Saturday, March 22, 2003

Arguing Metaphysics in Piccadily Circus

I like Chinese
I like Chinese
I like their tiny little trees...


Since time immemorial, that is before even people with really really good memories, who can like, remember everything that ever happened ever, there have been questions that man has pondered over. Most of the time he was either in the bath or it was 4am and he couldn't sleep. Maybe he had too much coffee or something, or there was a lot on his mind. Maybe had a bad day at the office, that damned middle-managemant guy with the plastic hair kept coming over and making snide remarks. But in any case, there are always the few ponderable imponderables of metaphysics;

Why am I here?
Who am I?
What on earth did I drink last night?

But oh so many of our philosphers and great thinkers have ignored so much! Just as our great poets have been mysteriously and dolefully silent upon the subject of a good cup of tea, maybe with a biscuit, a fruity sort of biscuit - garibaldi ones. I like those. Of course there is much merit in hobnobs also, though not the kind with chocolate on because I don't like it. The Venue have started selling some very nice vegan flapjacks, they're Cornish. The postcode implies Truro. Of course, whether or not they really do come from Truro is possibly one of those great imponderables. Others include;

Why did my computer have a nervous breakdown the one weekend I needed it and Sir Whinealot wasn't around to fix it?
How did I take a grand total of four hours from first concept to finished product to write my Aristotle essay, and be happy with it?
Where is the ladies lavatory nearest Grizedale computer lab? I had to use the men's, I felt most regressive.
What exactly is a "shit party"? is it what I think it is? If so, why would you want to have one in somewhere so unspeakably vile as Grizedale men's lavatories?
Why has someone written a Norse prayer for immortality in Valhalla on the wall of one of the cubicles?
When will that fellow sitting behind me stop humming tunelessly to himself?
Is he aware he's doing it?
If I politely point out that it is grating on my nerves like glasspaper on an anus that recently experienced The Madras Effect, will he take offense?
How much longer can he go on doing it before I fashion a crude Punjab lasso from computer cables and make like Erik?

There really are far far too many questions in this world. Then again, if there weren't, what would philosophers do with their time? I'll tell you what they'd do (I should really say 'we'd do' as I am a philospher-poet myself) they'd write stupid, rambling essays on how we should run our lives and what we should eat and drink. and how currupt and bad we are if we disagree with their crack-addled moral-blinded opinions.

He's ruining my life, the miserable little armchair-radical liberal meat-is-murder banner-waving suicidal dogmatic moral-highground-clambering preaching BASTARD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My essay for the call for papers is going remarkably well. Considering I'm sitting in a computer lab on campus and can't just light up a joint or go for a drink of water (you should only ever ever drink water you see. Everything else is bad for you, corrupts the body, corrupts the soul, lays up stacks of genetic diseases for your children. Porphyria, you see, is all the result of someone a very long time ago drinking a can of Dr Pepper) and even though I'm happy and relaxed, I'm a little annoyed because I have to walk home, and it's cold. yes I'm being a whiny goit, but actually it's more that I just don't really want to go on my own. Not scared you understand, just bored.

Hmm. OK, going home, I'm hungry and he's still humming.

Friday, March 21, 2003

Blah...

They hate you if you're clever
And they despise a fool


Yeah, OK, I'm here. I've got a thundering headache that feels like live scorpions stinging the back of my forehead, and I couldn't get out of bed today without serious effort. I'm considering the prospet of getting some food but seriously cannot be bothered to cook so probably not. Will maybe hunt for a can of something to nibble later on.

Got my essays in on time amid much paranoia. Those were the last literature essays I will hand in for my degree, I felt awful. I remember handing my first in and it feels like only yesterday that I did it. Spent a lot of yesterday running around handing out copies of the poem that I foolishly showed to Rachel from the Stop The War campaign. Not sure how many people read it, or even if anyone didn't just find it damned funny, particularly Sally. I have this problem you see; a lot of my poetry, particularly the stuff with my political views in, is some sort of awful synthesis of Romantic and Modern. It's not as if I don't think it will make a difference, but sometimes I feel like there are very few people out there who'll read poetry unless they have to study it. This really irritates me, and makes me even more certain that I really wasn't meant for this age. But what can I do about it? Fact is, this isn't the Regency, or any of the other eras when people honestly cared about literature as something other than that which you are forced to read at school or university. I know a lot of people who *do* care about it, and I like spending time wih these people, but the vast majority of people just want to get on with their lives.

Fair enough. Right now I just want to go home.

Seriously. Yesterday particularly I felt like I wanted to call my father and ask if he'd come pick me up a week early, but sadly I have an ssay due in Monday and a dissertation meeting the same day do I have to stay, and he can't come any earlier than next Saturday. Sucks. Particularly as I will be on my own in the house for a bit, which I wouldn't mind so much if I was in a better frame of mind, but as it is, ah hell, I'm not even sure *what* I think or feel anymore. Sod it all. I'm going to do my nice comforting essay on vegetarianism and probably scribble another six pages of existensial dribble in my journal. I wonder if I'll ever be famous enough for people to want to read it? Could happen. If, that is, I ever progress beyond those awful neo-Romantic ramblings about freedom and truth and beauty. I'm sure everyone just thinks I'm a fool with an agenda.

Want it to be Hallowe'en. I feel right at home then, like I'm doing something. I love coordinating the Hallowe'en efforts, it's when I really come into my own - there's such a sense of fun in it. Makes the work a real pleasure. But Hallowe'en is a long way off, more than 200 days in fact.

Ohhhhh welllll......

Wednesday, March 19, 2003

Timewasting Again

Am I the only one who finds it a little depressing that the song quoted in Awesome Man's 'blog today (Instruments of Destruction by NRG) comes immeditaly before the death of Optimus Prime? - the one who said that wonderful, memorable thing that I cannot seem to prevent myself from quoting; "Freedom is the right of all sentient beings"?

That makes a statement that I'm not sure was intended or not. Kudos to Awesome Man for keeping his 'blog almost entirely free of political commentary, I'd do the same if it wasn't for the fact that this really preoccupies me. Those unseen things that will bring destruction are so closely analogous to the nuclear weapons we all know that Warmonger puppet President Mr Dubayah will unleash on us that it's frightening. And what do those words preceed? The symbolic death of freedom and rights.

But there's a lighter side to this; though hope seemed gone, the Transformers carried on fighting, and will continue to do so

UNTIL ALL ARE ONE

Monday, March 17, 2003

One Of Those Days

OK before I get to what my day was like, some of you who wanted to probably didn't watch Bush make his address to the American people. So here's a quick summary;

We the American people want to free the Iraqui people from tyranny and as such have given Saddam 48 hours to get out of the country, if he doesn't then the full force of the US military and all compliant Nations will be used. The Iraqui people are not to take action (eg destroy oil wells) and the military are to ignore commands to use weapons of mass destruction, US troops are to be allowed peacefully in to disarm Iraq. If these demands are not met, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. If tyranny in Iraq is overthrown, we the American people will continue to push our culture upon you and build a new Iraq based on American values, "Goodnight, and may God continue to bless the American people"

That this warmonger had the temerity to go on a worldwide broadcast and preach freedom and liberation for all peoples when he is looking for nothing but to protect the economy of his precious country and thus protect its oppressive governmental regime brought me close to tears. If Freedom and liberation, and indeed peace, is the goal of this war, how can it be achieved through fighting, violence, mass genocide which whether it is directed against the civilians or not (and Bush did send a special message to the Iraqui civilians that this is not about them) Civilians WILL DIE. I am too angry and shaken at the moment to even formulate a rational response to this, and as such am not going to attempt it. If at any point I feel I can respond, I will do so loudly and clearly. Tommorow night if, as seems now inevitable, war is declared, I am going to Dalton Square (interestingly the home of notorious and brutal killer Dr Buck Ruxton) to participate in the vigil that will be held there. I advise you all to join me.

Those of you who have faith, pray for us all. Those of you who have magick, work for the world. Those of you who have a voice and a heart for the sanctity of peace and the right to freedom of all sentient beings, use your voice and obey your heart in whatever way you can. No matter that this war may not concern you, perhaps you feel that the nation does not care for you and you owe no debt to any being, perhaps this is very true. The fact remains that though you may not be concerned, this affects you on a personal level. If nobody you know will be affected or involved, congratulations, I hope you like it down in your bunker because that is where you are - EVERY PERSON IN THE WORLD IS DIRECTLY AFFECTED BY THIS.

Godwin states that advancement and the achievement of peace can only be fully assisted by the acceptance of the personal responsibility of each being for their actions and their consequences. Do you all remember that poem they loved printing out on walls at school? "First they came for the Jews, and I did not speak up, because I was not a Jew"? Think about it. Because they are coming for the world and whether you like it or not, that includes you. So you had better all sit up and take notice, because only when every living being on this planet sits up and takes notice and acts upon the feelings that mass genocide and oppressive governmental and religious regimes excite in any being with a scrap of humanity, only then will any real peace be achieved.

"But cheif, ambiguous man, he that can know
More misery, and dream more joy than all;
Whose keen sensations thrill within his breast
To mingle with a loftier instinct there,
Lending their power to pleasure and to pain,
Yet raising, sharpening, and refining each;
Who stands amid the ever-varying world,
The burthen or the glory of the earth;
He chief percieves the change, his being notes
The gradual renovation, and dfeines
Each movement of its progress on his mind

Man, where the gloom of the long polar night
Lowers o'er the snow-clad rocks and frozen soil
Where scarce the hardiest herb that braves the frost
Basks in the moonlight's inneffecual glow,
Sharnk with the plants, and darknened with the night,
His chilled and narrow energies, his heart,
Insensible to courage, truth, or love,
His stunted stature and imbecile frame,
Marked him for some abortion of the earth,
Fit compeer of the bears that roamed around
Whose habits and enjoyments were his own:
His life a feverish dream of stagnant woe,
Whose meagre wants, but scantily fulfilled,
Apprised him ever of the joyless length,
Which his short beings wretchedness had reached
His death a pang which famine, cold and toil,
Long on the mind, whilst yet the vital spark
Clung to the body stubbornly, had brought:
All was inflicted here that earth's revenge
Could wreak on the infringers of her law;
One curse alone was spared — the name of God.

Nor where the tropics bound the realms of day
With a broad belt of mingling cloud and flame,
Where blue mists through the unmoving atmosphere
Scattered the seeds of pestilence, and fed
Unnatural vegetation, where the land
Teemed with all earthquake, tempest and disease,
Was man a nobler being; slavery
Had crushed him to his country's bloodstained dust;
Or he was bartered for the fame of power,
Which all internal impulses destroying,
Makes human will an article of trade;
Or he was changed with Christians for their gold,
And dragged to distant isles, where to the sound
Of the flesh-mangling scourge, he does the work
Of all-polluting luxury and wealth,
Which doubly visits on the tyrants' heads
The long-protracted fulness of their woe;
Or he was led to legal butchery,
To turn to worms beneath that burning sun,
Where kings first leagued against the rights of men,
And priests first traded with the name of God.

Even where the milder zone afforded man
A seeming shelter, yet contagion there,
Blighting his being with unnumbered ills,
Spread like a quenchless fire; nor truth till late
Availed to arrest its progress, or create
That peace which first in bloodless victory waved
Her snowy standard o'er this favoured clime:
There man was long the train-bearer of slaves,
The mimic of surrounding misery,
The jackal of ambition's lion-rage,
The bloodhound of religion's hungry zeal.

Here now the human being stands adorning
This loveliest earth with taintless body and mind;
Blest from his birth with all bland impulses,
Which gently in his noble bosom wake
All kindly passions and all pure desires.
Him, still from hope to hope the bliss pursuing
Which from the exhaustless lore of human weal
Dawns on the virtuous mind, the thoughts that rise
In time-destroying infiniteness, gift
With self-enshrined eternity, that mocks
The unprevailing hoariness of age,
And man, once fleeting o'er the transient scene
Swift as an unremembered vision, stands
Immortal upon earth: no longer now
He slays the lamb that looks him in the face,
And horribly devours his mangled flesh,
Which still avenging nature's broken law,
Kindled all putrid humours in his frame,
All evil passions, and all vain belief,
Hatred, despair, and loathing in his mind,
The germs of misery, death, disease, and crime.
No longer now the winged habitants,
That in the woods their sweet lives sing away,
Flee from the form of man; but gather round,
And prune their sunny feathers on the hands
Which little children stretch in friendly sport
Towards these dreadless partners of their play.
All things are void of terror: man has lost
His terrible prerogative, and stands
An equal amidst equals: happiness
And science dawn though late upon the earth;
Peace cheers the mind, health renovates the frame;
Disease and pleasure cease to mingle here,
Reason and passion cease to combat there;
Whilst each unfettered o'er the earth extend
Their all-subduing energies, and wield
The sceptre of a vast dominion there;
Whilst every shape and mode of matter lends
Its force to the omnipotence of mind,
Which from its dark mine drags the gem of truth
To decorate its paradise of peace."

I hope you read that. I'llbe very dissapointed if you didn't, but not if you didn't recognise it. Bloody well think about it, and stand against this idiot cruelty and hatred with all the heart and mind of the pure individuals I know that you all truly are.

Sunday, March 16, 2003

Walking Sex

Walking Sex Vampire
Walking Sex Vampire


What type of vampire are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

I get this a lot you know. People really do think I walk and talk sex appeal, which is flattering I admit and when I'm in one of my less "save me from the little box which I have unknowingly locked myself into, please" moods is something I like to play on a little. The whole fact I call my ex "Sir Whinealot" or "Louis the Wonder Spod" comes from the fact that a dear relation of mine took one look at our realtionship and named us "Sir Whinealot and the Brat Princess"

I like being sexy, I don't like being viewed as arrogant. OK, yes, my ego would make Lestat cower in fear at someone greater than him with the self adoration at times, but really, I'm not arrogant. A couple of weeks ago a completely straight woman (I'm talking as straight as you get without being a homophobe) told me *she* finds me sexy. Later she told me it was because something about me just oozed appeal. This is all very nice, the fact that if I so choose I can lure practically anyone who doesn't know me in is also nice.

Here the similarity between me and Lestat ends.

He does not care what anyone thinks of him, and I really do. I honestly care if I piss people off by being a brat, even though I do enjoy the brattishness. The beauty of being like Lestat is the lack of concern for opinions, but I just can't afford to be that way because

A. I am not a vampire prince
B. I am 21 years old
C. I am not a fictional character

I care, and it hurts me when people seem to assume that I won't. I'm not going to bring up what's really hurting me at the moment because it was a matter of free personal choice that I have no right to be hurt by. I am only a walking incarnation of Lestat without the tact or grace when I'm drunk, and I don't like that person. There are four very good reasons I don't like drinking;

1. Empty calories
2. Expensive
3. I become an even bigger jerk
4. I get horrendous hangovers

After a month sober I had points three and four brought sharply home to me this Friday and Saturday. I think the only person I can safely drink around is my wife, who probably considers it a benefit that I become a blood-hungry slave to lust when drunk and will put up with it with minmal fuss when I come back to bed shaking and remark that bile truly is a fascinating shade of yellow the next morning. Most of the truly idiotic things I have done in my life I have done under the affluence of inkahol, and I don't WANT to do idiotic things. I'm 21 years old, my life is not for wasting at parties, it's for living and remembering. I know it's taken me longer than most to learn this one but I got there in the end.

So if I promise not to drink and be an asshole, will you guys invite me to things again?
One Character In Search Of An Author

I feel like no-one ever told the truth to me
About growing up and what a struggle it would be
In my tangled state of mind
I've been looking back to find
Where I went wrong


For once, my lyrics competition is not just an idle "can you identify my rambling musical taste" thing. For once it's really the summing up of my 'blog. I don't want this to turn into anything anyone doesn't want to read - because I want my friends to read it. My real honest-to-god true friends who I feel like I've pushed out of my life.

Ell, Tom, Zoe - all my first friends who I met when I arrived in a city I had never even visited before. I am sorry. Somewhere around Summer 2002 I became a complete and total jerk. I wasn't the person you'd been friends with anymore and rightly you left me to it. I am sorry, and I don't want to be a jerk anymore, I want to be the person you met. Maybe that isn't possible because we've all changed too much over the past couple of years, maybe we've all grown apart and it was inevitable, but I never wanted it to happen.

In our first year, we were a very easily defined group of people. People could easily say "Ell is this one, George is this one, Tom is this one" and it was simple and perfect. I don't know where to go from here, and I need your help.

Please, please give it to me.