
out of some minor fear
it's what keeps me
it's what keeps me
it's what keeps me
grounded in here
i've got some kind of raise
from people who stare
it's all so so weird
to think of those dreams
all walls can be raized
and escape can be made
from what we once feared
if for just one day
it's what keeps me
it's what keeps me
it's what keeps me
grounded in here
believe in me
and i can fly free
receive in me
annd i can die free
i've had some deceive
from some eagle's nest
they learn to detach
so scars will concede
it's all a deceit
when they go to fly
they will reattach
when time comes to give
it's what keeps me
it's what keeps me
it's what keeps me
grounded in here
believe in me
and i can fly free
receive in me
and i can die free
so don't cut me
from the hand that feeds
i'll shake it so hard
it falls to it's knees
don't cut me
from the hand that needs
i'll bite it so hard
it will always keep bleed
A slap on the hand for when you're asking.
Tunes in my head: Barbarism Begins At Home by The Smiths
Atmosphere: Achieved.
It's amazing what flaws can do for us, right?
If we had never taken the risk to make a mistake, society would not be where it is now.
But something that could be seen as a personality flaw or a physical one may be endearing for others. (conflicting perspectives, right?)
Having different coloured eyes may be commonly seen as a flaw, but someone may find it really sexy.
Even scars, and I'm not talking the sexy Brad Pitt-esque ones. Scars from acne or mountain climbing or something. They may not neccesarily be typically attractive, but people may find them cute, sexy or even beautiful because of this imperfection, because it's atypical.
We have personalities. Some of these traits may been commonly seen as negative. Shyness, condescencion, promiscuity. They're generally seen as absolute, pure flaws.
But yet someone may find them appealing.
If you're ever feeling down, remember. You are one of almost seven billion unique personalities (some of those identical twins are just that.) There is something uniquely appealing about us all. Remember.
It's strange. All of these people around are finding people who see the appeal in them and pursuing it.
Perhaps it's just a matter of time before it happens. Or maybe I need to overcome the crippling shyness and make the break.
Do we really need someone to validate our continued existance?
Maybe so.
Maybe not.
It's strange the contradiction between what we show and what we are. What if the reasonably quiet girl turns into a boisterous one? The nerd into the addict?
The power of the mind to take such a one eighty degree turn (some may say divebomb) always surprises and shocks me. Are we really just some discarded clay, to be molded into what people we are by our experiences?
Maybe so.
Maybe not.
These thoughts are what keep me sane, and drive me insane. Ah, the beauty of contradiction, right?
I'm not sure what I'll do at this point.
I think I may make some break.
Atmosphere: Achieved.
It's amazing what flaws can do for us, right?
If we had never taken the risk to make a mistake, society would not be where it is now.
But something that could be seen as a personality flaw or a physical one may be endearing for others. (conflicting perspectives, right?)
Having different coloured eyes may be commonly seen as a flaw, but someone may find it really sexy.
Even scars, and I'm not talking the sexy Brad Pitt-esque ones. Scars from acne or mountain climbing or something. They may not neccesarily be typically attractive, but people may find them cute, sexy or even beautiful because of this imperfection, because it's atypical.
We have personalities. Some of these traits may been commonly seen as negative. Shyness, condescencion, promiscuity. They're generally seen as absolute, pure flaws.
But yet someone may find them appealing.
If you're ever feeling down, remember. You are one of almost seven billion unique personalities (some of those identical twins are just that.) There is something uniquely appealing about us all. Remember.
It's strange. All of these people around are finding people who see the appeal in them and pursuing it.
Perhaps it's just a matter of time before it happens. Or maybe I need to overcome the crippling shyness and make the break.
Do we really need someone to validate our continued existance?
Maybe so.
Maybe not.
It's strange the contradiction between what we show and what we are. What if the reasonably quiet girl turns into a boisterous one? The nerd into the addict?
The power of the mind to take such a one eighty degree turn (some may say divebomb) always surprises and shocks me. Are we really just some discarded clay, to be molded into what people we are by our experiences?
Maybe so.
Maybe not.
These thoughts are what keep me sane, and drive me insane. Ah, the beauty of contradiction, right?
I'm not sure what I'll do at this point.
I think I may make some break.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
I seem to forget half the things I start.
Tunes in my head: My Mind's Got A Mind Of It's Own by Phish
Atmosphere: Stressed, as much as I'm not showing it
Code.
There's something really intriguing about how the human brain works. Physically, psychologically.
And so we turn towards doing things in a certain sort of code. To hide whatever the actual intention is.
But have you ever thought what the outsider will think of this mythology of sorts?
As you probably all know, I listen heavily to Phish. And within their Gamehendge song cycle, there's an incredibly layered cycle of songs that all interlink to create the greater storyline. I'd be interested to get someone to listen to the saga without knowing anything about it and try to decipher the meaning behind it. I bet you they can't.
Similarly, if we were to discuss the intricacies of the HSC with an American or whatever, I'm sure it would be very difficult for them to fully understand it.
(maybe we should try a Canadian then.)
Gone are the days where simplicity was prevalent, right? And then there's just the inside jokes between what are sometimes large groups of people. Many people have heard long, florid explanations of what happens when you say it. Everyone should really read the first letters of each sentence in this paragraph, by the way.
But I know there's a few inside jokes that are designed just for the two of us. The little smirks between friends. The affectionate anger. The names that aren't real. When an outsider looks in on a conversation and the same person is referred to as Scotty, Scabby, Gecko, Basil, Didi, Bono and Fagatron within seven sentences, surely they get very confused?
Isn't this the purpose of the secret language?
It makes people smile and it makes people not in the know very confused.
For our American readers, Paper 2 of English is tomorrow, and we're all screwed.
Atmosphere: Stressed, as much as I'm not showing it
Code.
There's something really intriguing about how the human brain works. Physically, psychologically.
And so we turn towards doing things in a certain sort of code. To hide whatever the actual intention is.
But have you ever thought what the outsider will think of this mythology of sorts?
As you probably all know, I listen heavily to Phish. And within their Gamehendge song cycle, there's an incredibly layered cycle of songs that all interlink to create the greater storyline. I'd be interested to get someone to listen to the saga without knowing anything about it and try to decipher the meaning behind it. I bet you they can't.
Similarly, if we were to discuss the intricacies of the HSC with an American or whatever, I'm sure it would be very difficult for them to fully understand it.
(maybe we should try a Canadian then.)
Gone are the days where simplicity was prevalent, right? And then there's just the inside jokes between what are sometimes large groups of people. Many people have heard long, florid explanations of what happens when you say it. Everyone should really read the first letters of each sentence in this paragraph, by the way.
But I know there's a few inside jokes that are designed just for the two of us. The little smirks between friends. The affectionate anger. The names that aren't real. When an outsider looks in on a conversation and the same person is referred to as Scotty, Scabby, Gecko, Basil, Didi, Bono and Fagatron within seven sentences, surely they get very confused?
Isn't this the purpose of the secret language?
It makes people smile and it makes people not in the know very confused.
For our American readers, Paper 2 of English is tomorrow, and we're all screwed.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
You kiss me dead!
Tunes in my head: Fascination Street by The Cure
Atmosphere: Tired
What makes us love what we do?
It's strange, really.
Is it basically because of something purely physical?
Or is it because we see potiental in that person that can be furfilled through an intense emotional connection such as love?
And what happens when it's unfurfilled?
Do we feel a sense of disappointment, or do we just pick ourselves up?
I fear screwing up a person.
Damaging them, really.
Is this rational?
I love someone. At least, I think I do. It may just be a very intense attraction. In all honesty, I don't even know what I think these days.
What if I hurt her? What if I change her as a person, for the worse? Nothing has happened, and it's probable nothing will happen. But what if it does?
If I turned her into a crying wreck...what do I do then?
I don't know if I could handle the pain of turning myself into just a painful memory in the eyes of something I love.
Selfish and selfless all in one.
I want to avoid causing pain. I want to avoid pain as a result of this.
But I want to be happy...and I want to make her life just a little brighter.
Confliction.
Atmosphere: Tired
What makes us love what we do?
It's strange, really.
Is it basically because of something purely physical?
Or is it because we see potiental in that person that can be furfilled through an intense emotional connection such as love?
And what happens when it's unfurfilled?
Do we feel a sense of disappointment, or do we just pick ourselves up?
I fear screwing up a person.
Damaging them, really.
Is this rational?
I love someone. At least, I think I do. It may just be a very intense attraction. In all honesty, I don't even know what I think these days.
What if I hurt her? What if I change her as a person, for the worse? Nothing has happened, and it's probable nothing will happen. But what if it does?
If I turned her into a crying wreck...what do I do then?
I don't know if I could handle the pain of turning myself into just a painful memory in the eyes of something I love.
Selfish and selfless all in one.
I want to avoid causing pain. I want to avoid pain as a result of this.
But I want to be happy...and I want to make her life just a little brighter.
Confliction.
There's a big enough umbrella, but I'm always getting wet.
Tunes in my head: Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic by The Police
Atmosphere: HOT
It's way too fucking hot today! Seriously, I am going to MELT on Monday. Three hours in a crowded classroom? Nooooo.
English was pretty easy, way easier than I really expected.
My mind's fried. Expect more when it's cooler.
Atmosphere: HOT
It's way too fucking hot today! Seriously, I am going to MELT on Monday. Three hours in a crowded classroom? Nooooo.
English was pretty easy, way easier than I really expected.
My mind's fried. Expect more when it's cooler.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
I've reached that point.
Tunes in my head: End by The Cure
Atmosphere: Coughy.
day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy
remember how it used to be
when the sun would fill up the sky
remember how we used to feel
those days would never end
those days would never end
remember how it used to be
when the stars would fill the sky
remember how we used to dream
those nights would never end
those nights would never end
it was the sweetness of your skin
it was the hope of all we might have been
that fills me with the hope to wish
impossible things
but now the sun shines cold
and all the sky is grey
the stars are dimmed by clouds and tears
and all i wish
is gone away
all i wish
is gone away
all i wish
is gone away
Atmosphere: Coughy.
day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy
remember how it used to be
when the sun would fill up the sky
remember how we used to feel
those days would never end
those days would never end
remember how it used to be
when the stars would fill the sky
remember how we used to dream
those nights would never end
those nights would never end
it was the sweetness of your skin
it was the hope of all we might have been
that fills me with the hope to wish
impossible things
but now the sun shines cold
and all the sky is grey
the stars are dimmed by clouds and tears
and all i wish
is gone away
all i wish
is gone away
all i wish
is gone away
Monday, October 19, 2009
There's not enough white in the stars and stripes.
Tunes in my head: IfWhiteAmericaToldTheTruthForOneDayIt'sWorldWouldFallApart by The Manic Street Preachers
Atmosphere: Okay
Writer's block is a strange thing, especially for me.
I mean, personally, I write in a stream of consciousness style where I basically take the thoughts that run endlessly through my head and put them down onto the page.
So to not know what to write...is this an emptiness of the mind?
Or is this merely caused by stress or the HSC or whatever?
If so, this worries me. To write has been the escape from any stress or pain in the past. So if that avenue is escaped from me...I have a problem.
And if there's an emptiness of my mind (yes, make the jokes, I lost my mind many years before), then that worries me too.
We are human. We have such a wide array of original thoughts.
...right?
And if we really do have such an array of these thoughts, why do we think it's hard to actually express these thoughts?
I mean, I don't feel I truly express myself here the way I want to. Others will say to the contrary. "Oh no, Liam, you're a fantastic writer." or whatever. Maybe they think so. But do I? Not particularly. I can't express myself the way I feel I truly want.
Maybe my expectations are way too high. Maybe the stress of the past few months and the next few weeks is really getting to me on a creative viewpoint.
Maybe, even, my time is up as a hub of creativity. I hope not.
I mean, it feels great to write. To actually get some semblence of thought out there, to get people to read what you think and sometimes give some feedback. It's a relieving feeling to actually get stuff out...to vent, in a way. Okay, sure, the blog doesn't actually have ears, but it's better than getting yelled at every time I try to talk.
(Sorry, I don't want to have a go at anyone...this time.)
Do I need new topics to talk about? Have I merely exhausted the possibilities that this current state have given me, and so I need a change? Possibly. Of course, then I'd require some more emotional pain to go through, so I can bitch about that some more. And I don't think anybody really wants that.
Maybe I just need to take a break from this blogging nonsense.
Or could I work on churning out longer form things? Only post every couple of days, and have them be some well rehearsed soliliquy on a particular topic, three thousand words worth. (if you got the pun there, good work)
Don't think so. Some people have said the strength of this particular "corner of society" is the raw emotion put into it. The fact that I do give my all to everything in here. It's me...in a nutshell.
Maybe even through the fact that I am so often talking to myself in doing these, as well. They're not just mental, but the fact that some of these blogs could be read as monologues or dialogues isn't coincidental. Some of the stuff in here was designed as a verbal piece rather than a written one. I'm sure you can all guess some of them, and I'm sure you can never guess some others.
Well...as can be told by the fact that I'm writing this here and not in some silly little book where only I can read it, I'm broadcasting my thoughts to the world, here. What does the world think, in response?
Atmosphere: Okay
Writer's block is a strange thing, especially for me.
I mean, personally, I write in a stream of consciousness style where I basically take the thoughts that run endlessly through my head and put them down onto the page.
So to not know what to write...is this an emptiness of the mind?
Or is this merely caused by stress or the HSC or whatever?
If so, this worries me. To write has been the escape from any stress or pain in the past. So if that avenue is escaped from me...I have a problem.
And if there's an emptiness of my mind (yes, make the jokes, I lost my mind many years before), then that worries me too.
We are human. We have such a wide array of original thoughts.
...right?
And if we really do have such an array of these thoughts, why do we think it's hard to actually express these thoughts?
I mean, I don't feel I truly express myself here the way I want to. Others will say to the contrary. "Oh no, Liam, you're a fantastic writer." or whatever. Maybe they think so. But do I? Not particularly. I can't express myself the way I feel I truly want.
Maybe my expectations are way too high. Maybe the stress of the past few months and the next few weeks is really getting to me on a creative viewpoint.
Maybe, even, my time is up as a hub of creativity. I hope not.
I mean, it feels great to write. To actually get some semblence of thought out there, to get people to read what you think and sometimes give some feedback. It's a relieving feeling to actually get stuff out...to vent, in a way. Okay, sure, the blog doesn't actually have ears, but it's better than getting yelled at every time I try to talk.
(Sorry, I don't want to have a go at anyone...this time.)
Do I need new topics to talk about? Have I merely exhausted the possibilities that this current state have given me, and so I need a change? Possibly. Of course, then I'd require some more emotional pain to go through, so I can bitch about that some more. And I don't think anybody really wants that.
Maybe I just need to take a break from this blogging nonsense.
Or could I work on churning out longer form things? Only post every couple of days, and have them be some well rehearsed soliliquy on a particular topic, three thousand words worth. (if you got the pun there, good work)
Don't think so. Some people have said the strength of this particular "corner of society" is the raw emotion put into it. The fact that I do give my all to everything in here. It's me...in a nutshell.
Maybe even through the fact that I am so often talking to myself in doing these, as well. They're not just mental, but the fact that some of these blogs could be read as monologues or dialogues isn't coincidental. Some of the stuff in here was designed as a verbal piece rather than a written one. I'm sure you can all guess some of them, and I'm sure you can never guess some others.
Well...as can be told by the fact that I'm writing this here and not in some silly little book where only I can read it, I'm broadcasting my thoughts to the world, here. What does the world think, in response?
I don't know where to stop.
Tunes in my head: No Self Control by Peter Gabriel
Atmosphere: Exhausted
day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy
It's amazing what devices you can sympathize...empathize
This is my mistake. Let me make it good
I raised the walls, and I will be the one to knock it down
- Michael Stipe
Atmosphere: Exhausted
day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy
It's amazing what devices you can sympathize...empathize
This is my mistake. Let me make it good
I raised the walls, and I will be the one to knock it down
- Michael Stipe
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Makes me pull my hair all out.
Tunes in my head: High by The Cure
Atmosphere: Studious
We all have heroes, right?
I think I might show something that's inspired me as a writer.
disintegration by the cure
Oh I miss the kiss of treachery
The shameless kiss of vanity
The soft and the black and the velvety
Up tight against the side of me
And mouth and eyes and heart all bleed
And run in thickening streams of greed
As bit by bit it starts the need
To just let go
My party piece
Oh I miss the kiss of treachery
The aching kiss before I feed
The stench of a love for a younger meat
And the sound that it makes
When it cuts in deep
The holding up on bended knees
The addiction of duplicities
As bit by bit it starts the need
To just let go
My party piece
But I never said I would stay to the end
So I leave you with babies and hoping for frequency
Screaming like this in the hope of the secrecy
Screaming me over and over and over
I leave you with photographs
Pictures of trickery
Stains on the carpet and
Stains on the scenery
Songs about happiness murmured in dreams
When we both us knew
How the ending would be...
So it's all come back round to breaking apart again
Breaking apart like I'm made up of glass again
Making it up behind my back again
Holding my breath for the fear of sleep again
Holding it up behind my head again
Cut in deep to the heart of the bone again
Round and round and round
And it's coming apart again
Over and over and over
Now that I know that I'm breaking to pieces
I'll pull out my heart
And I'll feed it to anyone
Crying for sympathy
Crocodiles cry for the love of the crowd
And the three cheers from everyone
Dropping through sky
Through the glass of the roof
Through the roof of your mouth
Through the mouth of your eye
Through the eye of the needle
It's easier for me to get closer to heaven
Than ever feel whole again
I never said I would stay to the end
I knew I would leave you with babies and everything
Screaming like this in the hole of sincerity
Screaming me over and over and over
I leave you with photographs
Pictures of trickery
Stains on the carpet and
Stains on the memory
Songs about happiness murmured in dreams
When we both of us knew
How the end always is
How the end always is...
Atmosphere: Studious
We all have heroes, right?
I think I might show something that's inspired me as a writer.
disintegration by the cure
Oh I miss the kiss of treachery
The shameless kiss of vanity
The soft and the black and the velvety
Up tight against the side of me
And mouth and eyes and heart all bleed
And run in thickening streams of greed
As bit by bit it starts the need
To just let go
My party piece
Oh I miss the kiss of treachery
The aching kiss before I feed
The stench of a love for a younger meat
And the sound that it makes
When it cuts in deep
The holding up on bended knees
The addiction of duplicities
As bit by bit it starts the need
To just let go
My party piece
But I never said I would stay to the end
So I leave you with babies and hoping for frequency
Screaming like this in the hope of the secrecy
Screaming me over and over and over
I leave you with photographs
Pictures of trickery
Stains on the carpet and
Stains on the scenery
Songs about happiness murmured in dreams
When we both us knew
How the ending would be...
So it's all come back round to breaking apart again
Breaking apart like I'm made up of glass again
Making it up behind my back again
Holding my breath for the fear of sleep again
Holding it up behind my head again
Cut in deep to the heart of the bone again
Round and round and round
And it's coming apart again
Over and over and over
Now that I know that I'm breaking to pieces
I'll pull out my heart
And I'll feed it to anyone
Crying for sympathy
Crocodiles cry for the love of the crowd
And the three cheers from everyone
Dropping through sky
Through the glass of the roof
Through the roof of your mouth
Through the mouth of your eye
Through the eye of the needle
It's easier for me to get closer to heaven
Than ever feel whole again
I never said I would stay to the end
I knew I would leave you with babies and everything
Screaming like this in the hole of sincerity
Screaming me over and over and over
I leave you with photographs
Pictures of trickery
Stains on the carpet and
Stains on the memory
Songs about happiness murmured in dreams
When we both of us knew
How the end always is
How the end always is...
Moon glow, moon glow, always need a little more room.
Tunes in my head: Corrosion by Pink Floyd
Atmosphere: Sleepy
day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy
Atmosphere: Sleepy
day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy
Saturday, October 17, 2009
I don't know whose side I'm on...
Tunes in my head: Prodigal by Porcupine Tree
Atmosphere: Alert
The album In Absentia by Porcupine Tree is one of my favourites from this century. Released in 2002, it's diversity is one of the things that has really dragged me into a sense of appeal regarding it.
Two songs especially have really hit me from it, contrasting in musical tone and lyrical design. Despite these differences, in terms of general mood, they share a general feeling of utter hopelessness and desperation which is strangely appealing.
The song .3 (often referred to in contexts as "Point Three") is a brilliant example of minimalism and musical darkness. In this, Steven Wilson intones two very dark lines of lyrics over a bass led groove.
Black the sky, weapons fly
Lay them waste for your race
In invoking this scene, the music takes a turn from dark yet seemingly pleasing to anarchic, despite not changing in tone. The lyrics seem to solidify the musical picture, creating a highly effective portrait of darkness. The relentless groove of the song is finally contrasted with a ray of light - the strumming of acoustic guitar. Finally, the string arrangement of XTC's Dave Gregory seems to add a final touch of romantic sadness to the piece as it meanders to it's end. And so the song fades back into the distance from where it came from.
Finally, the album ends with the flickering, dying flame of loss. In ending the album with the song Collapse The Light Into Earth, Wilson leaves the impression of very dark album, one that is not entirely true until perhaps the last third of the disc.
Four simple, bright yet dark piano chords reverberate through the listener's mind. Gentle string arrangements to further add to the melancholic feel of the song. Hopeless lyrics to evoke an emotional response. Loss.
I won't shiver in the cold
I won't let the shadows take their toll
I won't cover my head in the dark
And I won't forget you when we part
Collapse the light into earth
I won't heal given time
I won't try to change your mind
I won't feel better in the cold light of day
But I wouldn't stop you if you wanted to stay
Collapse the light into earth
Atmosphere: Alert
The album In Absentia by Porcupine Tree is one of my favourites from this century. Released in 2002, it's diversity is one of the things that has really dragged me into a sense of appeal regarding it.
Two songs especially have really hit me from it, contrasting in musical tone and lyrical design. Despite these differences, in terms of general mood, they share a general feeling of utter hopelessness and desperation which is strangely appealing.
The song .3 (often referred to in contexts as "Point Three") is a brilliant example of minimalism and musical darkness. In this, Steven Wilson intones two very dark lines of lyrics over a bass led groove.
Black the sky, weapons fly
Lay them waste for your race
In invoking this scene, the music takes a turn from dark yet seemingly pleasing to anarchic, despite not changing in tone. The lyrics seem to solidify the musical picture, creating a highly effective portrait of darkness. The relentless groove of the song is finally contrasted with a ray of light - the strumming of acoustic guitar. Finally, the string arrangement of XTC's Dave Gregory seems to add a final touch of romantic sadness to the piece as it meanders to it's end. And so the song fades back into the distance from where it came from.
Finally, the album ends with the flickering, dying flame of loss. In ending the album with the song Collapse The Light Into Earth, Wilson leaves the impression of very dark album, one that is not entirely true until perhaps the last third of the disc.
Four simple, bright yet dark piano chords reverberate through the listener's mind. Gentle string arrangements to further add to the melancholic feel of the song. Hopeless lyrics to evoke an emotional response. Loss.
I won't shiver in the cold
I won't let the shadows take their toll
I won't cover my head in the dark
And I won't forget you when we part
Collapse the light into earth
I won't heal given time
I won't try to change your mind
I won't feel better in the cold light of day
But I wouldn't stop you if you wanted to stay
Collapse the light into earth
The dionysian fact is more earth than sea.
Tunes in my head: "it" by Genesis
Atmosphere: Satisfied
Expectations are a dangerous thing in this society.
We get ourselves all hyped up and we await some massive reward for waiting patientally for the months or weeks or days or minutes or seconds.
Unfortunately, the schizophrenic and impatient nature of our modern society means that we're never truly pleased with whatever comes.
It might be a package that people in the past would be pleased with, but due to our heightened expectations, as a result of the highly technological nature of our society, it doesn't really resonate.
I'm all for free distribution of music over the internet, but do we really appreciate music anymore? Probably not. The single is back in fashion, and I don't like this. There's no real appreciation for the album anymore. We listen to songs now...
We're always looking for the next craze, the next little thing to satisfy our urges. Nothing is ever enough, is it?
Atmosphere: Satisfied
Expectations are a dangerous thing in this society.
We get ourselves all hyped up and we await some massive reward for waiting patientally for the months or weeks or days or minutes or seconds.
Unfortunately, the schizophrenic and impatient nature of our modern society means that we're never truly pleased with whatever comes.
It might be a package that people in the past would be pleased with, but due to our heightened expectations, as a result of the highly technological nature of our society, it doesn't really resonate.
I'm all for free distribution of music over the internet, but do we really appreciate music anymore? Probably not. The single is back in fashion, and I don't like this. There's no real appreciation for the album anymore. We listen to songs now...
We're always looking for the next craze, the next little thing to satisfy our urges. Nothing is ever enough, is it?
All time and seasons are the reasons.
Tunes in my head: McGrupp and The Watchful Hosemasters by Phish
Atmosphere: Okay
day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy
http://www.nuklearpower.com/8-bit-theater/
Atmosphere: Okay
day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy
http://www.nuklearpower.com/8-bit-theater/
Friday, October 16, 2009
To not feel.
Tunes in my head: Air Born by Camel
Atmosphere: Heavy
I've deleted this post twice already out of not knowing what to write.
What drives the writer to write? It's a seriously confusing thing, isn't it?
Occasionally it's like a masterpiece musician sitting at the piano, Rachmaninoff squirming out of his fingers like liquid. It comes seemingly naturally, there's no effort really needed. The thoughts just stream through the mind, they don't need preconception. One could be talking and writing those words at the same time. One hundred and fifty to two hundred words a minute where needed. In those magical moments, you don't control the words, the words don't control you. They just emerge, and it's somewhat magical, I suppose.
Sometimes, it's a lot harder. Sometimes you have to beat the sentences into submission. They don't really agree with you, but they come anyway. The writer kind of forces it out of them. Not saying that these aren't good posts, perhaps even the best kind. But it just doesn't flow as naturally.
And then, rarely, it's the whole "I did this today, I did that today" sorts of posts. There's nothing technically wrong with them, I suppose, but if the writer is truly dedicated to their craft, then surely they have something better to say on occasion?
--
Is there a psychology behind attraction?
I was discussing a certain young lady with someone today (you both know who you are...?) and it turns out there's actually physiology behind attraction.
Apparently, if you gaze at someone's forehead, you want them to go away or something, if you gaze into the lower half of their face you've thinking on a social level and below that is sexual?
Something like that.
Playing with hair is flirtatious, showing wrists means you feel comfortable around the person? (makes sense...the wrist is one of the most vulnerable areas of the body)
My question to you, I suppose. Is this conscious?
Atmosphere: Heavy
I've deleted this post twice already out of not knowing what to write.
What drives the writer to write? It's a seriously confusing thing, isn't it?
Occasionally it's like a masterpiece musician sitting at the piano, Rachmaninoff squirming out of his fingers like liquid. It comes seemingly naturally, there's no effort really needed. The thoughts just stream through the mind, they don't need preconception. One could be talking and writing those words at the same time. One hundred and fifty to two hundred words a minute where needed. In those magical moments, you don't control the words, the words don't control you. They just emerge, and it's somewhat magical, I suppose.
Sometimes, it's a lot harder. Sometimes you have to beat the sentences into submission. They don't really agree with you, but they come anyway. The writer kind of forces it out of them. Not saying that these aren't good posts, perhaps even the best kind. But it just doesn't flow as naturally.
And then, rarely, it's the whole "I did this today, I did that today" sorts of posts. There's nothing technically wrong with them, I suppose, but if the writer is truly dedicated to their craft, then surely they have something better to say on occasion?
--
Is there a psychology behind attraction?
I was discussing a certain young lady with someone today (you both know who you are...?) and it turns out there's actually physiology behind attraction.
Apparently, if you gaze at someone's forehead, you want them to go away or something, if you gaze into the lower half of their face you've thinking on a social level and below that is sexual?
Something like that.
Playing with hair is flirtatious, showing wrists means you feel comfortable around the person? (makes sense...the wrist is one of the most vulnerable areas of the body)
My question to you, I suppose. Is this conscious?
All of you know that the girls on the road are like apples we stole in our youth.
Tunes in my head: Ladies Of The Road by King Crimson
Atmosphere: Depressed, lonely, nihilistic.
I FUCKING MISS YOU.
I FUCKING MISS YOU ALL.
BUT I FUCKING MISS YOU THE MOST.
I'm pretty fucking lonely, guys. Even though I apparently have this wide circle of friends...I'm still really fucking lonely.
Why is this?
There's a void that's been left by you.
I know, there's not much I can do about it now.
But I figure you might want to know.
That's all.
I'm sorry, I know you don't like reading this. But I need to do this. For my sakes, for my sanity.
For tonight, goodbye.
Atmosphere: Depressed, lonely, nihilistic.
I FUCKING MISS YOU.
I FUCKING MISS YOU ALL.
BUT I FUCKING MISS YOU THE MOST.
I'm pretty fucking lonely, guys. Even though I apparently have this wide circle of friends...I'm still really fucking lonely.
Why is this?
There's a void that's been left by you.
I know, there's not much I can do about it now.
But I figure you might want to know.
That's all.
I'm sorry, I know you don't like reading this. But I need to do this. For my sakes, for my sanity.
For tonight, goodbye.
Never never ever stop.
Tunes in my head: Fight by The Cure
Atmosphere: Depressed
Fuck, back down the maelstrom.
day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy
Atmosphere: Depressed
Fuck, back down the maelstrom.
day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy
Thursday, October 15, 2009
We can all be romantic.
Tunes in my head: Humdrum by Peter Gabriel
Atmosphere: Tired
Rings Of The Cosmos
we walk in circles on the air of the sun
and don't move along until the day is done
even at times when the souls unite
there's some sort of flash the sparks ignite
so slowly we drive our car off the edge
and entrap this moment within the crumbling ledge
green headlights dart like sirens from dark
perhaps this moment will remain engrained?
Atmosphere: Tired
Rings Of The Cosmos
we walk in circles on the air of the sun
and don't move along until the day is done
even at times when the souls unite
there's some sort of flash the sparks ignite
so slowly we drive our car off the edge
and entrap this moment within the crumbling ledge
green headlights dart like sirens from dark
perhaps this moment will remain engrained?
Houses, Ordered
Tunes in my head: When You Sleep by My Bloody Valentine
Atmosphere: Alert
when the blue forms katie calls
and night hits twenty eight
when the red forms sadie calls
and day hits fourty four
we all go for walks at night
to avoid two and fifty one
walls close in kimono falls
and there's sun through paint
breaking time faulty plan
voices sing and garbage can
ordered houses don't meet rats
and secret is not hidden back
gentlemen walls into room and
delcares the third shortened
pans fly fans are swept
poster torn from the wall
caged in such escaping rooms
people like that don't get caught
but melted now secret flies
hits the bars and resounds so high
breaking time faulty plan
voices sing and men who can
ordered houses don't have this
secrets hide within a kiss
life and how to live it
is part of the game, the road
travel so far to fall just short
at the hospital bed
marlowe looks into the wall
and runs at the sickened sight
of two coffe mugs sitting
embedded and filled with ooze
breaking time faulty plan
voices sing like pelicans
ordered houses fall apart
and secrets are now forced to part
Atmosphere: Alert
when the blue forms katie calls
and night hits twenty eight
when the red forms sadie calls
and day hits fourty four
we all go for walks at night
to avoid two and fifty one
walls close in kimono falls
and there's sun through paint
breaking time faulty plan
voices sing and garbage can
ordered houses don't meet rats
and secret is not hidden back
gentlemen walls into room and
delcares the third shortened
pans fly fans are swept
poster torn from the wall
caged in such escaping rooms
people like that don't get caught
but melted now secret flies
hits the bars and resounds so high
breaking time faulty plan
voices sing and men who can
ordered houses don't have this
secrets hide within a kiss
life and how to live it
is part of the game, the road
travel so far to fall just short
at the hospital bed
marlowe looks into the wall
and runs at the sickened sight
of two coffe mugs sitting
embedded and filled with ooze
breaking time faulty plan
voices sing like pelicans
ordered houses fall apart
and secrets are now forced to part
All the stars drip down like butter.
Tunes in my head: Let Me In by R.E.M.
Atmosphere: Good, actually.
Life's okay right now.
day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy
Atmosphere: Good, actually.
Life's okay right now.
day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
What happens now?
What Happens Now?
Page sat down at the edge of the chair, a cold glass of water gripped in one hand, and a pen in the other. Slowly he stared at the walls.
Yes, the walls stared back. In a staring competition, they'd never lose, Page knew.
And yet he still tried. He still tried to beat them, because he knew that if one day, he did, then the whole rules of human existance could be rearranged around this one little victory. He knew that if these timber walls would one day suddenly cower from the challenge and retreat into a long lost wood.
Ironic, isn't it? They must be revisiting their friends.
So Page came into this room to while away his pointless existence. For hours at a time he'd stare. He'd stare in all different ways – from the ceiling, with a glint in his eye, with glasses on. Still, there was no retreat. Both the wall and Page seemed unrelenting in their desire to win this seemingly eternal staring contest.
Well, the wall did have an advantage, it was kind of nailed to the floor. And even then, it was nailed to one another. Backing away from this little contest would prove rather hard to it, even if it wanted to.
Yes, Page could have brought a chainsaw into the room with him, and the thought had crossed his mind many a time. But that would make the game way too easy. There'd be no challenge if the walls had suddenly come crashing down as a result of their foundations between driven to splinters by the constant and ever so painful rotation of tiny little blades with what had been termed “nasty, pointy teeth” by Page's friend Stephen.
Page was always up for a challenge. Even a seemingly impossible one.
And, of course, he did take into consideration the feelings these pieces of wood would have. What use would putting them into little splinters be? Imagine their poor families, Page often lamented! “They'd come home from school one day, sit down to eat a nice dinner of dirt, and the larch policeman would knock on the door. The mum, who undoubtedly would be a mahogany plant, would go up to answer it, leaving the children to cheerily munch away at their little dinners. When she came back, the tears would slowly erode away at the ground, leaving her to despise both the cruel nature of deforestation and the relative poverty in which trees lived in.”
And upon hearing this, Stephen would slowly back away for a moment.
I mean, sure, his friend was strange, Stephen noted to himself, but this strange? Maybe there was an effect that had been made by the little decisions in life. I mean, what could have happened that would drive Page to have some eternal staring contest with what is literally a solid wall.
Unless you chomp into it with a chainsaw, he added, and then noticed that he had forgotten to utilise the correct punctuation for the above thoughts.
Of course, Page wouldn't give in. It wasn't in his nature. From the age of five, when he had built this majestic little sandcastle in the pits at playschool. It was an amazing castle, to be sure. Full of pits and moats and murder holes.
But when the bell had gone to go inside for the latest lesson in this strange design of life (“Art”, Page recalled), he refused to move from his position – the figurative fort of sorts. And so he sat. And refused to give up his position.
For thirty five hours.
“An impressive, marathonic feat.”, Stephen recalled.
“What?”
“Nothing, I was thinking about that time when you were five and you built that sandcastle at playschool and it was full of pits and moats and murder holes and you wouldn't go inside for your art lesson and you eventually stayed outside for thirty five hours in an attempt to maintain your little dream.”
“Oh. Is the wall moving yet?”
“No.”
“Shut up then.”
And so the contest would continue on. Page would continue staring at the wood, encaspulating it's fine grain within his glance. The wood would continue to stare back at him, encaspulating his skin tones within it's glance. Stephen would sit, extremely bored extremely bored extremely bored extremely bored extremely bored extremely bored extremely bored.
Even to the point where he'd intone these words quietly, softly, underneath his breath. And they'd gradually become louder and louder, to the point where Page would hit him for talking too loudly.
“IT BREAKS MY CONCENTRATION!”, his eyes would scream.
Page sat down at the edge of the chair, a cold glass of water gripped in one hand, and a pen in the other. Slowly he stared at the walls.
Yes, the walls stared back. In a staring competition, they'd never lose, Page knew.
And yet he still tried. He still tried to beat them, because he knew that if one day, he did, then the whole rules of human existance could be rearranged around this one little victory. He knew that if these timber walls would one day suddenly cower from the challenge and retreat into a long lost wood.
Ironic, isn't it? They must be revisiting their friends.
So Page came into this room to while away his pointless existence. For hours at a time he'd stare. He'd stare in all different ways – from the ceiling, with a glint in his eye, with glasses on. Still, there was no retreat. Both the wall and Page seemed unrelenting in their desire to win this seemingly eternal staring contest.
Well, the wall did have an advantage, it was kind of nailed to the floor. And even then, it was nailed to one another. Backing away from this little contest would prove rather hard to it, even if it wanted to.
Yes, Page could have brought a chainsaw into the room with him, and the thought had crossed his mind many a time. But that would make the game way too easy. There'd be no challenge if the walls had suddenly come crashing down as a result of their foundations between driven to splinters by the constant and ever so painful rotation of tiny little blades with what had been termed “nasty, pointy teeth” by Page's friend Stephen.
Page was always up for a challenge. Even a seemingly impossible one.
And, of course, he did take into consideration the feelings these pieces of wood would have. What use would putting them into little splinters be? Imagine their poor families, Page often lamented! “They'd come home from school one day, sit down to eat a nice dinner of dirt, and the larch policeman would knock on the door. The mum, who undoubtedly would be a mahogany plant, would go up to answer it, leaving the children to cheerily munch away at their little dinners. When she came back, the tears would slowly erode away at the ground, leaving her to despise both the cruel nature of deforestation and the relative poverty in which trees lived in.”
And upon hearing this, Stephen would slowly back away for a moment.
I mean, sure, his friend was strange, Stephen noted to himself, but this strange? Maybe there was an effect that had been made by the little decisions in life. I mean, what could have happened that would drive Page to have some eternal staring contest with what is literally a solid wall.
Unless you chomp into it with a chainsaw, he added, and then noticed that he had forgotten to utilise the correct punctuation for the above thoughts.
Of course, Page wouldn't give in. It wasn't in his nature. From the age of five, when he had built this majestic little sandcastle in the pits at playschool. It was an amazing castle, to be sure. Full of pits and moats and murder holes.
But when the bell had gone to go inside for the latest lesson in this strange design of life (“Art”, Page recalled), he refused to move from his position – the figurative fort of sorts. And so he sat. And refused to give up his position.
For thirty five hours.
“An impressive, marathonic feat.”, Stephen recalled.
“What?”
“Nothing, I was thinking about that time when you were five and you built that sandcastle at playschool and it was full of pits and moats and murder holes and you wouldn't go inside for your art lesson and you eventually stayed outside for thirty five hours in an attempt to maintain your little dream.”
“Oh. Is the wall moving yet?”
“No.”
“Shut up then.”
And so the contest would continue on. Page would continue staring at the wood, encaspulating it's fine grain within his glance. The wood would continue to stare back at him, encaspulating his skin tones within it's glance. Stephen would sit, extremely bored extremely bored extremely bored extremely bored extremely bored extremely bored extremely bored.
Even to the point where he'd intone these words quietly, softly, underneath his breath. And they'd gradually become louder and louder, to the point where Page would hit him for talking too loudly.
“IT BREAKS MY CONCENTRATION!”, his eyes would scream.
Turn back the page.
Tunes in my head: Incubus by Marillion
Atmosphere: Depressed
It's amazing what things can bring back pain in flooding memories.
A simple word can just revitalise endless seas of memory.
A picture can resurrect the sensation of a petrol can underneath your nose, the sour liquid lightly pressing your lips.
The taste of strawberries slowly washing their way through your mouth.
The sight of a dismembered body hanging outside a car.
The warmth of an indian summer, the red sky blazing through the clouds.
Or the warmth of a loved one's breath against you neck as they doze off gently to a deep, deep sleep.
A voice down the phone, passively asking how you are, can evoke such a rush of emotion.
Atmosphere: Depressed
It's amazing what things can bring back pain in flooding memories.
A simple word can just revitalise endless seas of memory.
A picture can resurrect the sensation of a petrol can underneath your nose, the sour liquid lightly pressing your lips.
The taste of strawberries slowly washing their way through your mouth.
The sight of a dismembered body hanging outside a car.
The warmth of an indian summer, the red sky blazing through the clouds.
Or the warmth of a loved one's breath against you neck as they doze off gently to a deep, deep sleep.
A voice down the phone, passively asking how you are, can evoke such a rush of emotion.
to mindlessly garden
Tunes in my head: Gardening At Night by R.E.M.
Atmosphere: Writing...
fourteen voices in my head tell me different things
this warmth in my head just won't be relieved
if i could get these friends out of here
then i'd be alone but so safe
all the time i walk there's never chances to think
when the time comes the yuppie screams to get out
all i can really do is yell over the ballroom
and still it trails off into the doors
i'm so lonely but my friends just won't leave me alone i'm never cold no my too filled head feels like home
when the actions are made i'm not sure of who does them
i go into chelsea to find the impossible answer
when the photographs flash the polaroid burns stares
another victim caught in the camera eye
all the kids come out to play when the teacher's sick
and havoc destroys the classroom with slow decay
when the gentleman comes forth his immaculate greeting
it's a kind of deja vu, something that's been heard before
Atmosphere: Writing...
fourteen voices in my head tell me different things
this warmth in my head just won't be relieved
if i could get these friends out of here
then i'd be alone but so safe
all the time i walk there's never chances to think
when the time comes the yuppie screams to get out
all i can really do is yell over the ballroom
and still it trails off into the doors
i'm so lonely but my friends just won't leave me alone i'm never cold no my too filled head feels like home
when the actions are made i'm not sure of who does them
i go into chelsea to find the impossible answer
when the photographs flash the polaroid burns stares
another victim caught in the camera eye
all the kids come out to play when the teacher's sick
and havoc destroys the classroom with slow decay
when the gentleman comes forth his immaculate greeting
it's a kind of deja vu, something that's been heard before
We scar for the fencemen.
Tunes in my head: Travels in Nihilon by XTC
Atmosphere: Fuck off.
Fuck you, world.
day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy
http://www.sendspace.com/file/9nav4n
Atmosphere: Fuck off.
Fuck you, world.
day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy
http://www.sendspace.com/file/9nav4n
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Spiked with adrenochrome.
Tunes in my head: Fracture by King Crimson
Atmosphere: Bipolar
What drives us to teach?
Is it a desire to give knowledge to those younger?
Is it that feeling that we get whenever we notice someone has "got it"?
Is it just a money making scheme to pass time while we do something else?
Is it for the holidays?
Is it for the low paydays?
Or is it legitimately for the love of the children?
Do I know?
Atmosphere: Bipolar
What drives us to teach?
Is it a desire to give knowledge to those younger?
Is it that feeling that we get whenever we notice someone has "got it"?
Is it just a money making scheme to pass time while we do something else?
Is it for the holidays?
Is it for the low paydays?
Or is it legitimately for the love of the children?
Do I know?
A few thoughts.
Tunes in my head: Erotomania by Dream Theater
Atmosphere: Red fishnets.
Fantasy is an interesting concept, isn't it? The unknown, and the fascination with said things. I mean, the moment something becomes real, we can analyse it, we can deconstruct it, we can test it's genetic makeup, we can tear it apart and put it back together, we can break it down.
The fantasy may become real, we don't know that. It may become real from some sacrifice. You may have to give up time, money, or even relationships in order to somehow birth this ideal.
But are you ready to dispose of the sick half-monkey that may come as the spawn of this pursuit?
I think Edward Cullen is interesting. Ideally, perfect and yet flawed enough to be appealing. But surely that is only because of perception. If one actually spent time with Cullen, say, in a kitchen, would he be as interesting then? (Don't go OMFG EDWARD CULLEN *GASM*.) Sure, he's a great little fantasy, I suppose, but when you actually make him real, it backfires. I mean, look at the negative reaction to the films.
What then, is the point of furfilling our fantasies? If we know that it will just serve to disappoint, why bother?
I think it's because we feel compelled to. Because we don't want to be forever asking "what if?", and because there is a chance that our fantasies may in fact become true. It might not be likely, but it's certainly possible, right?
But then again, the unicorn never arrives exactly as we expect it. There come arguments, there come disputes, it's just not the same as the fantasy dictates.
Perhaps this is for the better.
Perhaps the fact that our fantasies don't come true, that there is alteration and tribulations makes it better. When the obstacle is thrown in the path of furfilling the fantasy, we become stronger people as a result of our attempts to overcome them. The fact that the girl of our dreams may be heading away, or may be in the hospital still serves to further fuel the fantasy, and when these are eventually overcome, the taste of the reward is so much sweeter as a result of fighting for it rather than just letting it fall into your lap. When you eat icecream forever, it becomes boring, bland. But when you get that one enticing lick after a diet of stones, the aroma becomes irresistable.
What do you think?
Atmosphere: Red fishnets.
Fantasy is an interesting concept, isn't it? The unknown, and the fascination with said things. I mean, the moment something becomes real, we can analyse it, we can deconstruct it, we can test it's genetic makeup, we can tear it apart and put it back together, we can break it down.
The fantasy may become real, we don't know that. It may become real from some sacrifice. You may have to give up time, money, or even relationships in order to somehow birth this ideal.
But are you ready to dispose of the sick half-monkey that may come as the spawn of this pursuit?
I think Edward Cullen is interesting. Ideally, perfect and yet flawed enough to be appealing. But surely that is only because of perception. If one actually spent time with Cullen, say, in a kitchen, would he be as interesting then? (Don't go OMFG EDWARD CULLEN *GASM*.) Sure, he's a great little fantasy, I suppose, but when you actually make him real, it backfires. I mean, look at the negative reaction to the films.
What then, is the point of furfilling our fantasies? If we know that it will just serve to disappoint, why bother?
I think it's because we feel compelled to. Because we don't want to be forever asking "what if?", and because there is a chance that our fantasies may in fact become true. It might not be likely, but it's certainly possible, right?
But then again, the unicorn never arrives exactly as we expect it. There come arguments, there come disputes, it's just not the same as the fantasy dictates.
Perhaps this is for the better.
Perhaps the fact that our fantasies don't come true, that there is alteration and tribulations makes it better. When the obstacle is thrown in the path of furfilling the fantasy, we become stronger people as a result of our attempts to overcome them. The fact that the girl of our dreams may be heading away, or may be in the hospital still serves to further fuel the fantasy, and when these are eventually overcome, the taste of the reward is so much sweeter as a result of fighting for it rather than just letting it fall into your lap. When you eat icecream forever, it becomes boring, bland. But when you get that one enticing lick after a diet of stones, the aroma becomes irresistable.
What do you think?
Monday, October 12, 2009
Well, I am a rain dog.
Tunes in my head: Midtown by Tom Waits
Atmosphere: Fried.
Why do we listen to music? What's the appeal?
Some people listen to it in order to just dance to, utilising the rhythmic foundation and nothing more.
Some people listen to it in an effort to annoy people - "oh, hey, Miley Cyrus is METAL, yo."
Some people listen to it in an attempt to fit in with a clique, the core contingent coming especially to mind there. I mean, sure, some people like it because of it's music, but I think a vast majority are just latching on to the latest thing.
I listen to music in an attempt to detach, to hide.
To escape from the realities of the world.
I mean, when the pain comes, the best way for me to escape is through a twenty minute funk exploration or a quirky song about rain dogs or something along those lines, right? Something I can't empathise with?
Maybe.
Some days I look for something to empathise with, something rather emotionally charged. Something where I realise that my emotions are not alone, that other people do feel like I do.
I do, really. Even though nothing could really accurately and fully empathise with me (I mean, after all, we're all unique), there are songs that I twist and which further resonate.
It's the way to cope.
Atmosphere: Fried.
Why do we listen to music? What's the appeal?
Some people listen to it in order to just dance to, utilising the rhythmic foundation and nothing more.
Some people listen to it in an effort to annoy people - "oh, hey, Miley Cyrus is METAL, yo."
Some people listen to it in an attempt to fit in with a clique, the core contingent coming especially to mind there. I mean, sure, some people like it because of it's music, but I think a vast majority are just latching on to the latest thing.
I listen to music in an attempt to detach, to hide.
To escape from the realities of the world.
I mean, when the pain comes, the best way for me to escape is through a twenty minute funk exploration or a quirky song about rain dogs or something along those lines, right? Something I can't empathise with?
Maybe.
Some days I look for something to empathise with, something rather emotionally charged. Something where I realise that my emotions are not alone, that other people do feel like I do.
I do, really. Even though nothing could really accurately and fully empathise with me (I mean, after all, we're all unique), there are songs that I twist and which further resonate.
It's the way to cope.
Sharing a piece...
Tunes in my head: Roland The Headless Thompson Gunner by Warren Zevon
Atmosphere: Eh
Just felt like sharing this AMAZING song with you all.
Roland was a warrior from the land of the midnight sun
With a thompson gun for hire, fighting to be done
The deal was made in Denmark on a dark and stormy day
So he set out for Biafra to join the bloody fray
Through sixty-six and seven they fought the Congo war
With their fingers on their triggers, knee-deep in gore
For days and nights they battled the Bantu to their knees
They killed to earn their living and to help out the Congolese
Roland the thompson gunner
His comrades fought beside him, Van Owen and the rest
But of all the thompson gunners, Roland was the best
So the CIA decided they wanted Roland dead
That son-of-a-bitch Van Owen blew off Roland's head
Roland the headless thompson gunner
(Time, time, time
For another peaceful war)
Norway's bravest son
(But time stands still for Roland
'Til he evens up the score)
They can still see his headless body stalking through the night
In the muzzle flash of Roland's thompson gun
In the muzzle flash of Roland's thompson gun
Roland searched the continent for the man who'd done him in
He found him in Mombassa in a barroom drinking gin
Roland aimed his thompson gun, he didn't say a word
But he blew Van Owen's body from there to Johannesburg
Roland the headless thompson gunner...
The eternal thompson gunner
still wandering through the night
Now it's ten years later but he still keeps up the fight
In Ireland, in Lebanon, in Palestine and Berkeley
Patty Hearst heard the burst of Roland's thompson gun and bought it
Atmosphere: Eh
Just felt like sharing this AMAZING song with you all.
Roland was a warrior from the land of the midnight sun
With a thompson gun for hire, fighting to be done
The deal was made in Denmark on a dark and stormy day
So he set out for Biafra to join the bloody fray
Through sixty-six and seven they fought the Congo war
With their fingers on their triggers, knee-deep in gore
For days and nights they battled the Bantu to their knees
They killed to earn their living and to help out the Congolese
Roland the thompson gunner
His comrades fought beside him, Van Owen and the rest
But of all the thompson gunners, Roland was the best
So the CIA decided they wanted Roland dead
That son-of-a-bitch Van Owen blew off Roland's head
Roland the headless thompson gunner
(Time, time, time
For another peaceful war)
Norway's bravest son
(But time stands still for Roland
'Til he evens up the score)
They can still see his headless body stalking through the night
In the muzzle flash of Roland's thompson gun
In the muzzle flash of Roland's thompson gun
Roland searched the continent for the man who'd done him in
He found him in Mombassa in a barroom drinking gin
Roland aimed his thompson gun, he didn't say a word
But he blew Van Owen's body from there to Johannesburg
Roland the headless thompson gunner...
The eternal thompson gunner
still wandering through the night
Now it's ten years later but he still keeps up the fight
In Ireland, in Lebanon, in Palestine and Berkeley
Patty Hearst heard the burst of Roland's thompson gun and bought it
Sunday, October 11, 2009
It's opening time.
Tunes in my head: Fascination Street by The Cure
Atmosphere: Unrequited.
Dear, Suzy.
I love you more than words could ever properly say, and I highly doubt you'll ever know and realise this.
Not because I don't tell you. I try my best to tell you in my own unique, identifiable way every time I see you. I just don't think you pick up on it, nor should you. I mean, I can only reasonably expect so much. You make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me feel wanted. Even though I doubt you want me in that capacity. It's a tribute to your personality and warmth and strength of character, really.
You just have this power to light up a room, to be vivacious, to be effervescent.
I know there's a dark side within you. There is a dark side within all of us, nobody can deny that. One day I hope to be able to access this dark side. Not because I want to see you miserable. Because I want to build a strong bond with you. And I know you don't reveal that side to people. It contrasts with how I do.
To show me what there is in your potentially painful dark side would be an expression of trust. And it would make me infinitely happy, even in times of despair. To know you trust me to that level. And I'll do everything I can to make sure you're happy, to help.
I've seen you in these times of darkness. You say I make you smile. If I've helped you once through these times in any way, made your day just a little happier, then I'm happy.
I know you're reading this.
I've been in a lot of pain recently, and thinking of you has helped me survive. I'm in a risk category, 12.5%, one in eight. You make me not become a mere statistic.
Whenever I'm alone with you, you make me feel alive, you make me feel at home. Even though those moments come extremely rarely.
I will you see you around, that I guarantee. I never break a promise. I just don't think you fully realise.
I would push myself so far to keep you from falling off the cliff. If it came to me and you, with a deadly disease and one vial of antivenom, you'd get it, any time. Any sacrifice I could make to have you, and to keep you, I'd willingly run into it and make it.
I love unapologetically, wholly, fully. I hate to be judgemental, but from your actions, your personality, I'm pretty sure that you're the same way.
If I had my way, the feelings would be mutual, you'd be with me. Not mine...just with me. We'd work together as a cohesive unit.
I think it will happen. Maybe. One day.
I'll see you on the other side.
Love,
Page
Atmosphere: Unrequited.
Dear, Suzy.
I love you more than words could ever properly say, and I highly doubt you'll ever know and realise this.
Not because I don't tell you. I try my best to tell you in my own unique, identifiable way every time I see you. I just don't think you pick up on it, nor should you. I mean, I can only reasonably expect so much. You make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me feel wanted. Even though I doubt you want me in that capacity. It's a tribute to your personality and warmth and strength of character, really.
You just have this power to light up a room, to be vivacious, to be effervescent.
I know there's a dark side within you. There is a dark side within all of us, nobody can deny that. One day I hope to be able to access this dark side. Not because I want to see you miserable. Because I want to build a strong bond with you. And I know you don't reveal that side to people. It contrasts with how I do.
To show me what there is in your potentially painful dark side would be an expression of trust. And it would make me infinitely happy, even in times of despair. To know you trust me to that level. And I'll do everything I can to make sure you're happy, to help.
I've seen you in these times of darkness. You say I make you smile. If I've helped you once through these times in any way, made your day just a little happier, then I'm happy.
I know you're reading this.
I've been in a lot of pain recently, and thinking of you has helped me survive. I'm in a risk category, 12.5%, one in eight. You make me not become a mere statistic.
Whenever I'm alone with you, you make me feel alive, you make me feel at home. Even though those moments come extremely rarely.
I will you see you around, that I guarantee. I never break a promise. I just don't think you fully realise.
I would push myself so far to keep you from falling off the cliff. If it came to me and you, with a deadly disease and one vial of antivenom, you'd get it, any time. Any sacrifice I could make to have you, and to keep you, I'd willingly run into it and make it.
I love unapologetically, wholly, fully. I hate to be judgemental, but from your actions, your personality, I'm pretty sure that you're the same way.
If I had my way, the feelings would be mutual, you'd be with me. Not mine...just with me. We'd work together as a cohesive unit.
I think it will happen. Maybe. One day.
I'll see you on the other side.
Love,
Page
Of all the thompson gunners, no-one was the best.
Tunes in my head: Roland The Headless Thompson Gunner by Warren Zevon
Atmosphere: Bloated.
Yeah, the party was pretty cool. Monty Python, endless amounts of food, the general orginess, the longwinded discussions about physics, not sleeping, Super Smash marathons, and the massive pillow fight with 2001 in the background.
Sorry, I'm feeling a bit blah right now...maybe later I'll write some more.
Atmosphere: Bloated.
Yeah, the party was pretty cool. Monty Python, endless amounts of food, the general orginess, the longwinded discussions about physics, not sleeping, Super Smash marathons, and the massive pillow fight with 2001 in the background.
Sorry, I'm feeling a bit blah right now...maybe later I'll write some more.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Nuuuuuuu.
Tunes in my head: Generals and Majors by XTC
Atmosphere: Nuuuuuuu.
You kids all SUCK at short notice stuff.
(turns out my ideal plan has gone from three blonde sexy Europeans staying the night to one COMING.)
Ah well.
How exactly does infatuation work?
Is it because we see ourselves happy with the person?
Or is it just because they're cute?
Or is it out of a need to make the person smile?
"Save the world complex."
Atmosphere: Nuuuuuuu.
You kids all SUCK at short notice stuff.
(turns out my ideal plan has gone from three blonde sexy Europeans staying the night to one COMING.)
Ah well.
How exactly does infatuation work?
Is it because we see ourselves happy with the person?
Or is it just because they're cute?
Or is it out of a need to make the person smile?
"Save the world complex."
Friday, October 9, 2009
I want to break the waterfall.
Tunes in my head: Sueisfine by My Bloody Valentine
Atmosphere: Lonely.
midnight wish blows me a kiss
and doesn't even linger then
it sits and stares with eyes so wide
and moves away with floating step
and when i reach to grasp the arm
of breaking down of final hope
she breaks too free to be alone
and never sees these actions through
midnight soul moves into this
and warms up the earthly shell
when beauty calls and rises tides
she steps upon the ocean wall
dislocates the person who
never wished for nothing more
than grasping by the heavens glow
and move away from seven hours
Atmosphere: Lonely.
midnight wish blows me a kiss
and doesn't even linger then
it sits and stares with eyes so wide
and moves away with floating step
and when i reach to grasp the arm
of breaking down of final hope
she breaks too free to be alone
and never sees these actions through
midnight soul moves into this
and warms up the earthly shell
when beauty calls and rises tides
she steps upon the ocean wall
dislocates the person who
never wished for nothing more
than grasping by the heavens glow
and move away from seven hours
Thursday, October 8, 2009
A snippet.
Tunes in my head: I Know It's Over by The Smiths
Atmosphere: Hmm...
"Writing is easy.
All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper
until drops of blood form on your forehead."
-- Gene Fowler (1890-1960)
Atmosphere: Hmm...
"Writing is easy.
All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper
until drops of blood form on your forehead."
-- Gene Fowler (1890-1960)
My little in-joke.
Tunes in my head: Lies by Thompson Twins
Atmosphere: Awake
Okay, because I like my little joke...to preserve at least one line 6 free period injoke.
the old man knows very well
going down round the snow bank there's a mound
a mound that an old man knows good
look who raises his shoe all over this mound
all over the world in another rewind
and it's time time time for the last rewind
a broken old man and a world unkind
he buried all his memories of home
in an icy clump that lies beneath the ground
no-one knows how far he travelled
oh, i heard he walked miles from the little mound
can he find some shelter?
he doesn't know to behold what the cold frost can do
and at last till he realised he circled back around
round the back circle, round the back realised
it's time time time for the last rewind
a broken old man and a world unkind
he buried all his memories of home
in an icy clump that lies beneath the ground
ice is all all he was made of
the bitter blue has thawn through
he went over to the mound
reclining down his final thoughts
had drifted to a time his life had shined
and it's time time time for the last rewind
a broken old man and a world unkind
he buried all his memories of home
in an icy cloak that lies beneath the ground
and it's time time time for the last rewind
a broken old man and a world unkind
he buried all his memories of home
in an icy cloak that lies beneath the ground
Atmosphere: Awake
Okay, because I like my little joke...to preserve at least one line 6 free period injoke.
the old man knows very well
going down round the snow bank there's a mound
a mound that an old man knows good
look who raises his shoe all over this mound
all over the world in another rewind
and it's time time time for the last rewind
a broken old man and a world unkind
he buried all his memories of home
in an icy clump that lies beneath the ground
no-one knows how far he travelled
oh, i heard he walked miles from the little mound
can he find some shelter?
he doesn't know to behold what the cold frost can do
and at last till he realised he circled back around
round the back circle, round the back realised
it's time time time for the last rewind
a broken old man and a world unkind
he buried all his memories of home
in an icy clump that lies beneath the ground
ice is all all he was made of
the bitter blue has thawn through
he went over to the mound
reclining down his final thoughts
had drifted to a time his life had shined
and it's time time time for the last rewind
a broken old man and a world unkind
he buried all his memories of home
in an icy cloak that lies beneath the ground
and it's time time time for the last rewind
a broken old man and a world unkind
he buried all his memories of home
in an icy cloak that lies beneath the ground
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Twenty thousand miles to an oasis.
Tunes in my head: Road by Nick Drake
Atmosphere: Eh.
It's interesting how our biological makeup can affect us psychologically. Apparently, of the replaceable cells in our bodies (i.e. not brain or nerve cells), we are completely replaced, we are a new person, every twelve years.
In my case, I can see where it's coming from. I used to be a genius level mathematician. Now I'm a playwright (I don't think genius level. Apparently very good, but we're our own worst critics.)
It's amazing how quickly change can come forth.
I mean, twelve years is nothing for a completely different person to emerge.
Will I be an accountant at 30? Possibly.
It's amazing how quickly change can happen in the eyes of others, though.
Within a few days we can see a complete change.
I mean, the "innocent young girl" stereotype can be destroyed by one false step.
(not that it has yet, my dear. not that it has yet.)
--
So here we are. Two hundred posts.
Two hundred little snippets of what goes through my mind.
I'm amazed if you've read them all. (and scared)
Firstly, I'll repeat what I asked at one hundred.
If the blog has had even one moment that has touched you or made you think or hit you on an emotional level or whatever, could you please tell me in a comment? I feel the need to know.
As much as I say "oh, no, I write for myself", I do write for you, the readers, as well. Ergo I would like to know if I've achieved my aim of hitting you. On an emotional level, an intellectual one, whatever.
Secondly, thank you Suzy, I love you.
Thirdly, if you read this, could you please just comment with your name (and credit card numbers?)
I'm often amazed at the sheer variety of people who read this. I used to think I'd get eight or ten readers tops.
Apparently I have somewhere in the region of sixty to a hundred.
(at a rough guess.)
So just knowing who exactly they are and how many of you there are would ease my mind slightly.
No, knowing who does and doesn't will not censor my posts.
It's just for pure maths sakes...
Yes, even if I know you read (coughbascough), comment anyway...it makes the maths easier.
And yes, I know some of you refuse to name yourself (bloody anonymouses.) Just post anyway with some identifying feature so I can distinguish.
Fourthly, I'm going to put up a musical present in an hour or so. I don't expect you to listen (although I'd really LIKE you to at least try it.)
Just consider it my present to you guys.
(EDIT: It'll be up overnight, check tomorrow. No, this isn't a plot to attract viewers.)
EDIT 2: Musical gift #1 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/4bhw3a
Thanks very much for continually reading, and keep doing so...
Liam McCann
07/10/2009
Atmosphere: Eh.
It's interesting how our biological makeup can affect us psychologically. Apparently, of the replaceable cells in our bodies (i.e. not brain or nerve cells), we are completely replaced, we are a new person, every twelve years.
In my case, I can see where it's coming from. I used to be a genius level mathematician. Now I'm a playwright (I don't think genius level. Apparently very good, but we're our own worst critics.)
It's amazing how quickly change can come forth.
I mean, twelve years is nothing for a completely different person to emerge.
Will I be an accountant at 30? Possibly.
It's amazing how quickly change can happen in the eyes of others, though.
Within a few days we can see a complete change.
I mean, the "innocent young girl" stereotype can be destroyed by one false step.
(not that it has yet, my dear. not that it has yet.)
--
So here we are. Two hundred posts.
Two hundred little snippets of what goes through my mind.
I'm amazed if you've read them all. (and scared)
Firstly, I'll repeat what I asked at one hundred.
If the blog has had even one moment that has touched you or made you think or hit you on an emotional level or whatever, could you please tell me in a comment? I feel the need to know.
As much as I say "oh, no, I write for myself", I do write for you, the readers, as well. Ergo I would like to know if I've achieved my aim of hitting you. On an emotional level, an intellectual one, whatever.
Secondly, thank you Suzy, I love you.
Thirdly, if you read this, could you please just comment with your name (and credit card numbers?)
I'm often amazed at the sheer variety of people who read this. I used to think I'd get eight or ten readers tops.
Apparently I have somewhere in the region of sixty to a hundred.
(at a rough guess.)
So just knowing who exactly they are and how many of you there are would ease my mind slightly.
No, knowing who does and doesn't will not censor my posts.
It's just for pure maths sakes...
Yes, even if I know you read (coughbascough), comment anyway...it makes the maths easier.
And yes, I know some of you refuse to name yourself (bloody anonymouses.) Just post anyway with some identifying feature so I can distinguish.
Fourthly, I'm going to put up a musical present in an hour or so. I don't expect you to listen (although I'd really LIKE you to at least try it.)
Just consider it my present to you guys.
(EDIT: It'll be up overnight, check tomorrow. No, this isn't a plot to attract viewers.)
EDIT 2: Musical gift #1 - http://www.sendspace.com/file/4bhw3a
Thanks very much for continually reading, and keep doing so...
Liam McCann
07/10/2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
The time at the water tower.
Tunes in my head: Time After Time (Annalise) by R.E.M.
Atmosphere: Okay
Firstly, a note.
This is my little corner of the internet. This is my chance to express myself. Creatively, emotionally, spiritually.
Lately I have felt unable to express myself in at least one, possibly more of these ways, among others, due to the negative comments that I occasionally get from anonymous (not so?) commenters.
THIS STOPS NOW.
I don't really care whether you have something harsh to say or not. Like it or not, those comments upset me.
Come on, guys. You've been reading this for how long? You should know by now that anonymously harsh comments upset me.
If you have a problem with something here, and you wish to express it, fine. Email me. Or leave a comment with your name.
You all know how I feel about people running away from issues. If there is an issue, for fuck's sakes confront me about it so we can work out a solution that's good for both of us. You should all know by now that I'm not even slightly focused on me when someone else has a problem.
This is my place for expression.
--
There was a time when we walked, slowly, cautiously.
We made our way to the water tower above the town.
In this, our bodies met the delightful clanging of steel.
The rhapsody of a flesh's vibraphone on metal.
Even when the searchlights burned through, we laughed.
A joyous innocence met the glance of the outside.
When we descended, arm in chain in arm.
There was this devilish smirk, highlighted by green flashes.
This was the way in which two companions had made it.
Their ultimate act of defiance, still somewhat innocent.
And twenty years later, with weariness under their sleeves.
It resurfaced in the words, and was smiled upon like before.
For time after time, it always met the happiness at the crossroad.
Even when the consequences resurfaced, even if they interlocked.
This was the story of two friends, forever chained by this.
But they wouldn't have given anything to take a second chance.
Atmosphere: Okay
Firstly, a note.
This is my little corner of the internet. This is my chance to express myself. Creatively, emotionally, spiritually.
Lately I have felt unable to express myself in at least one, possibly more of these ways, among others, due to the negative comments that I occasionally get from anonymous (not so?) commenters.
THIS STOPS NOW.
I don't really care whether you have something harsh to say or not. Like it or not, those comments upset me.
Come on, guys. You've been reading this for how long? You should know by now that anonymously harsh comments upset me.
If you have a problem with something here, and you wish to express it, fine. Email me. Or leave a comment with your name.
You all know how I feel about people running away from issues. If there is an issue, for fuck's sakes confront me about it so we can work out a solution that's good for both of us. You should all know by now that I'm not even slightly focused on me when someone else has a problem.
This is my place for expression.
--
There was a time when we walked, slowly, cautiously.
We made our way to the water tower above the town.
In this, our bodies met the delightful clanging of steel.
The rhapsody of a flesh's vibraphone on metal.
Even when the searchlights burned through, we laughed.
A joyous innocence met the glance of the outside.
When we descended, arm in chain in arm.
There was this devilish smirk, highlighted by green flashes.
This was the way in which two companions had made it.
Their ultimate act of defiance, still somewhat innocent.
And twenty years later, with weariness under their sleeves.
It resurfaced in the words, and was smiled upon like before.
For time after time, it always met the happiness at the crossroad.
Even when the consequences resurfaced, even if they interlocked.
This was the story of two friends, forever chained by this.
But they wouldn't have given anything to take a second chance.
Now I'm bleeding, somehow.
Tunes in my head: Watch Me Bleed by Tears For Fears
Atmosphere: Eh...productive
Okay, time to drown a bit...
AND NOW FOR THE MOST BORING BLOG IN EXISTENCE, LIAM'S HSC TIMETABLE.
English Paper 1: 21st October, 9:20 - 11:30am
English Paper 2: 23rd October, 9:25 - 11:30am
Ancient History: 26th October, 1:55 - 5:00pm
Music 1: 27th October, 1:55 - 3:00pm
English Extension 1: 30th October, 9:25 - 11:30am
Modern History: 3rd November, 9:25 - 12:30pm
History Extension: 6th November, 1:55 - 4:00pm
Drama: 12th November, 1:55 - 3:30pm
Whoever wants to go and party at 4pm on 12th of November, tell me now.
Time to escape...
I also need to figure out how to ban anonymous posting.
Atmosphere: Eh...productive
Okay, time to drown a bit...
AND NOW FOR THE MOST BORING BLOG IN EXISTENCE, LIAM'S HSC TIMETABLE.
English Paper 1: 21st October, 9:20 - 11:30am
English Paper 2: 23rd October, 9:25 - 11:30am
Ancient History: 26th October, 1:55 - 5:00pm
Music 1: 27th October, 1:55 - 3:00pm
English Extension 1: 30th October, 9:25 - 11:30am
Modern History: 3rd November, 9:25 - 12:30pm
History Extension: 6th November, 1:55 - 4:00pm
Drama: 12th November, 1:55 - 3:30pm
Whoever wants to go and party at 4pm on 12th of November, tell me now.
Time to escape...
I also need to figure out how to ban anonymous posting.
Monday, October 5, 2009
A shyness, criminal in nature.
Tunes in my head: I Know It's Over by The Smiths
Atmosphere: Sad
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
And as I climb into an empty bed
Oh well. Enough said.
I know it's over - still I cling
I don't know where else I can go
Oh ...
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
See, the sea wants to take me
The knife wants to slit me
Do you think you can help me ?
Sad veiled bride, please be happy
Handsome groom, give her room
Loud, loutish lover, treat her kindly
(Though she needs you
More than she loves you)
And I know it's over - still I cling
I don't know where else I can go
Over and over and over and over
Over and over, la ...
I know it's over
And it never really began
But in my heart it was so real
And you even spoke to me, and said:
"If you're so funny
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
And if you're so clever
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
If you're so very entertaining
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
If you're so very good-looking
Why do you sleep alone tonight ?
I know ...
'Cause tonight is just like any other night
That's why you're on your own tonight
With your triumphs and your charms
While they're in each other's arms..."
It's so easy to laugh
It's so easy to hate
It takes strength to be gentle and kind
Over, over, over, over
It's so easy to laugh
It's so easy to hate
It takes guts to be gentle and kind
Over, over
Love is Natural and Real
But not for you, my love
Not tonight, my love
Love is Natural and Real
But not for such as you and I, my love
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my ...
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can even feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my ...
I'm pretty fucking lonely.
I'm scared of all of this change.
I'm not as strong as you all think. When paired with a friend, I can support them, they can support me. When alone, I crumble badly.
I don't express it sometimes, but you do make me smile. You make me happy, you make me feel not alone. And you know that that's a very rare feeling for me.
It makes the abandonment so much harder to cope with.
I'm now just scared of hurting you. So scared.
Because I don't want to drive you farther away.
Atmosphere: Sad
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
And as I climb into an empty bed
Oh well. Enough said.
I know it's over - still I cling
I don't know where else I can go
Oh ...
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
See, the sea wants to take me
The knife wants to slit me
Do you think you can help me ?
Sad veiled bride, please be happy
Handsome groom, give her room
Loud, loutish lover, treat her kindly
(Though she needs you
More than she loves you)
And I know it's over - still I cling
I don't know where else I can go
Over and over and over and over
Over and over, la ...
I know it's over
And it never really began
But in my heart it was so real
And you even spoke to me, and said:
"If you're so funny
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
And if you're so clever
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
If you're so very entertaining
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
If you're so very good-looking
Why do you sleep alone tonight ?
I know ...
'Cause tonight is just like any other night
That's why you're on your own tonight
With your triumphs and your charms
While they're in each other's arms..."
It's so easy to laugh
It's so easy to hate
It takes strength to be gentle and kind
Over, over, over, over
It's so easy to laugh
It's so easy to hate
It takes guts to be gentle and kind
Over, over
Love is Natural and Real
But not for you, my love
Not tonight, my love
Love is Natural and Real
But not for such as you and I, my love
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my ...
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can even feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my ...
I'm pretty fucking lonely.
I'm scared of all of this change.
I'm not as strong as you all think. When paired with a friend, I can support them, they can support me. When alone, I crumble badly.
I don't express it sometimes, but you do make me smile. You make me happy, you make me feel not alone. And you know that that's a very rare feeling for me.
It makes the abandonment so much harder to cope with.
I'm now just scared of hurting you. So scared.
Because I don't want to drive you farther away.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Some creature has been stirred.
Tunes in my head: The Fountain of Salmacis by Genesis
Atmosphere: Empty
There's this void living inside me.
It's going ever bigger by the day, by the second.
It literally makes it so hard to breathe, to move.
There's all of this pain racking my body.
Is it a result of the void that lives inside of me?
Because fuck it, I really want it to stop.
But I don't know what the hell to do.
I'm scared, guys.
I'm really scared.
Atmosphere: Empty
There's this void living inside me.
It's going ever bigger by the day, by the second.
It literally makes it so hard to breathe, to move.
There's all of this pain racking my body.
Is it a result of the void that lives inside of me?
Because fuck it, I really want it to stop.
But I don't know what the hell to do.
I'm scared, guys.
I'm really scared.
Cried all night down the phone.
Tunes in my head: Sentimental Heart by She and Him
Atmosphere: Foreboding
I think the whole "end of the world in 2012" is very interesting and one issue that should be explored in further detail.
This is all a little rusty in my mind, by the way, so feel free to correct me on any inaccuracies.
Basically, the Mayan calendar exists in 500ish (I want to say 509, but don't quote me) year sections? And every time a new phase is introduced, the world enters a new phase.
In their culture, this could have been a new settlement, what have you.
For example, in the 1000's (1027ish?), the Aztec civilisation was founded, and in 1519, the same culture was destroyed by the Spanish under Cortez.
If these effects were echoed worldwide on the turning of the clock, perhaps we're consciously running towards the end of the world?
Perhaps it will happen, perhaps it won't.
Perhaps it will usher in a new era of science, of technology, of culture.
We shall see.
--
It's amazing, the cybernetic nature of today's society.
I mean, what are you reading this on, exactly?
But I just find it amazing how dependent we've become on these devices.
People having multiple laptops, mobile phones, iPhones, all so they can not be bored for one brief moment.
And instead we get some sort of comatose generation lacking inspiration, lacking creativity, because they're constantly being stimulated, they're constantly being assaulted by technology.
I mean, I'm not saying I'm immune to it...I generally carry a phone and an iPod on me for long bus rides or so I can be contacted in public.
But there are people with a laptop, a phone (with Mobile Facebook, naturally), an iPod, possibly a portable DVD player, too. All on their chairs.
What's the point? Get out paper and pen and actually do something different.
Think about some other way of doing things.
I remember hearing of a student who could only write one paragraph for their creative story which they had 40 minutes to write.
Are we coming to the point where the youth simply does not think? Where it sort of sits comatosely and just accepts what is fed to them?
If so, there needs to be a change.
Atmosphere: Foreboding
I think the whole "end of the world in 2012" is very interesting and one issue that should be explored in further detail.
This is all a little rusty in my mind, by the way, so feel free to correct me on any inaccuracies.
Basically, the Mayan calendar exists in 500ish (I want to say 509, but don't quote me) year sections? And every time a new phase is introduced, the world enters a new phase.
In their culture, this could have been a new settlement, what have you.
For example, in the 1000's (1027ish?), the Aztec civilisation was founded, and in 1519, the same culture was destroyed by the Spanish under Cortez.
If these effects were echoed worldwide on the turning of the clock, perhaps we're consciously running towards the end of the world?
Perhaps it will happen, perhaps it won't.
Perhaps it will usher in a new era of science, of technology, of culture.
We shall see.
--
It's amazing, the cybernetic nature of today's society.
I mean, what are you reading this on, exactly?
But I just find it amazing how dependent we've become on these devices.
People having multiple laptops, mobile phones, iPhones, all so they can not be bored for one brief moment.
And instead we get some sort of comatose generation lacking inspiration, lacking creativity, because they're constantly being stimulated, they're constantly being assaulted by technology.
I mean, I'm not saying I'm immune to it...I generally carry a phone and an iPod on me for long bus rides or so I can be contacted in public.
But there are people with a laptop, a phone (with Mobile Facebook, naturally), an iPod, possibly a portable DVD player, too. All on their chairs.
What's the point? Get out paper and pen and actually do something different.
Think about some other way of doing things.
I remember hearing of a student who could only write one paragraph for their creative story which they had 40 minutes to write.
Are we coming to the point where the youth simply does not think? Where it sort of sits comatosely and just accepts what is fed to them?
If so, there needs to be a change.
It's raining hammers, it's raining pins.
Tunes in my head: Time by Tom Waits
Atmosphere: Exhausted
Chris' was quite good...drunken FIFA, poker and just idiots having fun together.
I'm fucking exhausted...haven't slept in 32 hours...
More to come later.
Atmosphere: Exhausted
Chris' was quite good...drunken FIFA, poker and just idiots having fun together.
I'm fucking exhausted...haven't slept in 32 hours...
More to come later.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
One will move in fantasy.
Tunes in my head: Losing It by Rush
Atmosphere: Depressed
I don't understand why I still feel this way. It leads to pain, to hurt, to an emptiness inside of me.
But I can't control my own emotions, my feelings, my thoughts, my ideals.
It's scaring me. The constant thinking, the racing of so many ideals and wants and needs and this emotional whirring.
But I really don't know what to do.
I'm just...scared, I guess. And I need that in order to get my mind off what is hurting, what is slowly and painfully killing me.
I'm just sorry for being me.
There is so much pain contained within me...and I feel I'm unfairly subjecting you to it, sometimes.
But that's a result of how we work, I suppose.
I can't go much farther without you. I'm disintegrating. Quickly. And you know it. And I know, you're not doing so well yourself.
But we can support each other. Pain is easier to deal with when it's a shared experience.
Atmosphere: Depressed
I don't understand why I still feel this way. It leads to pain, to hurt, to an emptiness inside of me.
But I can't control my own emotions, my feelings, my thoughts, my ideals.
It's scaring me. The constant thinking, the racing of so many ideals and wants and needs and this emotional whirring.
But I really don't know what to do.
I'm just...scared, I guess. And I need that in order to get my mind off what is hurting, what is slowly and painfully killing me.
I'm just sorry for being me.
There is so much pain contained within me...and I feel I'm unfairly subjecting you to it, sometimes.
But that's a result of how we work, I suppose.
I can't go much farther without you. I'm disintegrating. Quickly. And you know it. And I know, you're not doing so well yourself.
But we can support each other. Pain is easier to deal with when it's a shared experience.
Friday, October 2, 2009
The lonesome victim.
Tunes in my head: I Am A Lonesome Fugitive by Leo Kottke and Mike Gordon
Atmosphere: Creative
She lay on the bed, writhing and begging for mercy.
Her face contorted itself into a number of different, equally agonising positions, each of them showing the pain within her soul. Eyes raging with the needles of fear. Mouth torn apart amongst itself, into so many different pieces.
There was no light within the room. No light within the person.
She was all alone in her cell, with no way of escape. No way to break free from this dangerous situation.
There was no window to reveal any semblence of respite, no light beaming it's way through.
She unconsciously echoed the few words in between her ears. Endlessly, namelessly. The words continued to spin on an unending loop.
Her blonde hair was in shreds on the floor.
--
This is the idea I intend on running with in November.
Atmosphere: Creative
She lay on the bed, writhing and begging for mercy.
Her face contorted itself into a number of different, equally agonising positions, each of them showing the pain within her soul. Eyes raging with the needles of fear. Mouth torn apart amongst itself, into so many different pieces.
There was no light within the room. No light within the person.
She was all alone in her cell, with no way of escape. No way to break free from this dangerous situation.
There was no window to reveal any semblence of respite, no light beaming it's way through.
She unconsciously echoed the few words in between her ears. Endlessly, namelessly. The words continued to spin on an unending loop.
Her blonde hair was in shreds on the floor.
--
This is the idea I intend on running with in November.
Some strange choices.
Tunes in my head: Experience by Gentle Giant
Atmosphere: Wishing.
It's amazing what we think in hindsight, isn't it?
I think I had a chance to make myself very happy today.
And possibly to make someone else very happy as well.
I'm not quite sure.
But for whatever reason, I decided not to take the chance.
And maybe that's for the better, y'know?
But now I'm forever stuck asking what if.
At least for a few brief moments, the passing of weeks.
Should I have made the move to kiss her passionately, emotionally?
It would have made an amazing moment, wouldn't it?
But at the same time, the fear of what else could have happened drove me to that conclusion.
At least this time I will get a chance to make it right. If I still feel the need.
Atmosphere: Wishing.
It's amazing what we think in hindsight, isn't it?
I think I had a chance to make myself very happy today.
And possibly to make someone else very happy as well.
I'm not quite sure.
But for whatever reason, I decided not to take the chance.
And maybe that's for the better, y'know?
But now I'm forever stuck asking what if.
At least for a few brief moments, the passing of weeks.
Should I have made the move to kiss her passionately, emotionally?
It would have made an amazing moment, wouldn't it?
But at the same time, the fear of what else could have happened drove me to that conclusion.
At least this time I will get a chance to make it right. If I still feel the need.
Water falls from the nozzle, not the sky.
Tunes in my head: Neverland by Marillion
Atmosphere: How dare you.
Picnic day was quite good. Despite being a crappy day for a picnic, the whole waterfight was pretty fun, except for the mad chafing at the end.
When the darkness takes me over
Face down, emptier than zero
Invisible you come to me
..quietly
Stay beside me
Whisper to me "Here I am"
And the loneliness fades
Some people think I'm somethin'
Well you gave me that, I know
But I always feel like nothing
When I'm in the dark alone
You provide the soul, the spark that drives me on
Makes me something more than flesh and bone
At times like these
Any fool can see
Any fool can see
Your love inside me
All these years
Truth In front of my eyes
While I denied
What my heart knows was right
At times like these
Any fool can see
Any fool can see
Your love inside me
I want to be someone
I want to be someone
I want to be someone
Who someone would want to be
Someone would want to be
Wendy
Darling
In the kitchen
With your dreams
Will you fly
again
Take to the sky
again
Undo the hooks
Once and for all
Banish the tic tic tic tok tok tok
Again
Will you be
Yourself for me
Cause I can take it
I can stand
Anything
When you're with me
I can stand it
I can stand
But when you're gone
I never land
In Neverland
Want to be someone someone would want to be
someone someone would want to be
someone someone would want to be
someone someone someone someone
Any fool
Any fool can see
Any fool can see
Your love
Inside me
Atmosphere: How dare you.
Picnic day was quite good. Despite being a crappy day for a picnic, the whole waterfight was pretty fun, except for the mad chafing at the end.
When the darkness takes me over
Face down, emptier than zero
Invisible you come to me
..quietly
Stay beside me
Whisper to me "Here I am"
And the loneliness fades
Some people think I'm somethin'
Well you gave me that, I know
But I always feel like nothing
When I'm in the dark alone
You provide the soul, the spark that drives me on
Makes me something more than flesh and bone
At times like these
Any fool can see
Any fool can see
Your love inside me
All these years
Truth In front of my eyes
While I denied
What my heart knows was right
At times like these
Any fool can see
Any fool can see
Your love inside me
I want to be someone
I want to be someone
I want to be someone
Who someone would want to be
Someone would want to be
Wendy
Darling
In the kitchen
With your dreams
Will you fly
again
Take to the sky
again
Undo the hooks
Once and for all
Banish the tic tic tic tok tok tok
Again
Will you be
Yourself for me
Cause I can take it
I can stand
Anything
When you're with me
I can stand it
I can stand
But when you're gone
I never land
In Neverland
Want to be someone someone would want to be
someone someone would want to be
someone someone would want to be
someone someone someone someone
Any fool
Any fool can see
Any fool can see
Your love
Inside me
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Touched by the wings of the angel.
Tunes in my head: Touched by My Bloody Valentine
Atmosphere: Go fuck yourself.
I'll start this incredibly negative post on two positive points.
Firstly.
I love Girraween 09. Grad was awesome, I have no idea how many hugs I got at the end. Yes, I did cry. It was emotional. I love you and miss you all.
Secondly.
You know I love you to bits. You know I'll always listen. You know I care. This problem is nothing. You and I both know that. Let me help, you know why I want to. Just let me help you through this...and the rest will sort itself out.
And now for the twister.
FUCK YOU YOU BITCH, WHY THE FUCK CAN'T YOU GET OUT OF MY FUCKING LIFE. I HATE YOUR FUCKING GUTS AND I HOPE YOU DIE IN A GUTTER LIKE MOST OF YOUR KIND. ONLY ADDICTS WHO WASTE HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF OTHER PEOPLE'S MONEY DESERVE TO EVEN SOCIALISE WITH A RAT LIKE YOU. YOU MAKE ME WANT TO KILL MYSELF SO I DON'T HAVE TO BE ON THE SAME PLANET AS FUCKING VERMIN LIKE YOU. WHY THE FUCK CAN'T YOU JUST LEAVE?
I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU.
I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU.
I DON'T WANT TO EVER HEAR FROM YOU AGAIN.
GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY LIFE.
Atmosphere: Go fuck yourself.
I'll start this incredibly negative post on two positive points.
Firstly.
I love Girraween 09. Grad was awesome, I have no idea how many hugs I got at the end. Yes, I did cry. It was emotional. I love you and miss you all.
Secondly.
You know I love you to bits. You know I'll always listen. You know I care. This problem is nothing. You and I both know that. Let me help, you know why I want to. Just let me help you through this...and the rest will sort itself out.
And now for the twister.
FUCK YOU YOU BITCH, WHY THE FUCK CAN'T YOU GET OUT OF MY FUCKING LIFE. I HATE YOUR FUCKING GUTS AND I HOPE YOU DIE IN A GUTTER LIKE MOST OF YOUR KIND. ONLY ADDICTS WHO WASTE HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF OTHER PEOPLE'S MONEY DESERVE TO EVEN SOCIALISE WITH A RAT LIKE YOU. YOU MAKE ME WANT TO KILL MYSELF SO I DON'T HAVE TO BE ON THE SAME PLANET AS FUCKING VERMIN LIKE YOU. WHY THE FUCK CAN'T YOU JUST LEAVE?
I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU.
I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU.
I DON'T WANT TO EVER HEAR FROM YOU AGAIN.
GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY LIFE.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
To only knows who.
Tunes in my head: When You Sleep by My Bloody Valentine
Atmosphere: Happy
Apparently I'm the love child of Samuel Beckett and Germaine Greer, according to Mike.
Thank you all. From the bottom of my heart.
As up and down as it may have been on occasion, it really has been an honour to grow up as people with you all.
The pleasure and the priviledge has been mine and mine alone.
I'm just feeling jubilation right now. Happiness. Almost speechless.
To all the people who wrote on me today, thank you very much. So very much. Even the seemingly generic messages mean something to me.
The story is just beginning, my friends.
This chapter may be coming to it's conclusive moments, but the book is just being opened. New oppurtunities are becoming evident by the day.
Time to take life as it comes.
Keep in touch. Keep reading. My story is just beginning. Our story is just beginning.
Even if we disappear from each other, there will always be remergences, there will always be appearances, there will always be reminders.
To my seniors. Thank you, Michael. Thank you, Scott. Thank you, Lesley. Thank you, Lyn. Thank you, Trevor. Thank you, Andrew. Thank you, Julie. Thank you, Rob. Thank you, Janelle. Thank you, Joshua.
To my peers. Thank you, Chris. Thank you, Rhiannon. Thank you, Rebecca. Thank you, Sarah. Thank you, Anna. Thank you, Hans. Thank you, Katrin. Thank you, Thomas. Thank you, George. Thank you, Peter. Thank you, Leo. Thank you, Ivana. Thank you, Olivia. Thank you, Clinton. Thank you, Ankesh. Thank you, Cheng. Thank you, Shirley. Thank you, Bas. Thank you, everyone who didn't write on me who knows they're important to me.
It's been such a wild ride. I think I'll end with this song.
Well I'm needing less restraint than before
Well I'm needing to hit the lights and close the door
I'm fine, I'm fine
Cause I'm
Dripping in this strange design
None is yours and far less mine
Hold the wheel, read the sign
Keep the tires off the line
Just relax, you're doing fine
Swimming in this real thing I call life
Can I bring a few companions on this ride?
Well I'm feeling, my heart's not beating anymore
Well I'm feeling. it's alright, this happened once before
I'm fine, I'm fine
Cause I'm
Dripping in this strange design
None is yours and far less mine
Hold the wheel, read the sign
Keep the tires off the line
Just relax, you're doing fine
Swimming in this real thing I call life
Can I bring a few companions on this ride?
Thankyou, and for now, goodbye.
- Liam McCann
30/09/09
Atmosphere: Happy
Apparently I'm the love child of Samuel Beckett and Germaine Greer, according to Mike.
Thank you all. From the bottom of my heart.
As up and down as it may have been on occasion, it really has been an honour to grow up as people with you all.
The pleasure and the priviledge has been mine and mine alone.
I'm just feeling jubilation right now. Happiness. Almost speechless.
To all the people who wrote on me today, thank you very much. So very much. Even the seemingly generic messages mean something to me.
The story is just beginning, my friends.
This chapter may be coming to it's conclusive moments, but the book is just being opened. New oppurtunities are becoming evident by the day.
Time to take life as it comes.
Keep in touch. Keep reading. My story is just beginning. Our story is just beginning.
Even if we disappear from each other, there will always be remergences, there will always be appearances, there will always be reminders.
To my seniors. Thank you, Michael. Thank you, Scott. Thank you, Lesley. Thank you, Lyn. Thank you, Trevor. Thank you, Andrew. Thank you, Julie. Thank you, Rob. Thank you, Janelle. Thank you, Joshua.
To my peers. Thank you, Chris. Thank you, Rhiannon. Thank you, Rebecca. Thank you, Sarah. Thank you, Anna. Thank you, Hans. Thank you, Katrin. Thank you, Thomas. Thank you, George. Thank you, Peter. Thank you, Leo. Thank you, Ivana. Thank you, Olivia. Thank you, Clinton. Thank you, Ankesh. Thank you, Cheng. Thank you, Shirley. Thank you, Bas. Thank you, everyone who didn't write on me who knows they're important to me.
It's been such a wild ride. I think I'll end with this song.
Well I'm needing less restraint than before
Well I'm needing to hit the lights and close the door
I'm fine, I'm fine
Cause I'm
Dripping in this strange design
None is yours and far less mine
Hold the wheel, read the sign
Keep the tires off the line
Just relax, you're doing fine
Swimming in this real thing I call life
Can I bring a few companions on this ride?
Well I'm feeling, my heart's not beating anymore
Well I'm feeling. it's alright, this happened once before
I'm fine, I'm fine
Cause I'm
Dripping in this strange design
None is yours and far less mine
Hold the wheel, read the sign
Keep the tires off the line
Just relax, you're doing fine
Swimming in this real thing I call life
Can I bring a few companions on this ride?
Thankyou, and for now, goodbye.
- Liam McCann
30/09/09
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
I'll never lay down the phone.
To Scott.
(I can call you that now, right? Considering I'll only be a student for another two days.
Oh, come on. I'll pay you in icecream pizza.
Please?
Okay, fine.
If it really offends you to be called that, just replace all instances of your name with
“Mr S. Henretty” or something.
I mean, you'll always be “sir” to me, so whatever, homie.
ANYWAY, THIS TOMFOOLERY SHOULD CEASE NOW.
ENOUGH.)
I don't know where to really start with this, so I guess the beginning is probably the best place to do such.
I remember distinctly the first school day of 2006. I'm sure you remember it vaguely too. My distinct memory is being over the other side of the room from this arsehole. He was operating some overhead projector and practically acting like Hitler. I recall thinking to myself “oh, what a fucking arsehole, this year is going to be absolute utter torture.”
Oh, how wrong I was.
Two weeks later, I come into the class, dreading the next hour. The person leading the class, however, had changed. Not physically, he was still the same not-so-young (heh) teacher who was there before. In terms of what he said, what he did, however, he had vastly changed.
I realise now he was merely revealing his true self.
Now there was this eccentric, extremely funny, quintessentially sarcastic British bastard.
I start liking English soon after. Coincidence? Maybe so. Maybe not. Over the ongoing year, I made a note of my own personal behaviour. Instead of being the shy kid who would hide inside his shell like I was previously, I started to emerge from the cacoon a bit. I decided to talk more, to go on a limb, to take a chance. To not be afraid of who I am.
I mean, when you've got an enthusiastic, full on teacher talking to you (not at you, as previous experiences had shown,) what's the point of holding back and hiding? Reveal who one is.
Eventually, to speed the story up, I ended up doing Drama, possibly as a direct result of this madman, possibly not. (I can't remember exactly.) I started leaning heavily towards the Arts side of the subject spectrum. I started writing more. Short stories at first, then poems, then scenes, and finally plays. I started being more experimental in myself and living on the edge.
Who do you think influenced this?
I know.
I distinctly remember one conversation from Year 9. I had recently read the Kafka short story At Night, which goes as follows.
Deeply lost in the night.
Just as one sometimes lowers one’s head to reflect, thus to be utterly lost in the night.
All around people are asleep.
Its just play-acting, an innocent self- deception, that they sleep in houses, in safe beds, under a safe roof, stretched out or curled up on mattresses, in sheets, under blankets; in reality they have flocked together as they had once upon a time and again later in a deserted region, a camp in the open, a countless number of men, an army, a people, under a cold sky on cold earth, collapsed where once they had stood, forehead pressed on the arm, face to the ground, breathing quietly.
And you are watching, are one of the watchmen, you find the next one by brandishing a burning stick from the brushwood pile beside you.
Why are you watching?
Someone must watch, it is said.
Someone must be there.
At some point, I had brought this up in class. We had a brief discussion about this, but it obviously resonated for a long time. Perhaps because I felt a connection with a teacher on an intellectual level for the first time?
I mean, I can still remember it vividly, in Technicolour detail, can't I? Surely that says something?
I'm sure you've heard that I've fought depression a lot. Or even just guessed it through your own observations. (This story isn't about me, though.)
What I do remember is that you'd always be saying some ridiculous joke or comment in order to make me and everyone around you smile. It probably isn't anything to you, but it is to me.
I decided recently that I may like to become a teacher. (I'm not entirely sure.) People laugh at this visual, but whatever. What you probably don't know is that this one English teacher who had boundless enthusiasm for the students was what influenced me.
You're like one of us, and that's what makes me feel comfortable in writing this, in talking to you about this. It makes me want to help you out wherever I can. I feel there's some debt that I owe. And there needs to be repayment.
(is whiskey acceptable?)
I have an immense amount of respect for you, Scott. But I'm sure you know that by now. And when you see some play or movie from me in ten years time, you know that it's at least a little bit for you. I don't think comments or criticism from anyone else about The Last Rewind really meant anything. I felt most in tune, most at home with all of your ideas. I didn't take them all on board, of course not. But I could see myself coming up with them. I'm sure you've noticed that throughout the past year.
To wrap it up, thank you so much for everything. I owe you endlessly.
- Liam McCann
29/09/09
(I can call you that now, right? Considering I'll only be a student for another two days.
Oh, come on. I'll pay you in icecream pizza.
Please?
Okay, fine.
If it really offends you to be called that, just replace all instances of your name with
“Mr S. Henretty” or something.
I mean, you'll always be “sir” to me, so whatever, homie.
ANYWAY, THIS TOMFOOLERY SHOULD CEASE NOW.
ENOUGH.)
I don't know where to really start with this, so I guess the beginning is probably the best place to do such.
I remember distinctly the first school day of 2006. I'm sure you remember it vaguely too. My distinct memory is being over the other side of the room from this arsehole. He was operating some overhead projector and practically acting like Hitler. I recall thinking to myself “oh, what a fucking arsehole, this year is going to be absolute utter torture.”
Oh, how wrong I was.
Two weeks later, I come into the class, dreading the next hour. The person leading the class, however, had changed. Not physically, he was still the same not-so-young (heh) teacher who was there before. In terms of what he said, what he did, however, he had vastly changed.
I realise now he was merely revealing his true self.
Now there was this eccentric, extremely funny, quintessentially sarcastic British bastard.
I start liking English soon after. Coincidence? Maybe so. Maybe not. Over the ongoing year, I made a note of my own personal behaviour. Instead of being the shy kid who would hide inside his shell like I was previously, I started to emerge from the cacoon a bit. I decided to talk more, to go on a limb, to take a chance. To not be afraid of who I am.
I mean, when you've got an enthusiastic, full on teacher talking to you (not at you, as previous experiences had shown,) what's the point of holding back and hiding? Reveal who one is.
Eventually, to speed the story up, I ended up doing Drama, possibly as a direct result of this madman, possibly not. (I can't remember exactly.) I started leaning heavily towards the Arts side of the subject spectrum. I started writing more. Short stories at first, then poems, then scenes, and finally plays. I started being more experimental in myself and living on the edge.
Who do you think influenced this?
I know.
I distinctly remember one conversation from Year 9. I had recently read the Kafka short story At Night, which goes as follows.
Deeply lost in the night.
Just as one sometimes lowers one’s head to reflect, thus to be utterly lost in the night.
All around people are asleep.
Its just play-acting, an innocent self- deception, that they sleep in houses, in safe beds, under a safe roof, stretched out or curled up on mattresses, in sheets, under blankets; in reality they have flocked together as they had once upon a time and again later in a deserted region, a camp in the open, a countless number of men, an army, a people, under a cold sky on cold earth, collapsed where once they had stood, forehead pressed on the arm, face to the ground, breathing quietly.
And you are watching, are one of the watchmen, you find the next one by brandishing a burning stick from the brushwood pile beside you.
Why are you watching?
Someone must watch, it is said.
Someone must be there.
At some point, I had brought this up in class. We had a brief discussion about this, but it obviously resonated for a long time. Perhaps because I felt a connection with a teacher on an intellectual level for the first time?
I mean, I can still remember it vividly, in Technicolour detail, can't I? Surely that says something?
I'm sure you've heard that I've fought depression a lot. Or even just guessed it through your own observations. (This story isn't about me, though.)
What I do remember is that you'd always be saying some ridiculous joke or comment in order to make me and everyone around you smile. It probably isn't anything to you, but it is to me.
I decided recently that I may like to become a teacher. (I'm not entirely sure.) People laugh at this visual, but whatever. What you probably don't know is that this one English teacher who had boundless enthusiasm for the students was what influenced me.
You're like one of us, and that's what makes me feel comfortable in writing this, in talking to you about this. It makes me want to help you out wherever I can. I feel there's some debt that I owe. And there needs to be repayment.
(is whiskey acceptable?)
I have an immense amount of respect for you, Scott. But I'm sure you know that by now. And when you see some play or movie from me in ten years time, you know that it's at least a little bit for you. I don't think comments or criticism from anyone else about The Last Rewind really meant anything. I felt most in tune, most at home with all of your ideas. I didn't take them all on board, of course not. But I could see myself coming up with them. I'm sure you've noticed that throughout the past year.
To wrap it up, thank you so much for everything. I owe you endlessly.
- Liam McCann
29/09/09
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