Thursday, October 10, 2002

Why am I typing random rubbish at this hour of the day - do I have a deathwish or something? No, that's my seminar tutor who sits nexts to me and slags off Wilde. I was a hair's bredth away from turning to him and calling him a homophobe, not because I actually have any evidence for that but because I wanted an excuse to pay him a grave insult, and not liking Wilde is as good as reason as any to do so. Besides wouldn't it be fun to watch him splutter and deny it ferociously in front of fifteen people? *sigh* well OK, life recap, it's really dull I warn you of that now.

1. What I Did With My Week
2. Nothing Lasts Forever
3. Confession racket
4. A Vindication Of The Rights Of Nutcases


I have a job. It pays reasonably, it's only 10 and a half hours a week, it's evening work and I have a gorgeous view of the sunset through my window. It's hardly taxing on the brain, so I can cope after a day at Uni. The bad stuff is that it doesn't pay well enough for the means to justify the end, I am subject to abuse you would not believe from people I presume I have never met, my workmates are 90% Townie fuckwits (apologies to Ellen, Kirsty and all the others who are actually human beings who go to The Dark Place) And it's the fourth floor. Now, I don't mind the exercise of climbing the stairs all the way to the top floor, it could be a lot worse, but ITS THE TOP FLOOR. I hate top floors, I'm a cellar person. The building has a sub-basement and everytime I go in I just want to go downstairs instead of up. Oddly enough I don't mind roofs - standing out, looking over the City that I have for now made my home, it's a lovely feeling of connectedness yet detatchment, of being somewhere invisible among the pulse of life that goes on below you, yet of being strangely alienated from it. You can walk through the City at night and feel at once that nobody sees you pass and that you are one with the universality and connection that drums through every person there. Hell I've gone all spiritual.

Lectures were OK. I can cope with two hours of Blake, I'm just not sure how I'm going to handle the same length of time spent on Worthless, sorry I meant Wordsworth. On the other hand my third year presentation is on Shelley, so I can forbear just for the pleasure of gushing about the greatest Romatic ever for a few minutes. And you ALL have to listen, ha ha ha!! Oh by the way, have Sky? Watch Grim and Evil, 9.30PM every night. Evil Con Carne isn't as good as The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy, but it's a nice break from the fuckedness and there's twice as much Grim as there is Evil in every dose.


Relax, Beth, it's a quote.
Being home alone and very tired the other night, I flicked on to Kerrang TV to find "November Rain" was just starting, so being me I lay down to watch it and yes I do mean lay - when I'm alone or comfortable I quite often stretch out over the sofa and look fat. I blame Liam. So I watched the video, and I must have been tired becuse otherwise stuff like this wouldn't plague me. Have you ever noticed how full of holes it is?

a. Why did Duff swap sides in the ten seconds between giving Slash the rings and Slash walking out of the church?
b. How did Axl grow a beard in between getting married and emerging from the church?
c. OK I can't think of any more, but they are there, watch it, pick at it. It's still a fine video for a fine song.


a. I have confidence in the standard of my writing as being reasonably good and certainly fit for human or indeed Guildly consumption. Also I am at the most prolific period I have ever experienced. The reason I am not rejoining the Guild is the utter lack of recognition I get within it. It's that Left Out feeling, pure and simple, and yes that's stupid and immature but intelligence and maturity are two things I have never been accused of posessing in excess.

b. Why didn't I rejoin LURPS? I don't like tabletop, Live is too expensive and time consuming, and it's hard to watch your former best friend being so chatty and lively when for weeks he's shut you out in favor of his new fling.

c. Better for you, more ethical, improvement in Majickal consciousness.. pah. I've gone vegan because I have faith that somewhere lurking in me is still Johnathan's figure.

Happy now?


Someone somewhere out there, and you know who you are Hayley, is more unhinged than me, here is part of an email I was forwarded from her "And I want a peach in the form of a small bungalow, with proper doors and two windows, painted white. If these demands are not met, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur!"
I Am NOT that crazy. No matter how often I want to threaten people with chandeliers.

That's about it. I'm too depressed for a witty end sentence. I'm giving up drinking.

Sunday, October 06, 2002

*baps head franctically*

Help me, Johnathan is singing on top of a hill in a graveyard in my head and claiming he can take off his head and recite Shakespeare!!!!! Tooo much stuff, really too much. oh hell now he's bouncing around in a Naples-like manner going "what's this?!" a lot.. damn you Tim Burton... But just in the nick of time, in steps Victoria Cain....

"He's not the Pumpkin King, he's a very naughty boy!"

*Drags Lord Wuss off by the ear to stop him jumping around with the use of laudanum and a big hammer*

*sigh* OK I think I'm done. My mother thought "Phantom Bloke" as she calls Mr Crawford was the singing voice of Jack Skellington for ages. I suppose I should just be thankful that Jack Skellington was one nickname that the people of the 19th century didn't have access to, and it wasn't true anyway. I wasn't THAT bad... I want pankackes, but I'm stony broke and can't afford egg substitute, so I can't have pancakes. You see this is where veganism falls down a bit - you have to have specialised stuff practically on tap, and I haven't stocked up yet. So no pancakes for me, I'm pancakeless. Why do I always want pancakes after sherry? Or indeed just when I'm drunk. I have no idea what I'm going to do for dinner tonight, but I'm leaning towards pasta again, yes I'm dull but hey, I care.

Should Music Of The Night really give you that much of a good down low tickle? I was laying on the sofa listening to it today and well... you know how it is. One things leads to another and suddenly you're writhing around on the sofa in some sort of pleasurable agonies. Phew, damn.. I'm one sick puppy. Or am I really? Shouldn't we learn to take pleasure in all things and find our thrills where we can? OK now you're just making excuses for getting off over the thought of Erik taking you to show you the enormous organ he has down below. But is it as big as Jen's shlong I wonder?

This is making no sense. That's what happens when you leave a person like us alone in the house all day with access to alcohol. We wash up, we iron, we drink sherry, we type random pointless crap. Ohhhh welll... as Jack or indeed Jack would say.