Saturday 29 November 2008

Anti-Racism - And A Jacket Too Small

A Quick note: Coming home from work I'd bought Wall-e on dvd and some hair gel and as I got to the train station I found myself in the middle of an anti-bnp rally. They're those racist nationalists who hide behind a political party, so you can see I'm already against them, and I found myself wanting to join in. But it was cold, I didn't know anyone there, and there was about 50 policemen around and I had a knife in my pocket from work, which isn't the most unincriminating piece of evidence and reason to arrest me. So I was on my way, and got some leaflets off some guys who rather angrily protests "Stop the bnp" as I took a leaflet as if he was converting me away from racism.
I felt like saying, "Hey, guy, I've got the t-shirt," you know?

As the quick note goes on, I bought a jacket off the internet, thinking i'd be hip in doing that. I'm only 23 and i'm hardly down with the times. For the second time I got the wrong size. The first one was too big, now this one is too small. They're going to think I'm pulling some scam here, yeah, I'm buying jackets and sending them back illegaly. But I want my jacket!

Got Frank Turner tickets for january. These are replacement tickets (because he cancelled last time) but I've just bought some anyway! damn, I keep spending money when I should be saving. Mental Note: Stop Spending Money.

Friday 28 November 2008

Metamorphose

Giving Nothing away,
An ultranova,
The small sediment
Travels velocities - deposits in its river -
Runs smaller than myself;

I switch lives
And kill off all cowardice - transfer my
Breathing,
Transfer my voice into Baby Jesus and speak,

Giving away Nothing
Like a Communist hologram;
The major pulpit
The journey
Journeys to Earth.

Tuesday 25 November 2008

Roadhouse Blues and Jogging

Today in work I wrote some songs on some paper, while I was supposed to be listing items that needed replenishing. They were shit, really, and it's strange how hard it is to write while at work. I just can't think of any words; and I ended up with a tune in my head of some song I can't remember.... Oh, it was Roadhouse Blues by The Doors. So I was ripping off Jim Morrison writing this shit and I call them songs because I took the rhythm from a song and I made it rhyme. What's with people wanting poems to rhyme? I don't care for rhyming that much, it just seems childish if it's not done properly and if it's not a song. So when I don't use rhyme they say 'it's not a poem 'cause it don't rhyme.'
I left the pad of paper in work, but I might bring it home and write them on here, but they are shite. You can just tell how forced it was. And it gets me thinking, how do I write? Or what do I write? I thought I was good back in Uni, but now I don't know. Whatever, I need to concentrate on my short stories, which I might put on here.

Another thing, while I was going to work the other day I saw two joggers. Now this is like 6 in the morning. I mean, that's commitment. Maybe if I could commit to work like that. Work as in writing.

I got an email from Uni, says they still have my MA application and I'll find out if I got in or not in the New Year. I'd sent them an email because I was worried they'd lost my application since I'd sent it in the Summer and then was told the course won't start til 2009. But I hope I get in. If not, I've gotta leave this place. That place in JMU is the only anchor I've here right now. I think.

Friday 21 November 2008

Hotel England

This house holds me in - Oh no;
Recluse is a social no-show
Cannot be driven by goddess living room
Coffee queen or set loose but
Reckless -
This house is a
Freedom house;
A house of freedom
A house of free-dumb - Wheel of Fortune
Extravaganza manic-street episodes;
Pre-disposed table, gully and lampshade,
House I am a brick wall,
House ten years old, 11 years, 12 ... 13 -
I mean it stops time,
The point is, house, it is
Going up going down house
Mutiny house;
Mad house on the inside terrace-
Disjointed/detatched - mug house;
Further down the road house;
Work house;
Economical downturn house;
Druggie/alky/loud house of demented
Madness on all fours, Oh abuse me house,
Use me house, November house;
November rain/Screaming house/Inside house/
This house with its glasses on reading this book by Coupland
With a haunting sensation of heade
Stockpiled up against seedy walls and his shuck
House replayed your living space - a room with you and your risky hands;
I know the right way house
No, I'm not a gemini
I'm that horse-man aren't I?
Your words are caught up in Hollywood
Soapy adolescent morale
Bi-polar dog is calling me
I don't know how I feel.
I don't hear a thing.

Monday 17 November 2008

Black n' White in '06 - Crosby Beach





I found these photos I took back in October 2006, and I did quite a few and I tried to decide if it was worth it to have them in black and white, and these three were the only ones that I thought looked good that way.

Tuesday 11 November 2008

Backwards

No Sun Here
Day Broken Fly away
Scarf warm dehydration driving
Head To mind
Hollow Sounds
I like to write this
Sdrawkcab forwards
Splled wrng wrds
Tell Tale of Death
Mmmmm, lovely and bleak
Fragile eyes Fragile ground
Favorite Song: Hey Joe
I know what you're thinking
As you read
And And And...

Monday 10 November 2008

In Korova

8 arms & I must be high
Half-naked in bed
The high-tide wind comes in
And in the darkness I've taken
You all in my hand ...


All this time the taste of tea and blood
And ticking weather sound in my head
Of clocks and car engines resting their bodies
In cold starry wet grit,


Buddah is more reasurring
Because he hardly speaks;
In an instant before he speaks
There is the soft mellow of reality
Sandwiched together between my hands ...
Lying in bed ... Bare skin my blanket ...


4 brothers at one time,
Firing echoes of words no one hears
(2 half-brothers), heaving a coffin on our shoulders,
Don't let it drop,
Don't let one teardrop fall I mistakenly thought
He believed in whiskey and nothing else.


Most sick of death
When death becomes you -
Or that taste of blood;
Stalking your 70 year old feet,
Stood under the bulky trunk
The stink of shit and antiseptic
Like hospital wards of moaning croners
Wishing for whiskey
Like the Irish and the Indians.


Thinking I was great after I turned
To the blood cut-up into
Voicless pieces of meat
Where am not a man: a boy
Miles away from monday
Mother of hatred;
I do not hate you
Suicidal modern city is drunk again,
You'll rot in your grave for that.


2 friends drinking themselves to life;
We cannot be left to our own faint shiver of reason
Found shallow breathing at 3 O' Clock tables
Such specific nights at the tip of the world
Leaking neon and hydrogen and music sweet music
Made me a man to act this way.


And general music zombie from beyond the grave,
Farewell to the flesh
Crows their falsetto following
Buddah with his own problems ...

Tuesday 4 November 2008

The Unluckiest Weekend Ever - And The Best Bar Ever

Didn't see Frank Turner because he'd gotten sick in Nottingham and finished early, so I checked his blog to see what the score was. Only when we were in town I found out he wasn't coming. It was the only thing me and my mate Dan were looking forward to after the worst Halloween. We sat in Lloyd's kind of laughing at how this has been the worst weekend, especially after Dan said last week it was going to be the best ever. (I mean, my dad died, Liverpool lost, Frank Turner cancels.) We went to a friend's flat to get my jacket I'd left on friday and walked all the way back to see if the support bands were playing. They weren't. Town seemed completely empty. Well, it was completely empty - I mean at one point we were the only two people in the Office and you could hear our conversation wall to wall when the song changed. I felt bad leaving the barmaid on her own.

It was a choice of going home and sulking or finding somewhere to drink. It was about finding a place we hadn't been in before. And we found it. We saw some guys taking guitars and amps inside and we walked in too. Got some drinks, sat down. Was a strange looking place. But we liked it. There was a band playing downstairs so we went and saw them. Didn't know if we had to pay, but we'd already bought tickets for that night anyway.

We stayed there until about 2 or 3am. We decided we couldn't tell anyone about this bar, because when that happens, everyone finds out about it and it turns into a fucking night club and 'the place to be.' So I'm not even going to say what it's called on here. We keep saying things need to change, and we got some of that change. But what it is, I need my own place. I'm getting a flat next year when I'm back at uni. It's the only thing to stop us being bored with life - that and learn to play guitar quicker.

Saturday 1 November 2008

Worse Halloween - And a Funeral

That was the shittest Halloween ever. With no costume, I had a half-assed zombie make-up thing put together within 2 minutes before leaving for a night in town that lasted a total of .... 2 and a half hours. I didn't go on the tour with the others, so 3 of us in costume walking around town while drunken criminals in old-man pubs got all rowdy and we looked for anyone else in costume. We found a place. Not only had it gotten shit in there, when the others came back we left for a club that was £8, so I didn't go in. 3 of us went home. I left my coat in the flat in town and it was £15 in the cab.

On the same day I buried my dad. Me and my brother carried it (along with our 2 half brothers). We didn't expect it to be that heavy. It made me sick. It was a Catholic funeral because my dad was Catholic, so me and my brother didn't know what we were doing. When we got to the cemetary we carried it to the hole and we had to lower it into the ground. Threw in soil. Threw in a flower. Family members I've never seen before began crying. My little sister was crying. I felt myself wanting to cry but I fought it back, couldn't be having that. But I have to say, as much as I hated him, it's the saddest and most difficult thing I've ever done.