Wednesday, 31 December 2008

when the glitters gone

Under the dim glow of the desk lamb memories of 2008 flood from my head. I pause, read the shapes that stain the paper, screw it up and start again.

I use a single colour, Blue. Then with a Black Biro scribble over the names and details contained in the self-addressed note.

A letter that may be found only by chance. Perhaps somewhere far away, where someone might read it and fall in love with it's author; another romance doomed from the start.

In the car I start to imagine the narration of my life. In this teen-drama I play the boy who's done wrong by everyone, the boy that no matter how hard he tries seems to tread on everything he once loved, everyone who ever cared for him. The boy that, with nothing left to lose is nearing the brink.

With no destination the drive is somewhat pointless. Then an idea. This note is to be a message in a bottle.

Having failed to have a suitable glass bottle at hand I find myself at a supermarket. Only its closed.Feeling optimistic I drive to a convince store, pull up on the pavement inches away from the door. Stare at the lady behind the desk, and drive off. The store probably doesn't sell glass bottles anyway.

On the shore line a car is sprawled across a disabled bay, lights on and doors wide open. From the cliff edge the sea appears flat and smooth.A sharp wind whips at my face, and the ground crumples under my weight. Sending fragments of red clay hurtling down into the wake of the white below; endlessly crashing against sharp rock.

I pull the crumpled paper out of my pocket, read over a few lines, and tare the sheets into a thousand snowflake like pieces. Loosening my grip, the white memories are quickly scattered across the bay like ashes from a urn.

Tuesday, 23 December 2008

headlights and pavements

As I lay here, I realise that this is the fourth day I have spent in bed. This is the fourth day that I don't give a shit that I have spent it in this bed.

Friday comes quicker than expected, and I find myself presenting my work to a french lady, who try as she might fails to ripped me apart; mainly because I couldn't be torn more than I already am. In the evening I attend a Charity ball...which I have already written off on account that a party in the place where you spend every waking hour (and that isn't your bedroom) is crap. At this end of semester party a few things happen:

1) I get very drunk after buying some very expensive vodka that I cannot afford, but I tell the cashier that Gordon Brown is paying for it, and she looks concerned.

2)We ask our module leader if she'd like an eight-sum with us. Instead of saying no, she says shes too old.

3)I tell my entire life story, in depressing detail to someone who I couldn't give a toss about.

I wake up at 3am, fully clothed on my floor, lights on, music blaring and decide that this has been the most unsuccessful night in my career.

Nothing eventful happens between then and now, apart from several minor details:

The train home, which only cost £1.85, is so full that I end up sitting on someones suitcase in the luggage rack and wishing that I'd walked the 89.5 miles.

I realise that my parents house contains rubbish detailing and was obviously a quick build coach house for the manor down the road and not the wonderful _____ cottage I once thought. I fail to understand how it is possible that four of us lived here for seventeen years, when we cant even cope with being here for four days.

Oh and I go to the local haunt on the Saturday night. At which I see all the people who I went to school with. All the people who never left this little town, and who now either have kids, or jobs which are extremely insignificant...yet they seem so content. I'm slightly envious.

But decide that I no longer give a shit; About anyone, or anything. So I take my car, and attempt to leave this all in my wake.

I have yet to sleep properly.

Tuesday, 16 December 2008

fifteen hours

A dull, grey, light is thrown on to the floor of my bedroom. The violent red light of the clock proudly displays 12:23, and for several minutes I lay there, watching the little flashing colon, wishing my life were as regimented.

Whilst asleep someone has crawled into my head and is now scratching away the tissue with a spoon. This is perhaps the only time in my life I have suffered a hangover.

I pull on a royal blue "Smurfing record breaker" t-shirt, some grey and maroon jogger shorts, and a wristwatch; that I acquired from my father this weekend. Needless to say I can't read it. I shove my feet into my moccasin slippers and make the journey to the lecture hall.

The next hour is spent trawling face book in an attempt to find a reminder that may untangle the chain of events from the evening. I feel the gaze of the person behind, and to the right now reading with me. Immediately I begin to censor myself.

Eventually fragments of the torn fuzziness of last night start stitching themselves back together, and I find myself thinking that they should perhaps be relived, but never talked about at the same time.

Today at 12:52
__________ Face raped me, so if we had bet, I would now owe you 415 Danish kroner (Approx £50 rates as of 16/12/08). Also I feel like I didn’t see you for most of the night? My head is hurting, and I was sick in a drain, anorexic style.

Reply - Today and 14:01
My mouth is as dry as Gandhi's flip-flop, oh life. I have to get out of this bed

Wednesday, 10 December 2008

error: operator

I take the bottle from the shelf. Attempt to pour a glass and decide it's too much effort. So I drink from the bottle. The bitter cool grape scented liquid soothed by the warmth of my wind-sore lips.

I sit and type an email, I type without the intent of anyone ever reading it.

2248 "how's it going?

I'm feeling pretty shit, so if you don't mind I'm just gonna write here, as I don't feel like blogging, then you can ignore it and delete it, and pretend you never got this email.

So I've just got back from my friends apartment. She's the kind of friend that despite knowing each other for 8 or so years only calls when it suits her. Shes the type of friend who has friends, and together they have everything you could ever want. Why don't I have everything I have ever wanted?
Thats all I have to say on that topic.

I still feel glum.

How is your glumness.

Weird email over. (A reply would be nice, but I'm not expecting one)


As soon as I'm done I feel the sense of achieving absolutely nothing. So I add a recipient, and even though I have absolutely no intention of sending this email I do.

By now the bottle is empty. I look to the right and see the people in the apartments over. Enjoying themselves. I sharply close the curtain, take off all my clothes, contemplate a shower, but end up sitting down. I've absolutely no reason to feel like this. I just do. I need someone to touch. But don't we all?

Tuesday, 9 December 2008

in boston, no one knows my name

As I'm preparing to retire I find myself contemplating my week. Despite the fact that it is only Tuesday, tomorrow is Wednesday and the week is far from over.

I find myself thinking about myself. I'm flicking through the images of events, in my head, and the words that have haphazardly fallen out of my mouth. Filing them in some kind of logical order.

When I reach a awkward one.Monday. At the debating table in the studios. Here I can't help but find myself being hugely egotistical. My views often conflict those of others, but for some reason, I've recently decided to vocalise them even more so.

So here I am. Waging academic war with those that oppose or annoy me. And in my head someone is drawing a small arrow to something a college lecture once told me.

"___ your view point is extremely elitist, yet your growing up in a post modern era."

and then the person drawing these lines is linking this with something else that was once said.

"If you take nothing else from this college, take that everyone else is stupid. You assume that everyone is on par with your intellect, but unfortunately you are going to have to spend your entire life watering down things so that others can understand."

And I'm thinking, aren't these things just slightly hypocritical of each other.

Either way I carry on and I'm pretty sure that, by the end of the day, the entire room is sick of my voice and my ego. Now I'm thinking about this. About me, and if I'm honest, I'd really like to drop my entire fabricated life, and just be me. But this is hard when people believe your lies. You can't easily turn around and say "I talk a lot of shit" without making a dick out of yourself.

So I'm wondering at what point did my personality become a blanket of incoherent lies?