My Sleeping Patterns

They're officially fucked.

Well, anyway. Hello there chaps :)

I thought it might qualify as time for an update. Still in university, obviously, but I'm back in Hastings for a very merry pissedmas and a fappy new smear. I've missed everyone colossally; it's horrible being so far away from everyone. I feel the constant need to touch base with home, just in case something has happened. In case someone has changed and is in some sense irretrievable. Although I imagine I'll feel similarly about my new uni friends whilst I'm back home. My home friends and my uni friends. It's weird that I've got the place I'm from and also this other place that I technically live now, and even weirder that the familiar faces I see every day are now different to all the ones I'm used to. Rather than the slow transition of becoming emotionally distanced, I now have this weird wrench of suddenly being physically separated.

Doesn't help that my girlfriend lives many miles away either. Still, we'll both be back for pissedmas :)

My home friends and my uni friends. What a weird dichotomy :P

But anyway. Enough pseudo-philosophical angsting for now. The holidays are looming just beyond all these deadlines, and in two days time...

Crazytimes :D

Crazytimes...

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Simple Mathematics

Okay, so... say for example that this is me:

Except recently I've looked a little more like this poor little fella 'cause I'm ill:

Which means I should really stay in bed, but my uni looks like this:

Which meant that of course I just had to do this:

Which probably didn't help so much. But guess what I'm almost certainly gonna do today?

Yeah :)

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Wait, hang on

Well. New rule. You can only pass judgement on someone based on at least several hard facts or encounters directly pertaining to the judgement being passed. I've nearly been screwed over twice now by that one.

So I'm gonna go ahead and tentatively take one point off of 2010 and reassign it back to myself. Although I've got my eyes on you, 2010, you snide cunt. I don't trust you.

Also, that above new rule? Breaking it is punishable by enthusiastic face-fisting.

2010 is nearly over

Running score? 2010: five. Kieran O'Mant: nil.

Fuck you, 2010. Fuck you so hard it hurts.

Dear Codie:

Thank you so, so, so much for coming to uni with me.

You never ever ever ever read my blog, so you'll probably never see this... but I think I'd go actually completely insane without you :)

Also, I hereby selfishly decree that you're not ever allowed to go back to Hastings for that long without me again. NOT EVEN if I visit Jess in Bristol like I did this time.

She brings me joy and happiness, but Jess is not so good at keeping an overall sense of sanity about our environs.

Soon we'll all be back in Hastings for Christmas and I can see all my lovely friends again, whom every second with is a delight.

Also, it is totally four in the morning. Dang.

P.S. If you ever read this, Jess, I still have the warm, fuzzy sorts of feelings for you, so don't worry about the fact that you are ACTUALLY LOOPY ;)

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This Right Here

Is weird. I was under this bizarre assumption that when I left Hastings things would mellow out a little. Oh, how wrong I was! I suppose it's not the people I surrounded myself with that were the sole cause of the crazy, although they certainly helped. Gaddamn, I miss a hell of a lotta people. Which is not in the slightest to say it's bad up here, it's actually lovely and amazing and all that jazz. It's just still exactly as mad and confusing as ever, and even though it's great most of the time it turns out I'm still riding the crest of Wavey McCrazington as ever, and every now and then that fucker beaches.

Anyway, if you Hastings people are still following this then remember you're all in my thoughts, always and constantly. Spread the word :)





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I'm in Uni

And God damn do I feel ill. Once I've gone to that fucking lecture I'm going to sleep like the dead, and not the kind of dead that gets back up again to eat people either.

Extery VIII

He'll fucking do it.

A Little Late, But I Kinda Forgot I Had a Blogger

Your breath and youth have been stolen,

And with them the world has been robbed of laughter,

All that we have been given in return is the shivering madness of hysteria,

And the hollow cries of the naked creatures that walk like men and pace in the bushes.

We tied you some flowers and hung them in the rose garden.

They were beautiful, much like you.

Полагайте, что я люблю Вас.

Abstract Inn

“There is no subject matter more pertinent,”
Dribbled Sickness to Health,
As they sat opposite each other over a smoke-veiled table,
In a bar called the Abstract Inn.

Health nodded its consent, with the warm amber of vitality painted like honey over its skin,
“The issue raised is of worth and wonder, the virtues it brings of mirth and of thunder,
Announced from lips and proclaimed through kisses, holding in one hand roses and in the other thistles,
Painted in sacrifice but stencilled in selfish, divine in success and in its failure hellish,
With sonnets in its breath but curses in its shrieks,” and thus did Health speak.

Health reaches for a drink; honey, water, milk and lemon,
Sickness on an IV with morphine, bile, blood and whisky,
Sickness lays it’s weeping, cracked arms on the table,
And parts its dry lips to speak.

Sickness exhales a dull, dusty breath that rattles in its throat before gurgling out its say,
“The issue raised is of note and beauty, its sins like rot on a blooming fruit-tree,
Announced in orgasmic shrieks and proclaimed in tears, holding in one hand weeks and in the other years,
Painted by such adventurous power but with a cautious hand, success blooming flowers that failure turns to sand,
With hatred in its howls, but sincerest kindness in its eyes,” did Sickness then longingly sigh.

Health raises its glass and Sickness raises an arm,
They raise a toast between the two, in Healths hand and from Sickness wrist,
“Careful with that,” says Health, “you’ll get pissed.”

Howl & Footnote to Howl - By Allen Ginsberg

Howl

For Carl Solomon

I

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,

who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,

who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,

who passed through universities with radiant eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,

who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,

who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,

who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,

who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night

with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,

incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping towards poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,

Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,

who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,

who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,

who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,

a lost batallion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon

yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,

whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement,

who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,

suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark's bleak furnished room,

who wandered around and around at midnight in the railway yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts,

who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,

who studied Plotinus Poe St John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the universe instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,

who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels,

who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,

who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,

who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,

who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving nothing behind but the shadow of dungarees and the larva and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,

who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,

who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism, who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,

who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,

who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,

who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,

who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,

who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,

who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may,

who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword,

who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman's loom,

who copulated ecstatic and insatiate and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,

who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but were prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake,

who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses' rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,

who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hungover with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices,

who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open full of steamheat and opium,

who created great suicidal dramas on the appartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,

who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of the Bowery,

who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,

who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts, who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology,

who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,

who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,

who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,

who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for an Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,

who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,

who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,

who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,

who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles,

who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch Birmingham jazz incarnation,

who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,

who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,

who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other's salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,

who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,

who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,

who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,

who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturerson Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with the shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,

and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,

who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,

returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,

Pilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,

with mother finally *****, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger on the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination—

ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you're really in the total animal soup of time—

and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrating plane,

who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soulbetween 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus

to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,

the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death,

and rose incarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America's naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio

with the absolute heart of the poem butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.


II

What sphinx of cement and aluminium bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?

Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!

Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!

Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgement! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments!

Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!

Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovas! Moloch whose factories dream and choke in the fog! Moloch whose smokestacks and antennae crown the cities!

Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!

Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!

Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!

Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisable suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!

They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!

Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstacies! gone down the American river!

Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!

Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years' animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!

Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!


III

Carl Solomon! I'm with you in Rockland

where you're madder than I am

I'm with you in Rockland

where you must feel strange

I'm with you in Rockland

where you imitate the shade of my mother

I'm with you in Rockland

where you've murdered your twelve secretaries

I'm with you in Rockland

where you laugh at this invisible humour

I'm with you in Rockland

where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter

I'm with you in Rockland

where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio

I'm with you in Rockland

where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses

I'm with you in Rockland

where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica

I'm with you in Rockland

where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx

I'm with you in Rockland

where you scream in a straightjacket that you're losing the game of actual pingpong of the abyss

I'm with you in Rockland

where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse

I'm with you in Rockland

where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a cross in the void

I'm with you in Rockland

where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the fascist national Golgotha

I'm with you in Rockland

where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb

I'm with you in Rockland

where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale

I'm with you in Rockland

where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won't let us sleep

I'm with you in Rockland

where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls' airplanes roaring over the roof they've come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls collapse O skinny legions run outside O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here O victory forget your underwear we're free

I'm with you in Rockland

in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night

Footnote To Howl

Allen Ginsberg

Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!

Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!  

The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy!       

The nose is holy! The tongue and cock and hand       

and asshole holy!  

Everything is holy! everybody's holy! everywhere is       

holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman's an       

angel!  The bum's as holy as the seraphim! the madman is       

holy as you my soul are holy!  

The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is       

holy the hearers are holy the ecstasy is holy!  

Holy Peter holy Allen holy Solomon holy Lucien holy       

Kerouac holy Huncke holy Burroughs holy 

Cassady holy the unknown buggered and suffering       

beggars holy the hideous human angels!  

Holy my mother in the insane asylum! Holy the cocks       

of the grandfathers of Kansas!  Holy the groaning saxophone! 

Holy the bop       

apocalypse! Holy the jazzbands marijuana       

hipsters peace & junk & drums!  Holy the solitudes of skyscrapers and pavements! Holy       

the cafeterias filled with the millions! Holy the       

mysterious rivers of tears under the streets!  Holy the lone juggernaut! Holy the vast lamb of the       

middle class! Holy the crazy shepherds of rebell-       

ion! Who digs Los Angeles IS Los Angeles!  

Holy New York Holy San Francisco Holy Peoria &       

Seattle Holy Paris Holy Tangiers Holy Moscow       

Holy Istanbul!  Holy time in eternity holy eternity in time holy the       

clocks in space holy the fourth dimension holy       

the fifth International holy the Angel in Moloch!  

Holy the sea holy the desert holy the railroad holy the       

locomotive holy the visions holy the hallucina-       

tions holy the miracles holy the eyeball holy the       

abyss!  Holy forgiveness! mercy! charity! faith! Holy! Ours!       

bodies! suffering! magnanimity!  

Holy the supernatural extra brilliant intelligent       

kindness of the soul!

This picture brings me glee

Das ist oll.

xxxxx

It has just occured to me...

That I have never, EVER written a poem or short story on this blog sober. Shit.

The parade of human decency

The parade of human decency was a masqued ball, it wheeled about the town and down the streets with the idle pace of a dancing troupe,

There were cats and gods and intertwining tiles,

Abstract and resplendant; all the devils wore smiles.

First danced the selfless and then the kind,

Behind them stretched back in an infinite line danced the helpers and forgivers,

And last danced the guilty, slow and heavy, but made strong by repentance.

Not dancing were the scoffers, who scoffed and scoffed,

And scoffed and scoffed and scoffed until they choked,

And fell down to seizures on the floor.

"Man is but an accident of hateful birth!" they gurgled from the ground,

"There's nothing worth saving or protecting, smug despair at least,

offers the chance to leer, sneer!" But it never brings them peace.

Dancing in long rows were compassion and compromise, twin schools of whirling reds and orange,

Fluttering like heartbeats in long, ribboned coats,

Each with red silk scarves riding high on their throats.

Not dancing were spite and mistrust, who gathered conspiratorially in great dark murmurs,

"You can't make a point by agreeing!" growled spite from within it's rattled bones,

"You take an arguement by force" conceded mistrust, both of them alone.

Dancing last came the patient, roots grew from their fingers and their eyes reflected green,

They wove slowly past and the progression took days,

And then the dance dispersed, but the dancers never went away.

Not dancing were the wrathful, the furies and the hate, they stood not in attendance,

For of all the violent and the cruelties not a single one was left,

They had torn each other to pieces.

Nobody mourned their deaths.

Happy Jibberish Blog

Well, this isn't really going to go anywhere. With a name like that. To be honest, I would have given up a little bit ago. Oh, you should see the big, silly, mock-serious look on my face right now. Now I'm grinning.
I actually can't keep this up. Typing is too much fun to think about :D

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The Insis-Persis-Temptation of Optimism

He can sit in his hall all he wants,
And sit he will, because that's what he wants, what he wants;
The silence of tomorrow,
The silence of today,
The loneliness but the comfort,
He shoots heroin without a needle,
He shoots his snide bullets at people, he can hardly remember the names,
Or the places or the faces,
Or the times or the thoughts,
Or the this or the that but he carries on because it's what he's got,
He traded everything for this.

In a one room apartment, on a one room street,
In a one room town on a one room world he is safe,
He hides from the thrusts and parries of dialogue,
Of the drops and tallies he takes,
And all the friends he fails to make.

Alone is a verb when the word is done not been,
And in solitude there is nothing to be sought,
And the creeping dust of dissent seeps into a mind,
And emptiness has turned his eyes blind,
And sorrow twisted his finers to claws,
And silence has locked his broken jaw.

And the static of the TV crackles on channel nothing,
Like a tiger's purr it promises invitation and violence,
But it never promises silence.

And his only sheet is black, and his name is despair,
And he doesn't see the trees and he doesn't breathe the air,
And he isn't wanted here and he doesn't want to be there,
And he calls a glance and smile a stare,
He thinks in suspicion and he deals in quarts,
But he's alone with only his sighs and his thoughts.

Because hope is what made us and keeps us on,
Children's films and erotic novels teach us the insistence of optimism,
And Salvador Dali scratched out the persistence of memory,
And the Bible lists the first temptation,
And they all exist in the same place, the same sphere of being and existent remedies.

So don't make sense of it,
And don't lose faith in it,
Because it's the only one we've got,
And we'll never get another.




x

The Continuing Adventures of Kieran!

First and foremost I would like to address the condition of my head. It hurts :(
I've got one bastard hangover slowly brewing. Whether it will make it all the way to the karmic horror of it's gradual potential or merely seep away into the recesses of my head like some kind of oily discharge has yet to be seen.

Aside from that though, I am listening to Radiohead, lying on my bed and contemplating the beauty of the natural world near my house. So all in all it's not so bad at all :)

Aside from that little to say, just noticed the bleak bareness of my blog. Working on Daniel Goodbye III, but I'm worried about the disintegrating quality of the pieces. Maybe I should get high or somesuch.

:)

Rags to Rags and Dust to Dust

There is something oddly euphoric about coming out the deep end.

I think I deliberately engineered myself a bad time lately, it happens all the time. Every time it's silly and stupid, it's never an overstatement of experience, it's always a deliberate throwing off of sensibilities to my detriment. This time, though, I saw someone else doing the same thing.

It's hilarious XD

But anyway, I occasionally like to live in angst. I think everyone does, to one extent or the other. People feel sorry for themselves, it's kinda fun in a perverse way.

But that's not what defines someone. A little angst is the basis of the adolescent stumbling that keeps life interesting; if we were cool, adult and sorted all the time then that leaves little enough for adventure.

And I fucking LOVE adventure :D

I like being cheerful, it's a good quality in a person. I like parts of me that make me nice to be around, but this is my favourite because it makes it nice to be me :D

Hmmm, normally I get rid of blogs like this. Slightly too revealing; ya know, the kind that says I've had one too many drink tonight or I will tomorrow. They always go, but I think I'll keep this. This ain't angst, my friends. This is life :)

If you never do another thing, listen to this song. It's appreciable. Everyone likes it :)

Incidentally I like tequila. It's like normal spirits, but made from cactus. That's just downright hardcore.

xxxxxx

The cutest thing ever

Fireflies

Today has been... a lovely day :)

I've been getting a lot of stuff done. Not even really important stuff, I'm just doing things, being places. The sort of thing you can feel good about when you want to put your feet up at the end of the day :)

Anyway, I'd love to recommend the Gomez song "In Our Gun" to you, but it's not on Youtube. So I dunno, go to Grooveshark and look it up if ya really wanna go with my suggestion :)

Try and hear it out all the way though, about three quarters in it suddenly drops into this awesome, gritty electronica segment.

Also, I heard that Katie may have footage of Codie and I playing a couple of songs at the Rooms. If I get hold of that, I might stick it up for you guys :)

Oddly sexualising positivity there, that picture. That makes it inherintly awesome (Y) :P

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My first spambot conversation

Kieranosaurus Wrecked says:

Codie

lilpixirokkin says:

Yay someone to talk to !! how are u? I found your name in the msn online members search

Kieranosaurus Wrecked says:

Found my name?

lilpixirokkin says:

Leanne is my real name but all my friends call me Lia

Kieranosaurus Wrecked says:

Hmmm? Oh, I thought you were my friend Codie

lilpixirokkin says:

my roomates just stepped out I only have a little while alone... are u alone too? we should cam2cam

Kieranosaurus Wrecked says:

Aaah, so you're a spambot on Codie's account then. Well that makes sense.

lilpixirokkin says:

nah, I am a vegetarian... no spam for me! haha

Kieranosaurus Wrecked says:

... That was very nearly a response

lilpixirokkin says:

K here's the link to my cam it's http://www.freakyloving.com/avbp go there and you should see me, just click the join free tab on top of the page, I use this site cause you can't record it like on here -- my dad would kill me if he found out I was doing this stuff on his computer lol

Kieranosaurus Wrecked says:

That's not even remotely connected to what we were just talking about. The facade of human response is rapidly deteriorating here.

lilpixirokkin says:

LOL aw you're cute.. well can u see my cam it was giving me trouble earlier but it looks ok now? oh I hope u dont mind chatting with a freaky girl lol!

Kieranosaurus Wrecked says:

There is nothing cute about me stating that I find your attempts at imitating a person through technology to be cold, unconvincing and frankly a littel creepy. Not even a little bit.

lilpixirokkin says:

yeah i'm horny lolz! u? Wait you're not a stalker are u?? LOL

Kieranosaurus Wrecked says:

Why yes, yes I am. I stalk people all the time using my human limbs that you clearly do not possess for you are an unnerving string of ones and zeros that imitate sentience in order to make disjointed statements about coitus.

lilpixirokkin says:

Mhhm u never know lol I have to make sure! . maybe we can trade phone numbers after we chat on cam ? I'd love to...

Kieranosaurus Wrecked says:

Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn, ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn. The dark one is risen, the destroyer is come, ia ia! Cthulhu fhtagn.

lilpixirokkin says:

nice well u can also just watch me if u want....it's up to u oh babe what's your favorite color?

Kieranosaurus Wrecked says:

This is one of those things, ya know, the ones that are not funny, but then they're funny, but then they stop being funny again and then they start being funny again. Spambot baiting. You could make a good sport out of it.

lilpixirokkin says:

nah, I am a vegetarian... no spam for me! haha

Kieranosaurus Wrecked says:

Spam.

lilpixirokkin says:

nah, I am a vegetarian... no spam for me! haha

Kieranosaurus Wrecked says:

Spam.

lilpixirokkin says:

nah, I am a vegetarian... no spam for me! haha

Kieranosaurus Wrecked says:

Well, anyway, I'm going to stop this now. The humour quality has exited the facade of a conversation with a loud noise best characterized by the combination of consonants "plbth". Toodle loo.

lilpixirokkin says:

make sure u fill out your correct b-day k? cause they won't let u in if you can't verify age I had to use my debit card to verify age but they don't charge, it's just to make sure you're not a kid

Re: *Is Negative Crab*

Well, actually I think you'll find you're awesome. So if you take a moment to think about, you're the real winner. When you get right down to it. Really :p

I mean you have a whole lot of this:

So really, when you think about it, that's basically just this:



Oh, and by the way, here's that hug :)

Well now

Only two days back from Bangface:

And already I'm feeling almost normal again. Hell, this week may not be as difficult as I had previously thought :)

Well, tomorrow is Wednesday, which means Codie comes round and we play some geetar :)

Which will be nice. Always pretty cool :)

Also, I have a pretty new guitar. It's very pretty. You'll just have to take my word for it unless your superior vision can pierce the misty red gloom of the above photo. :p

Anyway, I feel obliged to, as always, provide you with some tunes from the vaults of Kierans musical taste, so let's start with some Radiohead, 'cause I love Radiohead ^^

Strange video. Kinda pretty, but maybe a little pretentious. Ah well :)

It's spring again, we've had daffodil season and now the snowbells, bluebells and cherry blossoms are encroaching on the scene. Followers of my blog from last year surely know that this all leads to a happy Kie. He appreciates the flowers and the leaves (y)

Anyway, University in September. I think, when I get there, I will follow the advice of a friend and set up a seperate blog for writing creatively in. Try and write a little something every day, even if it's just a sentence. Start to take this thing a little more seriously :)

Those tunes were, for the record, Hunting Bears by Radiohead and then Ruff Stuff by Gomez :)

Well, I'm all out of words for now. Have a lovely spring if I fall silent throughout the whole thing, though I'll try to keep from it :)

All my love, chaps :)

xxxxxxxxxx

Huh

Well, it looks like life raped me with the wine bottle of misfortune.

Fucking hell.

Well, whatever, I'm a big boy now.

I can take this shit.

So a nice, rounded thank you for the good times and fuck you for the bad.

Here, have a song:

So here ya are kiddywiks

Well, it's official rather than just hypothetical now. Cave parties are cool. Found a little cave in some woods near ma house the other day and spent the past two days trying to organise cave parties there. Last night it finally came together and was a resounding success. Must invest in firewood and cave-pimping necessities.

So yeah, roll on summer and the endless cave parties. Also, discovered a weird little band. The genre is apparently "Freak Folk".

Me likey.

Here, have a chunk, it's a band called CocoRosie. And the song is K-Hole.

Well, that's about it for now. Love and tings :)

xxxxx

Mr Goodbye II

Hmmm... I don't think I like this one as much as the first :/ Oh well, here ya are :)

The sands whisper to themselves, in a desert as capricious and fluid as this, and the things they whisper are a farflung assortment for the ears of a listener, from biblical passages to recipies for bread. Many a single soul has lost a mind and a half listening to every word and every single syllable that has echoed from undying and unbirthing dunes there.

Goodbye. (Forgive me, not a statement and end to a story but a man and a beggining.) One Mr. Daniel. Daniel Goodbye.

Goodbye is the last thing one says to another, if one holds to proper sentence structure. (As neither the sands nor our protagonist are wont to do, but I hold a mind as open as a cage with no bars, so maybe you know more) and as such is often the last thing heard. To most this is the natural way, but Daniel Goodbye was a man of skill. And a man of pride.

Despair! A parasite with clicking heels and snapping hints of a spine eight times bisected! For every success, it grows a new leg, for every failure it grows a new fang... Weeping great tears of oil from it's eighty eight eyes, stumbling with rusty joints and lockjawed motives... yet despite this devilish spider-spun contraption of a body, it was more the frame of a centipede than some arachnid nightmare... some venemous bulb-bodied spider-sack frame was too obvious for a beast this subtle... Across the sands it skittered and slid, as if losing purchase whilst walking on water or telling lies. Its onset would be sudden, its rush demanding and deranged... such was the trappings and makings of Despair.

Now, Daniel had walked long in the desert when it began to snow... so long in fact that he had almost forgot the vagaries of the weather and, like so many children on a winters morn, was rather taken aback when the frost and finery draped the land. See, despair was a creature cold and crystalline and a snowstorm in a desert is the first harbinger of such a condition. The poison Apathy which dripped from it's fangs had sizzled and spat on the desert floor and rose up to the heavens and into the clouds. Now, here it all gets rather scientific for a narrative tale so suffice to say that the sky had become thus poisoned with Despair's nectar, and so poisoned did the sighing raindrops that sat unwanted in the clouds did slow their breaths into moans and their forms into snow.

Now when a rain once so talkative becomes something as silent as snow, the human mind has a tendency to, rather amusingly, become unnacountably excited. In heaviest and coldest of whitest of winters do children come shrieking from the warmth and safety of their homes, as if to challenge the serenity of the icescape lounging about their yards. However, this was not snow of the juvenile sort, that writes a white promise of games and childhood across the dozing features of the land, but rather a virulent and murderous snow, heavy with the oils of Apathy and wet with the blood of tomorrow.

Daniel's face was soon coated in the snows of Despair, and as it melted on the warmth on his face, it dissipated into its components, the water sighing freed down his face like tears, the voracious venom of apathy clouding his eyes and eating his will... in sufficient dosage, Apathy eats the muscles and withers the body, but such doses were not present anywhere but fresh from the fangs of Despair itself. Many, and indeed most, never know the venom of apathy for what it is, or from whence it came, for surely as seconds follow each other in their lemming-march into the past, so too does Despair follow in the wake of Apathy with its quivering fangs. Daniel, however, as we have already stated, was a learned man in things others didn't know, and the nature of monsters was one such thing.

Even as his senses and motions, his thoughts and his heart were slowed by the poison did Daniel know surely what it was. Despair had assaulted him many times before, as it has many men, for it is a fearsome and aggressive beast, unparalleled in it's spite. Knowing that he could not outrun the snow anymore than he could outrun his own thoughts, he turned his eyes instead to the snow around him, remembering as he did with his sluggish thoughts the measurements and dimensions of despair.

At roughly equal intervals in the snow did he create small marks by whispering to the lonely snow and giving it a warmer colour than white with his companionship. With a certain degree of skill and a great deal more charm did he talk the snow into his ways, but he needed more than markings to trap the beast despair. He knew his breath alone had become to cold to melt the snow, and that the touch of his hands would only speed its poison. He knew the only way to chase out the apathy in the snow was to give it the ambition to move back to the sky.

Good Mr. Goodbye sat down amongst the snow and spoke of all the things he had seen and several things he had not, but that he regardless claimed to know intimately. The rain already marked by his whispers to the snow listened with growing intensity and felt the stirrings of longing begin in its waters, however the snow not marked was lost in self pity, and could not tell his stories from the sighs of a crying wind. As the ambitious waters whispered to each other of the things they had heard, a thin trickle of steam ascended back to the heavens, slow at first but growing as each drop took confidence from the last.

Apathy had claimed our poor Daniel by the time the last faint drops shook off their torpor and set off on their own adventures, and as such could not see his handiwork behind the thick glaze of daydreams. Roughly interspersed, but roughly equally, were a long line of small holes, each filled with the distilled poison Apathy thrown off by the raindrops. At the tip of this formation was a larger rut still, central and to the forefront of the others but with the least poison. Daniel's gambit was ready, but his hand had been played and now he could but wait, frosted with waking sleep, until Despair arrived.

And arrive it did, with a smug yet sorrowful chatter of it's fangs as it weaved through the snow. Now, loathe though I am to fall back on the time honoured narrative cliché of saving the protagonist at the last minute, the nature of Daniel's trap makes it a certain imperative to tell; that as Despair drew in and clicked and hissed and bared it's many teeth, the first of it's myriad legs sunk into the holes left by Daniel. The poison in the bottom, left alone in it's own device as the rain had fled, turned on its maker, pulling the strength from the limb.

Such a small act, but on a creature as spindly as Despair, it was enough to require an overcompensation as it's weight suddenly shifted. Scrabbling for purchase, its legs each found firmer purchase than the snow only in the pits designed each to this end. And each leg sank into Apathy, and fell into disuse.

Last to fall, when all its many limbs were useless, was the top heavy head of Despair, weighed down by its teeth and it's poison. This fell into the largest of the holes, where the venom still leaking from its fangs filled up the pit, and as eighty eight eyes rolled in eighty eight terrors, the monster drowned in Apathy.

A monstrous end for a monster, and a little graphic I know. Still, Despair is a terrible beast, with no redeeming quality, whilst even Doubt can bring with it Humility and Caution and the horror deserved no better. The snow cleared up a little at a time once word spread of the raindrops that had escaped and the wonders they could see up in the sky, and after a few days of slow recovery Mr. Goodbye set off again, leaving the carcass of Despair where it lay.

Although, of course, Daniel hadn't murdered Despair, only fended off his own, and it didn't end all the sorrows in all the world. But it helped a little. It made the world a slightly happier place. For instance, I expect this line makes you want to smile.

______________________________________

"Why Eeyore, you look so sad!" exclaimed Winnie the Pooh.

"Sad? Why should I be sad? It's my birthday. The happiest day of the year."

Aaaaah...

The WONDERFUL feel of falling safely back into the ACCEPTED and TRADITIONAL Kieran O'Mant Blog Layout (Not that I have objections to change as a concept, I LOVE change... it's just I am also immensely nostalgic... but I digest (Before you ask, that was an intentional misuse instead of the word "Digress")) of rambling, tangents and music suggestions. I come today bearing gifts of Gomez. Gomez are an old O'Mant band, putting them in the same stadium as Radiohead, Elastica, Freak Power, Cumbawamba, Nirvana, The Beatles and Alabama. Gomez are described as "a sonic intersection where mutated blues dust, psychedelic folk trappings, and hummable melodies collide, coalesce, and re-emerge into a brand new sound."


Yeah, that about sums them up :)

Ya know, it's hard, however, to just put one up from that album. It has so many facets that just putting this song up means I fear failing to get the whole of them in perspective. They are VERY complex in even just this first album. Well, this modest beauty of understated and mild solemnity with a hint of the tragic and a taste for the optimistic is one side to the band, but I think I can stretch myself a little to put up another one. After all, some may already be familiar with this particular second song I'm gonna chuck up. Bah, even that seems like too little. Maybe I'm just trying to overexpose you now. Which would be ironic, 'cause I hate it when people do that to me XD

But anyway. About my life I guess... not much to report, same ol' steady ploddin' good :)

... Damn.

I need some tragedy or somethin' to write about in my life.

(Takes that back. REAL FUCKIN' HARD!)

So yeah. It's all good, in da hood.

Or so they tell me.

I've never been there.

I don't think they'd like me very much in the hood, really....

xxxxxx

Extery VII

DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN!

TO THE STATION!

MUSIC!

XXXXXXX

Some things and some stuff and that

Yeah, just a couple o' little bits really :)

To start with, an absolutely lovely little piece of acoustic guitar shinnanegins. Ya know, the type that's just under three minutes long and has more sweet notes in it than a classful of romantically involved young teenagers with a lenient teacher and enough pens and paper for everyone?

Aye, one of them. Fresh out of a scene with a lone man by a campfire in a desert, possibly with a friend or two.

Also, ever heard of the Black Mages? Crazy orientals who have taken the old Final Fantasy music and turned it into 80's power rock, synth-laden pseudo orchestral ballads. They exist. I'm not making this shit up, my friends :)

Sometimes, when I think nobody will EVER find out I like to sit about in my bathrobe with a glass of wine and play them and get a little bit into it and realise that life is NOT serious and should NEVER be treated that way. It's oddly uplifting, and UTTERLY hilarious. Feelgood ^^ It's a right laugh, I strongly advise it if yer feelin' a little heavy. Good therapy :)

And again, I'm away. Love you lotsly my lovelies :)

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