'Long Read, Bail Now' - A 'Reviewer'

Good evening *creepy gothic butler bow for effect*

I know you can tell it's me by the weird shiver that only comes from awareness of myself or that guy on the train who just chuckles, licks his lips and gazes into your eyes contemplating whether he'll swing by the hardware store for mortar cleaner on the way home or to just use the last garbage bag to deliver you to whatever confronting afterlife there is for assault victims. An introduction is unnecessary... I slaved over that analogy...

Well, I'm on holidays. LIKE YOU!... condescension doesn't work online either... so naturally I've had plenty of time to do some things... and plenty of time to fill with soul devouring, mind destroying, libido flattening nothing. To put this in perspective: Your humble narrator has discovered chai... with vanilla. This matrimony of flavours overwhelms the senses for three minute, mugs of liquid joy. The penetrating sharpness of chai, with the following softness of vanilla... and the musk that fills my hovel after the eleventh mug offers a sense of security that money, even laced with crack, can't match.

Now I'm not exaggerating when I say that the combination of boiled water, pyramid teabags and just a drop of milk for perfect harmony with the vanilla is more worldly pleasure than the whore of babylon in the leather of every bovine sacrifice those mesopotamians went loony for... ah, anyway, yeah. Chai with vanilla, nine thumbs up.

Hmm, so what else has happened? Oh yeah, my controversial departure from facebook that no doubt shocked and awed my legions of admire...

Yeah, check your friend list, I'm not there... uh... surprise?... NO, ok, I WAS there... you just didn't... notice... ACK

**Sorry, poignant shuffle moment I just had to interrupt this for... Queen's 'Somebody to Love' followed by 'Princes of the Universe'... Try it! If you've ever doubted your sexual preference, this will have you in a dazed, confused mess.**

Well, I decided to quit facebook because it's a grotesque farce of human interaction, it's like what homosexuality did to romance... *awkward silence*. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa5aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanyway what I mean is that those reasons were just shielding the fact that I was kidding myself that sitting around refreshing the news feed trying to come up with something witty to scrape at the validation of the three and a half people online at 3am. So yeah, I walked. I know, it's sad, you've got my sympathies. You just got dragged down a notch in level of social (networking) standing to fill the void I left, that can hurt. Unless you're just one of those flawlessly awesome people, then instead, fuck you, for unknowingly building such an indomitable aspiration for the rest of us... Y'know, for just being so loveable all the time and never showing a shred of the insecurity we all wallow in like animals rolling in our own shit... no, let's get back on track... this IS about me afterall...

So yeah, I quit facebook because it wasn't filling the void in my soul... or some other poetic crap you should've expected from someone as shallow and transparent as yours truly. *does that creepy butler bow again* So, now, I've embraced the void. Me an' the void get along like this *imperceivable hand gesture*. Neeway, me and my void were playing 'ball' in the abandoned lot or whatever it is I do during daylight when my mind is so dangerously subdued by my schismatic, prismatic amalgam personality disorder. Maybe it was 'ball'... whatever the fuck that is... or maybe we were just getting high and stabbing prostitutes, I can't remember, I wasn't all there. So I'm sittin' with my void an' I'm thinking.

Me: 'Viddy this, my void. This is an apple. They say sin came from apples. I SAY DAMN THEM AND THEIR WAYS!!'
Void: *stoic indifference to signify who the cooler member of this duo is right off the bat*
Me: 'Well, this shit really doesn't write itself and I'm starting to run out of expressions from Clockwork Orange, wanna go home? It's cold out this time of year... why the fuck are we even outside? I live in a dark room because I'm a misanthrope on a mission... I don't remember it happening like this.

That transcript will show you that now I'm just writing for the sake of typing... because truth be told, I'm only blogging because I made a very stupid, very bad, godawful decision. I tried to transfer to an arts degree. Nothing against people taking arts degrees, I'm not one of those pretentious and unwitting spines of future manhattan projects scientific types. But I really don't have the drive to make an arts degree work. So, I think I'm more fucked than the altar serving community. Instead I've decided that now, I've got to write... preferably not the uninspired drivel you've unfortunately waded through to get to this point... or suffer the terrible consequences. I didn't mean to write any of that either when I started by the way, I have a tendency to stupidly play on people's sense of pity... just like the depreciatory self awareness just there. All I ask is to pay it no heed. Your pity is unnecessary and very much unwelcome. Seriously, this is just really sad attention seeking to make up for attention starving, which is honestly healthier.

Goddamnit... I'll never make a career out of junk like this where I breakdown as I write.

*SUPER DUPER SEGUE SEGMENT*!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!~~!!!~~!!! and assorted punctuation nonsense...

Where was I before the nihilistic ravings I use as an emotional crutch? *scrolls up, thanks to the power of technology* Ahh, facebook departure, right-O with a capital 'O'. Well, I was sort of expecting fireworks over my classless succumbing to online insecurity... because I'm wrong like that. But instead I learned that when you close a facebook account, basically you get this giant crowd, complete with the cop who clearly didn't think his job really entailed these alternating praise and reverse psychology through a megaphone, all in the form of people who are 'Going to MISS you'. So here I am, standing on the eleventh storey, chuckling to myself because the megaphone's inaudible up here AND because this is a massive publicity stunt that's got all four of these people to miss me through the power of random number generation. I click the 'Fuck you, facebook friends for never being there' button and it teleports me back to the homepage, with a message saying, 'Okey dokey, your account's DEEEEE-LETED!... if you wanna come back just sign in as normal, all your stuff is there still, ISN'T LIFE FANTASTIC WHEN YOU'VE BEEN BLEACHED WITH FALSE CORPORATE JOY AND LET 'THE MAN'S' VULTURES PECK OUT YOUR EYES AND CLOSE THE DOORWAYS OF SELF AWARENESS?!!?'

Sorry...? Uh... facebook, this is kinda getting weird... So like anyone going cold turkey, I use this as an excuse to immediately sign back in. Voila, all my self absorbed ravings, photos, that note I wrote once to see what it did. They were all still there. The Facebook didn't realise, this is a healing, symbolic, SACRED gesture of temporary self improvement. I need my past discrepancies erased to move on!! Naturally, I get desparate so I start furiously deleting everything on facebook. Don't get me wrong, deleting stuff is the ultimate form of projection, I loved every second of it, but after a 'go to hell, dad!!' for every night I managed to pump out twisted statuses at the same rate a fundamentalist pumps out twisted children, it starts to get tiring. I gave up with a profile with no friends, no pictures, no name, no information and 7924 status updates, none of them 'Coffee was good and I did a framvilles!' at least...

Now, try to put that preaching homeless guy you see on the way to your place of occupation out of your head. Seriously, I know what you associate me with, don't lie.

Good, now you're ready to hear about why facebook wants your self... probably so it can eat humanity and crucify all the Jesuses again. Nonono!! Don't leave!! You've stayed this long, hold out! This is going somewhere!! I said the same about every other empty promise I've made? Yeah, but shut up for a sec, k?

Alright, so we may not agree that JFK was the fourth coming of Christ, but surely you'll agree that facebook's identity theft, if not scary, is just downright wrong.

Sorry, that was my point, I don't have stuff to back it up, because I don't care enough about this crusade for that.

Anyway, that was long, obnoxious, pretentious, snide, vulgar, offensive, distasteful, inciting... but we had fun didn't we? Hello?... Hello?!?

Net Nutjobs #1: BREATHARIANS

Hello you pretty pieces of pastry, you're all so lighty flighty flakey I go where the party takes me. Which tends to be blogging at just before dawn! (What do you actually call that? I'm going with 'dawnsk') So why am I a blogg'n, with my toolbox and my stocking? The same reason as normal of course, to keep the terrible silence at bay. But I figure that depressing meta-posts-about-posting are a wee bit overrepresented of late, especially from the me department, so I'm starting up a new segment! Yes I know this is just a blatant rip-off of that obscure segment The Chaser occasionally used as a space filler three years ago, but maybe maybe that means it'll get readers! Is it just me or is anyone else sick of the obligatory "nobody reads this!"every post? I'm by far the worst offender. Gosh I love tangents. And saying words like "gosh". It makes me feel whimsical and scatterbrained when I'm feeling morose and bitter.

Anyway. I have a horrible addiction for hilarious idiocy, zealotry, insanity, odd beliefs and Andrew Bolt. Reading about fundamentalists, the deluded and the stark-raving crazy is quite literally the closest thing I do to regular exercise, minus the health benefits and associated happiness. Much like distressing erotica and an unfulfilling social life, the best place to find lunatics is the internet. I have traversed just a few of it's weary depths. So in this segment I'll be talking about some of my favourite hysterically reality challenged web forums. With no further ado:

~ NET NUTJOBS #1 ~

BRETHARIAN FORUMS

Name: Breatharian.info
Number of members:  315 (High turnover rate due to most members dying after a few weeks.) 
Poster Profile: Crystal collecting, aura-reading, acid-dropping, hyper-spritual gullible folk with very, very, very open minds except in regards to medical science and rudimentary survival. 
Loon-o-meter: 4 and a half Mark David Chapmans

Some of my dear readers might be vegetarian or vegan, dietary lifestyles which can be quite healthily maintained if you put in the effort. The digivolution of the vegan — the fruitarian, can find it a tad harder as they're only allowed to eat things that fall naturally from trees or bushes, and aren't allowed to kill plants. But the Wargraymon of the not-eating-stuff family — the mighty breatharian — takes the whole thing to a wee bit too far by not by not eating at all. That's right, there's such a thing as food skeptics, and the ones that aren't selling exorbitantly priced books or dvds are right here on breatharian.info, which claims to be a forum for Inedia, Breatharianism, non-eating, living on Light. It's the best diet there is.

Sure, you say, but don't you kind of need food and beverages to survive? You poor, brainwashed, nutritionally corrupted conformist. Poster John Mc explains:

How is it that one can survive without food?
The idea here is that we do not now (sic), nor have we ever, "lived"
on so-called "foods." What we truly live on, if anything at all,
is, as of yet, still a Divine Mystery to me.

OF COURSE! Next time your grandma offers you a slice of birthday cake, why not reply: "Thanks but no thanks, I'm sure you put a lot effort into your so-called "food", but what we truly live on is still a Divine Mystery to me". If you've still got a hankering for something other than Divine Mystery, other posters suggest a veritable smorgasboard of nutritional options including air, light, the will to live, 'solar yoga' and urine enemas. Surely these are cheaper than food, but the occasional snack is fine right? WRONG! Because unbeknownst to you until now, food is responsible for approximately 100% of all deaths.

I do see a conspiracy regarding eating. From my studies I have found that eating is main reason we age and die.
There is NO food that is NOT toxic.
This is why you start to heal when you fast. All cells in the body are potentially immortal - they only die when the toxic wastes accumulate within the cell cytoplasm from eating food.
The body can assimilate all it needs from the environment via the skin and lungs after special pysical (sic) training; and new Thinking. Finding out what that involves is part of the journey & creates the New Thinking.
When Adam ate the apple or whatever food it was he started to poison his body and eventually died.
Aging is not normal and eating is not normal and it is only there to control and destroy us.

Thanks Jordan from Canada! But living forever isn't all that not eating for the rest of your life can do for you.

 Unexpected (undesired) first pregnancy is an acute problem for many girls. Often they do go under the surgical knife and end up with infertility. Dry fasting is an alternative to first pregnancy abortion (and a broken life etc). If applied, up to 3 months old embryo gets dissolved during 15-16 days of the fast. (And there is no "christian" etc. sin).

Vitalij

Remember girls, if you're worried about that unwanted pregancy, ceasing all forms of eating and drinking is the easy solution most internet breatharians recommend!

And readers of all persuasion, if you were feeling guilty about the millions of people who die of starvation each year, don't bother sending food or money, that's actually hurting them. If you stumble across a child like the one to the right, tell him to stop whinging about his atrophied stomach, do some "Solar Yoga" and "pysical training", and he'll feel right as rain!

Always remember, give a man to fish and he'll be fed for a day, give a man nothing and he'll live for eternity.

~damacus



PS: If you have 30 seconds, feedback would fill me with joy, ergo breakfast.

'You Make Me Sick, Tongs' - Morning Herald

Damn, I give up trying to find some smartass quote to start this off with... Oh, damnit... the most scandalous thing in my blogging career just became the fact that I don't actually remember any of those quotations I use... Great, before Burroughs even started his literary career he'd killed his wife and fled to Mexico... *tugs collar* Still got it!

I'd really like to delete that first paragraph, it's uninspired, predictable and generally yuck on all accounts... but I've been deleting first paragraphs for ages now. It's why I haven't been posting facebook statuses like one of those machine guns Americans make that cost impractical sums to fire because their dads went to their graves preaching 35 inch genitals... I think last time I tried to just put together a collage of pics that I consider the pinnacle of awesome, but once you've seen the Tiananmen Square guy every other dude in front of a tank/soldier/someone else who's compensating (Guess who today's rant is directed towards!) just seems to pale in comparison... plan B was everyone who's man enough to wear spandex... but I've been warned about that.

Well, D.I.D.'s crawled out of it's spiralling absence of posts, kicked the morphine addiction and got himself a dandy new pair of trousers. Now I've denied it twice, once more and I can be Pope. But yeah, I'm here again to claim MY... group... BLOG!! *Is childishly possessive*

If anything I figured I should pull my weight for a change and post something decent that's not stream of consciousness in shambles or anything...

THIS IS NOT IT.

Ack... that was as far as I'd sort of planned... hmmm, this is a predicament. Talk about something, stupid, what have you done lately? Right, nothing... should've seen that coming...

THIS MEDIUM DOESN'T DO SOLILOQUOY ANY JUSTICE.

Well, might as well fall on what's worked in the past... uh, yeah, so I'm real lonely and stuff, but I'm cool with this... A-and life's totally mad, you get to climb metaphorical mountains and thing. But so once when I was a kid I ate an apple *EDENEDENEDENEDEN THINK. EDEN. FOR. AWESOME. LITERARY. ASSOCIATIONS!*, I realised, 'wow I'm a plague on fruit collectively, but now I know there's a way to...

Son of a bitch! I don't have a quote to tenuously link this to...

Wow... this is just stream of consciousness... AGAIN. Gah, I need something to be indignant about.

Alright, here's something. I want to delete all the above, but nothing else will come to mind. I really hate writer's block. Not the name though, the name makes it sound like I'm some legit published author. Personally I think it's just a lack of confidence in any of my ideas *THIS IS THE PITY CUE*

Alright, ideas I've had lately... ummm... well I had the idea to try some Divine Comedy rewrite, which, for those who don't know *Actually being serious for a second, but I take it most will get this, but on rereading alot of my posts I make some references that are just so stupidly obscure. So now I'm going to actually try and explain things a little more, don't think I'm trying to look pretentious, I was trying to look pretentious before, now it just LOOKS pretentious... work that out!* was basically Dante Alighieri got exiled by the church and wrote them a giant fuck you about an acid trip (or whatever poets had in the 1300's to break society's no doubt MORE constricting norms) where he saw most of his diocese floating around in hell carrying bags or being turned into wind... Uh yeah... Well, anyway this idea was to sort of do a 21st century version, taking massive jabs at the dead in our generation! Unfortunately the Chaser stole my idea preemptively to critical acclaim and we're fully aware most popes wear dresses to sweep their indiscretions under and ALL WORLD LEADERS ARE BASTARDS*. That and not enough people are surprised to learn Winston Churchill was just a warmonger with a way with words...

*proven point, using the principle of human capacity for evil may be a hit below the belt, but shut up

I also had a heap of ideas for beat poetry, but I'm deluding myself that I'm 'hip', 'rad' or even 'wank' enough to pull off anything with a beat with a sliver of competence... In the world of spoken word performers trying to live the musician's dream I'm more of a 'one time radio play of my weak, nasal voice reading a hilariously unnecessary rhyme structure'. But hey, it's a one up from metal bands.

Alright so my one last avenue, utilizing three weeks worth of learning photoshop in year 9 to screw with facebook display pics. Don't say it's not art. The online avatar thing HAS worked before.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/technology/3683260.stm

That's actually a somewhat interesting read, the kid with muscular dystrophy was sort of what got me off the whole 'all you WoW people are freaks with unfulfillable lives' soapbox... but when you're eerily close to signing binding documents as Crucible Tongs, I don't think people take you too seriously.

Anyway, the problem here is... I'm not that good. I just shamelessly follow tutorials and claim all credit, hell, I don't even take most of my own photos. Photos are also an important part, editing really only works well when it's just touching up a photo that's been taken with it's final context in mind from the beginning. I can sort of blame using a grainy webcam here, but there's no way I'm 'hipster' or 'tourist' or even 'land surveyor' enough to get away with taking photos of buildings and awesome trenchcoats that I want to use for nerdy steampunk settings...

Hmmm... yeah this seems like enough, now without further ado, the much welcome return of the self depreciatory apology section!

First of all I'd like to say sorry to my family, I've betrayed all your hopes and expectations, and... oh god, Everyone here at D.I.D., sorry for the lacklustre posting. Oh and my writer for his const... Whoooooooooaaa, No. Please, as if I'd have anything close, plagiarism's my deal... regardless of what any photos have to say in opposition...

the best use of time

After mastering the trials of in-determent beams I felt it was time I did something useless and what better than to give ye folk some words. There is one little stumbling point in this little idea of mine though; I am out of anything interesting to say. That is assuming I was interesting in the first place which I shall leave up to you. The problem here is obviously I only ever seem to blog when I have nothing better to do which is a terrible start. Ok it is time to make a start of something...

After sitting around for a good twenty odd minutes thinking listening to some triple J like a versions I thought I’d keep it short and post a few up for you all and see as well as some other random covers. So tell me what you think and even suggest some of your own favourites. Alright so here are five at random to enjoy.

Nada Surf – Where is my Mind (The Pixies)
I only really discovered the Pixies after watching fight club this is the song in the very last scene and it just really is so brilliantly placed. There really isn’t much of a difference between the original and the cover but hell I like the original so deal with it.


Dirty Projectors – Dark Eyes (Bob Dylan)
I think this one sells itself just a beautiful rendition of a classic.


Cloud Control - Pursuit of Happiness (Kid Cudi)
The original its self was quite a lyrically intriguing song that seems to play little on what we are all looking for and a way to get there. When played acoustically in this style it really just adds an amazing new depth and I think I have listened to the same song at least 5 times in the last half hour and still am not sick of it.


Lisa Mitchell – Romeo and Juliet (Dire Straits)
Look it’s nothing like the original but when you are taking a very well known and loved song you have to take it in a different direction and I would have to say this is a good example.


The Kooks – Kids (MGMT)
I think I can safely say I much prefer thing song as an acoustic version. Just has a better feel.


Well that is my five, there is no pattern to them just in the order I came across them. They don’t necessarily completely follow my normal tastes but I enjoyed them all for what they are. So I shall be waiting to see what you think instead of the studying I should be doing.
..MF

The Adventures of Maggie and Rob - Part One

Ok, so one day I got rather bored and decided to write a blog post but I realised that I was sick of ranting and raging about everything that bothered me, and I'm sure that our 1 and a half readers are also getting tired of me hating everything. So instead, I started to write a story. I realised that the story would be far too long so I decided to write short chapters and post them whenever I could be bothered instead of torturing everyone with an insanely long post. This way you all might stay interested. So here is the first installment of The Adventures of Maggie and Rob.

CHAPTER ONE: AND SO THEY MET

The early coming darkness was Maggie's favourite thing about winter; it meant she could walk the back streets in the dark without her dad complaining about how late she would return home. The park only a few minutes walk from her house was her favourite place to sit alone, usually on the swings, to calm herself down or to think about ways to deal with life which she so often hated. Her day had been fairly bad so far and she was looking forward to sitting on the swings with her iPod in her ears, making herself dizzy as she flew into the air; but as she came over the hill, the outline of a figure in the dark came into view; a boy had stolen her swing serenity.

She meandered over to the free swing in which she knew her hips would not fit, and sat awkwardly on top and attempted to move. She was able to rock slightly back and forward but she was uncomfortable with the boy sitting next to her, and she certainly could not sing and relax like she would usually do there. The stranger looked at her and smiled.
"You are going to go deaf, but you have good taste in music so it might be worth it." He said with a laugh. She hadn't realised that her music was playing so loudly in her ear, but she smiled back and took her headphones out.
"Totally worth it. Do you live around here?" she asked.
"Yea, I'm just down the road. I'm Rob by the way. I have never seen you here before; do you usually hang out at the park?" They continued to talk about everything possible, and they shared many common interests. They liked the same music, they liked the same television shows and movies, and they seemed to like each other. They soon discovered that Rob worked with Kirsty, a good friend of Maggie's, and that they actually had a few mutual friends. Rob wondered why Kirsty had never introduced them, it was obvious that they are incredibly alike, but Maggie knew why they were not introduced. She had not yet mentioned to Rob that she had a boyfriend, and although she would never cheat on him, she had no immediate plans to inform Rob of his existence; it was too much fun to get to know him. Kirsty knew that she would think this way, and she did not want her friend getting involved; Maggie is a nice person, but when it comes to relationships she has a lot to learn about what is right.

They talked for almost two hours until Maggie's phone started ringing; it was her dad telling her to come home for dinner. Normally Maggie would be over the moon about going home for her dad's steak and vegetables with cheesy sauce, but she was enjoying herself too much.
"It was nice to meet you Rob, but my dad has cooked me an amazing dinner and I just can't resist." she said hesitantly.
"Yea my mum is probably wondering where I am too." And with that they went their separate ways without phone numbers or addresses, and only Kirsty to help them contact each other.

______________________________________________

There you have it folks, part one of the lovely story of Maggie and Rob. I hope you enjoyed it and I look forward to posting part two. Thanks for reading.
-Renji

Generalised Rage Is Enjoyable For Everyone.

Today, I would just like to vent at you. Just because. So sit back, relax, and WELCOME TO MY UNBRIDLED RAGE.

Anna Hyde's Patented List of Personal Rages

OUTFIT MALFUNCTIONS:

So. Right. I have this penchant for whorey clothing. And before you start assuming I'm some madcrazy hussy with junk in that trunk that wears bikini tops and gold hot pants with platform stilettos and dances up against Kanye in videoclips (not to say I would turn this role down if it was ever offered to me; au contraire, I wouldn't even blink, I would be there bumpin' and grindin' straight away, but that's beside the point), I am not. I am (fairly) refined (in dress sense anyway) (sometimes) (I think). But I just like sheer things. And things made entirely of lace. With rips in them. That fall off the shoulders. Which may or may not be short or low cut. And occasionally disgustingly high, lace up heels. You know.
And some of this is for figure-related reasons.
Now, I know they say there are key body types. The pear (curvy-hipped). The apple (round-bellied). I fit firmly into the Bean Pole category. That is to say, my body is comprised almost entirely of legs. I also have exceptionally long arms. Supposedly, if you measure the length of your foot against your forearm, they should be exactly the same length. I have at least an extra inch on each forearm. So you are not mistaken in thinking that I am Super Gangling Giraffe Woman of Limbs. So, in thinking that I am only legs, I decide to exaggerate this by wearing tiny, high waister skirts and heels. It's an executive decision.
The point is, with this penchant for loose/tight/sheer/lacey/torn clothing, I often find myself having, what I guess you would call, Wardrobe Malfunctions (or at least that's what they called it when Janet Jackson popped out at the Superbowl) (and shock, horror, no one's seen tits before, WHY DON'T YOU BE MORE CONSERVATIVE, AMERICA).
The point is, I have had many too-much-thigh, almost-popping-out-of-top, are-you-seeing-too-much-bra, dear-god-my-feet-hurt moments, and despite the fact that they induce extreme rage in me (and, occasionally, embarrassment) I refuse to change.
I will take my whorey clothing to my grave. Well... maybe not literally, that would be gross, and I assume I'd be old, but YOU GET WHAT I MEAN.

EXAMS:

I know you've heard it before but GODDAMN I AM SO FUCKING SICK OF STUDYING AND PRACTISING.
Today I had an exam for a subject called Music Language. Music Language is a subject on music theory.
Now. In my opinion, there are two types of musicians. There are intuitive musicians, and there are technical musicians. Now, in the grand scheme of things, I would fall into the intuitive category. That is to say, I can put dynamics and emotion and stuff into music, but technically, and in terms of theory, I kind of suck. I kind of suck generally, but whatever.
So this exam, today, went for an hour, and in it, we had to compose a chorale, and analyse a piano sonata.
To do one of these things, it takes me about three days.
By the end of the exam, with ten minutes to go, I was starting the second half of it, the score analysis, and had decided in a frantic panic of stress and hysteria, that I would just draw many, MANY boxes around various lines of music in different colours, in a crazy attempt to baffle the examiners with colours.
The end result was a page that looked like it had been scrawled on by a toddler, and made no analytic sense.
The exam was only worth 20% of my overall mark, but I still went home and gorged myself in a flurry of self-loathing.
These things happen.

PRETENTIOUSNESS:

I know this person. Let's call them Person X.
Person X and I have known each other for a while, but recently, the conversations have been going like this:
Me: How are you?
Person X: Good. I've been reading some Sartre and I really think he has some deep thoughts and great opinions about the general decline in solipsistic ideals and dualistic beliefs in the wholly ethereal view of the world as an obfuscated and parallel sphere of human disbelief.
Me: ...
Person X: Also I, like, dropped some acid and took some pills and did some mad shit, and I discovered that truth is actually, only accessible through the empty void that is the space in our hearts and minds that we can reach through another hemisphere which Schopenhaur discusses in his theory of *hissing noise of static as Anna blanks out*
Me: ....

GODDAMN IT. The thing is, when, and if, Person X happens to ask me how I am, the conversation goes like this:
Person X: So what have you been doing?
Me: Last weekend I got drunk and macked some awful guy before vomming at my friend's house, then the next day I ate an entire chocolate cake and drank a pot of coffee, then stayed up all night, shaking and trying to panic-compose a string quartet.
Person X:........... yeah, I read some really good Nietszche the other day too --- *NOISENOISENOISENOISENOISE*

Now, don't get me wrong, Person X and I are pals. But the following are my thoughts:
1. Because you take drugs, does not make you A) Cooler B) Deeper or C) more desirable or interesting.
2. The fact that you like philosophy, also does not make you the above.
3. SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE TO CRAWL INTO MY VAPID HOVEL OF MATERIAL GOODS AND OCCASIONAL DRUNKEN MISTAKES, I DO NOT NEED YOUR IDEAS ON THE WORLD OF FORMS AND PHILOSOPHICAL ETHICS CONGEALED INTO AN AMORPHOUS BLOB OF PRETENTIOUS WANKERY CAST UPON ME WITH A KNOWING STARE.
ALSO, YOUR FACE IS STUPID.
Okay, the last was a bit far, but seriously, it's not impressive.

SLEAZES:

The other week, I may have mentioned, I went on a Booze Cruise. It involved, mostly, a fairly large boat, an extensive amount of alcohol, and a bunch of music students. I learned the following things that night:
1. If someone seems like a sleaze, it's probably because they're a sleaze and they will attempt to lure you to the toilets at some point in the night for sex after plying you with alcohol.
2. Sigh.
Luckily, I came to my senses at about the point he tried to lure me to the toilets. But, in considering this, I ask you: WHAT KIND OF PERSON PROPOSES TOILET SEX TO ANOTHER PERSON THEY'VE BARELY EVEN MET?
A sleaze, is the answer.
And this is the reason I need to not be around charming men when alcohol is involved, otherwise, I will most probably make out with them, realise that it's probably a bad idea, run away for the remainder of the night, and then try and surround myself with male friends while drunkenly ranting at them that they have to pretend to be my boyfriend and not let me anywhere near aforementioned male.
WELL DONE, ME.

Anyway. This was basically a self absorbed reason to yell angrily in caps, but I hope you're doing well little bloggers.
Much love,
me.

LYRIC MOSAIC

Oh my Oh my what a wretched life I was born on the day that my poor Mummy died, I was cut from her belly with a stanley knife my Daddy did a jig with the drunk midwife.

Run, rabbit run. Dig that hole, forget the sun, and when at last the work is done don't sit down it's time to dig another one.

I made a wish on sliver of moonlight, a sly grin and a bowl full of stars. Like a kid who captures a firefly and leaves it only to die in the jar.

But yes, I think it can very easily done. Just put some bleachers out in the sun and have it on Highway 61.

I remember a girl so bold and so bright, loose-limbed and laughing and brazen and bare,
Sits gnawing her knuckles in the chemical light, O where do we go now but nowhere.

 

There is a man, a certain man, and for the poor you may be sure that he'll do all he can.
Who is this one? This favourite son? Who by his action has the traction magnets on the run?
Who likes to smoke? Enjoys a joke? and wouldn't get a bit upset if he were really broke?
With wealth and fame he's still the same. 

I'll bet you five you're not alive if you don't now his name.

A letter to you on a cassette, 'cause we don't write anymore.
Gotta make it up quickly, there's people asleep on the second floor.

I was kicked off my land at the age of sixteen,

and I have no idea where else my heart could have been.
I placed all my trust at the foot of this hill,

and now I am sure my heart can never be still.

They keep no fear, no second prize, walking like Jesus with voodoo in their eyes.
They come in green, they leave in black, holding dead roses with bullets in their backs.

 

I don't care if it hurts

I want to have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul

I've got one foot on the platform, the other foot on the train.

I'm going back to New Orleans to wear that ball and chain.

I’m gazing out the window of the St. James Hotel.

And I know no one can sing the blues Like Blind Willie McTell.

Patchwork thievery, a qrotesque mockery, a heap of broken images.

Aren't we all?