Cthulu lives in the pie in the sky

I swear I didn't go to sleep

2011-11-13T16:00:00.001-08:00

Yet here I am, in my bed, drinking beer. Hm.

2011-10-14T05:52:00.001-07:00

Gonna Go to Sleep and Let This...

2011-10-12T19:11:00.000-07:00

Watch fall Dover mean. ;pJust a quick flyby. Still much the same, but we have a house together. Some of us (including my girly [fuck the conspiratory dick of a concept that is geographical longitude {Dimensions can suck my balls} ] ) are together at this instance :)In the meantime, someone recently asked me if the band Korpiklaani sounded like what it was mean to be like in my head. I always pissed about with it.But it kinda is.I like being in here :D

I look more like my dad every time I get out of an ambulance

2011-09-27T18:43:00.001-07:00

FUCK. THE. FLOOR.

More mess

2011-08-22T05:35:00.000-07:00

Mess, mess, mess, mess, mess, mess, mess.

I feel very odd today. Not in any specific way, just a little distant. Not as bad as yesterday though. I wonder if my mind is flying away somewhere?

Probably just hit the bottle a little hard over the weekend.

Going back to London in maybe a month? It'll be odd. Familiar faces in different places, but it'll certainly be pleasant I imagine :)

But, of course, when I go to London I won't be taking Jess with me. Another year of not nearly enough time spent with each other... but we'll both be better off this time, we can see each other more than last year... I suppose I should count my blessings. I'm the only person in the world to have a Jessica Potts. I'm very lucky :)

A lot of birthdays this summer. Summer's like that... it was my birthday recently :)

Listen to that song. It's beautiful (beautiful, beautiful, just beautiful). :)

There's not much else to say about life really. I spent all summer looking for a job, to no avail. Sigh. There's a beautiful place some new-ish friends showed me recently, it's lovely. I hope to spend more time there, and with them in general. They're good guys, and get on with just about everyone I do. It will be nice, I imagine :)

I want to be in a band. Me and Ish have a band, but geography conspires against us having much more than a collection of covers, a handful of self-written songs and about a gig a month. I dreamed I was in a band last night.

Anyway, I'm not sure how much more I have left to say. Since Space Walk is such a long song, it'll be the only one I include today. Next time, though... :)

Love dove and shove, you crazy kids. Play safe and play hard.

xxxx

Fine Day

2011-08-16T09:45:00.000-07:00

When I first heard this song it was as part of a NuNRG dance mix. It worked really well. On it's own, it's... intensely creepy.

Miss Jane - It's a Fine Day (original 1983) by marinellina

Dear Politics

2011-07-03T15:52:00.001-07:00

Dear Politics: fuck you.
You aren't what I thought, you're just what I knew.
You happen to be right but nobody moves,
I want a revolution tomorrow, with no blood and no tears,
And I want it to be over when it's over and I want it to be sorted,
And I want equality and I want it now,
And I want racism to be gone.
I'm Miss Right Now. I want world peace.

Dear Art: fuck you.
I want perfect expression, not expressive depression,
You can be so beautiful but fuck knows it's easy,
When did you become something anyone could do,
Without being accessible to me? To us? To the world?
I want art, I want art, I want fucking art,
I want a sunset explained to me and I want it there,
I swear I've had to wait twenty years for someone to show me a rainbow
On a canvas. So show me.
I'm Miss Right Now. I want world fucking peace.

Dear Science: fuck you.
You're clever and I don't want you to go,
Please don't leave, I'm sorry, but...
Why can't I live forever? Why are there diseases?
Why illness? Famine? Age? Poverty?
Destruction despair the need to go piss when I want to stay,
Why isn't there right here, why do people get fat,
Why can't I be strong by sitting on my ass?
Should I ask God? 'Cause I asked him (a prelude to this poem,
From when I was young and little and good)
And he was fucking useless.

Dear reality: fuck you.
It's hard being me.
Poor little me.
Trapped in you.
No matter how beautiful.
Signed,
- An angsty, optimistic idealist.

Weird

2011-07-01T03:43:00.000-07:00

I think a lot about little hypothetical situations when I walk on my own. Usually I have superpowers or do something breathtakingly courageous and admirable in them since if I'm already setting the rules of the hypothetical I might as well enjoy the ride as much as possible. I doubt this is particular to me, since everyone I've mentioned it to seemed familiar with the idea and it just kinda feels like one of those things everyone does, anyway.

But there's one particular type of hypothesis I always construct, far more than the others. What if I woke up tomorrow at some previous point in my life? With all my memories of the future? Would I pass it off as a dream? Maybe, but it wouldn't be, would it? How would I act on this? For a start I'd have all my knowledge, all my skills that I currently posses. I'd be able to fingerpick guitar and write better, I'd have better experience and more understanding and a more mature outlook. But most importantly I could act on things. Not even rectify mistakes, bar maybe a couple. I think I'd mainly try to intercept the mistakes of others that I could predict with my new found insight before I tried to rectify my own. It would feel oddly presumptious to change my past, but to steer others from things they'd regret later would just feel oddly like giving advice from a newer, more enlightened perspective... and they'd be free to decline it if they chose.

I think I'd mostly rush to where I was now. None of this fucking about, I know who liked me and who didn't; I could rush and whip my Jess off her feet and be a little more brave because I'd know that I could and I'd know that she was scared. I could tell people where they'd find love and give them a swift boot up the ass, I could find people jepordising their happiness and wallowing in misery and give them a hand. I could get people out of places before the bad shit went down and I could steer clear of the places I now know I ought have avoided. But how much good would I do?

I think the good I'd do would be limited to the trust of the people I approached or the subtleness needed. If I need to approach someone straight up with a 'do this' and 'don't do that' then I'd better hope they can trust me, and I'd better hope my judgement is as clear as it seems. On the other hand if I merely need to be somewhere, or not be somewhere or smile in the right place then I think I'd have more chance of doing it right, and less chance of making some poor judgement call because I've only seen the outcome of what has been instead of what could have.

And of course there'd be things I'd need to leave well alone. No matter how frustrating, no matter how cringeworthy to watch the slow crawl of events I'd just have to sit back and hope that some small factor hasn't changed what was about to come to pass.

And I'd have to hope to fuck that there weren't unseen ramifications.

I guess I'm just naturally a meddler. I see something and think 'Oooh, I could fix that,' regardless of how qualified I am in any given field. Especially with people. I think I can fix people, which is a fairly sweeping presumption to make and one that remains even though, by and large, it turns out you can't really fix anyone without their express permission first. I wonder if people have fixed me? I'm sure they probably have at various points, but you kind of forget. It's nice to imagine you've got where you are on your own, so you end up with just this unspecified, immense thankfulness towards people. A kinda ethereal gratitude. Course you can pin it down, if you really try. Even as I've been writing this a few examples popped into my head.

I'm musing aimlessly, not sure why. Anyways, a pleasure as ever. :)

Something more cheery and less philosophically whimsical next time, promise ;)

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Oh, thumb.

2011-05-30T19:18:00.000-07:00

Oh, thumb. You've been hurting for far too fucking long, thumb. I am starting to lose my patience, thumb. And everytime I move you, all your little bones and cartilage bits and tendons slide back and forth into and out of place with a distressing grinding click, thumb. Which hurts, thumb. And also feels extremely disturbing, thumb. Everytime I need to open a door, hold the guitar, lift up something or do anything ever, thumb. Do you know how long you've been doing this, thumb? It's two weeks, thumb. Two weeks. Oh, thumb. You are a cunt.

I fucking miss my girlfriend. Thumb is cunt, miss girlfriend. Just finished all work in world. Three in morning. Need lie down time.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

It Just Hit Me

2011-05-23T09:40:00.000-07:00

It's nearly summer.
Do you know what, I haven't made a big deal about this in a while.

So NOW I WILL.

IT'S NEARLY SUMMER, YOU BEAUTIFUL ASSBITCHES OF SATANBALLS DEATHSHIT AAAAAAAAAH!
Do you know what this means?! This means the sun, this means love and madness and people dancing when and where they ought not be! This means people who we thought lost! This means green grass and hot fire! This means drinking cheap rose even though we have money for better! This means laughing upside down on rocks and the sand and rocks and trees and dirt becoming a world of splendour! This means new acquintances and old music! This means my Jess! This means Jacob and Alex and Jess and Molly and Baz and Katie and Merlin and Ish and Codie and every single fucker in Hastings! This means mornings lurching about the room in underwear, half dead from the night before with the guilty pleasure of tonight on our tongues like tabs of acid! This means thing that I can't even THINK OF RIGHT NOW!

This means music and wine. Get on it, people.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

(The kisses are so big 'cause of all that love I'm in)

Mess

2011-05-23T05:09:00.000-07:00

I am a huge, heaping, endless mess of odd contentment. And with that sentence I greet me blog. Howdy :)

Welp, I have a mild hangover which is nestling itself beneath a curtain of drunk so I'm listening to happy music and being as melodramatic as I can. I think I was genuinely more hungover earlier. Toying with the notion of shotting a bit of Millie's overproof rum to feel better, but I know it's a bad idea. The problem with bad ideas is that they're always so hopelessly attractive.

Last night was quite awesome, a girl from my course with green hair plied me with tequila and chatted with me for hours whilst the birthday girl got pissed, took various members of both sex to her room and passed out in that order. It was an overall positive experience. I also found out that one of my uni acquintances is heavily into breakcore. We were chatting about ATR for some time, and when someone tried to interrupt she screeched 'GO AWAY, WE'RE BONDING!' at them. I think she's about to escalate from uni acquintance to uni friend.

Anyway, I ramble at you and then give you some music, oh blog. 'Tis kinda our 'thing'. So I shall indulge you :)

I'd listen to that song iffin I were you. It's fuckin' awesome.

What else happened in recent events? BANGFACE.
Yes, Bangface. It happened. For the third year running. AND IT WAS MY FAVOURITE.
IT KICKED SO MUCH ASS THAT EVEN THESE CAPITAL LETTERS CANNOT FULLY EXPRESS THE MAGNITUDE OF MY GLEE.
Only this picture can do that.

Yes, that is me having a drunk-nap on a man dressed as a dinosaur who's so fucked that drugs are literally falling back out of his nose.

I liked him. He was cool.

I just remembered! Today's hangover has a name! It's called 'Big Bag of Meat That Bees Can Eat'. 'Tis a quote. From this song here :)

I just shotted some of that overproof rum exactly like I knew I shouldn't. It was fucking awful :(

Anyway, despite all of this brilliance of events, all is not well in Kieranland. And it's primarily because this one is missing:

She's my favourite and she's not here :(

Do you know what sucks? Distance. I actually, in fact, once wrote a haiku on the subject of distance for my Creative Writing coursework.

Yes, I have to write haikus for coursework. That's a thing now.

Anyway, I should probably leave. I can't think of what to say, I miss my girlfriend, my throat hurts from that rum I just shotted, I like complaining and Homage to Patagonia is playing. What an awesome song. :D

Even writing that bit was an experience in all emotions. Guilt, anxiety, anguish, pain, wry amusement and then sheer joy. Also, writing that sentence made experience all them emotions again in that order. I'm rather suggestible today.

Love, dove and shove me dears.

Me loves, me darlings, me dears :D

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Good afternoon :)

2011-03-02T07:45:00.001-08:00

“Don’t be afraid to be a fool. Remember, you cannot be both young and wise. Young people who pretend to be wise to the ways of the world are mostly just cynics. Cynicism masquerades as wisdom, but it is the farthest thing from it. Because cynics don’t learn anything. Because cynicism is a self-imposed blindness, a rejection of the world because we are afraid it will hurt us or disappoint us. Cynics always say no. But saying yes begins things. Saying yes is how things grow. Saying yes leads to knowledge. “Yes” is for young people. So for as long as you have the strength to, say yes.”

I don't want hangovers no more

2011-02-09T15:34:00.000-08:00

They basically just suck for no reason, and I get them much worse than anyone else I know. Stupid hangovers. What you do for Kie?!

Ah well. Anyway, have some more lighthearted tunage and keep posted for later blogs of actual substance.

Love you all!

P.S. Today's hangover is called Ferret in the Trousers.

P.P.S. Me and overproof rum are no longer on first name basis. 63 per cent? I tell you, the shit was made with metahnol or some shit. Merely drinking it has likely affected my eyesight for life.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Extery IX

2011-01-31T18:56:00.001-08:00

Solomon Grundy,
Born on Monday,
Christened on Tuesday,
Married on Wednesday,
Took ill on Thursday,
Worse on Friday,
Died on Saturday,
Buried on Sunday,
And that was the

end of Solomon Grundy.

George Orwell wrote that.

Because clever people sometimes don't just write about pressing and serious cultural matters. Sometimes they just write shit. Probably on opium. Yeah, opium. You heard.

I drank too much tea

2011-01-31T18:33:00.000-08:00

Intense cramming for much belated heap of coursework I need to have done for tomorrow. I've done as much as I can with my current knowledge and am left a burnt out shivering wreck for the evening. Not being a coffee drinker I figured I'd need something equivalent to double the average coffee drinkers dosage of tea to get me by on the work, but unfortunately I was basing this calculation off of Molly...

Did you know if you drink enough tea it closely mimics the effects of amphetamines? Did you also know it will make you feel like utter, utter shit even as it happens? Despite slumping in a pit of self loathing softly flavoured with bergamont I managed to reel off massive amounts of work (undoubtedly mostly second rate, but at least it's done) before running back and forth from the toilet like an incontinent with Alzheimer's and stumbling blearily into things. I'm not even that tired, I could have easily done this without caffeine. I basically murdered my bladder for shits and giggles. I remember when I used to be hardcore - now I chow down on caffeine and bitch about my pissing. Sigh.

Anyway, aside from that not much to report. Catching up on the uni work I fucked last term, I guess, is about it. Had Jess round last weekend, which was nice even if I did spend the whole of two days in bed with her. We're pretty lazy like that :)

Going home to Hastings for this weekend, gonna catch up with the gang including, rarities of rarities, Merlin! :D

Anyway my loves, I must away. Good night to all :)

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A text I got from Codie

2011-01-23T11:19:00.000-08:00

Hi.

I love James! Say hey to Jess from me!

Isn't being in love wonderful?

I am in love. I know you are too. :)

YAY!

xxx

Sleeping Patterns? Sorted. Sorta.

2011-01-18T18:48:00.000-08:00

Welp, I now sleep before dawn and wake up before afternoon, which is a SOUND improvement :)

I'm never sure what to report these days. These always seemed less like a chance to report my goings on and more a chance to give the internet a chance to ascertain my personality. Fuck knows what I expected the internet to do with it, but it felt nice to kinda talk to yourself and most of the world at the same time :)

Which I guess is what I'm doing now. It has this weird feeling of total privacy and total openness. Anyone could stumble on this anytime and guess half my life, and anytime my friends log in they've got anything I've said lately staring at them. But on the other hand this rarely addresses itself to anyone. Gah. I'm to self-contradictory and muse-y; I just finished an essay. Well anyway, I've been drinking beer and wine casually. Absurdly casually, it was an afterthought to occasionally take a sip. I barely even noticed getting a little tipsy, and I feel that if I had I would have quickly progressed to drunk.

As it is I'm going to leave a beer and two thirds of a bottle of red for some other time and sleep only a little more soundly than usual, which suits me just fine :)

You know, I've been getting back into rather old-me-style music lately - the types that I didn't know but should have two to three years back sorta thang. Frightened Rabbit is one. Also my appreciation of The Postal Service has finally warmed into an all out gentle love, took a long time that one. Along with a few sceptical looks at Jess as she tried to sell me on them... You won in the long run, Jess ;p

What do you think, internet? :)

Yeah, I think it's fairly pretty too :)

Oh, I got a twelve string geetar for Christmas. For those of you not in the know, it's a magic box that makes noise. And twelve strings turn the traditional 'brang' into a 'brreeeaaaiiiiinnnggg', a vast improvement; it has at LEAST five more vowels. And musical notes need to be mostly about vowels in my opinion ;p

You know, I'm mildly tempted to complain again about all my friends being everywhere, but I think I've done that to death so I'll do the nice version:

I'm getting visits. Alex every Thursday, Ishan on the weekends and every other Thursday and Jess (my Jess, not the Jess I was addressing a moment ago, although it'd be nice to see her too) as fucking often as I humanly can :D

Next Thursday in fact Jess (again mine. Actually, fuck it, from now on my Jess will be 'Squirrel' and not-mine-but-still-my-AWESOME-friend Jess will be Messius :) ) is visiting along with many others, but she stays for several days :)

There will be laughs and merriment and wine. Then the others will trail away and leave my Squirrel and I alone.

And there will be more laughs and more merriment and more wine, because that's just how we are.

We may even dance. :)

Goodnight my loves, it's been a pleasure as ever!

Nunight my shizzly fizzly bizzly biatches ;p

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Autumnal Guest

2011-01-11T22:32:00.001-08:00

I came home in the autumn to find a guest at my table.

The light warmth of the ambrosia sun was seeping,
In through the window cracks with the pertinence of honey dew.
The perpetual red sunset of the autumnal sky fading but not gone,
In the hours when night falls early but slowly,
As if haunted by an indifferent indecisiveness regarding the time of day,
My erstwhile companion was waiting for me at the table,
Dressed in a pale beige coat with a red plaid shirt beneath,
Wearing gold rimmed glasses with lenses cut of rose quartz he smiled,
And beckoned me in,
And asked me to sit.

Nostalgia asked me if I wanted perhaps a drink,
Reaching into a cotton carrier bag as he did so.
I thought I wanted whisky, but he smiled knowingly and shook his head,
And informed me, correctly, that I wanted a glass of red wine and a shot of vodka,
He poured both drinks, one of each for the pair of us, and reclined easily in his chair.
I started on the wine, which was fine but cheap and strong,
Which I of course related to him pleasantly, bringing a smile to his weathered lips,
And he spoke of my mother, and how she grinned in the kitchen with such glasses as these in hand,
How in the cold of winter the heat of the radiator, the drink and the stews had permeated the house,
How in the summer I sat with her in the garden or the expansive front room,
On the warm red rug would rest the bottle and two friends,
Invariably one of mine and one of hers, I laughed along with Nostalgia as he spoke.

He asked if I wanted music, and I told him I did,
I thought I wanted to hear Mischief Brew, the latest band to take my fancy,
But he informed me, correctly, that I wanted to hear The Shins again, since I knew all the words.
With the wine down to the bottom he refilled my glass from a different bottle,
And set another glass down filled with some deeper red, familiar in scent and shading,
So I took it from him and drunk it again as I listened to him talk once more.

He told me how the deep red and the faint hint of foulness in its taste beautifully contradicted the sweetness of the songs,
And I could not help but agree as he elabourated.
He spoke this time of two headstrong lads, intoxicated on an endless possibility of youth,
He spoke of the reckless glee of testosterone teenagers,
How the fury of confusing adolescence had been channelled into childish excitement,
How they did their best to do away with the rage and sadness that was the curse of their age,
And he spoke of how they succeeded.
He spoke of how one could not handle cider and the other dark rum,
And he spoke of the few ‘incidents’ that steered them from their respective devils.
He spoke of how they lived so wildly, took such impossible risks and received such impossible rewards,
Of how they threw themselves into the wildest moments of wreckhead insanity and emerged unscathed,
Of how they overcame their differences by simply choosing not to have them,
He spoke of platonic love and pure camaraderie.

By this point, my eyes were a little damp and he suggested we change the music and have another drink,
Quick to agree, I told him I wanted to listen to Evil Nine, something with bass to break the beat,
But he informed me, correctly, that I wanted to listen to Ani Difranco instead, because I loved her voice.
I reached for the vodka, but he moved it away, replacing it with yet another glass of wine.
This one was deep in colour, deeper still than the last, and had the smell of distinction about it,
It’s thick, dark quality betraying its owner a connoisseur of some kind,
I sipped it and was moved, after the foul tang of the last it was almost sublime.

I considered conveying to Nostalgia my approval, but he had already begun to speak,
And this time he spoke of a girl, though not in the way you might think.
He spoke of some perfect creature, some indefinable being of immense worth,
He spoke of her walking about the roads down to the beaches,
He spoke in praises of her immense talent with strings and her voice and how the boy had just begun the struggling ascent of learning such things,
He spoke of how they fell headfirst but landed on their feet, running with laughter and grass between their toes.
He spoke of walking beneath the trees and of the constant position each held steadying the other,
He spoke of dependence but also of affection and of how they had found what they needed,
And he spoke at last of the times each defended the other, from predation and foolishness, especially from folly.

Nostalgia noted the ended record and empty glasses, and told me to switch the records whilst he switched the drinks.
I told him I wanted to listen to Kwoon, something new and beautiful to fit the mood,
But he informed me, correctly, that I wanted to listen to Chumbawamba instead.
Unlike the reds of before, this time he poured rose,
The bottle was corked and had a price label on the side, proudly proclaiming it the produce of Londis,
And marking it at the grand price of £2.50 a bottle.

As I put the glass to my lips (and was greeted with the scent of vinegar and chemicals),
He reclined despite the blatant intent of the music to rouse and spoke again.
He spoke of hedonistic boys and girls with a tenner and a deathwish,
Craving cheap wine and cheap thrills, with laughter writ on their faces and youth in their breath,
He spoke of how they fell into some delirious, drunken state of mutual love,
And never left.
He spoke of how they threw up into toilet rims whilst the music pounded the walls and doors,
He spoke of how they collapsed into each other’s arms, smelling of vinegar and love,
Besotted, besozzled and beyond repair, he spoke of how they grappled with Youtube,
Pulling up the next tune, for the heartfelt moment where they serenaded one another with half remembered choruses,
And he spoke of a love so strong between friends that it felt discriminatory to even entertain it.

This fourth glass empty, this third record played I was feeling quite tired, and I told Nostalgia as much.
One more drink, he promised, just the vodka and one more record to be played,
So I told him I wanted Radiohead and for once he agreed,
I went to play In Rainbows, but he stayed my hand and demanded instead Hail to the Thief,
Which as it happened I was rather fond of, so I acquiesced.
With the wine glass unfilled, I was reluctant to now move onto a harder drink,
But he indicated the vodka and I slammed back the shot with no small degree of reluctance,
Feeling the familiar sting and burn of the cheapest way to drink and the cheapest way to go,
There was a tightening in my gut, and a spread of warmth in my being not quite pleasant enough to dispel the feeling of nausea.

As I grimaced, Nostalgia spoke of something else, but this time he spoke of only one thing
A boy sitting amidst his fellows during the earlier sunrise of tumultuous teenage years,
A boy maybe fourteen, eventually fifteen, who sat in the sand and the grass on the cliffs of his hometown,
Slugging vodka from the bottle as he was intoxicated and infatuated with youthful pride,
He spoke of how the boy fell in and out of the grasping equivalent of love,
He spoke of that mad infatuation that grips the mind in a flighty, momentary insanity,
That iron tailed dove that swoops down occasionally in age, but haunts you in youth,
He called it ‘Infatuation’ and a usurper of love, but I found these terms crude.
He spoke of a boy who grew, and found love and purpose eternally only to lose them endlessly,
And he smiled with every word.

By this point, I was about done for the night,
Nostalgia smiled at me as the last record stuttered to a halt,
The ending notes of the album falling in line with his final pertinent point,
And I reluctantly told him to pour another drink whilst I changed the album,
To both of which he said ‘no’, and advised me sit once more.

He had one more story to tell, of some ancient but unforgotten childhood brilliance.
He told of the oldest friends, thirteen years in office with a cross index of each other at hand,
He told of how they moulded and created each other through their years,
He told of endless forests and of stinging nettles yet to feel their wrath,
Of bluebell fields begging to be found and noted,
Of a rock sighing to become a castle,
And a tree to become a god.
He told of such childish things, and of such enduring eternity of memory that I almost wished he had another drink on hand after all,
To steady my nerves after the richness of his narrative.

He asked me to play him a song,
And by this late point I found myself more than willing to indulge him.
I told him I wanted to play Blackbird as he handed me the guitar,
But he informed me, correctly, that I wanted to play Wish You Were Here.
He asked if he could stay the night.

In the morning, I went through to the guest bedroom and was unsurprised to find Nostalgia gone.
The duvet was peeled back but otherwise the bed was made,
Where he had lain there was instead a handful of autumn leaves, a twig and a cooked chestnut,
A yew berry, a toffee apple, a handful of love letters,
Twelve locks of hair and a pair of rose tinted glasses, and I knew for sure that I would miss him

My Sleeping Patterns

2010-12-15T20:40:00.000-08:00

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...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Simple Mathematics

2010-12-02T02:19:00.000-08:00

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 :)

xxxxxxxxx

Wait, hang on

2010-11-25T21:47:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-25T20:10:00.001-08:00

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

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

Dear Codie:

2010-11-22T19:51:00.000-08:00

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 ;)

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

This Right Here

2010-10-15T06:13:00.000-07:00

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 :)

XXXXXXX

I'm in Uni

2010-10-04T04:46:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-30T08:04:00.000-07:00

He'll fucking do it.

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

2010-08-15T16:21:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-15T16:15:00.000-07:00

“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

2010-08-03T02:07:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-22T17:49:00.001-07:00

Das ist oll.

xxxxx

It has just occured to me...

2010-07-12T14:37:00.003-07:00

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

The parade of human decency

2010-07-03T12:12:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-02T10:38:00.000-07:00

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

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Insis-Persis-Temptation of Optimism

2010-06-12T06:26:00.000-07:00

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 O'Mant!

2010-06-05T01:51:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-16T11:19:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-14T06:04:00.000-07:00

Fireflies

2010-05-13T07:53:00.000-07:00

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

xxxxxxxx

My first spambot conversation

2010-05-08T04:26:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-04T09:52:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-27T09:59:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-28T09:53:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-14T06:13:00.000-07:00

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

2010-02-16T16:01:00.001-08:00

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...

2010-02-03T14:09:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-27T18:24:00.001-08:00

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

TO THE STATION!

MUSIC!

XXXXXXX

Some things and some stuff and that

2010-01-27T14:09:00.000-08:00

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 :)

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Kieran O'Mant's guide to keeping your mouth shut

2010-01-16T00:35:00.003-08:00

1. Shut yer damned mouth!

2. You idiot.

Extery VI

2010-01-11T14:49:00.000-08:00

Can ya feel the love? Can ya feel it?!

xxxxxxx

Good Morning

2010-01-10T04:47:00.002-08:00

Tonight I had planned to play a song, but these plans have since been shattered,
For with remarkable lack of foresight or planning I went out last night and got blattered,
I would like to say that I woke up feeling broken but that is sadly untrue,
The fact of the matter is I don't think I slept so it'd be more accurate to say I came to,
And somewhere between the sofa (on which I perched a little too shakily),
And hanging off the rim of the toilet (into which I vomited quite gracefully),
I realised that I may not be performing tonight.

The crackle and static of white noise in my head testified to the abscence of thought,
And the most enlightened of things to pass through my mind was a broadcast from Radio Four,
I considered trying to convince myself that my peers were most prominent wits,
But unbidden came memories of Sam's narrative, which was mostly just shrieking like a tit,
And I was forced to admit to myself that I'd spent the night with a hyperactive nutter,
Who's refinement and poise would be sorely pressed by particularly intelligent butter.

This admission served to demoralize my inner workings, already quite broken indeed,
And I was almost relieved by the dizzying feeling of my body making all my decisions for me,
But of course that'd be too easy, it'd all be over far too quickly,
And deprive the universe of this wonderful chance to truely and totally dick me,
So nausea sulked into sight, and I thought of the bandersnatch or,
Some slug, toad or horror; something worse than all others, a heavily menstruating Thatcher.

It was about this time I realised too that I had become really quite fragrant,
Completing in earnest my affected air of an extremely unfortunate vagrant,
I considered a bath or shower but feared some overstimulation,
Of my surviving four brain cells, who, fragile as they were, could not handle such exciting conditions,
So I slumped over onto the table and blindly I pawed about for a pen,
I'd be damned if this one, all malice and karma, went unrecorded in the end!

I laid the pen and paper on the table and crawled up the stairs to the John,
I had no need for ablutions as such, but just felt that here was where I belonged;
In the fetal position on the toilet floor, so tonight I won't play any songs.

I think I hurt my brain today

2009-12-26T09:23:00.000-08:00

I don't really remember much of Christmas. There was drink, and Rowan was there at one point which'll explain how I got so drunk. That girl is walking zone of irresponsibility.

But anyway, I've spent a lot of this morning writing my songs. I lost them all so I've been salvaging, and there are also some new ones :)

Anyway, I thought I might post one of said songs up here. It's just lyrics and chords, no actual video yet so don't get too excited, although Merlin's got some recording stuff.... hmmm...

Yeah, might have actual songs for you soon then (H)

For now, some lyrics. I believe Alex liked these.

Why the fuck am I covered in cheese sauce. And why has Rowan drawn a little set of stars on my hand with the words "Lord of Dreams" written on it? What the fuck happened last night?!

Softly crooning for moonlit remedies,

To ease out the burns of happenstance,

And to tease the thread of chance,

To etch in a new dance,

Which we so need to change our stance.

A steel stringed coffin, floating by the riverside,

Wrapped in flowers with the scent of your hair,

A certain light plays upon the woodwork,

These words have no constraints.

Singing softest words to hear the echo back,

Hearing a voice return but not the one you sighed,

Sailing words across to each other's side,

Letting whispers brush their fingertips,

Calling back the breathe you gave.

A singing sepulchre, calling every name it knows you by,

With a voice so tremulous and soft as yours,

Promising trees and dappled sun,

These words find no constraints.

Given breath to sigh and, given tears to cry,

But don't waste them on me,

Keep your cheeks dry.

Sometimes, I Win.

2009-12-06T17:48:00.000-08:00

Hmmm... someone's influence here. I wanna say Alex, but it's got too much Kieran for that. Also, let's face it. Kinda post modern here. Possibly someone who's famous? IS there anyone famous who's like Alex? By the way, this off the cusp vodka poetry after a night of partying. Be gentle, oh ye devil-critics, for my soul is humble.

My soul is definitely not humble.

Now, I've never been one,
To -DELIBERATELY- bring some kind of alienation on myself before the deed is done,
But sometimes let's not forget mortality,
Because there's a whole lot there that frankly scares me,
And things go better and things go worse,
Like every sailor on the sea of life this is our burden and our blessing that each we must carry; for such a thing as life we must, by dint of appropriate reward, suffer such curses,
And slanders,
And lies and blunders,
To take us down each day.

And every person has a sin, and at least one virtue that they use to construct themselves,
This is what gives life to a hollow shell.
A miriad of failures and perfection,
Like a cure for cancer from vivisection,
Or the foul taste before Ecstacy's correction.
Or what you get when you're so deep in love,
That you can't tell what's below from what's above,
And every part of your life suffers because...
Just because you're too happy to say yes or no.

But every second, optimism tells me the right way,
And who am I to question an abstraction without phyiscal form when I'm still shakey from the things I did right yesterday,
And I guess I'll never tell the truth if I don't blab it,
And I guess I'll never catch the whisper if I don't grab it,
And I guess I'll never kill my doubt if I don't stab it,
And I guess I'll never make a good revolutionary unless every now and then I learn to not rhyme nor fit a pattern just because it is expected and fulfil some middle class (ironically exactly the kind of stereotype I am clumsily suggesting we drop, but please try to pick up the next word seemlessly) preconception about the form of poetry, art and literature.

So optimism is my angel on the left,
If being a total dick is my devil on right,
And all too often does lefty leave me bereft,
'Cause hubris and I think we're worth more than you might.

Aye, I've got a whole heap of sin.
And insecurities and foolishness.
I write poems,
Sometimes I win.

If it looks like it works and it feels like it works then it works

2009-11-29T13:07:00.000-08:00

I been drinkin' some red wine and eatin' some fine foods with my mother mohos :)

Got nearly a bottle left and already I'm feeling quite inebriated from the last load. Tonight will be bad for me, unless I go with my current plan of keeping half the bottle for another time :)

I've got this feeling, that there's something that I missed,
(I could do most anything to you)
Don't you breathe, don't you breathe,
(I could do most anything to you)

I've been getting a lot into Snow Patrol again lately. One of my bands that I love that I never told this blog about. Still, my friends know :)

Something happened, that I never understood,
(I could do most anything to you)
You can't leave, you can't leave,
(I could do most anything to you)

Ya know, there's also a little plan now that if Abbie's parents get much worse (Abbie's parents/family = bad) she will come live with me for while. I know I shouldn't be rooting for the collapse of a family here but... whoo! Abbie gets away from strife! I get Abbie! (Is a bad bad person)

Every second, dripping off my fingertips
(I could do most anything to you)
Wage your war, wage your war
(I could do most anything to you)

Another soldier, says he's not afraid to die,
(I could do most anything to you)
I am scared, I'm so scared,
(I could do most anything to you)

So anyway. I'm learning to play Somewhere a Clock is Ticking by Snow Patrol. Is difficult; see, the guitar and lyrics are TOTALLY out of sync with each other. Still, sounds awesome :)

In slow motion, the blast is beautiful,
(I could do most anything to you)
Doors slam shut, doors slam shut,
(I could do most anything to you)

A clock is ticking, but it's hidden far away,
(I could do most anything to you)
Safe and sound, safe and sound
(I could do most anything...)

I miss some people :(

So maybe some kinda... do... is in order. A get together.

A muntup :3

Aaaahh, aaaahh, aaaaaaaahhhh,
Aaaahh, aaaahh, aaaaaaaahhhh,
Aaaahh, aaaahh, aaaaaaaahhhh,
Aaaahh, aaaahh, aaaaaaaahhhh,

Extery V

2009-11-27T12:11:00.000-08:00

Free Writing

2009-11-24T16:02:00.000-08:00

So I'm standing, right, with my finger on the pulse as is if it's all about to explode into sparks and starshower. Like jets of flame are going to lap up and around the throat like tongues or fingers or vines or some other kind of music or art.

It feels hot, warm to the touch like a penny out of a fire for a halfsecond, I can't quite get my head around it, I can't quite get my heart around my head, I can't quite get my fingers off the pulse.

The truth of the vitality in my fingertips so softly chirruping is that it's abrupt. It ends quickly, and comes from nowhere. It's a human emotion called 'love', since it's the only one bright enough to light the tunnels of the arteries so that the blood can find the heart; without it we'd be a lot colder; a lot slower. Our blood would be lost and our hearts would beat less.

But love works best out of water. Or at least in another. The love that's the brightest, that shows the way best, isn't the stuff in you. It's the stuff someone else puts there: Love is a short-thoughted creature; it won't stay bright when bored. But if it jumps into someone else from the warmth of a caress, suddenly you've got a body full of stars to navigate by.

And that concludes today's sermon, children. Remember; there is no God as great as love, no matter what the bible, the Qu'Ran, Mr. Stanley from up the road and your own great Doubtdevil say.

If someone doesn't love, they have no right to call themselves a believer in anything. The blind can't lead the whole.

Extery IV

2009-11-24T15:55:00.000-08:00

Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. Kieran O'Mant is your friend. :)
xxxxxxxxx

:)

2009-11-24T04:27:00.000-08:00

The Taco Song

2009-11-16T05:31:00.000-08:00

Hehehehe...

2009-11-16T05:23:00.001-08:00

Purely in the interests of science, I have replaced the word “wand” with “wang” in the first Harry Potter Book
Let’s see the results…

“Why aren’t you supposed to do magic?” asked Harry.
“Oh, well — I was at Hogwarts meself but I — er — got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wang in half an’ everything

A magic wang… this was what Harry had been really looking forward to.

“Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter.” It wasn’t a question. “You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wang. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wang for charm work.”
“Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wang. Eleven inches. “

Harry took the wang. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wang above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls

“Oh, move over,” Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry’s wang, tapped the lock, and whispered, ‘Alohomora!”

The troll couldn’t feel Harry hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry’s wang had still been in his hand when he’d jumped – it had gone straight up one of the troll’s nostrils.

He bent down and pulled his wang out of the troll’s nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy gray glue.

He ran onto the field as you fell, waved his wang, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wang at the dementors. Shot silver stuff at them.

“Yes,” Harry said, gripping his wang very tightly, and moving into the middle of the deserted classroom. He tried to keep his mind on flying, but something else kept intruding…. Any second now, he might hear his mother again… but he shouldn’t think that, or he would hear her again, and he didn’t want to… or did he?

Something silver-white, something enormous, erupted from the end of his wang

Then, with a sigh, he raised his wang and prodded the silvery substance with its tip.

‘Get – off – me!’ Harry gasped. For a few seconds they struggled, Harry pulling at his uncles sausage-like fingers with his left hand, his right maintaining a firm grip on his raised wang.

This is Pretty Special :)

2009-11-16T04:22:00.001-08:00

Birds on the Wires from Jarbas Agnelli on Vimeo.

Let's Do This Thing

2009-11-15T13:56:00.000-08:00

I Will Follow You Into the Dark is about to end. I wish I had my cappo.

Been hearing good news and shit stories all day, seems bad stuff happens and good things too.

Got a puppy the other day, by the name of Pan. One addition to the new house...

I DID tell you about the new house, right?

Anyway, Clyde isn't taking too well to her. Cats and dogs, all that.

I DID tell you I had a cat right?

Abbie was round earlier. She was being weird, but even so it's always nice to see somebody I love.

I DID tell you I have a girlfriend, right?

ANYWAY A Comet Appears is playing now, by the Shins.

Nunight, darlings ;P

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Quotes

2009-11-13T17:05:00.000-08:00

Isaac: He seemed normal, then he started pissing off a wall.
Katie: Don't guys do stuff like that all the time?
Isaac: Yeah, but he was sober. AND HE HAD DOWN SYNDROME!
Kieran: And these things make it less okay..?

Kieran: Oh my god! Get it on video! Merlin looks like an ogre with down syndrome trying to eat a bee! (He did)

Isaac: Jacob! You've been looking at that fucking optical for like... thirty... seconds...
Jacob: I don't think you've got me as well as you think you have.

Isaac: From the song... and the video... I think this is about... an Octopus? (On the song Octopus)

Isaac: Who the fuck calls at this time of morning anyway?! *Checks* It's one in the morning! That's ROWAN time in the morning! Was it Rowan?!

Isaac: I have herpes around my lip peircing!

Isaac: I just wanted you to be wonky wanky!

Isaac: I can hear horses outside...
*Checks*
Nope, it was just the wind on the windows....
*Giggles madly*
Ohh, what's this? Is it my... sucky... tea... drugs..?
Jacob: Sucky tea drugs?! Kieran, get that!

Isaac: Play with my double chin!
Katie: Can I play with your single chin?
Isaac: No.
*Katie proceeds*
Isaac: No! Stop touching my chin! Tit! STOP RAPING ME!
Katie: Rape? Rape! Rape! Raaaaape?!

Jacob: Kieran! I've just realised! We kill the Trent character!
Kieran: Yeah, we kill Trent.
Jacob: His dying words...
*Very dramatically with poses* Tell them... I... died.... AWESOME!
*Kieran giggles*
Katie: How do you kill him?
Jacob: Awesome.

Isaac: I wanted a drink...
Isaac: Wait... I used the past tense...
Jacob: What?
Kieran: What are you even trying to say?
Isaac: Just... trying to keep... the consciousness... going...
Jacob: Isaac Wright: Trying not to die. That makes a welcome change.

Isaac: Who are you talking to me?
Kieran: I'm just saying all this.
Isaac: To who?
Jacob: MSN?
Kieran: No. Blogger.
Isaac: Oh dear... *Sobs slightly*

Katie: Ohhhh... I'm hungry...
Isaac: I'll feed you. MY DICK!

Kieran: I found you some bottlecaps.
Jacob: I don't think I'm collecting them any more. I think I've realised there just won't be an end.
Kieran: Your optimism undoes my generosity.
*Pause*
Kieran: That's what she said.

Isaac: You killed them!
Katie: No I didn't! I just found them and gave them... a good home!
Isaac: You killed them! You found dead frog-toads and you killed them!

Kieran: I'm either presuming this was done by Isaac...
Isaac: What?
Kieran: I meant Baz!
Isaac: I LOVE BAZ!
Kieran: I knew that would work... it works with anything. Look; Isaac is gay.
Isaac: Wha... wai...
Kieran: Baz
Isaac: I LOVE BAZ!
Jacob: *Giggles* It's like a trap. A gaytrap.

There's more. On video XD

I'll show ya soon ;)

xxxxxxxxxxxx

London with Alex

2009-11-04T03:35:00.000-08:00

DAY ONE

Step one: Train.
Step two: Wine.
Step three: Dylan Moran live.
Step four: Pizza.
Step five: Carlsberg export.
Step six: Watch Illusionist.
Step seven: Pass out on floor. Talk in sleep.

DAY TWO

Step one: Piss ass about.
Step two: Look for guitar.
Step three: Wander streets of London for hours.
Step four: Fail to find Charing Cross road.
Step five: Buy new guitar.
Step six: Play guitar.
Step seven: Make toasties. Paw magarine on each others faces.
Step eight: Pass out on floor.

DAY THREE

Step one: Wake up, builders on windows.
Step two: Blog.
Step three: Undoubtedly become intoxicated, possibly see little Catherine.
Step four: Go to small bar. See Beans on Toast l
Step five: get on late train drunk. Say farewell to Alex.
Step six: arrive in Hastings just before midnight. Sober up in town, possibility of slight paranoia on walk home.
Step seven: Sleep in my own bed.

DAY FOUR

:)
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dexedrine Witchcraft

2009-10-25T04:32:00.000-07:00

This town is a town,

Where rats pace on two legs, unshaven in thick coats,

Or in pinstripe, cast-type archetypes,

Or stand on little stages to preach theirs and their own,

And their emotional worth.

Each unified only in contempt of each other,

Planted whilst young by the local hive mother.

Great Mother Skinhead's shouting;

"They're stealing our jobs!"

Whilst her bastard bigot offspring lap up,

Curdled milk and social prejudice and drink black blood.

Grandmother Censorship, coloquially known as Nanny State,

Is fumbling with the ideas of the nation,

But her palsied hands are shakey,

(Urban decay and post-modern smiles)

Her efforts are largely being politely ignored.

Even Mamma Charity,

Who has been wrongly accused,

Of high treason or something-or-other,

Is now no longer trusted by anybody,

Although I am slightly fond of her naive belief,

It should be safe to take candy from strangers.

Paranoia has usurped her,

And the Red Age has murdered Kind Mother Possibility,

(Like Lazarus to rise again.)

Opium Optimism, my old friend,

Assures me that the future will see all this banished,

And will drive out these hollow, haunted horrors.

With their amphetamine vital signs,

And their dexedrine witchcraft..

Hmmm...

2009-10-04T04:39:00.000-07:00

Life is odd at the minute...

But very nice :)

I don't think I can remember the time last I was so fulfilled and happy... But I've lost a couple of things for this kind of childish glee, which I guess is only natural.

*Is quite in love and all that kinda nice stuff :)*

Last time...

2009-09-14T15:22:00.000-07:00

I posted a beautiful acoustic cover of a haunting, alien sounding and truly magnificent little melody by the most ingenuous and daring band (in my opinion) to have lived.

Today?

Wanky Shit Demon.

I really like weird covers

2009-09-08T10:18:00.000-07:00

And I love Radiohead.
Also, this band, Obadiah Parker are awesome.
Das ist all.

To quote Angerfist; YES YES YES YES!

2009-08-28T16:42:00.000-07:00

Just a little thing I found on the internet. Glorious. :)

Dear Sir/madam/automated telephone answering service
Having spent the past twenty minutes waiting for someone at Leith police
station to pick up a telephone I have decided to abandon the idea and
try e-mailing you instead. Perhaps you would be so kind as to pass this
meassage on to your colleagues in Leith by means of smoke signal, carrier pigeon or Ouija board.
As I’m writing this e-mail there are eleven failed medical experiments
(I think you call them youths) in West Cromwell Street which is just off
Commercial Street in Leith . Six of them seem happy enough to play a game
which involves kicking a football against an iron gate with the force of
a meteorite. This causes an earth shattering CLANG! which rings throughout
the entire building. This game is now in it’s third week and as I am
unsure how the scoring sytem works, I have no idea if it will end any time
soon.
The remaining five walking abortions are happily rummaging through several
bags of rubbish and items of furniture that someone has so thoughtfully
dumped beside the wheelie bins. One of them has found a saw and is
setting about a discarded chair like a beaver on speed. I fear that it’s only a
matter of time before they turn their limited attention to the bottle of
calor gas that is lying on it’s side between the two bins. If they could
be relied on to only blow their own arms and legs off then I would happily
leave them to it. I would even go so far as to lend them the matches.
Unfortuneatly they are far more likely to blow up half the street with
Them and I’ve just finished decorating the kitchen.
What I suggest is this. after replying to this e-mail with worthless
assurances that the matter is being looked into and will be dealt with,
why not leave it until the one night of the year (probably bath night) when
there are no mutants around then drive up the street in a panda car
before doing a three point turn and disappearing again. This will of course
serve no other purpose than to remind us what policemen actually look like.
I trust that when I take a clawhammer to the skull of one of these
throwbacks you’ll do me the same courtesy of giving me a four month head
start before coming to arrest me.
I remain sir, your obedient servant
?????????

Mr ??????,
I have read your e-mail and understand your frustration at the problems
caused by youths playing in the area and the problems you have
encountered in trying to contact the police.
As the Community Beat Officer for your street I would like to extend an
offer of discussing the matter fully with you.
Should you wish to discuss the matter, please provide contact details
(address / telephone number) and when may be suitable.
Regards
PC ???
????????????
Community Beat Officer

Dear PC ?????
First of all I would like to thank you for the speedy response to my
original e-mail. 16 hours and 38 minutes must be a personal record for
Leith Police station and rest assured that I will forward these details
To Norris McWhirter for inclusion in his next book.
Secondly I was delighted to hear that our street has it’s own community
beat officer. May I be the first to congratulate you on your covert
skills.
In the five or so years I have lived in West Cromwell Street , I have
Never seen you. Do you hide up a tree or have you gone deep undercover and
infiltrated the gang itself? Are you the one with the acne and the
moustache on his forehead or the one with a chin like a wash hand basin?
It’s surely only a matter of time before you are headhunted by MI5.
Whilst I realise that there may be far more serious crimes taking place
In Leith such as smoking in a public place or being Muslim without due care
and attention, is it too much to ask for a policeman to explain (using
words of no more than two syllables at a time) to these twats that they
might want to play their strange football game elsewhere. The pitch
behind the Citadel or the one at DKs are both within spitting distance as is
the bottom of the Albert Dock.
Should you wish to discuss these matters further you should feel free to
contact me on ??? ????. If after 25 minutes I have still failed to
answer,
I’ll buy you a large one in the Compass Bar.
Regards
???????
P.S If you think that this is sarcasm, think yourself lucky that you
don’t work for the cleansing department.

Seesaw Man!

2009-08-26T15:09:00.001-07:00

Just a quick update:

JUST ADMIT IT; LIFE IS GOOD!

I like things :)
xxxxxxxx

I Knew She Wasn't To Be Trusted :O

2009-08-23T17:28:00.000-07:00

Raw Horse, Courtesy of a Man Named Chris

2009-08-22T19:47:00.000-07:00

I step into the restaurant
And bellow my order
Bellow my order
Bring me a raw horse
Bring me a horse I roar! Waiter!
Bring me a whole horse
Bring me a whole live horse! Waiter!
The other customers quail
Bewildered children clutch their mothers' skirts
And wail
The maitre d'
Whimpers, smiles a nervous smile
And sidles up to me
'P'haps M'sieur would laak to traa
Som escalope of veal
Smothered in a rich waan sauce
With 'aricots vert
Et pommes Dauphinoise.....'NO! BRING ME A HORSE
An uneasy murmur ripples Round the room
As diners shuffle knives and forks And spoons
The air is dense with desperation And gloom
They're hoping it'll all be over Soon
They glance About
For a way To escape Then
One man panics and makes a break
I intercept him with a body check
That drives him through the plate glass shopfront
He dies impaled in a pool on the pavement
NOW NOBODY MOVE TILL I FINISH MY FOOD
And bring me a raw horse
Bring me a horse I roar Waiter!
The horse is brought
It shies and struggles and stamps and snorts
I strip to the waist
The waiter trips and stumbles
In his haste to get away
He crashes through the kitchen doors
Which clatter on their springs revealing
The sous-chef swinging by his apron strings
From a hook in the kitchen ceiling
My sinews strain and muscles flex
Flecks of foam from the horses nostrils
Spatter my chest
A couple of pensioners piss their pants
And with a screech beseech me
'Oh spare the noble beast
Eat us instead
We're old and bony
But our blood is red.Oh spare the horse'
The pair implore.
Two well aimed fish forks
Nail them to the wall.
The air is thick with sweatAnd fear
The horses eyes roll white
It screams and rears.
I grasp its head
And taking care to bite an ear off
While its still alive,
I wrestle it to the floor
Tables, chairs are splintered
Crockery breaksI snap its neck
Its legs keep flailing
As I tear into its flesh
Eating, eating, eating, eating,
Eating, eating, eating,
Eating, eating,
Eating
Till I'm sated.
Then when gorged
I torch the place
And walk away
Covered head to toe
In guts and gore,
Because I eat horses
I eat horses
I eat horses

RAW . . . .

Fuckin'

2009-08-22T19:44:00.000-07:00

Grumble fucking grumble.
Das ist all. (Y)
Don't worry, children. Just a few shitholes in a row, we'll be back on track soon.

Oh! The Places You'll Go!

2009-08-14T04:02:00.000-07:00

Oh! The Places You’ll Go!

by the incomparable Dr. Seuss

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.

You’ll look up and down streets. Look’em over with care. About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.” With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet, you’re too smart to go down a not-so-good street.

And you may not find any you’ll want to go down. In that case, of course, you’ll head straight out of town. It’s opener there in the wide open air.

Out there things can happen and frequently do to people as brainy and footsy as you.

And when things start to happen, don’t worry. Don’t stew. Just go right along. You’ll start happening too.

Oh! The Places You’ll Go!

You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers who soar to high heights.

You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed. You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead. Wherever you fly, you’ll be best of the best. Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don’t.
Because, sometimes, you won’t.

I’m sorry to say so but, sadly, it’s true that Bang-ups and Hang-ups can happen to you.

You can get all hung up in a prickle-ly perch. And your gang will fly on. You’ll be left in a Lurch.

You’ll come down from the Lurch with an unpleasant bump. And the chances are, then, that you’ll be in a Slump.

And when you’re in a Slump, you’re not in for much fun. Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked. Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked. A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin! Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in? How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And if you go in, should you turn left or right…or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite? Or go around back and sneak in from behind? Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find, for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

You can get so confused that you’ll start in to race down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space, headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.

The Waiting Place…for people just waiting.

Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite or waiting around for Friday night or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil, or a Better Break or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants or a wig with curls, or Another Chance. Everyone is just waiting.

No! That’s not for you!
Somehow you’ll escape all that waiting and staying. You’ll find the bright places where Boom Bands are playing. With banner flip-flapping, once more you’ll ride high! Ready for anything under the sky. Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!

Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done! There are points to be scored. There are games to be won. And the magical things you can do with that ball will make you the winning-est winner of all. Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be, with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don’t. Because, sometimes, they won’t.

I’m afraid that some times you’ll play lonely games too. Games you can’t win ‘cause you’ll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not, Alone will be something you’ll be quite a lot.

And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants. There are some, down the road between hither and yon, that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.

But on you will go though the weather be foul. On you will go though your enemies prowl. On you will go though the Hakken-Kraks howl. Onward up many a frightening creek, though your arms may get sore and your sneakers may leak. On and on you will hike. And I know you’ll hike far and face up to your problems whatever they are.

You’ll get mixed up, of course, as you already know. You’ll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go. So be sure when you step. Step with care and great tact and remember that Life’s a Great Balancing Act. Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)

Kid, you’ll move mountains!
So…be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray or Mordecai Ale Van Allen O’Shea, you’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!

Hooray

2009-08-12T12:48:00.001-07:00

So things don't always work out quite right. And sometimes they work worse than others. And sometimes it's entirely your fault, and sometimes it's entirely someone elses. Most of the time though it's more of a situation that you really don't do anything to help.

All that is needed for evil to succeed is for good men to do nothing.
Amen.

Thom Yorke on Wind Farms:

2009-07-21T04:21:00.000-07:00

uptightmiddleclassnimbymonkeys

Me.. i think they're beautifulx

Thom

I feckin' love this man.

xxx

When will the good times cease..?

2009-07-19T18:36:00.000-07:00

Do you wanna know the best bit?

THOSE WERE THE BAD BITS.

THE FUTURE IS FUCKIN' GLOWING BABY :D

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Feelin' a bit pissed off

2009-07-17T17:43:00.001-07:00

Bleh ¬¬

Currently listenin' to the acoustic version of There There.

Is something special :)

Incidentally, I may have found some of the most intellignet lyrics ever in the least likely of places:

Admit it!

Despite your pseudo-bohemian appearance

And vaguely leftist doctrine of beliefs

You know nothing about art or sex

That you couldn’t read in any trendy New York underground fashion magazine

Prototypical non-conformist

You are a vacuous soldier of the thrift store Gestapo

You adhere to a set of standards and tastes

That appear to be determined by an unseen panel of hipster judges (bullshit)

Giving a thumbs up or thumbs down to incoming and outgoing trends and styles of music and art

Go analog baby, you’re so post-modern

You’re diving face forward into a antiquated path

It’s disgusting, its offensive, don’t stick your nose up at me

Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?

Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah

Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?

Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah

You spend your time sitting in circles with your friends

Pontificating to each other

Forever competing for that one moment of self-aggrandizing glory

In which you hog the intellectual spotlight

Holding dominion over the entire shallow pointless conversation

Oh, we’re not worthy

When you walk by a group of quote-unquote normal people

You chuckle to yourself patting yourself on the back as you scoff

It's the same superiority complex

Shared by the high school jocks who made your life a living hell

And makes you a slave to the competitive capitalist dogma

You spend every moment of your waking life bitching about

Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?

Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah

And I say yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?

Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah

Cause I’m proud of my life and the things that I have done

Proud of myself and the loner I’ve become

You’re free to whine, it will not get you far

I do just fine, my car and my guitar

Proud of my life and the things that I have done

Proud of myself and the loner I’ve become

You’re free to whine, it will not get you far

I do just fine, my car and my guitar, yeah

Well let me tell you this, I am shamelessly self-involved

I spend hours in front of the mirror, making my hair elegantly disheveled

I worry about how this album will sell

Because I believe it will determine the amount of sex I will have in the future

I self medicate with drugs and alcohol to treat my extreme social anxiety

You are a faker (admit it)

You are a fraud (admit it)

Yeah, you’re living a lie (hey) living a lie (hey) you’re life is living a lie

You don’t impress me (admit it)

You don’t intimidate me (admit it)

Why don’t you bow down, get on the ground, walk this fucking plank (yeah!)

Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?

Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah

And I say yeah (what do you..)

Proud of my life and the things that I have done

Proud of myself and the loner I’ve become

You’re free to whine, it will not get you far

I do just fine, my car and my..

Guitar, guitar go!

I drift drift drift drift drift yeah

I drift drift drift drift drift oh yeah

And I am done with this

I wanna taste the breeze of every great city

My car and my guitar

My car and my guitar

So you'll come to be, made of these, urges unfulfilled

Oh no no no no no

When I'm dead I'll rest

When I'm dead I'll rest, lay still

Strange haikus on strange themes

2009-07-10T05:06:00.000-07:00

GUITAR

Acoustic covers,

Where no acoustic was planned,

Is where it's at dawg.

******

Oh! For a twelve string!

But how to get hold of one?

Simple. Whore out friends.

******

INJOKES

Where to dump dead fish?

Well, surely into the sea?

But no! Sign says so.

******

What a bizzare dream!

We were discussing a boat,

Hilarity! Tree!

*****

'How are you?' so dull,

It's always the first thing said,

Ah! Of course! Current socks!

*****

Oriental shriek-

'One Million Dollar!' then,

Behold! Giggle fit.

*****

Oh! I like your beard,

It's reassuring yet soft,

Please don't ever shave.

*****

Thundering closer,

Look, there it is! The man van!

Huge testosterone.

*****

Now you listen here,

Heroin is just a laugh,

But don't get into spoons.

*****

I destroyed the moon!

Apocalypse ensued, yes,

But so, so worth it.

*****

There! Jacob! Quickly!

Must extend arm, point finger!

Ah.... bodysnatchers.

*****

Ah! Look! This one has,

A limited save function!

Aha, what a find.

*****

What is needed here,

Is one merged super PieMess,

What larks that would be!

******

God can't take a joke,

So much so in fact, that he,

Kills kids with she-bears.

******

Firefight! Get your guns!

But too late see we are doomed,

Uzis with live bears.

AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL

Drama! Politics!

Quick! Get the wine! Up the tree!

I'm not coming down.

******

Bangface was madness.

Sanity, serenity...

Went out the window.

*****

Walking to school - late!

When suddenly ah! A cat!

Looks like bear... pursue!

*****

Oomie was our cat.

Built like wall, monster of cat!

Got head stuck in glass.

MISC

Ah, silly haikus,

As addictive as crack and,

At least as deadly.

*****

No sleep in five days,

Becomes decidedly weird,

Not really that fun.

******

The sea... what to say?

Well it's a hellish deathtrap,

Viperfish are bad.

******

Oh god, Octopus...

Evil warped things shouldn't be!

They do NOT HAVE SOULS!

******

I really like trees.

Huge forests are amazing.

Merlin! Don't break that!

******

Radiohead win.

Seriously fucking win.

Win win win hell yeah.

*******

I have a gas mask.

It's awesome, but hard to breathe,

But is so worth it.

*******

Ack, ack! Meine augen!

Meine augen brennen! BRENNEN!

Kartoffel augen!

******

Magic mushroom tea...

Bad trip! Hide under duvet!

Oh no! Duvet bad!

*******

Breakcore! The only style,

In which can be found the proof,

That there is no God.

*******

Potatoes are nice,

But when they are all that you eat,

You fucking hate them

*******

Sleepy... sneak to bed,

Leave friends to entertain selves,

Sleep... but then BEDTRIS!

*******

Quiet, calm, still morning.

Crisp, cool breeze.... tranquility.

And then TARRASQUE!

*******

Plans! Plans to meet friends!

Ack! Arbitrary parents!

Bollocks. What a douche.

********

I miss my old hat!

Saturday by name... stolen!

Never retrieved! Gone! :(

*********

There is no such thing,

As problems that can't be helped,

By a cup of tea :)

*********

I got turned into,

A lizard... it was quite strange,

Then I wrote a song.

*********

Nicknames are funny.

Some people call me Kiepie,

Better than 'Wookie'.

My hangover haikus

2009-07-10T04:52:00.000-07:00

I feel like a pig,

Has shat in my head today,

Should not drink so much.

******

I hope at least that,

Last night was worth hangover,

Oh! Can't remember.

******

Red wine and some beer,

Sleep deprivation as well,

This is fucking rough.

******

Ow ow ow ow ow,

Ow ow ow ow ow ow fuck,

I hate everything.

*******

Ah! A hangover!

This is a nasty one too!

Where is your God now?

*******

I should stop this now,

Everyone must know by now,

But fuck me this sucks.

********

Ug uh glu uh blurgh,

I think my liver hates me,

Gurgle gurgle choke.

********

My insides are dead,

Probably changed colour too,

To pestilent green.

*********

Newsflash! Shocking news!

I think I've broken myself,

But we all knew this.

**********

It feels kind of like,

I fucked my organs with fire,

Then punched them. With fire.

Just a little literary experiment :)

2009-07-10T03:34:00.000-07:00

Okay, I want to give something I invented a shot :D

Word assosciation rhyming.

Is very interesting, see you don't rhyme with the actual word. You rhyme with a word that makes you think of the rhyme you want. Can be very flexible :)

I feel like a pig shat in my head,

It's not very pleasant and I may not survive it,

I suppose it's what happens if you indulge in excess,

Maybe I should in the future not indulge so much.

See, head is rhymed with dead which is what is implied by "I may not survive it" and excess is rhymed with less, as in not indulging so much ^^

...I still feel like a pig shat in my head though ¬¬

xxxxxx

A wee bit awesome

2009-07-10T02:19:00.000-07:00

DJ FOOD - AGEING YOUNG REBEL

An Ageing Young Rebel

Called What's His Name

Wanted to be different while he stayed the same

But he couldn't he just couldn't

No matter what he would try

Told his mother

An aging old thing

You better go see Clever

You give Clever a ring

Which he did

Called him up

Just so Mommy wouldn't cry

Clever hear his story

About different and the same

You crazy?

This some silly game?

Oh no

Like Mommy said

I gotta straighten up my head

Clever is so clever

Is cleverness enough?

Can you help this ageing rebel?

Do you really have the stuff?

Bet you don't have

Bet the bread that you'll pass the buck instead

Clever sends our hero

To a funny darkened room

Where a crowd of Cunning listens

Giggles in the gloom

That's your problem aging rebel

Don't you really know the score?

You crazy?

Think your going to change this crazy world?

Better see your self a shrink

Cunningly they argue about our boy

Who's breaking down the door

Now he's running down the dark

Diabolical awaits

Grabs him by the ankle

Ain't it just like fate?

Diabolical laughs

In an alley full of soot

Forget the same you'll be different now

Somewhat shorter on one side

Let go!

Oh no...

Would you?

Diabolical inside?

Panic in his brain pulls and gets away

Loses him a foot

It's a dark and evil day...

See him, running limping blood

Something soft is just ahead

Something soft is Gentle

He's fallen at her side

She comforts him with kisses

He dreams of suicide...

Gentle is so gentle

Grabs the trouble by its root

Bandages his stump...

...Cuts off his other foot...

So you see...

It seems to me... a gentle kind of cruelty

Ageing rebel's older... a little wiser maybe too

Gentleness has fixed him

Does he look like me and you?

Footless and fancy free...

Think how happy Mom will be...

Footless and fancy free...

Think how happy Mom will be...

This is something a bit awesome (H)
xxxxxx

Mr. Goodbye I

2009-07-09T22:35:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I might start putting my "The Walker" stories up here. These short stories are all about Mr. Daniel Goodbye, hence the name, who was renowned for having walked so long that he had learnt everything and now walked in a vast, metaphorical desert. The desert in question is full of monsters, each monster being a manifestation of something greater. The writing style is strange, so bear with me :)

Now in order to think clearly about Daniel Goodbye you have to think clearly on a great deal of very slippery subjects. See, Mr. Goodbye was a man who walked so long and so far that eventually he had learned everything to learn and had seen every flickering sunbeam that may dance on a matchstick.

Understandably, Mr. Goodbye became very tired with the things he saw every day once he had walked to every place on the real and firm world, but perhaps less understandably Mr. Goodbye for these reasons chose to leave the real and firm. Away from paved roads and things which had a form in flesh rather than thought did Mr. Goodbye walk, towards a desert which blurred the lines between thought and flesh and caused splintered hairline cracks to cripple-creep over the skin of understanding.

The sand in the desert was made of whispers, and the wind was a sigh of longing. Every plant was a blossom of a revelation and the stones were shaped of dreams. In this place did Mr. Goodbye walk and walk, seeking something he never knew he wanted, hoping to be surprised and never for a second longer than it'd take a beady-eyed grasshopper to tire of silence did he ever stop being amazed by the imagined dunes and the thoughtful daydream-snakes which sidled through the sand.

However, the desert has ever been a dangerous place to man or beast, though Mr. Goodbye barely fit in either such place. It was only to happen, as one thing does to another, that eventually the predator of the singing sands did trail our Daniel sir. Now, Mr. Goodbye delighted in the tones and murmurs of the singing sands and as such was loathe to leave them, and his confidence in his safety was such that were any similar person to him present they should call him arrogant, foolish or both. However, since no such was present we instead see only Mr. Goodbye smiling as he hears the wind swing the sands into cyclones, and each cyclone emit a song of beautiful sincerity.

Doubt! With it's runny egg eyes and it's plasticine hands it pads over the sand on it's splayed feet and jerks it's chicken legs in time to the singing sands. It was this monster which so hounded our Daniel, though it never drew closer than a stone's throw and it never dared more than a glance at it's prey.

The reason for all this and that was the nature of Doubt. Doubt, tall as a tree and wide as a grin, was a terrible creature indeed. It's shivering hide was streaked with dirt and blood, though it knew not where either had come from. It lived only to hunt those who did not hunt themselves, and it's quaking spine was arrayed with great flechettes and scalpels which rattled gently on each other as great Doubt quaked. The beast stalked and shuddered, all the time wringing it's plasticine hands. Now Mr. Goodbye was a lean and smooth skinned fellow, and his tied and knotted body could contain a certain amount of prowess, true... however, Doubt was a monster and no mere trifle, and Daniel could not hope to conventionally contend with the brute unless he wished to be shipped home wrapped in the letter of condolence which Doubt should surely write. Doubtless.

However, if a one thinks of a fight when a conflict is to occur, then a one is undoubtedly going to find such a fight. Mr. Goodbye was well aware that actual ability was of little or no import in a fighting dance when compared to all the thoughts which may snicker-snack flicker in a skull. As such, although Doubt's fifteen claws of porcelin fragments could easily become a prominent piece in Daniel's life (albeit briefly) there were still ways, means and the possibility for a more satisfying end to the tale.

Now, Doubt was a poor housekeeper to it's cluttered mind; it's thoughts were scattered and torn and it did not think clearly when it wished for lucidity. Furthermore was Doubt easily panicked and often fell into it's own nature when events arose. Mr. Goodbye knew the workings of Doubt as well as he knew his niece, as like all the best of us he had often been clutched by the same devil in his life. Though it must be said that to actually see such a feeling given flesh was quite a horror.

Daniel knew that Doubt was a superstitious creature and that it could only take those who already felt it. As such if Daniel showed no fear in the face of the quivering prescence of the being of Doubt then Doubt itself would begin to question it's actions. Mr. Goodbye would smile to himself at night even as he collected the whispers in the wind in his hands and allowed it to pool inbetween his open hands.

Thoughts are fluid, and as such did the whispers become a water in Mr. Goodbye's hands, dripping onto the singing sands as if his fingers wept words. After three days of collecting whispers did Daniel finally grin a Chesshire Cat smile, and pour the wet whispers into the sand. As with any liquid on sand did the whispers soften the sand into a clay or mud, and though it was made of whispers and daydreams it was still brick red and warm to the touch. With his fingers dug into the clay Mr. Goodbye closed his blinking eyes to the sun and made himself a mask (of sorts) by packing the clay into the creases and crooks of his features.

When every line on his face was unreadable through the mud, when every blink was hidden beneath the layers of clay did Mr. Goodbye know he was safe. With a plan in mind and in motion he waited for thirteen days until the full moon and the new moon were almost sharing the same sky. With these portents so easy to imagine it was inevitable that Doubt would imagine them as if truth, and it became increasingly shaken in it's resolve and nerves as the sun fled across the sky and dived into the horizon to make way. As the beady-eyed moon sailed blithely into the dark haze of the night sky did Doubt pad towards Mr. Goodbye only to find him seated calmly on the ground, his face coated in red clay (hiding his smile which was perhaps more smug than the situation demanded).

Doubt rattled it's knives nervously and it swivelled it's gas mask head from side to side as if a snake charming it's prey or an indecisive slowly shaking his head.

why have you stopped?

i should be chasing...

run, run! you're breaking patterns...

Doubt was shuddering out words inbetween it's breaths, and each syllable was a fear come true and an insecurity revealed. Mr. Goodbye sweat out every bead of doubt from his face, but his mask ensured that his weakness did not show to the insectile mass of Doubt before him.

There are no patterns. Why do you think there's a pattern? Please tell me what pattern there should be.

but i chase.

Do you? But what if you're being chased and have merely deluded yourself?

The great creature Doubt was ashiver with it's own curse, unable to see the fears of Mr. Goodbye beneath his fixed mask of clay. Without confirmation of the weakness of it's prey Doubt was powerless... it shuddered and shaked in confusion and indecision and bent double beneath the weight of it's affliction

i...

after all, you are still running.

Doubt's eyes flickered in the heavy gloom, it's resolve eroded second by second as if a pillar of salt being brushed by boiling waves. Beneath his mask Daniel grinned, for although the eyes of Doubt bored into him like a worm it could do nothing for fear of failure. Daniel rose slowly and watched as the towering Doubt flinched, it's runny egg eyes betraying it's fear, displaying how little confidence it really had.

you have no skin!

That's impossible. You must be wrong. And if you're wrong, how can you believe yourself in the future?

Doubt's eyes interlocked with bars of red and bloodshot prison grates. It's plasticine hands fell still in each other and it's serpentine barbed wire tail curled about it's feet as if to ward off the sibilant sands.

Maybe I should show you a piece of magic.

magic? there is no such thing.

Daniel had a type of magic indeed for the creature Doubt, though I regret to inform you that Mr. Goodbye's tricks are nothing impressive to the reader. Slipping his hand into a pocket he ran his fingers along cold metal and gripped.

Oh there most certainly is.

With a slight flourish Mr. Goodbye flicked his hand and with a snap and a grin he threw a flame into life to dance unsteadily inbetween his thumb and finger.

but... how?

Oh it's very simple really.

See, it's terribly hot here in the desert so the fire is all around. I'm just catching it.

I'm just catching the fire in the wind.

this is a lie...

Really? What makes you so sure?

you're holding a lighter...

So I am. What of it?

i can see it!

Mr. Goodbye slowly settled back into a seat on the sands and fixed Doubt with a steel rod glare. For a moment Doubt stood, quivering, and then Daniel softly spoke three words to issue the kiss of death on the creature Doubt.

Are you sure?

A second passed in silence and the shuddering pupils in the eyes of Doubt contracted. Doubt's form shuddered like a child in the cold wind of November and it's skin ran like rain on a window. With a frenzied shriek did the creature wheel and sprint away, running wherever it could hope to find certainty.

Which was nowhere.

And thus did Mr. Goodbye chase Doubt from view, and as with all monsters so faced it never did raise it's head once more.

Except for when talking to policemen and pretty girls.

____________________________________________

"How like an angel in apprehension,

How like a God in action!

Beauty of the world, paragon of animals!"

Well, that was actually quite good fun :D

Maybe I'll do more soon ^^

Don't worry, the rest of the tributes are on their way ;)

Much love!

xxxxxxxxxx

Extery III

2009-07-09T22:15:00.001-07:00

Some half speed-poetry, some half free writing :D
Okay, here goes.

So here's nine tenths,
But where is the,
Missing section, the tenth,
Because that's the piece with a name.

Yggasdrill,
Yesterday's flowing into tommorow,
Got to get another,
Got to get another,
And we've got a finite slow,
Slow which trickles,
Deeply fickle,
Ringing some bells,
Inciting some stale,
Longing,
Longing.

Maybe just some free writing now...

I mean, poetry kinda failed.
Is crap, ja? (H)

So I've got fourteen shades of sundown sunset cinemas. As the fiery glow of the sinking sun, like a ship lost in the amber fire sea of the azure, burning horizon, so illuminates our eventual decline into what we once happened to call a depth of sanity.
At any rate, the importance is left in a folded coat with buttons and eyes and a smiling simmerlip. Watch it crack like cement under a thirteen ton atmosphere. Watch it break into a grin so cracked and wide that it stands alone from a face, so that it is like someone has stretched a grim mirthmouth over the air.

Trees are tall, great serpent-swirling roots of wood and moss, like a thought laced with potential. Just as the entangled roots are a network of snakes so too are the potentials like a thousand different winking eyes, ten thousand different voices which all groan the same word: "Here."

Here... the place which now begins in because this is where we are. Here which is impossible to locate but in which we never leave. Here which can be so long from where you want to be but is always where you want to be irrespective.

Stuttering out over the page is the rattling drone of fingers falling onto keys. Whispering out into life are the words so dripped onto paper. Green is life, and a forest with a cacophany of colour sitting just outside a door with a million shimmering beauties crisscross miraging into the single sigh of a single sight.
A flower.
A flower in a tree, like a beauty in a power, like the single word of poetry in a war chant... "To battle, to blood and honour and to a morning which is ours!" A selfish and barbaric cry of ownership, but a morning is beautiful. So like a morning with fire blossoming in a sky, so too a flower which aches so much for it's own sight that it quivers with beauty, shimmering and shivering as if the extent of it's colours were a winter.

So listen if you're asked a question; you can have a million answers and nobody needs to know what's right. Because we've got every hope and dream tucked into our arms.

:)

2009-06-25T07:59:00.000-07:00

Really, watch it :)

I love the tune too.

xxx

Alex

2009-06-09T11:43:00.000-07:00

ALEX OF THE GREEN NIPPLE TRIBE
&
KIERAN OF THE GREEN NIPPLE TRIBE!

Carpe Crumpets

"SHITBIN" -Alex, on shitbins
"SHIT! BIN!" -Kieran, on shitbins
"I want a shitbin for christmas, daddy!" -Little Timmy, on shitbins and christmas
"What's a shitbin, son?" -Timmy's father, on shitbins
"IT'S A BIN THAT YOU SHIT IN!" -Timmy on shitbins
"SHITBIN!" -Kieran on shitbins

"Is all about the ho!" -This chinese man on whores
"Ooooh, Des!" -This chinese man on Des
"ONE MILLION DOLLAR!" -This chinese man upon finding this:

"I'M GONNA GIVE YOU THREE SECONDS! EXACTLY THREE FUCKING SECONDS OR I WILL GOUGE OUT YOUR EYEBALLS AND SKULLFUCK YOU!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

Bang Face.

'Nuff said.

Too true.

EVERYTHING STARTS WITH A FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

BAM! DEAD MAID!

(No picture for that one :S)

WE. ARE. DARTH. VADER.

XXX

Trent

2009-06-09T10:04:00.000-07:00

I'm gonna do a little tribute to all the children again I think, there's more of 'em now^^

Right, I'll start with Trent:

COOL CAT TRENT & AMAZING FACE

"Trent thinks about pizza more than the average man"-Jacob
"I didn't ask if you were hungry. I asked if you wanted a pizza" -Trent
"I've decided on Adele's birthday present. She can come to get a pizza with me. She has to pay though." -Trent
"I live off of pizza at the minute" -Isaac
"I respect you for that" -Trent, to Isaac.

"Cat, cat, cat, cat..." -Jacob, on Trent
"It's a cat... a cat that isn't Trent..." -Jacob, on a cat that isn't Trent
"Oh I see how it is now, stroking other cats are you?" -Trent
"You want me to say I'm a cat? Okay, I'm a.... oh no, wait wait wait! I have to do this properly! *Adjusts self and puts shades on. Pauses dramatically*I. Am a cat." -Trent

"Wow... I am not a bad looking guy!" -Trent, on this picture
"Can we look at that picture again?" -Trent, on this picture
"I'm just like... it's my city!" -Trent, on this picture
"Let's go back to that picture!" -Trent, on this picture
"Wow...I do dress well, don't I?" -Trent, on a picture of me dressed as him

I LIKE YOUR BEARD!

xxx

Cthulu lives in the pie in the sky

I swear I didn't go to sleep

Gonna Go to Sleep and Let This...

I look more like my dad every time I get out of an ambulance

More mess

Fine Day

Dear Politics

Weird

Oh, thumb.

It Just Hit Me

Mess

Good afternoon :)

I don't want hangovers no more

Extery IX

I drank too much tea

A text I got from Codie

Sleeping Patterns? Sorted. Sorta.

Autumnal Guest

My Sleeping Patterns

Simple Mathematics

Wait, hang on

2010 is nearly over

Dear Codie:

This Right Here

I'm in Uni

Extery VIII

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

Abstract Inn

Howl & Footnote to Howl - By Allen Ginsberg

Howl

Footnote To Howl

Allen Ginsberg

This picture brings me glee

It has just occured to me...

The parade of human decency

Happy Jibberish Blog

The Insis-Persis-Temptation of Optimism

The Continuing Adventures of Kieran O'Mant!

Rags to Rags and Dust to Dust

The cutest thing ever

Fireflies

My first spambot conversation

Re: *Is Negative Crab*

Well now

Huh

So here ya are kiddywiks

Mr Goodbye II

Aaaaah...

Extery VII

Some things and some stuff and that

Kieran O'Mant's guide to keeping your mouth shut

Extery VI

Good Morning

I think I hurt my brain today

Sometimes, I Win.

If it looks like it works and it feels like it works then it works

Extery V

Free Writing

Extery IV

:)

The Taco Song

Hehehehe...

This is Pretty Special :)

Let's Do This Thing

Quotes

London with Alex

Dexedrine Witchcraft

Hmmm...

Last time...

I really like weird covers

To quote Angerfist; YES YES YES YES!

Seesaw Man!

I Knew She Wasn't To Be Trusted :O

Raw Horse, Courtesy of a Man Named Chris

Fuckin'

Oh! The Places You'll Go!

Hooray

Thom Yorke on Wind Farms:

When will the good times cease..?

Feelin' a bit pissed off

Re: Is Negative Crab