My room has an awkward split personality of a past memory I didn't quite exist in. Sarah Michelle Gellar and Alyson Hannigan still look down from my walls, but sporadically placed print-outs and mini-posters of various bands are littered around. Yet these bands have rarely been my favourites, Dave Baksh and Deryck Whilbley of Sum 41 stand awkwardly next to Jimmy Page as coaxes his guitar into a glorious melody. Tupac Shakur and G-Unit remind us to "live by the gun, die by the gun" and "beg for mercy" respectively, while a beaming Alyson Hannigan sits next to the Nirvana family tree underneath. Above and opposite are more bands like Metallica, Iron Maiden, Pantera, Marilyn Manson, and Gun's & Roses who although once quenched my thirst for heavy metal and amazing guitar work, have never meant as much to me as Brand New or Death Cab For Cutie. On another wall there is a 2006 Arena calender, permanently frozen on Fearne "November" Cotton, while underneath the infamous number plate of Doc Brown's Delorean sites proudly amongst a sloo of gig tickets. To its left a large poster of a monk is seen engulfed in flames, the revolutionary image associated with Rage Against The Machine, while in contrast "nu metal" band linkin' park sit quietly, and vertically underneath. My Arsenal mirror is fallen and slumped, partially obscuring Nirvana, while above we're inspirationally told that "No birds soars too high if he soars on his own wings". finally, above my window are a few strangely arranged newspaper cuttings about ferrari's from 1995. Needless to say this tiny room, that doesn't feel like home, is packed full of junk, books I have no time to read, sad guitars I have no room to play, and nik naks kept in case they once meant something to someone.

I hate this room.
It's not me.
I can't sleep

It's too small to rearrange and apart from my books, clothes and guitar, it holds nothing I care about.

It's 3.30 again.


General Ramblings and Observations by Tom of Earth: a cryptic emotionally-driven look into the life of times of the infamous sock wearer, gadget-whore, unintentional blasphemer, hypocrite, servant of Xenu, Pastafarian, absurdist and thantophobic...without me, its just aweso

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