Living for the Weekend.

I do so love music. It's all I care about these days. Only place anyone goes is the pub and while the regulars there are decent people (I take them deeply for granted; some of the best you'll know), it's still not my kind of scene. Then again I don't even know what my scene is. Maybe I'm just anti-social. One thing I do know, is that I miss my band. Whilst we're still technically a band, the guitarist and bassist are both at uni. Considering they're both 2 of my very closest friends, this has a bit of an affect on my social life; no band, and two regulars in my social life cut out.

It really doesn't bother me that much to be honest so I don't know why I piss away about it on this blog.

I'm ill. Very ill, or at least I could be if it carries on like this. I'm at the top of a very slippery slope with death at the bottom of it. I'm sure I'll be fine, but it got to me a bit today. There's shit I need to do, and more importantly, people I need to spend more time with before I pop off.

Holy shit Ryan stop moaning.

Tomorrow! Hooray for tomorrow. Tomorrow forever. I'm going to sleep til the evening, and then get up, play Far Cry, throw my PSP out of the FUCKING window if I keep sucking at this game, then watch Being Human at 9:30 on BBCThree (That is a hint, it's fucking amazing), watch Lost at... whatever time I can be bothered, then, Superbowl time, motherfuckers.

Which brings me to point #147 why I want to live in America, right before 'Americans are more dramatic' and right after 'Bigger houses'. I want to watch the Superbowl but I have to stay up until 2:30AM to watch it. Which is shit, really, considering my team isn't in it and I'm not that fussed about the halftime show. North Atlantic Ocean, one day I will crush you, my mortal foe. 

Eggs and Existentialism.

I have eaten far too much food today. Like 8 slices of bread, dinner, 5 cans of pepsi max and then, being the clever little badger that I am, an egg sandwich. I now thoroughly believe I am going to be sick. Again. Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome can fuck itself, truthfully.

I feel strange. Not unhappy as such, but I couldn't call myself happy either. Truth is I feel a bit redundant. Like there's no point. Like 'Boredom the Sequel; Life is Futile'. It feels like boredom but when trying to entertain myself I feel like none of it has a point. I picked up my PSP, and every game felt old; I tried watching the television but all I could see were reruns, and what was the point in that?; I picked up my drumsticks, and felt there was no need. I'm not excited about anything.

So I made a sandwich and that was fun but then I got bored again. Like I said I'm not complaining as such, it's just a strange sensation. Then again I've always had a short attention span. If I'm not experiencing something brand new for the first time then chances are I'm not enjoying myself. Music still serves to inspire a modicum of passion yet I fear that, like an aging gentleman's genitalia, my capacity for stimulation is running out.

On a plus side, that fat little Year 10 kid that runs around calling people a wanker finally called Alun one, like I had hoped. Alun shoved him up against a wall, called him many names, and aforementioned fat child ran back to his classroom. I laughed heartily and we left, satisfied.

Criticicism. And maybe some rambling.

If you don't care about my opinion of things, look away, or press back or something similarly productive. We'll start with television.

Skins. Shit. The characters are poorly written wannabe emulations of the cast of the first series. The only endearing one is Naomi Campbell, and the inner-psychologist in me tells me that it's because I think she's really, really fit. Forgive me.

Secondly, Demons. A supernatural, monster-y drama/action series with Whatshisface Glennister from Life On Mars doing a shitty 1950's Chicago police-officer impression, killing vampires and other stereotypical monsters with an archetypal prettyboy male, generic rebellious female, and some hot blind lady who likes to wear leather. Original, no; Entertaining, yes, in a casual, don't-think-and-it-won't-suck kind of way. Turn off your brain and it may entertain.

Okay, now films. Saw Underworld 3 at it's first showing yesterday because two of my friends are absolute fanboys about the Underworld franchise and particularly the outfit that Kate Beckinsale wears. She wasn't in it, but there was a lot of blood and swords and werewolves and other assorted manliness. Furthermore, I firmly believe that Bill Nighy is the best casting choice for a vampire ever. He carries it perfectly, it's like he was born to do it. Then again he carries every role that well, but whatever. Average film, enjoyable enough to burn the time, with some good action scenes. Just don't take the dramatic dialogue too seriously. 

Unless it's from Bill Nighy. Then I expect you to pay due attention in full, lest he beat you with his godliness.

I rented Hellboy 2 today as well, and that was a shocker. It was really, really good. Excellent, even. Ron Perlman was genius as always, the comedy was spot on and not forced or arbitrary, and the special effects were seriously fucking unbelievable. Don't know else to say about it, but it was awesome.

And now music. Bon Iver's new E.P, Blood Bank. Pure, unwavering beauty. Soaring vocals, seething with raw emotion. Simply unbelievable. Enough of that though.

Daryl Palumbo can do no wrong, Glassjaw & Head Automatica are pure genius. Frank Iero (yes, from MCR) has a decent side-project out called Leathermouth, which is perfectly anti-emo, lots of screaming and punk riffs. 

Rediscovering old-school Outkast too, which is great. Vibrate and Unhappy are awesome. Lot's of stuff to skip though.

All done now.

Inspiration, but I'm too tired...

So Mary Shelley managed to write Frankenstein at 18. If she can pump out a book which influenced the entire romanticist movement and practically started the Gothic literature revolution, I can write Alaska in a year, right? 

I was going to finish my first chapter tonight but I worked out and now I'm too fucking tired. Fuck you, counter-productive productive hobbies.

Is it just me or is my life made out of counter-production? 

Gaming and writing cancel each other out, overeating/laziness and working out do the same, intelligence and general lack of common sense reflect it once again, and my love for sociality, people and beauty is negated by my general cynicism, bile and bitterness. Fun!

Disclaimer; This blog is not actually moany bollocks. I'm fairly happy. I just like complaining.

The Best Thing Anyone Has Ever Said

Salima; "Whats a propaganda? Isn't that a type of fruit?"

No, seriously.

This blog is now about endorphins and their creation.

Anyone know of a good swimming pool for fitness? Preferably one that's close enough to bus to. Only other choices I have for getting fit is running which will get me stabbed or going to the gym, which isn't really my thing. Need swimming.

Justice.

There is none.

Some less than savoury people are in happy relationships while good men suffer in loneliness. Simple as, and I have nothing more to say about it apart from; Fuck you, My Name Is Earl. Karma is a lie.

Relapse v.2

Alcohol last night, alcohol tonight. Oh well.

Last night was awesome. I am now an honourary member of the Pretty gang, or something like that? Last night was full of love. Old faces and new faces, and lots of alcohol, so I'm refusing to blame alcohol for my bad days. I'm just going to accept the fact that life is going to be rather boring from now until I leave for university. Time to just live, focus on my exams, and the good people that I have neglected in this town.

UCAS is getting on my tits. I'm working on a theory revolving around the educational system designed to give young people heart failures as to keep overpopulation in check, but I need to do some more research before anythings clear.

I'm also updating the first chapter of my book as we speak. Hadn't written in a while apart from a few songs and stuff, but no fiction. Gotta get working if I wanna do this for reals. Wish me luck.

For the Lulz

A 6-year-old boy in Virginia took the keys to his mother's Ford Taurus and drove it for 10 miles, until he crashed. Doctor's said it took a 'series of miracles', but the kid is still alive. How crazy is that? 10 bloody miles. He's a natural Stig.

 

Positivity relapse!

So last night and this morning I had a minor... nervous breakdown, of sorts. But then at school, today was a really good day. Lunch through period 5 was awesome, spent it in the common room with Paavan, Alun, Daniel A, Layla, Adam B and Zoobzoob and what not. And the Lord of the Rings versus Star Wars argument started again. Someone actually said LotR had a better storyline... fool. Everyone got insulted to hell and back but it was good. Needed something like that, regardless of how small an event it was, to remind me that not everyone in this world is a bastard.

Plus that hot trainee teacher was making eyes at me. But that's a tangent.

More exercise, now. Need to get a lot fitter this year. Enjoy.

Not Making My Job Much Easier...

So, positivity! It's fucking difficult, isn't it? Seriously. I'm British. This is my first single undermining flaw; we're naturally negative.

Secondly, I seem to have chosen the worst time humanly possible to start my positivity crusades. As we speak, I have 4 people moaning in various ways, over msn, over text, and doubtless I'll have more moaning tomorrow at school. Unfortunately they all have fairly valid points to their various different grumbles. What's more is that I have exams round the corner, my UCAS deadline, and my fucking parents that won't stop going on about said exams. I slipped in my oath of glee today and started criticizing myself again out of defense. I'm not actually that down about myself, I'm pretty fucking arrogant if anything. But I insult myself out of habit, and that brings it all down. 

Silly. But the glee will continue tomorrow and I'll go on and it will be fine. 

Thinking of joining the gym. Actually spending a lot of my spare time at home either on the cross-trainer, doing 8kgs or whatever else. I'm enjoying it, which was deeply unexpected. I mean, I'm lazy. I have the genes to be athletic what with my dad and uncle and what not, but I let myself get all flubby and never bothered with it as a fat little urchin roaming the halls of my house, for my next Tellytubbies fix.

That was a strange thought process tangent. Back to the beginning; gym. Alun goes every day because he's Rambo or some shit, Paavan's gonna start, and I seem to remember Murray saying he'd want to join one too, so... Might as well.

Paaaain.

Band was absolutely awesome. Realised just how much better I've gotten on the drums, and generally how sick my band is. I know few people that can write or play better than we can. We managed to improvise a funk/chill/lounge version of Palahniuk's Laughter by Fightstar, and I actually prefer it to the original.

But good loooorrrrrd. I need to stop hitting the drums so hard. Two reasons; with the crappy cymbals they give you at Ruff Rockers, poor trebly Lawson gets drowned out completely, and secondly, it seriously fucks my hand up. I've got yet another blister on the bottom section of my index finger and I think I actually managed to pull a muscle in my hand.

Oh well. We're still awesome.

Bi-polar Coffee Machine of Doom+4.

So I think I need to cut caffiene out of my diet. 

I managed to get through the day with nary a negative thought, and then it hits me; my dad got a coffee machine for christmas. I get to it, make myself 3 cups, drink them, and Ryan is warm and fuzzy and happy, then bamf. 

I managed to go from completely happy to tormentingly angry, then to hyper, then to depressed, in the space of about 5 minutes. The whole self-confidence thing was going pretty good, as well. I've always had problems with self-confidence; it ranges from disgustingly bad to grotesquely arrogant, with nothing in between. One of my not-new-years resolutions was to rein that in; to be more confident and less gloaty at the same time, but as soon as I had that caffiene it all went tits up.

Strange. Whatever.

Band today, hopefully. I'm still pissed off and it's 2:20AM, so I'll probably still feel this way in the morning. I predict bleeding hands, aching wrists and broken snare skins.

Completely-Unrelated-To-New-Years Resolutions

Stop being fat, stop being a twat, get a girlfriend.

Same every year I guess. But these are goals that every man of every faith can embrace.

This year should be good. I'm going to watch more films, play MORE videogames (yes, more, bitches. I enjoy it and I am thinking of turning it from a hobby into a religion.), work out more, etcetera. 

But also I'm going to just be more positive. A very wise person taught me how to be positive just by using latin and swear words and I owe them greatly. Thank you. Oh, and I shan't be drinking. Not to excess at any rate.

If I go to Winchester University, I'll be able to go to Japan in the second year for an entire semester, probably with Dan Murray . . . good times to roll on?

The End And The Beginning Of The Same Damn Thing

At 11:59 PM of the 31st of December 2008, I was a 17 year old boy.

It is currently 21:42 PM of the 1st of January 2009. . . We have not spoken in a year.

Oh look, nothing's fucking changed. The shock is palpable.