Hurr.

So, this is not my usual post. I am in a pleasant mood, listening to pleasant music while thinking of pleasant things.



So come and join me feeling pleasant.

A Manic Day Out.

Wake up, alarm didn’t go off. Or you didn’t hear it. Roll out of bed, leaving that awful mess of a room behind. Walk dazedly into the bathroom, clean teeth, fall asleep in shower. You didn’t sleep properly again. Train leaves in fifty minutes, get ready or you’ll miss it. Grab money, bag and get dressed. Don’t shave again, too tired. Leave house, not saying a word to the parents who sit awkwardly in the kitchen talking politics and drinking weak coffee. Walk towards the bus top and stand next to a few old people. They smell a bit like pine trees. Get on the bus and pay, the old people didn’t get on. Sit on the bus.

Journey is dull, past the same old buildings, architecture trying to remind you of places long past and childhood memories but you are used to that wooden cabin and the steel fences. Go past an abandoned and fenced off train yard, covered in day old snow and brown mush. More like it, you think. Get off the bus and hurry through the town centre. The same old people walk past, carrying the same old things (Thatcoupleonthebenchisn’tactuallylookingandtalkingaboutyoustopthinkingtheyare). You swear you just walked past the same group of people but then you remember they all look the same. Walk past old girlfriends’ sister. Greet them awkwardly and hurry off towards the train station. Cross roads, don’t look, don’t care. No traffic anyway. The train station is in front. Reminds you of some awful block of flats and a mess of glass and dull grey stone. Walk inside. You’re not actually catching a train or going anywhere, you just liked to feel like you’re going somewhere. Stand around, walk off. Check phone, creepy girl text you again. Ignore it and carry on. Start remembering just how creepy the girl can be and hurry off feeling that you’re being watched. You are, there’s a CCTV camera tracking you but they always do that. The guard probably isn’t watching, he’s probably reading some poorly written rag while sipping coffee out of a plastic coffee. You now want coffee and then the tiredness hits in. That week of little sleep kicks in and you feel like everything is really slow. It is, the homeless man in front is walking really slowly. Ease past him and notice he’s listening to an iPod. Carry on, hear sirens. They aren’t after you why would they be, but then again you are crazy. That planes a bit low you think, duck instinctively. You’re insane.

Walk through the same muddle of faces and obese creatures. Shops are surprisingly full, tons of teenage girls trying to look twenty and buying cheap clothes which won’t last a week, like their relationships.
Head home, get on the bus and show the driver that day rider ticket you bought. He smiles and you sit down and smell coffee again. Put headphones in, Pink Floyd makes it all better. You stop thinking and start day dreaming of the songs, their colours beating through your mind. Then listen to Radiohead and start noticing the things around you. Go into bag, take out rubix cube and try to solve it. Man looks across and smiles. Looks like he’s having trouble at home, tired eyes and constantly fiddling with his ring finger. He goes into a wallet and looks at a picture. Maybe he lost his wife. Look down when he looks across. Didn’t see you, good. Don’t want people thinking you’re nosey. Not nosey, just bored. Solve rubix cube again. Get off bus, wrong stop. Walk anyway. Need the exercise. Go home, walk in. Parents have swapped places and don’t notice you. They are like an old painting and you can see the cracks in the oil. You want to paint again.

Paint again, don’t know what you’re painting. Ends up being this mess of gears and abstract shapes. Hide it under your bed, don’t like parents seeing your work and commenting. Know they look anyway. It’s five o’clock, dinner soon. Eat dinner, don’t say a word as your parents sit awkwardly. Ask yourself if they actually exist outside the kitchen. They watch that awful Australian soap while you poke at the mess of mince and potato on your plate. You hate Shepherds Pie but you get it every week. Turn on computer, go on the same old social network sites and sit staring for a few minutes at what people have said. You don’t care, see some of your friends have posted amusing things. Laugh to yourself and leave the computer again, bored again. Pick up that week old copy of Times to do the puzzles, you’ve done them all. You have college work to do, so you start it. Then look at your saved history, you’ve done it all. Just haven’t handed it in. You say to yourself, ‘must hand it in’ but you’ll forget.

It’s later now and you can’t remember the last two hours. Step into bed and lie there. You won’t sleep again but you try anyway. Dad walks in and asks you to walk the dog, You already have, he doesn’t believe you. Ignore him and try to sleep. Fall asleep, it’s five o’clock. Gotta be up at six.

Wake up, alarm didn’t go off. Or you didn’t hear it.

Unreachable dreams, but by choice?

The other day, I was in the town of Dartmouth in the south coast of England, on a routine family meet up. I was of course distracted as usual, I find myself easily distracted by things - from crabs to hallicunations to other symbols of my probable insanity but still, this isn't the point. On a large hill above the town is the Royal Naval College, a magnificant building and my possible home when I decide to finally enlist. And as I was there, a thought passed through my mind. Why even bother with a third year? I could easily just wonder to the recruitment station and start the whole process.

Of course I'm not that naive. I have massive doubts about being accepted and I feel if I were to balance everything on this one almost - impossible career dream of mine then if I don't get it I haven't got anywhere to go - apart from retail. A fate worse than death. I'd rather be prepared for every possible outcome then be surprised as surprises annoy me.

Maybe I won't get into the Royal Navy, or any of the careers I want to do - maybe my...flaws will prevent me. But in utter contrast to my general demeanor, I'd rather try then just give up there and then. If there's anything I've learnt, it's that one should never give up, especially not before the game has even started. Life is short and dull so why not take risks. Spread your arms and jump off the edge rather than sitting awkwardly at the cliff. And yeah that's a metaphor. If you're going to jump off of a cliff wear a parachute or something. Unless you fancy being a human omelette. I like omelettes.

For now I will do my third year of college and study until my brain implodes from the workload. I'm fairly sure I had more to write for this blog but I cannot remember what it was so instead I shall write a stupidly long sentence with no breaks and force your mind to burn at its sheer length and the horror of statements without commas which believe me hurts because sometimes a sentence is so long that one actually runs out of ideas of what to put in the sentence and ends up ironically describing that one cannot think of anything more and this is ironic because it actually adds to the sentence and thus increases its length which creates a much longer sentence which is much harder to read.

That actually hurt to write.

Anyway, Blair is an idiot.

Stupid things people sat at work #!

They are so hilarious, I did have to share them for people to laugh and/or smirk at the idiots of this world. Maybe you won't get half the jokes if you don't work in retail, mind. What makes it funnier is that they are all true.

May or may not have been copied from my own profile on facebook.

"Excuse me sir, where do you keep the eggs?" - While standing in front of the eggs looking at them.

"Where can I find the cigarettes?" - Upon entering the shop.

"Can I pay by cash on this?"

"No sir that till is cards only for now until it's fixed."

"Okay. Can I pay by cash though?"

"No it's not working."

"But can I use this £5 note?"

"No sir the till isn't accepting notes."

- Customer then precedes to insert his £5 note, thus breaking the till.

"Where can I find a member of staff?"

"You're speaking to one"

"I need to speak to a staff member"

"I can show you to my manager if you want..."

"No I want a staff member!"

"Do you do holidays in here?"

"No sir this is Tesco. There's a travel agent down the road though."

"How much is this loaf of bread?"

"That's not a loaf of bread sir, that's a madeira cake."

Customers are idiots.

Herp Derp Results

Results day today. Herp derp, derp herp hurr de durr derp de la derp herp herp. Derp herp? Herp a derp derp hurr durr Ima durr hurr derp. Durr herp, de derp de diddley derp. Durr, herp a derp de derp hurr.

See I would make a post about my results but it would be generic.

Enrolment is full of idiots.

Red hot pokers of irritance.

Alas, for I have not posted here for a while! What woe fortide that which doth not update!
I'm still wondering if people actually spoke like that or if it was a crude joke made by Shakespeare. I'd love it if it was a joke to be honest. Would be hilarious. But anyway. Haven't really had the time to update due to copious amounts of overtime, creative ideas up the ying yang and forays into the abyss that is Swindon.

I wouldn't be human if I didn't have aspirations - although I am adamant to deny any relation to the human race, silly things they are. Misanthropic tendencies aside, I can't help that my misty eyed dreams of careers are teetering on the naive. As in; careers I am not likely to fall into or even succeed in application. Coming from a military background, I've always wanted to serve like my father and those before him and I am on my way to apply to the Royal Navy - full application as an officer will be after my final year of college. Now, I don't hold any belief that I will get in and get past selection but still one must dream. But, I do have back ups. Good thing about being as mental as me is that I have many other careers I'd love to go in.

Journalism is one. An investigative one, just because it's something to keep my mind involved and it's rather interesting. The word 'investigative' leads right into my other, more recent idea. Of joining the police force as an investigative officer. Sounds like an awesome career.

But that's because I watch too much Luther - awesome show.

And finally, Ian is an idiot.

Bluesy desires.

Alright on a less personal note; I have a strong and uncontrolable desire to play the blues. Not just randomly jam, but with someone, but alas, there is no one bar my father who seems interested. A father-son collabaration may be in order. I feel that I do not have the right guitar for it. A fender stratocaster will leave a nice bluesy feel and have a similar feel, but it'll lead to the inevitable Gilmour sound as there's no other way to play a Strat, for me anyway.

So I may end up buying a telecaster anyway...

Right, onto matters of news and such. Recently, the website Wikileaks revealed a damning intelligent report about NATO led actions in Afghanistan, which details civilian deaths, soldiers acting without orders and the seemingly assassin like nature of U.S special forces.

I understand the freedom of the press and I implore the idea of censorship. But surely there should be a line, where journalists don't go. Information is powerful, it can destroy governments. But when it puts our forces in danger, that's shakey ground. A number of people will belay that this demonstrates the pointless nature of the conflict in Afghanistan and yes the figures are deeply disturbing and condemn actions. But frankly, this should happen after the war. The figures in some of these documents show information which could be used against our own forces and thus endanger troops. I don't care if you think war is bad. These people are our soldiers. Death is bad, war is bad. But it's unstoppable.

Wikileaks is an idiot.

Ponderings of a madman.

It's twenty to one in the morning, and I'm sat with a bottle of gin listening to Stereophonics. Usually I'd call this a good evening but something in my head is different. (Also this blog is getting more personal each post...) I'm no alcoholic, nor am I some disgruntled forty year old but yet tonight I feel like one. Maybe it's the fact I haven't shaved in a while and the come-up after a depressed episode, but, well I don't know.

There's a number of things I can't explain about my thoughts or the way my head works, but I'd sure like to know it all. I know that ignorance is bliss, but this ignorance of myself is almost demeaning. I know it's who I am - but why? How? Am I doomed to not know all there is about myself?

All I do is look for the answer to myself, it's driving me to the point of extremes but maybe when I solve myself I can solve others.

Who knows, that's the joy of life. Never knowing.

Life, the universe and something.

What is a blog without a bit of sombre writing? After reading a blog post from a good friend of mine, I decided to stop drawing fungal parodies of famous figures and start pretending to care about people (That was a direct quote from House M.D - not an honest statement...I think). But, well I've been here for eighteen years. I've been to loads of places, met thousands of people, most of whom I will never ever see again, if I do it'll be only in passing. People bore me, I make no attempt to hide that. But sometimes I find people who interest me, people who are complex workings. I know everyone is unique, and complex - but we've assigned so many disorders, personality traits and functions to ourselves that everyone fits into categories. Some fit into a lot of categories. I've met people who don't fit into anything, they don't make sense at all. I try and figure them out but I can't, no labels for these people.

That's how I make friends. Well - after meeting them. I don't spy on people who interest me, otherwise I'd change my name to Orwell and write books. Of course, this isn't the only way I see people - we aren't objects to be examined in a lab, I'm no scientist.

My best friends don't fit into these categories. I could know all that there is to know about their personal lives and yet they still remain a mystery, there's no personality trait there which can be explained by something obvious. I hasten to add that I'm no sociopath, I make jokes about it but I do associate myself with others quite readily. I just don't like being exposed. I care for my friends but I'd be lying if I said I didn't examine them. I care for them, or try to, if they fall and amuse them when I can. Of course that's dependant on my various mood swings.

Being as - broken - as I feel like sometimes, my life has become dominated by my various illnesses, they dictate what courses I take, where I go and what jobs I do. It's taxing but it defines me. I hate having a defination, I hate being in a category but it's inevitable as I know everything there is to know about myself (except where my bloody pen has got too).

I could go days without speaking to people, I have done before. But in truth, it feels hollow. I couldn't live without my friends and family, and I appreciate them for putting up with me. A lot. All of those who mean something to me, you know who you are - you're the greatest (probably) people in the world. Wellington was cooler, though.
And Grouchy was an idiot.

First post

So I am writing this while wearing a fez and listening to Galvanize. That pretty much sums me up. Now, onto items of a blog related nature. This is the first of my personal blogs and due to my expert social skills and powers of empathy, expect it to be a kind and caring insight into modern life with a light hearted element and a showcase of my forays into contemporary dance.

Like that's going to happen. Although I will try and be funny. Funny, as in strange not 'haha' funny. In all truthfulness I probably linked you here through facebook or any other social media just so I could feel like my space on the internet was meaningful.

Anyway. For the last few weeks, life has been pretty..inactive. Been spending my time at the pub, writing my screenplay (which will be eventually finished, probably) going places and working. Not dull but not as excentric as I'd wanted, at least in my head anyway. I'm meeting with the cast and such tonight which should be interesting, that is if they are there for the script and not for the inevitable booze. Of which I will be trying to keep away from as it lowers my creative drive.

I couldn't have made that any more sexual.
It's sad that I could have, in reality.

Now, onto the news. What is a blog without satire, eh?
Because I'm so civilised, I read the Times/Sunday Times. (You can tell who I voted for; a mans paper defines who he votes for, i.e. the Daily Telegraphs' readership voted Tory and the Daily Stars' readers voted for Tits.) They've reported that the chairwoman of OFSTED claimed that "we need bad teachers". Yes, brilliant! Her reasoning - that the children need to know how to deal with people in authority who are not good at this.

That isn't a lesson. She must have been homeschooled. You give children a bad teacher, they become disillusioned and jump on the teacher like buzzards after a shooting in the Wild West. Kids go to school to learn subjects and not life lessons. Sure it gives them experience, but it also undermines any lesson they are taking.

And did she think of the teachers? "Okay, you're going to be this schools' bad teacher. Have fun". I don't think any teacher wants to be a bad one, it's not that kind of job. Call me naive but this chairwoman is an idiot.

I will now end every post by calling someone an idiot.