I don't care anymore, but I care I don't care. I hate all my inadequacies, all my missed chances and my inability to make use of my dull and uninteresting strengths. I hate my fear of perusing something radically different, my lack of ambition but the fire of competition and self pride that holds me back inexplicably. I hate my immaturity, my desperate requirement for sympathy, attention and compliments. I hate that I can't sing, or play, or achieve what I wish I could. I hate that everyone else can, and have better control of their negative emotions. I feel I'm being left behind by everyone else who is growing up and taking responsibility while I'm living off of my Dad's death money *waves hands spookily*. I want everyone to love me and attend to me, but also for everyone to leave me along.
I want coffee. I want but I can't provide myself with anything. I want some light in the dark. And a purpose, a muse and a reason. I need the sun and blue skies. I need tears. I hate my body and my fitness and I need something to drag me out of this pit. I'm scared to start but I don't know what I'm clutching onto. I don't even have the effort to write lyrics. Just the effort to bum with fury. I have destructive tendencies.
I have destructive tendencies.
Things I miss (written before travelling)
- Zoe wearing my Four Star Mary hoodie
- The A303 drive
- Ritazza sessions with Maddie
- Kitchen dancing with Nick
- The Midnight Musketeers
- Lunches with Dan in the long lounge.
- Parkcour with Dave
- Late night/Early morning Esso
- Afternoon beers in the Ram/Imp beer garden in summer
- Listening to music in my room with Alex and Becca
- Watching endless hours of Spaced with Sam
- Mike and I going to Costa to "read journals"
- Dancing the night away in whorehouse with Pete
- Drinking Kronenbourg round Danu's house during 6th form sumemr
- Post-bombay buffet drives in Rex's cinquecento
- You.
we'll blow off our heads in despair
I actually felt old today, as I pondered devoting my life to one endeavour and realised 23 isn't 21 anymore. I'm not normally one to worry about birthdays, or that I'm getting older, as I've only lived a quarter of my life and it felt like a real long time (not in a bad way i should point out). However, for nearly 20 years of that I had little choice in what I did or my future. Now in the land of careers, travelling, responsibility and all other manner of things, I'm not sure I can fit it all in. Have I still got time to be a rock star or famous sportsman?
What if I wanna do a phd?
or live in Oz for a year?
or travel to India? or down Africa?
or learn Spanish and do South America?
I'm finding it difficult to break out of the mind set that once I start my career I can't stop in case it looks bad, or I can't re-find a job, or I won't progress far enough or earn enough money.
Argh.
And yes I know, I should "just do what i want" but what if I don't know what I want? You could harp on all day in cliché motivational phrases until the cows come home, trample your new Persian rug and demand their supper but it won't change the face that following that advice yourself is far more complex and risky than in some magic fairy ideal.
Also what if I find someone (not fail to tell them for the umpteenth time?)....
LOLLERSKATES!!!1!!1!!one!!!! only joking!
*sighs*
erm.
What if I don't come back. What if I don't settle to my cliched computing job in London. what if I find a job where I can travel the world. What if I lose my fear of losing my friends. What if I sing. What if I'm happy with medicore money.
What if I'm alone?
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.
Happy Christmas you crazy bastards
Hope everyone had fun and was not involved in any form of genocide, thievery or politically motivated chocolate scandals. I was thinking about creating a profound christmas message similar to how the Queen lays it down each year, but I decided it wouldn't matter what I said anyway, plus it would increase my tally of "advice I don't follow myself". However, I'll jam these words into your over-stuffed throbbing cortexes, even though many people may declare me sir Wrong of Wrong-a-lot with a degree in Wronging from the University of Incorrectus.
These days, the Christmas holidays, and even Christmas day itself is not a solely religious holiday anymore, just as it began many moons ago as the crazy winter solstice or some other festival, many people just celebrate the idea of celebrating. Celebrate in the commercialism, and the stories of santa, and reindeer, and turkey, and television, and queen speeches, and good will and peace. And the point is. Thats. Not. Wrong. Neither is celebrating a purely christian Christmas. Or celebrating a version of Christmas if you're of another faith or have no faith or even follow the Flying Spaghetti Monster. The "holiday season" as some politically correct folk like to call it, though as we're English we'll call it Christmas, has far exceeded religious encompassment, which although many people cry foul about I don't think it's bad. This isn't some rant about religion being evil or anything, it's just Christmas has become a time for generic enjoyment and everyone needs a bit of that.
Well that sounded all far too profound and rambling. Hush now.
Things I Like
I like the blackest, darkest coffee.
I like the feeling of waking up early, knowing the entire day is ahead of you, stretching out deep until the night.
I like nostalgia.
I like Coffee House music, that balances relaxation and calm, with reminiscent warmth.
I like the glow weak outdoor lights emit, when they cast an orange haze across forgotten areas of urban landscape and give an eerie romance to common objects..
I like positivity, optimism, saxophones and brutal despair.
I also like paradoxes.
"Live a good life. If there are gods and they are just, then they will not care how devout you have been, but will welcome you based on the virtues you have lived by. If there are gods, but unjust, then you should not want to worship them. If there are no gods, then you will be gone, but will have lived a noble life that will live on in the memories of your loved ones."
~ Marcus Aurelius
Seperated by 237 miles, the silence of our troglodytic existence resounded across the cosmos. Our vocal intercourse, laced with pleasantries, cuts the gentle breeze as we waited for the climatical conclusion to this stratospheric voyeurism. A shooting star traces the contours of my vision while we marvel at the remarkable clarity of the heavens. The insignificance of our fragile existence reverberated through my soul, as the futuristic astronomical abode of our technologically advanced cousins travels fleetingly across the night sky.
Or in other words, Rex and I saw the international space station.
My Hobby: Slowly adding to the blog description over the course of X years and seeing if anyone notices...
I spy with my little eye something that begins with 'I don't care',
That this song, has a melody,
Or that the beats are not complex,
I'm just trying to make you sing,
And not be perplexed. - Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly
Memories
I've said it before and I'll say it again, lostprophets and specifically last summer remind me of visiting Rex in Royal Holloway.
I feel like I'm in the limbo between Uni and life. And however poetic I make it sound it's still kind of scary as I have no idea what life is going to be like. Sure, I could seize the day, and direct it, but that involves getting my hands dirty.
I just wish I could convey my love of music to people and how amazing my favourite bands are. Whether it's the deep and meaningful beauty that is the likes of Death Cab For Cutie, Brand New and the Eels to the pure rocking awesomeness of Hundred Reasons and Taking Back Sunday. Maybe half of my love of these bands are because they're linked to awesome memories or experiences. Who knows.
Coffee sure makes me sentimental...
Art Gallery #1
I present to you a collection of my best arty photos that I've taken over the past month or two. You can tell they're arty because they're in black and white and have some sort of poignant underlying theme to them....
"Sam"
"Empty"
"The Stacks"
"The Human Duplicators"
"Street"
"Hawking De Iceland"
"Caffeine Reflections" 
I'm in a mood to sigh
*sighs*.
I like to write down lyrics as my headphones sing them to me. It feels like I've achieved something.
I like being in a large empty room, because I can't be judged, and only my hair knows that it's stupid.
I like listening to music when walking, because it becomes your theme, and you can find its intricacies.
I like to pretend.
I like to be good enough friends with people that you can insult each other jovially.
I like long words where there should be short words, and short words where there should be long words.
I'd also like to think that Ad and Stu aren't gonna mock my soul for this post.
Luckily I hear the best format of defense is attack, so I shall premptively suggest that "they don't have their respective faces".
What I like
Walking home from campus at night with fantastic music in my ears, with a light level of rain, which is just "sprinkly" enough so that the wind whips it around in small vortexs and is reflected by the orange glow of the lamp-posts.