Saturday, August 17, 2002

Iiiii've got underpants on my head, oh yes, I've got underpants on my head...

Anyone else noticed I'm a bit more cheerful on today's blog yet? Blame those lovely folks at Amazon for my underwear on head moment there. Having given up the chance of reading Susan Kay's (apparently sick and wrong) "Phantom" as it's out of print, only avaliable from America in hardback. I lack huge amounts of money and a credit card, ao I made a rather half-hearted last ditch attempt and asked Amazon to fetch it for me second hand, put in a bid of £4.99 for iot, didn't think anything would happen.
BANG! Home from the wife's, check email (shower first of course, it's like an oven here today) lo and behold, Amazon found it for me, it will be dispatched to me next week. So yay me, I have Phan phiction to read, and apparantly this particular book is gross as hell in places. I LIKE!

Wrote huge chunk of BWR today inspired by hideous heat. First time I've actually applied my new found knowledge of the effect of chamomile on my system, works like a dream! Now to write Paris. I've been putting it off, everytime I try I get funny headaches and the room spins. Could just be absinthe flashbacks I suppose but it's disconcerting. In other writing news, Jude will soon be dead, he's got til he's 26 before his massive drinking binges cause a brain haemorrhage. Aww poor him, the little bastard deserves it, ungrateful whining luvvie...

Oh and about that long bile spewing blog? I don't actually WANT to be anorexic, I just don't see the problem. Just thought I'd mention that :)

Say From Hell last night. Beth now convinced I was Jack the Ripper. Not helping my own case much by knowing entirely too much about teh noble art of throat cutting... singing off to go drivel some more Love and Death.. I love you all, my darling public, but Ah Vahnt to be a Laughn....

Thursday, August 15, 2002

Owww.. I just accidentally stabbed myself in the chest with my mobile phone... and yes I know it's bizzare, but don't worry it didn't achieve penetration, it was just me foolishly stumblind and making a nasty little dent in my chest.
Well that's my interesting bodily fact over with. Holes in feet, stabbing with phones, I just have such a fascinating life!
Registered with fanfiction.net in order to subject poor innocent phan phiction reading saps to my awful poetry. Hope they like it though, from the standard of phic around they really should do, though I have to say if I tried harder I could get published like Becky Matthews did. Hmmm.. paid to phic, I *like* that plan....
So.. yeah. Kid fo bored now. Haven't the energy to work on my dissertation despite having woken up with bits of it running through my head. I'm being tortured by ideas for it so much now that I've issued and open challenge for someone to help exorcise my phic demons through crossovers, but as yet no response.
But then again why am I surprised - none of you like me, do you? Not one little bit, you all just put up with me because I make cookies and have been known to give good lessons if the subject's interesting. Well don't you worry world, soon as I get the chance I'm going to go hide, and you will know me by the trail of dead, the candle-ends and the very loud music. You'll be free of me soon enough, don't fret. No world has ever had to suffer me for long. You just can't handle me can you? *sweet smile*

Well that all got rather depressing didn't it?

Heard there's a film of "Prozac Nation" being made which should be hilarious. I can't wait for the opportunity to go giggle at the pathetic attention seeking machinations of a woman who really should have just strangled herself as soon as she was old enough to use a lasso and spared us all the bollocks in her books. And yes I know I'm no better but that's why I hate her so much.

You see, I'm a voyer of the worst type - I am fascinated not only with the spark of life but also with the mechanisms of lingering, painful death. I love to read books and watch documentaries and films about things like the Nazi regime, hideous genetic diseases, anorexia, bulimia, long-running diseases like TB, and people like the Elephant Man. You see I'd like to think that I'd treat him kindly myself, I mean honestly my own looks are no oil painting (unless it happens to be a Dali) so why should I laugh or be shocked?

See the thing is, we like these things because they make us feel better, they make us go "Phew, my life isn't that bad!" or they make us gloat over what we have, they instil in us the worst feelings of human greed and malice and allow us to privately revel in the delight of these feelings that shake us to our core in a symphony of shuddering, wicked pleasures. Which is why I like to shout abuse at anorexics for their ungrateful little hides needing a good tanning which I am more than happy to deliver. It is also why I am sometimes to be found with a glass of gin in my hand drunkenly cursing Miss Daae for her patronising attitude. "Pitiful creature of darkness"? What kind of comment is that? I mean pardon me Christine but who's pitiful - someone who's self-sufficient, talented, general beautiful, or a spoilt little rich boy who's in love with a girl he fancied when he was 13 and retrived the scarf of?!

And it all just fell apart right there, just as soon as I mentioned Christine....

But getting back on track, what on EARTH are they whining about? They have removed one of the great chores of life (ie eating) from their calender, thus also removing the tedium of shopping, cooking, washing up, clearing up, not to mention the foulness that happens a few hours after one eats. How much free time must they have??? Also, all that frantic exercise raises endorphin levels, which are nice little chemicals that make you happy, so again I don't see their point about being depressed. Do I even NEED to mention the fact that they achieve fabulous figures? And all that money they saved not buying food can be spent on nice new clothes. What the hell is wrong with these people? Are they just sponges for sympathy? "Oh look at me, I have more spare time and money than you'll ever know about, a gorgeous figure, don't you feel sooo sorry for me? Oh pity me, pity the poor anorexic"

Learn to love it or fuck off and shoot yourself.

Yes I really do have nothing better to do than write pointless bile spewing blogs and demonstrate just how nasty it is in here. In the words of Spider Jerusalem (one of my two great heroes of Journalism, the other being Hunter Thompson) "I hate it here"

Wednesday, August 14, 2002

I'm not entirely sure whether I should be cursing my weakness or damning Amazon for not being able to deliver the fruits of such weakness until I'm away and in Norfolk, possibly wandering about writing melancholic odes to nothing in particular and pretending to work on my dissertation. That's what my heavilly calculated moment fo weakness at Amazon was all about actually - my dissertation. As you may have worked out I'm writing it on Phantom ("no shit?") and I just thought I should read a couple of the spin off novels. So I read some reviews, I got hooked in, and I'm spending hard earned cash on books that won't actually be much help but that I can curl up in the Lair with and make the bad nasty real world go away. Also just from the preview I've got a real crush on Christian de Chagny, curse my hormones...
Incidentally, the book was never and has never been called "The Phantom of the Opera" - it's called, in French "Le Fantome de L'Opera" translating as "The Opera Ghost" so you're all wrong, ha! But Phantom sounds so much better, and without that mistranslation we could never have had Phans, Phreaks, Phan Phiction or even The Phanzine. Some of you may consider that a good thing, but being a fan of odd words I don't.
I didn't log on to ramble about Phantom. I've been doing that all day anyway - even the part I was asleep during according to my lovely Lady Wife who says I was saying "It wasn't me!" in my sleep, and I have no reason to discredit that considering the dream I was having. No no... what I came on to talk about was the fact that I've discovered something. Not a very impressive thing but something nonetheless.
You can get stoned on chamomile tea.
Seriously you can - I'm wrecked off my face, possibly because I haven't had it in ages and because I'm rather tired today anyway having crawled home last night in an unfathomably drunken condition and apparently proceeded to eat McDonalds food in foul quantity, which would explain the stomach pain I woke up with this morning at least. But in any case, yes indeed, I have discovered another new aid to writing, and I call it Chamomile! But I don't think you'll see any poetry about that either. Though you never know. I once got very hypnotised by the steady noise the photocopier machine made (I was copying about 100 reports at the time at work) and ended up writing a poem called "Xerox Therapy" which will never see the light of day again nor shall it contaminate the blessed darkness either, for it is sick and wrong and shall be burned, exspunged and destroyed just as soon as I find the manuscript.
Writing update? Finally did the crit. I promised Ell *Blah* weeks ago, Reorganised BWR, and have I mentioned my new epic? "Love and Death at the Palais Garnier" - nowhere near as good as that title makes it sound. I'll inflict some of it one you at some point. Everything else is stalled, though I have been having random drawing fits lately which I blame Wizzy for.
I think I've abused the electrons enough for now. al fin con amore......

Sunday, August 11, 2002

I've got a big hole in the sole of my foot. I have! There's a really smooth bit that was revealed when a circle of skin about an inch across and several millimetres deep came off - didn't hurt at all, and now I've got a hole in my sole.
That's actually true, I wasn't just making a bad Aerosmith joke.
So, right - what has happened in the fascinating life of me then? Well I've retured from every society I was ever in, given up the public parts of music, architecture, psychology, art, paganism and suchlike that I was taking part in. I've left the Writer's Guild which is a shame because there was a big debauched party at one of their houses in the middle of nowhere recently and I was going to go along and get off my face in order to write fucked up rubbish. It's theraputic, don't knock it til you try it.
What else? Decided to part ways with Tom - I don't blame either of us but there is the slight matter of me owing him £100.. oops. will pay him back, possibly with complimentary signed copy of Coraline as interest. I blame **** for it.
Spent a few days with the lovely lady wife, keeled over during a Ritual (well at least I apparently did so in a very cinematic way..) went to an organ recital (played spot the person who was dragged here and those who just wanted to go because it's a recital) at the Cathedral which would have been nicer had they dimmed the lights and lit the candles but you can't get it all - candles, organ music, Crawford in a tux.. *sigh* sorry where was I?
Watched Edward Scissorhands - cried like a big girl's blouse. Where *does* that phrase come from, I mean since when did blouses, no matter if they belong to a larger lady or not do anything but hang and cover? Very odd indeed, but then again other languages have odd phrases. The French equivalent of drink like a fish is to drink like a hole which makes no sense at all, but then again do fish drink? And should I be offended by someone not giving a rat's arse about something, or flattered? And does anyone else keep those plastic covers that come on the plugs of some electrical goods, thinking they may one day use them again?
Too many questions, far far too many questions...