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Ain't talkin' about no Caerphilly fool!
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| Passover |
[Sep. 26th, 2008|03:21 pm] |
This is a crisis I knew had to come,
Destroying the balance I'd kept.
Doubting, unsettling and turning around,
Wondering what will come next.
Is this the role that you wanted to live?
I was foolish to ask for so much.
Without the protection and infancy's guard,
It all falls apart at first touch.
Watching the reel as it comes to a close,
Brutally taking it's time,
People who change for no reason at all,
It's happening all of the time.
Can I go on with this train of events?
Disturbing and purging my mind,
Back out of my duties, when all's said and done,
I know that I'll lose every time.
Moving along in our God given ways,
Safety is sat by the fire,
Sanctuary from these feverish smiles,
Left with a mark on the door,
Is this the gift that I wanted to give?
Forgive and forget's what they teach,
Or pass through the deserts and wastelands once more,
And watch as they drop by the beach.
This is the crisis I knew had to come,
Destroying the balance I'd kept,
Turning around to the next set of lives,
Wondering what will come next. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 1st, 2007|09:00 pm] |
Today I am very happy.
I've just bought the new Radiohead album for 1.45 quid, obtainable by download on the 10th.
The new series of South Park is available to download again starting from this Thursday.
Top gear returns on Sunday.
Charlie Brooker's screenwipe has returned on BBC4.
I'm appling for a new job tomorrow that is 17000 quid a year.
I'm sending my dissertation to the BBC tomorrow, in hope that they'll commission it as a radio play.
As of tomorrow I'll be a published poet* and published newspaper writer*, and I'm swimming with ideas for a book.
I'm planning a trip to New York in April and have already found return flights from Manchester for 270 quid including taxes.
I'm going to beg my parents into submission and get them to take me to China with them at some point next year.
This time next year I'll be in New Zealand, hopefully with friends.
My current job is a piece of piss, albiet very boring.
I drive a nice car.
The latest LCD soundsystem album is fucking incredible. I urge everybody with any taste in music whatsoever to buy it.
Women. [oh well?]
Chelsea have fucked up their season, already.
Liverpool won't win the premiership, because Torres is left on the bench half the time.
And nobody has read this post, as we're all now Facebook whore beast circle jerking shitters. Wait, or did they? Maybe Draper did.. possibly Sara. Is this the end of Livejournal?
*technically, anyway. |
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| Graduation salutations |
[Jul. 19th, 2007|07:23 pm] |
This image will only live to haunt me. I wish I'd brough a different coloured tie. And looked less apathetic. Ah well, me mam seems happy enough. |
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| Exams and plans and tan and scams. |
[Jun. 18th, 2007|06:56 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Marvin Gaye | ] |
Shit, forgot how long it was since I've updated on Live Journal. Everybody seems to have gotta consumed by the instant circle jerking on Facebook. Well, at least we're not Myspace whores. Yet.
I found out today that my exam results are obtainable from Wednesday, which is wayyyy earlier than I thought. Shit.
Booked flights to gay Parié with Brethertonian yesterday too. |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 24th, 2007|12:56 am] |
The new Interpol song is stunning.
That is all. |
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| Now entering the no fun zone. |
[May. 9th, 2007|11:18 pm] |
It had come out of nowhere, the blurting of emotional rhetoric that could make even the most critical of turtles weep uncontrollably. There was no need, no want, no logical conscious reason for it, an impromptu, mangled display from the bag of skin and bones to the circle of purity. A moment before, relative normality. Afterwards, complete discord. Oh yes brethren, the crocodiles didn’t have any tears to share this time. Words were indeed spoken, but they could never convey the true message, the real intention from the tongue. That pleasure was saved for the meeting of the lover’s mind's eye; it had met before when it had to, but rest assured it had shyed away most other times. Whether he felt guilty about those moments now was irrelevant, now it was locked headlong in a battle that it could only lose. In those brief flicking moments of pain, more was spoken between them than they had ever dared to before in the whole time they had been together, and he died a million deaths over and over and over. He kissed her, and he kissed her again. But those lips weren’t the sweet saliva cushion they once were, no, now they were a burning, searing empty caress.
By sowing the seeds of doubt he’d have a bitter crop to sell at the human market. Oh, there were no carrots to be farmed from this field. They’d all stand over and look, give advice on how you could have done better, recommend things to do in the past, but few men would buy out of pity. Those men weren’t the brutes, the soulless muscle machines spitting their ego in your face and expecting you to wipe it off and enjoy. These men were stalwart animals, chained to their own nonchalant beliefs. I hoped they choked, that the rope of hideous self rightfulness would extinguish them forever. They wasted words, and the oxygen it took to utter them into the pointless ether that their associates didn’t care for anyway. I wanted to connect with the few buying men, the men that stood there and didn’t judge or give false counsel, because they understood exactly why the crop was being sold in the disgusting façade put up by the man. They were men because they cried.
With the pitance made at market he’d booked his one way ticket to shit city, landing in the no fun zone, and believe me, that plane is never delayed. It doesn’t matter when you land, it’s always raining. Those clichés fall mercilessly from the sky, penetrating the soul deep to the core of denied truths. You may have been there, you may not have. Anybody who has will tell you everything looks the same, yet strangely different each time. The monuments of past endeavors stand tall and proud (they never change) as the ground tries firmly to hold down every footstep you make. Don’t fall over here brothers and sisters, for many a soul writhes in contorted and endless agony never to get up. You feel disheartened, but all you can do is step over them. No taxi can take you out of this dark city, many a person has tried to bribe the driver with promises of drugs, sluts and even parchments of false promises, but just as you think you’ve reached the city limits, he'll u-turn at the last possible second, take you back, drag you out of his taxi, and slam you to the floor, laughing at how foolish you’ve been to consider such a proposal could even be fruitful. On you must go, on your own. It may be ironic (if such a word has any true meaning here) but if you see somebody you know here, always go to them, and huddle for warmth together. Take stock, chain arms, and push on together. You will be the only person who can pick them up if the fall down, and don’t you dare think about leaving them should they slip. You’d never forgive yourself. |
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| Wrong place, right time |
[Apr. 10th, 2007|11:42 am] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | The Fall | ] |
So yeah.. don't know how to form words about last night yet.
Maybe that's a good thing? They were awesome in all fairness. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 22nd, 2007|04:04 pm] |
Ireland was quality, gonna get some pictures up on here asap! Quote of the trip:
"T-hey, sea, to bee sure, dan gan th-irtee tree paionts"
I thought he said he'd drank thirty three pints, which wouldn't have been surprising considering the state of him. He was actually talking about the rugby. I think.
In other news, I fucking love South Park, it's consistantly better than Family Guy.
http://www.southparkstuff.com/season_11/
New episdoes from America, online every week. Get on that, bitches. |
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| Godspeed, Pitchfork Media. |
[Mar. 8th, 2007|03:09 pm] |
On The View's new album:
"The current, post-Libertines vogue of observational British barstool-punk is starting to feel a lot like the indie rock equivalent of reality-television, with the novelty of examining the mundane minutiae of the common bloke becoming ever more diminished by an over-saturation of low-budget bards who think they have something to say about nothing." |
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| Film-maker. |
[Feb. 19th, 2007|01:04 am] |
Work is starting to get on my tits, and I don't even have any tits for it to get on.
It saddens me how people will just watch shit films for the sake of watching something out of the house. Stay in, that's what the majority of shite on ITV is for. Gondry's new film is amazing, and yet it's only selling 10 tickets every showing. This compared with 'Epic Movie' and 'Because I said so', which are selling far more tickets. One can only assume that the majority of people are idiots, and deserve to work at Argos for the rest of their lives. Failing that, they could do the world's oxygen supply a favour and just drop dead.
'Because I said so'?
Seriously.
Give the money to charity and wipe this turd off the shoe of culture.
It means nothing to you, I'm sure, but you don't understand how incredibly frustrating it is having to give a nutshell synopsis for a film like this to every other r-tard that has nothing better to spend their money on. On the road is 3 quid in Fopp, and you want to pay 6.50 for this horseshit? No wonder we're all fucking screwed. I can only conclude that these films were intentional made for people with cabbage for brains. It's got to the point where I'll intentionally give a bad review to try and get them to not watch the film. Unfortunately, this hardly ever works.
"Can I have two tickets to Because I said so please?"
"No, you can't."
"Why not?"
"Um, BECAUSE I SAID SO!!!11!!!ONE!!1!!"
Kiss my piss.
In other news, my grandad has lung cancer. So, y'know, everything is just great. Two thumbs up great. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 6th, 2007|12:09 pm] |
The Decemberists were amazing last night.
"When we play in France they want us to speak French, when we play in Manchester they heckle us to play Smiths covers.. well, maybe later."
Then came Please please please..
Then I came.
On an unrelated topic, I served Pedro Crouchio at work the other day, the lankey twat. His bird is okish I guess, but her accent is durt. Remember what the young guy from the first series of Alan Partridge looks like? The hotel worker who gets it on with the youngish girl (Sophie?) who works behind reception? No..? Well, I served him too. DON'T YOU KNOW I'M A FUCKING OBSESSIVE STALKER?
OMG HEAT MAGAZINE HAS DONE LIKE A SPECIAL ISSUE ON VIKTORIA BECKHAM'S NEW DIET LOLLLRRZZ.
We're all so, so, unbelievably screwed. |
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| 'Cause I'm the taxman, yeeeahh I'm the taxxmaaaannnn |
[Jan. 14th, 2007|12:44 pm] |
This morning I got I letter off Manchester city council, summoning me to court for not paying my council tax. Now, I'm a fairly easy going person, and I understand that mistakes happen now and again. However, summoning me to court to face payment of 596 english pounds when I sent off the form IN SEPTEMBER seems a little excessive. So, in the spirit of sending whimsical letters without thinking about the consequences, I replied via email..
They can actually get on their knees and kiss my ring. Bitches. |
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| Xmas eve, stolen from Sals |
[Jan. 3rd, 2007|03:17 am] |
I don't know how to size these down. Kiss my ring if you've got any complaints.
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