Aaah! The smell of stale piss. Just what I need to finish off the journey. Public transport would be so much better if they kept the general public out. Hi-ho, Hi-ho, it's off to work I go...
Tuesday, 30 November 1999
Arse. Still can't think. Missed the last train by a whisker. Should still be able to make it though. Just. New opening hours from next week. No laying in bed watching mpegs then. Will be able to lay in until 8:00 if I do an early shift. Great. I may just give up late shifts and just do 9-5:30 every day. I think there's going to be an 8:30-5 shift too - might start doing that one - gives me plenty of shopping time in the evening. Coffee break.
Monday, 29 November 1999
Still no phone. Damn Orange! Damn them all to Hell! Damn Cisco too, and progressive networks, and Microsoft. Damn the world wide web. ICQ, FTP, IRC and email are fine. The rest of it just pisses me off at the moment. I feel too positive. Lots to watch tonight - a Buffy episode and two mangas. I'm five episodes behind on Angel too - will have to catch up before I watch the crossover episodes... Definitely short on creativity - this is turning into a catalogue of what I watch and listen to. Not much fun people watching at this time of night - everyone looks the same - knackered and desperate to get home to bed. What was the name of that schools program with the animated squiggle that taught how to write? I think it was look and learn or something similar. Why do I care? Out.
There must be an unwritten law that the sound quality of headphones is inversely proportional to comfort. This is the first pair of headphones I have had with good enough bass response that I can turn off the bass boost on my CD player. But they are a bloody annoying shape - either the band is getting caught in my collar or they are pressing into the back of my ears. Annoying. But the quality of the music is good enough to lose myself and forget such material concerns.
Another lonely weekend in suburbia. New deliveries waiting for me when I got home - weekend has been filled with music by Bif Naked and Velvet Chain, and visuals from South Park, Apocalypse Now and the first season on Monty Python. Fell asleep while watching Python on Saturday afternoon. A handful of arse on a billboard.Twitch. CD change. "You boner biting bastard uncle fucker". Some songs you just can't get out of your head. Nearly to King's Cross. Let's shop!
Saturday, 27 November 1999
Abortive attempt earlier - probably won't get much further this time. No concentration. Pretty vacant. I am a fucking messy pig. An animal. Wasn't concentrating when I got on the train at Lewisham - ended up in Victoria. At least I managed to end up going in the right direction. Need the loo - but the one on the train is broken. Losing focus.
Another Friday night - another floor to sleep on.
Thursday, 25 November 1999
Don't know what to write. Train shaking about. No seat as usual. Almost worth getting a first class ticket just so I can guarantee a seat - with legroom. I might ask how much extra it is when I next renew. If it's less than fifty quid a month I'll do it. Lost the plot. Time spent staring into space. Lost in space. Train stations opening everywhere. Luton airport parkway is open now. Not much use to me, just makes the announcements for northbound trains longer. I am bordering on a spotter. Sad.
Wrong type of leaves on the line
Wrong type of rain
Wrong type of wheels on the line
Wrong type of train
Wrong type of people in charge
Tight fisted reign.
Wednesday, 24 November 1999
Moon is definitely on the wane. Quite good night. Beer - mexican (food, cocktails, tequila) - more beer. Andy goes leaving a half - Aha! Think I. I pour it into my glass. I guess I'm on snakebite now. Bugger - I forgot Andy was on cider tonight. Misery wrapped in an enema. Or mystery wrapped in an enigma. Something or other. Nobody likes me, everybody hates me - I think I'll go and eat worms. It's been a while since the last major Friday night. About 3 weeks I think. Last week was just me and Matt Evans talking crap deep into the night - the week before I left early because I was depressed. I am oblivlon seeking again. Anything to take my mind off of a week on Friday. Billed to be the biggest fall I've taken in a long time. I am the antethesis of everyone on match.com that sounds interesting - have never recieved a single reply from an email I have sent. My website kills every mail initiated by a third party. Constant rejection. If I can't manage anything via email then I what chance have I in real life? Barmaid in the Auctioneer that I have never seen before. Like Alyson Hannigan with mousy hair instead of flame red. Gorgeous. Train is just outside the station. Why are there delays at this time of the evening? There is hardly anyone on any of these trains. Train after train pushes in front - mine was on the board about 3 trains ago - but hasn't come back since. 4 trains have jumped past it - all going to CX. Next one. Constantly jealous. What does he have that I haven't? A life. A personality. A face that doesn't look like an arse. I am shit. There is nothing I can offer that thousands of others can't. I am as unique as a five pence coin. Time to change the disc. Too fucked up to care any more. Fuck it all. Longing for nothing. I can tell people want me turn my stereo down, but I'm not going to. I'm ready to get on with the rest of my life. Where the fuck are you? Amusing Sony advert - get back at the people with annoying personal stereos by getting a better one. Main reason I can't be arsed with an mp3 player is that I have over 300 CDs to choose from with zero effort - with an mp3 player I would need to arse about in a big way when I wanted to change tracks. Wretched.
Crammed again. Am I really down at the moment or just putting on a show? I am actually not that down at heart, but I'm afraid to admit that - even to myself. Admitting that implies a reason - there is no concrete reason and I don't want to build any of the fantasy reasons any higher than they already are. Splish. Splash. Sphinx. Sweating. Will make the cold worse when I get out. What a convoluted dance I weave. Never reaching the point. Don't even know what or where the point is.
Tuesday, 23 November 1999
Second night of the full moon - or is it the third? Cut up. Put up or shut up. Displays shafted again. Sideways seat. Order of preference - sideways, forwards, backwards. Sick. Sleep. Equipped. Stink. Not wrong. Somehow. Insulin. Penicillin. Tuft. Yellow. London skyline. Kinda beautiful. Some people never see tower bridge or big ben in person. I see those and more every day. Ungrateful wanker. I should be more appreciative of my surroundings. I won't be though. In my own way. Freak. Carried away. Scare. Score. Scar. Floor. Edging away. Building Lego walls around me. Mechano is very cool. As are stickle bricks. Retro. Wish I was at primary school again. Wasn't any easier - just less responsibilities. I still remember dropping my pencil while at junior school - when I bent down to pick it up my cheek pressed up against Anna Besch's arm - I still remember how soft and warm her skin was. 15+ years ago. Good memory. I am me. Nothing more to say on that subject though. My blocks are mine - if I wanted you to play with them I would tell you. Rules to live by. From an article I read the other day - full of truisms. Like - I will never remember important dates - I can barely remember my own birthday. If I ever forget an important date it's your fault for not reminding me. Ned's. Kill. Father's favourite chair. Sore eyes. Dizziness ensues. Crazy. Splendid. Marvellous. Wonderful. Stretched bladder. Need to make the treck to find relief. Aah. Crudity. Not of the salt and pepper variety. Vinegar. Food. Should have bought something at London Bridge. After beer munchies ensue. Nearly to my home town. Half hour from bed. Or an hour if I check my email first. Becoming. Ulcer on my lip. I wonder if we have any Bonjela. Disembarkation. If such a word exists.
One of those going to work naked dreams last night. I think I may have noticed before I got there in this weather. Shopping time again. Only a few comics this time. The ones I didn't get Saturday. I was a total twat for not noticing. I said to put them on my standing order - meaning put them on the computer - but they were not in the bag when I got home, so I think he must have put them in my section of the standing order box ready to be collected at a later date. And I was too tired to notice. Or too unobservant. My hand hurts - I should stop writing really, but I have started so I'll keep going. Kapow. Kaching. Betrayal. Impossible for me - I never let anyone get close enough. I need someone with an emotional sledgehammer to break down the wall around my heart. Stronger from the inside than from the outside. Shoddy workmanship. Built to keep pain out - but in reality just stops pain getting out. Arse. I'm like a broken fucking record. One track mind. Need to re-focus. Exercise some internal censorship. People force their way onto the carriage. Hehe my hair has gained me some personal space - wind blows it into other people's faces, so they move back. I was just thinking about how I find nearly every woman on the underground this morning very attractive when suddenly I find myself in the middle of a crowd of ugly people. She looks remarkably like a frog - I wonder if she's some sort of lovecraftian amphibian hybrid.
Monday, 22 November 1999
I really wish I didn't care. Black. Black as the hounds of hell scratching menacingly at the door. Black as the void of space. Silent as the endless vacuum. I wish vacuum cleaners were silent. I hate their resonant whine. Smashing a vacuum cleaner with a sledgehammer would be fun. Or hitting one with a fast moving car. Or throwing one from a great height into a quarry. Therapeutic even thinking about it.
11:19 pulls out 10 mins late - wonder how much slack time I have in the change at London Bridge. Should have gone in early rather than laying in bed watching the Fast Show. Wwwonderful. No-one even bothered to try and put the seat opposite me down. They all just assume it is broken. I wonder if anyone will have put it down before I get off. Probably not. Everyone is afraid of looking a twat. Burnt out already? I can feel a lot inside trying to get out. I am getting too self conscious - every time I start a new thread here I weigh up the consequences - wasn't what this was meant to be. Thought about giving it up yesterday - yet here I am again. Christ, I must love it. Kind of amuses me the way I can have a conversation with someone online and it will go fine - until they look at my web page and then all goes silent. There are exceptions - but they are few and far between. Cheese is nice. Have spent 90% of the weekend in bed watching videos. Not exactly productive, but fun and relaxing. Laughter is good. Forgot to shave this morning. My memory again. New David Lynch movie opens soon - cool. Not sure whether to find a plot synopsis on the web or not - I watched Lost Highway blind and really enjoyed it - didn't get a proper appreciation of it until the 3rd or 4th watching. Waiting for it to come out on video was very frustrating. Wonder how good the Film Four studio is at releasing to DVD quickly... Might check see if anywhere has the R1 disc on pre-order yet... Splendid. I can't abide silence. Hair getting in my eyes - I quite like it actually. Has never really bothered me. Difficult to focus close enough to look for split ends. Time for a disc change. Slow burn. Cold flame. Light blistering. I have no idea what I am talking about. Approaching London Bridge - will have enough time for a coffee. Great.
Sunday, 21 November 1999
Saturday, 20 November 1999
Drinking, smoking then falling asleep on someone elses sofa while watching a movie. Traln into town. Passing through Lewisham. Falling backwards without motion. Time to shop. I want to check my email - but will have to wait until I get home. Get your gun. Passing me by. Enough.
Friday, 19 November 1999
Pain. Splendid. Frustrate. This train's late too. Winter has arrived.
We've stopped again. I'm probably not even going to make the 8:52 at this rate - even if it is as late as it usually is. Scorn. Strong. Carrot. Lariot. Shackles. Packed like cattle. Matter. Warming up. I quite like cold - but only in moderation. Vacant. Dirty. Sick. Yawn. Ooh! Movement... Wonder how far we'll get. Suits. Upholstery. Carpet. Feel like laying face down on carpet. Bizarre urge - one I will resist. Over. Head. All for the best in the long run. Do I have a long run? I never run far. I never run at all if I can help it. Trains seem to do their best to avoid running too. Not good. Stuck in a tunnel. If I'd got off and braved the Northern line at Kings Cross I'd be at London Bridge by now. Warmth generated. Cozy. Want to drift off to sleep, but need to keep myself awake. Uncomfortable seat. Out into the light. Picture of insanity. The clear blue sky in winter. Farringdon at last - only 20 minutes after I left Kings Cross - could have walked it in that time. Do you think I really care? Can I? I don't think so. Entry peppered with song lyrics - even more than usual. It's a long time since I've missed the 8:52 - I don't even know when the next one is. Wonder if there's time for a coffee. Bloke next to me has got up - there is room for my fat arse on the seat now. In sight of the millenium wheel. What a bag of shite. Four star. Shame. Stopped again - what the fuck is it this time? We're well past the broken train... God I hate being surrounded by beautiful people. Well deserved. A walk in the rain would be good right now. Scrape. All in black. Gorgeous. Painfully so. Sun in my eyes - blinded by the light. More delays - we've missed our slot - don't fit in - I am used to that at least... Not enough sleep last night (as usual). Checked my webstats before I went to bed. I am a sad, sad man. Arrival.
Spread wide open. The flies swarm. Rot creeps incessantly. I. Under ground. Ground under. Boot stamps down. Legs ache but no seats means no sitting. I know less than nothing. Anti-knowledge. Unspoken truths fester. Compost to help the growth of mediocrity. Nothing. Little man in a cheese canoe. Kayak. Eyes wide open but not seeing anything. Train ahead is recieving fitter's attention - what are they fitting? Just another day - as pointless as the rest. I like fish. Bish bosh. Luvverly. Wonder whether I will miss my connection. Probably. Great. Half hour of freezing my fingers off waiting for the next one. Train at Farringdon is blocking both directions. Ouch. Why do americans call a tip a gratuity? Why the need to invent a word when one already exists? I believe the word derives from gratitude - but when I hear it I think of a minor act of violence (excessive violence is gratuitous - so a minor act of violence is a gratuity). On the move again. 15 minutes to make the connection at London Bridge. Possible, but not likely... Time to change the CD.
Thursday, 18 November 1999
Surrounded by the tide of humanity. What do I let in? Drown. The spare phone doesn't have data capabilities, so I can't check my email. Finally managed to get the CD burner working - burned all but one of the discs I wanted - should be able to do the other one tomorrow. Probably the worst band in the world playing in the St. Christopher's tonight. Evil. I am nothing. Fear me. The emptiness calls. Endless scream with no-one to hear. Ting. Tang. Sense. Nothing. No-one. Nowhere. Parcel. Not from Amazon - but they are not the only order I have placed. Lyais. Chaos. Start. Pineapple. Bord. Bork. Cleaver falls. It's a game of choice. No choice. I am me. Nothing prevents that. Nothing can present that. Fistfuck. Dancing spirals around the opportune. Eating mexican rapidly. After images. Nothing. Not aging. Not anything. Tring. Sarrat. Shiver. Goodbye.
My phone has been broken since last night - says "Sim card not accepted" whenever I turn it on. It's a good job no-one ever calls me really. It really is getting rather cold. My fingers are frozen. Time to put this thing away before they drop off...
Caffeine buzz. I've only had one coffee this morning and already my head is fuzzy. Figured out why it has been so bloody cold in the morning - the heating was set to come on at 6:20, not much use when I get up earlier than that. Panic attack there - thought I'd missed my stop, but I hadn't. God I am knackered. Song lyric going round and round in my head "never pay the reaper with love only" - I didn't think you were supposed to pay the reaper at all - that's the ferryman - completely different bloke (both a bit too skinny though). My arse is working overtime this morning - farting like crazy. At least I'm in a wide open space now - room to dissipate. Clock. Very early this morning - could have got the 8:12 but decided on coffee instead. Bzzzzzzzz.
Practice makes perfect. How much practice does loneliness take to perfect - surely I must be getting close by now. Conversations that will never happen play out in my head. The reaper watches impartially. All change please.
Wednesday, 17 November 1999
Interesting morning so far - train was cancelled so I got a different on - arrived at London Bridge considerably earlier than usual. Early enough to brave the queue at Costa's coffee (only just though - queued for nearly 15 mins). They were efficient when they served me - I ordered a double espresso - which is quick to make (by definition...) I got my coffee before the woman in front of me (who had ordered a large latte - not quick to make) - when the woman behind me saw this she gave me a really *foul* look. I was obviously in the wrong - getting my drink first when I'm second in the queue? I must be evil incarnate - I guess I should have waited until the woman in front had been served. Get a fucking grip! Of course she may just have given me a foul look simply because I am me - which would be understandable...
Tuesday, 16 November 1999
Torn - read or write? I am enjoying the new discworld novel, but unwinding here is better for me. Don't know what to write but I know that things will come if I continue. I'm going to opt out before it's too late.
Monday, 15 November 1999
Sinister. New train ticket - ouch. Shopping to cheer me up. Lol. Need more than senseless spending to do that. Skin sore - hope my razor isn't going blunt already. Probably is. If so I will have to go back to wet shaves - can't afford £100 on a razor every other month. Actually I could - would just need to give up on some toy money. Don't begrudge money on toys - the razor was a toy - I didn't have one before - but once I need to buy one on a regular basis I don't want to spend any money on it. The evils of necessity. I may actually be down enough to be productive at work - still a hint of salvation on the horizon though, so probably not. I wonder if the reason for my higher productivity during depression is due to body language - people don't interrupt because I am giving off an aura of "fuck off and die" - when there is a hint of positivity there they feel free to barge in. Makes more sense than explanations I have offered in the past. Is almost positive too - gods, don't tell me I'm actually starting to think positive! Could it be that I have almost burnt out my negativity? Nice thought - but unlikely.
Sunday, 14 November 1999
Have calmed now - especially after reading the amazing 5th volume of Janny Wurts' Wars of Light and Shadow series - Grand Conspiracy. I have read a lot of books since the last instalment and had forgotten just how convoluted the machinations in her books get - plots within plots within plots. A total headfuck. I wouldn't have it any other way. Haven't been able to concentrate on it as clearly as I would like, and have found myself taking frequent breaks. Distracted by music mainly - actually found myself sobbing while listening to Midnight Queen by Inkubus Sukkubus last night. No tears, just a couple of sobs accompanied by a deep clinging sadness. I really need something to cheer me up, but just sit here alone with no ideas. Find myself overreacting to minor things. Like this morning... I should get out and do anything, but have no drive. No point to it. Nothing ever changes. Why would it? The world is comfortable with the place I hold at present and has no desire to see me move beyond it. Now listening to American music which is trying desperately to be late 80s British Indy - right down to fake British accents. Wannabes. Thought some cheery music might cheer me up - should have known better - that never works with me - happy things only work when I am already up - when I am down they just channel my depression into anger. I am fire - where is my water? I am earth - where is my air? All four elements are needed in equality to free the spirit. Without my counterpart I languish in mediocrity.
In a darkness without end
Seeking the light
The horizon burns
As I fly towards it as fast as the wind
But it is never gets closer
No end to the chase in sight
The wild hunt will go stretch through eternity
Do I prefer verse or prose? Prose is easier certainly, but verse has a power. A resonance that is lacking in other forms.
Cheery lyrics grate
Rub the wrong side of my tainted self
Not hard enough to remove the stain
Just hard enough to cause friction.
The heat refuses to dissipate
Gathers in my chest
Threatens to burst out
I try to swallow it
It is acquiescent for the present
But the truce will not hold forever
I need somewhere to ground the static
Before lightening strikes
And burns an irreparable hole through my soul
The vortex swirls in my stomach
A dark whirlpool
Threatening to swallow my existence
I stubbornly refuse
Swirling. I cannot capture the emotions. No words to express what is happening in my head at the moment. Wound tight inside. I need to get it out before something snaps, but nothing will come. Black. Always. A vortex, but there is no tide. There is no effort expended to keep myself from being sucked it. Or maybe that is a deception - maybe the tug is so light that I don't notice as small parts of my self are torn off and absorbed. Need to do something. Will probably just sleep - easy way out - avoid the problems. Embrace of oblivion. Dark maiden welcoming me home. Wrapped in the cool comfort of her raven wings. It is too early for sleep though - no matter how tired I am of the waking world. Sleep now would just bring wakefulness too early tomorrow. Room is a mess. Maybe I could tidy it up. Or maybe monkeys will fly out of my arse. Have spent all day reading a challenging book - am not really ready for the burdens of concentration. Maybe I could just watch some unassuming videos. Was thinking the other day that it was I while since I watched my Aeon Flux videos - could be a good time to rectify that. Feel lighter for having made the decision. Not sure that I want to stop, as I seem to have unlocked something - the words are streaming now. Maybe I should just wait for the end of the album. A pain in the neck. From lying down all day no doubt. I wish I wasn't so fidgety - I find it difficult to lay still while reading or sleeping - continually shifting position. Not easy to find a position except laying on my back that is suited to reading - usually end up with stiff elbows and neck - rest by putting the book on the floor and dangle my head off of the end of the bed. Need a drink. Back in a sec. Not really in the mood for music at the moment - but I play some anyway to ward off the emptiness. Sometimes emptiness is to be savoured. Other times it consumes. Brief distraction to help a damsel in distress. A bit dramatic - it was actually a request from mum to find info about Theseus on the Internet for one of her friend's daughter so she can do her homework. Helped distract me for a while though. Enough time. I am finished here. Goodbye.
Dial in to find an email waiting - download this 2 1/4 Mb bmp mate - you'll enjoy it... To find a screenshot of my site with the counter hacked. Ho, Ho, Ho I think - someone has some graphics software and too much time on their hands... I then go to the site and find that it actually has been hacked. By a friend. Thanks a fucking lot. Recently this site is one of the few things I care about and it has been violated. I feel dirty now.
Saturday, 13 November 1999
Oooh, exactly an hour between updates. Scary. Nothing to say now though, so I will just say goodbye.
A couple of hours of EverQuest seemed a good idea at the time - I just couldn't get into it though :( Was feeling OK when I woke up. Am gradually sinking as the morning goes on though. Need something to take my mind off of it, so I'm going to try and fix one of my other sites which has stopped working.
Friday, 12 November 1999
Trains are depressing places. I am feeling it acutely. I hate this. It's too hot as well. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Pretend best friend the best friend I've got. No face. Don't want to face up. Learn patience you must to follow the path of light. Yes. I'm not good with that word. I'm no good at anything. I'm bad to the bone. Evil. Nothing to take comfort in. I guess I will just have to sleep all weekend. Not quite as effective as turning my mind off, but close enough to help.
There was a brief battle between euphoria and melancholy - but this is me - euphoria was never really in the running. I wish I had never written some of my entries from the past couple of weeks. Other people are a lot more confident than I am. I can feel myself building to a very public fall - and I now have another 3 weeks to build up the pedestal from which I will drop. Not high enough to kill on impact - just high enough to hurt. A lot. I wish I didn't get so obsessional. Tonight shouldn't be a big deal - shit happens. But it was. And now it's not. I don't know what I feel - but I know I won't be spending the next few days with a smile on my face. The train is late too. I hate my life. I have no reason to be like this. No-one owes me anything. I have no right to be such an impatient fuck. As I wrote earlier - 3 weeks is less than 0.25% of my life so far. It's nothing in the general scheme of things. The past week has seemed like an eternity though. I hope she doesn't cancel on the 3rd too. I'm not actually too keen on hearing the words "Actually - I liked you better when I didn't know you. Can you go away now please..." but I would prefer to have heard them tonight than to expect them for the next 3 weeks. There is always the possibility that I won't like her after getting to know her - but I find that harder to believe than her not liking me.
Am I gutted or ecstatic? I can't quite decide, but I think gutted is in the lead at the moment...
What's 1814400 compared to 781012555. Less than 0.25% - Not a lot in comparison, but still quite big in it's own right...
Excellent track. Deliciously bizarre. Don't know if it would class as a cover - Onward Christian Soldiers played on cello but the lyrics replaced by "The medieval exorcists had a twenty gallon brass syringe, filled with holy water, which they would pump into the anus of the possessed." Ouch. Equal measure. Time passes. Too quick or not quick enough? I can't decide. It certainly isn't the right speed. Glory. I just want to turn my mind off for eleven hours or so. It's more likely that my mind will switch off *in* 11 hours though. An opportunity to practice my awkward silences. Too wound up to write. Bye.
A pair of trousers is topologically identical to infinity.
Thursday, 11 November 1999
Liquid meat. Dread. Hope. Grins or tears. The fork approaches. I love my sub-woofer. My neighbours probably hate me. I had something I wanted to say - but it is gone. Bugger. Tired now - time to sleep.
Not quite sure of my opinion of Rasputina - I just bought an EP and a full album. The EP had 3 mixes of the excellent "Transylvanian concubine" a very dodgy cover "brand new key" and a couple of tracks which to be frank were just not my cup of tea. The album is shaping up pretty well though. Not a one song wonder as the EP led me to expect. Kinda like Switchblade Symphony with cellos instead of keyboards. Pretty cool if you're in the right mood. Which I am. Enough of the review - time to go back to my comics.
No favours. Left in a rush to get a train. Knocked the hold setting on my CD player as I put it in my bag - ended up pressing the play button 4 times before realising it wasn't going to start. Headache. Angry. Think calm thoughts. Wet moss. Puppies nibbling on my fingers. A large cake. A very large pot of fresh brewed coffee. Chicken ham and leek pie. With light fluffy pastry. The anger has melted away - I'm hungry instead now :(. Mind wants to wander - slowly I drift away...
A quick follow up to my last comment for those of you that don't work for ISPs - I'm not against un-metered internet calls. I'm very much for it if the phone network can cope. The problem is that the average user doesn't know when it's the phone company's problem and when it's the ISP. When windows says "line busy" they will assume that the ISP doesn't have enough lines. Untrue (most of the time). We have never had all of our modems/lines in use and yet we constantly get engaged tones reported. Why? Most of the time it's because a BT switch on the call path is too busy - we never even see the thing. The only thing we can do is bitch at BT (and they are probably going to listen to an end user before they listen to us - we aren't even a customer...). BT then pass then info to planning. Um, hello? Aren't planning supposed to be looking for this before it happens? "Wanted: one network planning specialist 20/20 hindsight essential." Planning and engineering both know the network is underprovisioned - so what is the next move from marketing? To introduce a pricing structure that will dramatically increase the traffic at precisely the points which are having problems coping. Nice one. Left hand/right hand. Foot/mouth. Piss-up/brewery. Oh - before I go: These comments are my personal opinion and in no way express the official stance of my employers - blah, blah.
Saw the first poppy seller of the year today - a bit late - or should that be noticed rather than saw - there have probably been hoards of them shambling through the city, preying on the unwary, for weeks and I've not noticed them because I've been too tied up in my self-pity... Need someone to shake me out of it - by action not words. Words are fine - but I have heard many words in the past - I tend to more readily believe those backed up by actions. Topic change. BT already has an overcrowded network with exchanges way over capacity - and yet they are talking about offering an un-metered internet access tariff as a product to ISPs - way to go you bunch of cunts - we already get blamed for your switch overcrowding - now we get to look evil because we have to charge higher subscription rates. Plus we have to try and make the changeover smooth - but we get no details about delivery/charges so we can't plan. Gee thanks. Good to know there are things in life you can rely on.
Vampire philosophy: Life is a neck - drink deep. Does falling into a black hole make you God? No-one can prove your existence, but people would believe in you - sounds like God to me... A big difference would be that you are unable to prove your existence, where God just doesn't feel like it (nyah!) Maybe God is just a mis-represented astronaut. How on earth do I get started on these things? Seat with a table - wow. I'd trade it all for shoulder room. Actually I've already proved that I wouldn't - I could have had shoulder room by standing - but I chose to sit instead. There shouldn't have to be that choice - the choice that causes people to not use public transport - the choice that is destroying the world. Help the individual at the expense of the community. Community spirit from a man that belongs to no community - whatever next? Time to take a break. First coffee of the day is getting cold...
Wednesday, 10 November 1999
Early night? Probably. Not in the mood for consciousness. Fivefold. Warm in here. Why am I so open here? Not why, how. I wish I could be more like this in reality. Don't speak because I don't think people want to hear - if they didn't then I wouldn't be getting so many hits. I have the confidence to be myself - to not compromise - yet I don't have the confidence to talk to people. Too paranoid for face to face interaction. Can't make eye contact - have to look away. Too uncomfortable not to. God I wish I wasn't so typically British sometimes. I wonder if we have any Bovril left at home...
I think the guy beside me is dead - but no-one has bothered to let him know, so he shambles onwards oblivious. I don't ever want to be that aged. Old I could handle - but not aged. Mind your head. Ha. Haven't laughed like that for hours. I love the underground. Three trains go past before I can get on one. Not strictly true - I could have pushed onto the first one. I am willing to wait if it means avoiding a violation of personal space. How many people are there in my head? I count at least 4 presently - the poet, the angry, the dreamer, the beer-monster. Time share. Collaboration for this journal - the whole less than the parts? Almost to the real crush. I wonder how many parcels from amazon today - I have had three despatch confirmation emails - I wonder if they are organised enough to group items from different orders into a single package. Probably not.
What started out as an update to my match.com profile turned into something more. A real rant from the heart. I'll put it here as well as on match...
There's a you shaped hole in my spirit.
My heart tells me you are out there. My soul mate. Perhaps you seek someone to share the pain and thus lessen it. Perhaps you seek a grounding influence for your airy nature. Or perhaps you are nothing that I would expect. You seek both spiritual and physical satisfaction - the latter is nothing without the former. You are not perfect - nor am I - but the whole is more than the sum of the parts. I love with all my heart or not at all. No half measures. I am a night person - will you share that or will you teach me to delight in the day? We will talk by moonlight. By candle light. By the light of the television screen as we watch cheesy B-movies. We will share the moment of glory as the sunrise ignites the horizon. We will laugh and it will make the whole world shine like a jewel. When we argue we will be like demons - but the reconciliation will be divine. I believe you are there. Am I a hopeless romantic? Yes. Does it cause me pain? Certainly. Do I want to change? Not a chance.
Tuesday, 9 November 1999
Re-directed the focus of my obsession. Probably chose the wrong target though - focusing it on work would have made more people happy. Maybe I could try to re-focus again. Yesterday lasted for aeons - will today? Probably.
Strange dreams. Was told to exercise for several hours a day on a giant climbing frame by a doctor - the doctor then proceeded to demonstrate what to do. By the time she had finished it was past one am. I was there with my sister - when the doctor had finished we went into the waiting room. The big news on every newspaper was about Hugh Grant eating babies in Botswana. Apparently he used to crack the top off of their heads and use chopsticks to eat their brains. He would then play a game of bar billiards to aid his digestion. The authorities found thousands of bodies dumped in a swamp. Sky were dedicating 3 pay per view channels to this story.
Monday, 8 November 1999
Giving to the needy. That guy sure can spin a yarn - earned every penny. We shall meet again. The outcome shall depend on the capriciousness of the Goddess. Hail Eris. Kallisti. Still have much to learn. Have decided on a path though. Feels good. Time for contemplation.
Funny how sometimes we can forget things that define us. Just listened to the track "Eternal Black Embrace" by Xentrix. Still relate to it as much as I did in school about 9 years ago. Scary. I have never left my adolescence. Almost everything I do confirms this. Eternity. Is it long enough? My short span seems more than enough at the moment - eternity would be hell. I hope I don't feel that way for the rest of my remaining allocation. I long to long for eternity. Freakshow. What is the point. Where do I fit? Is there such a place? I want a place where more than just my mind feels welcome - I want somewhere my heart feels welcome too.
Dark maiden of the morning. Grant me comfort in your deep black bitterness. Dark as deep night and just as peaceful. Refreshing me with your warmth.
All change. No regrets. The wheel turns. Nothing to do. One of the books I ordered yesterday is unavailable. Staccato. Rhythm of a machine gun. Cor blimey guv'nor - strike a light. Everyone is a bit queer except me and thee, and sometimes I wonder about thee. Reality is whatever you think it is. Books full of instruction surround me, but not one of them tells me what I want to know. Gareth likes men's tits (or was that mountains...). I have about 3 hours until work. Dancing in circles. Wild abandon. The moon above looks down. If it isn't behind clouds. XIII. Abandon hope. Enter not, lest ye be bored silly. Blackened stumps. Matches burnt entirely. Fingertips sore from holding too close to the flame. Pain. My party trick. Everyone has to be good at something. Blisters. Only a couple, unburst. It matters not. Shouldn't do that trick when the match has a trace of wax on it - burns longer and hotter. Circumflex. Circumspect. Dance around the point. Never say it. Taboo. Lying pale and wounded. Waiting for a saviour. I cannot save you - I can't even save myself. Drowning. Whirlpool sucks me in. Black hole - spaghetti effect. Stretching out to infinity. Got to close when admiring the beauty of the corona. Time stands still. This is going to be a long week. Damn it all. Give up - it's too much effort. Better the devil you know. All the wrong reasons. Desperation. Obsessive fixation. Strobe light memories - flashes then darkness. Still - no motion visible. Annihilation. Anyone for a cuppa? Who's mum? Dragged down into hell. Fires of torment. At least it's not cold. An empty shell sits here writing - pouring out what little is inside - what does it leave me? The emptiness I feel is in my heart and gut - some of this comes from those places - rather than purely from my head. Grey outside. Overcast. Not raining. The trees have nearly lost their leaves - still some stubborn remnants remain. Won't give up. Sooner or later they will fall. Everything does. A solitary bird sits on a dead tree. The only trace of life visible from my window. Sitting here looking sideways while typing - I will get a sore neck doing this, but without doing so I cannot admire the beauty of nature while I do this. The full cycle visible. The left and right hand path. All is natural. Time to start taking the right hand path - the left has brought me nothing but pain. Law of Three. Anarchism at it's finest. Moon made of Ice. Of Cheese. Polystyrene. No shapes to see in the clouds - a uniform grey with sporadic spots of darkness spread across it like the mud-stained fingerprints of a small child. Words are a prison for meaning. Am I inmate or jailer?
Sunday, 7 November 1999
Miserable. No change there. Soul empty. Fill me. Darkness has fallen outside. Clean. But not cleansed. Why? Where is the off button - I've had enough. Standby. If only we could put ourselves in suspended animation during the boring times. Fast forward. Deja-vu - I was talking about that with someone a few days ago... Shadows dancing. Look into the flames. Sputter. Light turned out. There is no darkness in the modern age - the candle burns, but is assisted by the glow of my screen - my alarm clock - the charge light flashing on my razor - the front display of my CD player - my amp - my VCR - house lights from the neighbours come in through the windows - the light of the town reflecting from the clouds above. The only true darkness is within. Firebug. Sticking matchsticks into the molten wax of the candle - watching the flames dance higher. The wick is now too low to burn - smothered - I will have to hope that enough wax burns off from the matches otherwise it will be useless. I haven't had any decent sized candles for ages. I can stare into a flame for hours. A form of meditation. I should have gone to a bonfire. It's never the same in a crowd though - staring into a fire is a time for contemplation - something to be done on your own, or with someone so close that they feel a part of yourself. I wish. The embers of the dead matches glow. The flame dances in the wind of my breath. All is calm. Harmonious. The candle is about to die. The wick is still below the level of the pool of wax, and one of the matches has just collapsed - the other cannot be far behind. A new match sorts that one. I can't believe I am actually writing this - I must be incredibly bored. I have never been able to get the hang of totally automatic writing - I am always thinking about it. I have never been able to do glossolalia either - I have tried, but my mind never seems to let go. Always on duty. The wick has caught at last - the candle is saved. Not that any of this matters - what is a single candle in the eyes of the Goddess? Brunching.com haven't updated Tina the Troubled Teen's saying for several days now. Why is it they always forget to update when a crap one is selected. Falling without moving. Eternal freefall. Am I falling towards something or away from something? Chaos mind. Nothing lasts forever. Simple thermodynamics. Entropy theory. Fireworks again - a flash in the sky. Momentary light - but not enough to pierce the shadow shroud. Wrapped in the deep darkness. Oh for the embrace of oblivion - all comes to those who wait. Flecks of burnt wood from the matches are floating in the wax pool pulled towards the wick like a dark microscopic reflection of a moth - the closer you look the more detail there is. A fractal world. Entranced. Time passes. Life passes by. Is it being wasted? I feel content at the moment, so I would say not. Perhaps I could feel better than content - but I could certainly feel worse, so I am not motivated to experiment. Drinking water. Hair in my eyes. Have gone back to keeping it slightly longer. I realised what a twat I looked when it was too short. I probably still look a twat - but at least not in my own eyes, which is a positive. Ooh - pretty. More fireworks. Some of them quite impressive. Haven't updated the readinglist page for ages - have read about 4 books that don't even appear. Was a pointless page anyway. All of this is pointless. None of it truly matters in my heart - perhaps this page - it helps sometimes - I am no longer quite as twisted up inside. Another shave. Random clicking about within the page - no modifications made - just random browsing. Killing time. Maybe I should sleep again. I would only wake up later unable to sleep anymore - and would then have to kill time then. Music has finished - something to do - choose what to listen to next. Have extinguished the candle. Will burn it again some other time. Will turn on the lights. Go downstairs perhaps. Read some, maybe eat. Try to be normal for a while.
Sitting here wasting time. So much time to give, nothing seems worth filling it. Wishing I had someone to waste it with. Inspiration patchy. Ideas are there, but refuse to be expressed. A cloud of faeries hovering over my head - darting out of sight when ever focus is attempted. Inside I feel strangely tranquil - is it a Sunday thing? I seem to remember last Sunday being a day of calm. Sunday is a day of loneliness. Saturday is not quite as bad - at least I could go shopping and lose myself in a crowd - on Sunday there are not as many shops open. I don't really have anything I want to buy anyway - would end up buying films that I will watch only once. Books I will never read. CDs I will only listen to once in a blue moon. All along the crooked way. Had a stupid smirk on my face while I was taking the weekly picture - the one shown is actually the 4th one taken - I didn't like the other 3. This is supposed to be a warts-n-all expression of my existence, yet I get self conscious over the picture. Hypocrite.
Dial up to check my mail and get roped into fixing a server. Typical. Oh well - at least it passed some time. Getting quite good at this weekly rotation of journal pages too. Hardly make any mistakes now. Cue a major fuck up... Yet another match.com update - minor re-wording of yesterday's entry. Why am I bothering?
Saturday, 6 November 1999
So much for that. Have read a bit. Tried to sleep. Ordered a bunch more books on amazon. Eaten a bowl of soup. Signed up for another journal webring. I am tired, but have slept too much during the day - I can't sleep any more yet. Nothing to do. Give me something. So much to do, so little motivation. Another match.com update. I must be getting really bored - I've not received any email from there for months - I should cancel my subscription really. I won't though.
Cannot think straight. Have slept for most of the day. Was I tired or just lazy? I don't know. Anything I say is going to be bollocks. I am going to put myself down or go into denial again - like I did last week. I am nothing. Spinning inside. All the wrong reasons. Stabbing Westward throbs in the background. Vision of the future. Is the anticipation better than the knowing? At least at the moment there is a chance - if the wave function is collapsed it is either/or - now there is some of both. Balancing act. Electricity. Something. A handful of fragmented memories. So powerful that they are almost tangible. God I wish I was less confused. More confident. Less paranoid. More other. Less me. Wishing again - helps nothing. An it harm none, do what thou wilt. Quiet. Lonely. Calm. There are no stars out tonight. Occasional fireworks. Nothing spectacular. The candle burns no longer. The room is cool - no longer cold. It is never the right temperature for long in here - too cold with the window open - too hot with it closed. If I didn't have so much crap in here I could probably get to the radiator to turn it down. I wish I could chat. I've never been comfortable doing it - but the idea of it appeals. To be able to let out these things to someone - rather than just pouring them onto this page. Can't do it though - I end up just sitting in the corner brooding. My thing. It's what I do. I'm the outsider. The loner. Take my scars. Take my life. Goodbye. Still wondering how I cut my arm. It itches. I need to do something to pass the time other than this - something that will just erase a period of my life - sweet oblivion calls me into her arms. Time to play a game. Not feeling sociable, so not EverQuest. SS2 or GTA2 - I think SS2 first - not until the music stops though - won't be able to hear the FX in the game with music this loud - and I can't turn this CD down - it wouldn't be right. "Do you think I'll still be lonely, God I pray that I'm less lonely When I'm dead." I hope Mum's Celine Dion CD has finished. She was playing it really loud earlier - and Celine Dion is one of my irrational hates - I hate her music with a vengeance. Golden apples from the Goddess. Nothing new. Recycled. Same old shit.
Put me out of my misery. Shoot me like a wounded animal. I should call her later - that is why I asked for the number after all. I want to know, but am afraid to find out. It wasn't just the copious alcohol last week - there was something other. She didn't wake up next morning with a hangover thinking "why the hell was I dancing with that fat fuck?" I seems she wants a chaperone present when next we meet - so there must be some misgivings. Sensible. Another week to wait. I have her number. She knows I have her number. She doesn't mind that I have her number. And the walls come tumbling down. Shattered. I don't know the rules anymore. I don't know what is happening. I wish I had some basis for comparison. The isn't going anywhere. Time to stop.
Move along - nothing to see here. I have the number, but am too much of an arse to use it. She is working tonight. Something Not. Something other. I cannot. I am. I hate - I want not to. I have got her number - she knows - what the fuck is happening. I will have to speak to her at some point. She has my number too - but she is probably less likely to use it than I am. She has less reason to. I am me. There is more.
Friday, 5 November 1999
Who would you throw on the bonfire? Headline on the Mail. Sounds: Belladonna and Aconite by Inkubus Sukkubus. What can I say? Rabbit. Onion. Boom. Immerse myself in how to transparently move a Frontpage enabled website. Not fun. Very not fun. I'm going to need to drink much tonight. Whether it will just be enough to loosen myself up or all the way to oblivion remains to be seen. Am I coming or going? I don't know anymore. Vortex within is spinning me like a top. If it spins any faster I'm going to hurl. Time off is always a bad idea - at least at work I have no time to brood - I'm too busy. I need another coffee - but I'm still a good 20 mins away from London Bridge. Burn motherfucker burn. Cellular mesh of lies. Of hate. The fires of my hatred burn so bright - how can I extinguish them? What is being consumed to feed them? Listen to them - children of the night - what sweet music they make. Almost lost my stylus then... Forced silence. Pregnant pause. Last track - Samhain. Time to change the disc. Synchronicity. I quote Dracula and then put a disc in where the first track has samples from the same film. Cool. And the track is called Chaos Mind. Even more synchronicity at work.
Thursday, 4 November 1999
God I'm bored. Will go to sleep in a minute - bugger all else to do. Just watched Something about Mary - bloody funny film. Thanks for recommending it last week Dan :) Now listening to Midnight Configuration's Funeral Nation. Sounds superb with my subwoofer. Life is good. Apart from the fact it's not. Almost had a happy thought there - managed to catch myself in time though... Just had a look at some horoscope stuff on match.com. It's all a load of bollocks. It's amazing how they manage to write it so that it could apply to anyone. So bored that I'm shaving again - putting my razor next to my computer was a good way of making sure I keep clean shaven. Electric razor never shaves as clean as a wet shave though. I seem to have managed to cut myself on my arm. I don't know how it happened - I can only assume I managed to do it while I was picking grit out of the sole of my foot with a Stanley knife earlier. Don't know how I managed to do it without noticing though.Wasn't deliberate - even in my subconscious I would have cut deeper than that. My amazon order didn't arrive today - It'll probably arrive tomorrow when there's no-one in and I'll have to go down the post office on Saturday. Bugger. Ordered a couple of CDs from the music section a couple of days before they sent out the announcement of the section opening. Not big or clever, but possibly vaguely interesting. No it isn't, it's just another string in my bow of sadness. What does another string in you bow mean anyway? I don't care to be quite honest. I don't care about anything. Say it enough and it might become true. I wish I had no feelings - that way I would never hurt. And I wouldn't feel the urge to do something which is bound to end up with me looking a total twat.
I really should fix my hotsync cable at some point - typing entries in by hand while I am at home is becoming really old. Just re-read this weeks entries again. I have done a very good job of not telling the whole story of my thoughts this week. Hints hidden in there. Unconscious censorship. I am all written out now. Time to do something else. Something to pass the time until tomorrow. Until showtime.
Bugger - mum has beaten me to the bath - there won't be enough hot water for me now. A pity - I worked up a bit of a sweat when I got lost in Hemel earlier and currently stink. That was fucking stupid. Thought the station was somewhere other than it was - ended up trapped in suburbia for half an hour - floundering towards civilisation (if you can class Hemel Hempstead as civilised). Talking of fucking stupid, I bought the wrong CD in HMV earlier - picked up one by Midnight Oil instead of Midnight Configuration. D'oh. Maybe it will be OK... Or more likely not... Don't understand why Midnight Configuration are filed under Rock + Pop, but Inkubus Sukkubus are filed under Heavy Metal. The other way around would make more sense. I have built up my IS collection really quickly - five CDs inside of a week - would have been all 7 if I could find the other 2. Away with the Faeries is limited edition, so I will probably never find it - Wytches should be possible to find sooner or later though...
Now THAT is what Manga should be! Wow. I didn't think there would ever be another manga to rival Akira - I'm glad to be proved wrong. No giant psychic robots. No explosions (OK, a small one near the beginning - but no-one died). No OTT fight sequences. Just a good old-fashioned psychological thriller that manages to keep twists in the plot hidden right up to the end. Perfect Blue. Wow.
Welcome to thy judgement day. Need to rid myself of the stench of desperation. Still Naked, Still Alone - but no longer shivering - progress. Desperation stems from unfulfilled hopes, but without hope there is no motivation. I half believe that the relaxing influence of alcohol will mask the desperation, but therein lies madness. Going shopping soon. Lose myself in spending. Except there isn't much that I want at the moment - just an exceptionally fucking huge TV which I can't afford without saving up for a few months. Vortex is back. I fear the future.
Wednesday, 3 November 1999
Tranquillity at last. Or is it the calm before the storm? Watching some random acts of senseless violence in the form of El Mariachi and Desperado has removed the pent up tension. The first steps along the path have been taken. The first step is the difficult one - from here on in it's just one step at a time until the destination is reached. Trying to avoid going the wrong way at forks in the path is another matter...
The last half hour. A 20-30 min taxi ride then boredom again. Got it bad - I'm even off of my food. Haven't eaten anything substantial since Sunday - and that was only because Mum cooked it. Worse than anything in recent memory. Almost as bad as Sim. Hope it doesn't hurt as bad when the waiting is over. Vague recollection of a dream last night. Was sitting in the middle of a crowd in a field. Don't know why - have forgotten the main point of the dream. Louise from work walks by with someone I don't recognise - she makes a snide comment to her companion, they both laugh at me and then walk on. I don't remember what the comment was, but I remember it shocking me and hurting. First time I remember recognising anyone in a dream for a long time. Louise is one of the biggest hitters to this site and a fellow Buffy fan and I feel I owe her some sort of an explanation for why she was such a bitch in my dream - I don't have one though - sorry Lou :(
Taxi booked. Managed to avoid brooding this morning by sleeping - can't sleep forever though. Time to face up. Wake up - life is for living! Trying to stay positive but not get out of control. Wrong CD again - too much imagery. This is a time for silence.
Obsession has reached critical mass. I actually acted on it, very unlike me. Has always made things worse in the past. Probably just fucked something up bigtime - I would have been better off losing sleep. Done now though - time to wait for the fallout to start coming down. "On a night of dread and wonder hear her heartbeat turn to thunder". No hope in Hell. Don't believe that line - there may not be actually be any chance of redemption - but the tortured souls must have hope or their suffering would be lessened. No chance in Hell works better. I hate uncertainty. Feeling this way for all the wrong reasons. "Hallelujah, Hallelujah - Kiss the cross or they will burn you. Hallelujah, Hallelujah - They have come to rape and murder". I sense a negative attitude towards Christianity in this band...
Tuesday, 2 November 1999
How much is done for shock factor? Here I don't think anything - other places are a different matter. I updated my match.com profile earlier - used a fragment of an earlier entry - the butterfly rant from this morning. Was a deep piece that says a lot about me - but I could have picked a tamer piece. Who cares though - nothing will ever come of it. Bought some food but don't want to eat it. Shitstench. The wonders of public transport. A couple of extra days of lonely emptiness coming up - as if I don't get enough of that already... Blank again. As ever. Wishing for a death ray. Pierced through the heart. Sucking the sustaining darkness from my soul. A shrivelled husk. Desiccated. Ready for reconstitution - just add water. What difference. An endless nothing is all that awaits in life or death. No point. Just get on with it. Wishing for oblivion. What a difference a day makes. Shrouded in hide. Hollow eyed. Fancy footwork. Practised insults. Drunken spontaneity. Living in denial. Am I really that afraid? Boat rocked. One more wave and I might fall in. Fuck it. I can't be arsed.
Desperation. Isolation. Dislocation.
Surrounded by the anger of clowns. A twisted circus. The uniformed ringmasters look on with disdain. The stench of decay rises from the entrails of butchered elephants. The red of their blood so vivid that it leaves a stain on the retina - tinting everything - looking through a subdued red haze. From deep down in my twisted psyche. I fear me.
Am I real? I must be - only reality could be so fucked up. Grasp the nettle. Ignore the pain. Craven. A dark world full of pain. Pinpricks of beauty to focus the hurt onto the depths of our souls. A ray of light piercing the shadow shroud surrounding my heart. Semi permeable membrane - fresh hurt can get in, but what is there already is trapped and must remain there to fester. Butterfly. Beauty is fragile - so easily destroyed - so easily corrupted. A shell around the decomposing heart. An irresistible trap for the unwary. On the outside looking in. Unfounded accusations. Paranoia. All that I am. I hope one day to be more than this shell filled with hate. Moss on the walls. Cool and damp. Like the grave. Remembrance that this isn't forever helps. "And his name is Atrocity". Killing is OK when done in the name of peace. Or the name of God. Silence comes. I cannot stand it for long so a quick break from writing is required. Better. With music I feel the emptiness less acutely. The music talks to my soul. Time to abandon self and bask in the divinity of it.
Monday, 1 November 1999
Living my life in a haze of daydreams. Maybe it is the hunger. I wish I didn't forget to eat. I haven't actually eaten anything today. My only sustenance has been coffee and soft drinks. As ever I am obsessing - inventing an endless stream of scenarios that will never play out. Even if the circumstances arose I would never do the right thing. I can think of a number of occasions in the past which prove just how bad I am at handling non-technical conversations. I have conditioned myself to say the minimum possible - saves me from having to explain myself, which is inevitable. Also minimises the number of times I make myself look a twat by saying exactly the wrong thing. Again something I have done many times in the past. I am crap at everything that means anything. I don't like me - so why the hell would anyone else? Everything wrong. Why me? Time to change the disc. I wish I could change the track inside. Wish I didn't obsess so much. Wish I didn't resort to wishing and actually get off of my arse and do something. Apathetic. Pathetic. Want it all. And want delivery. Lazy. Whenever I have made an effort in the past I have done the wrong thing and fucked things up. Sim and the card. Nagel's bike. Erin and the email. Fights because I wouldn't back down. The worst - there are others. Nothing ever works - so why bother? Obsessing again. Focusing on past failures. Can't focus on future success because I can't see into the future. Even if I could I would need a microscope to make any chances of success visible. Defeatist attitude - it's the only one I have.
Another day down. Everything wrong. Bought a Xentrix album - hoping it would measure up to "For whose advantage?" it didn't. Bought a couple of "My Dying Bride" CDs - the new one was quite good - like Gothic/Shades of God period Paradise Lost. The older one wasn't much cop though. The Rob Zombie remixes and the Inkubus Sukkubus discs were all damn good though - so not a total waste of money in Tower this morning. Listening to a bizarre Christmas track at the moment. I'll have to listen to the cover of Delilah on the other disc later - delightfully bizarre. Everything wrong. What do I do right? Am off Wednesday and Thursday - might go and get my eyebrow pierced. Time to submerge myself in music for a while - can't seem to loosen up and say what I feel at the moment.
I've just realised that this thing hasn't realised that the clocks went back. Bugger. Trains are right up the spout today. Omg - I've just recognised this track - a goth cover of "Paint it black" - cool, my favourite Stones track. Waiting for the train to pull out. Going to be late. After rushing from Piccadilly to Charing X - pointless. Should have just taken it easy. Moving at last. This train is only half an hour late. And it's not even the right one - it's only a connection to London Bridge because the Greenwich train isn't starting at CX today... Why do I get so inane when I'm not depressed? Actually it's probably less inane than my endless winging about how crap my life is. At least late trains are a concrete fact - not a construct of my infinite self doubt. Almost to London Bridge. Wonder how long I will have to wait. Raining. As the Suicidal Tendencies song goes "you can't bring me down". Not quite managed a U-turn - don't know what direction I am facing now.
Didn't have to wait long at all. If the opening hours hadn't changed I would be able to make it on time. As it stands I will be about 20 mins late.
Goodbye Johnny foreigner. Why is it that tourists find the announcements on trains so funny? And do they have to repeat them as loudly as possible? I guess I am sinking into irrational hatred mode again.
Amusing university anecdote. In the first year, when I was in halls one of the people on my corridor did a tally of how often I used the word "Fuck". Why is it I resort to vulgarity so often. This song is so over the top - it's obscene yet funny at the same time. "Come and taste the bitter fruit, I will drain you of your juice, let that straining serpent loose, put your head into my noose" lol. Way OTT.
Is my repeated listening to the darkest corners of my music collection an attempt to regain the shadow on my soul? I am listening to the wrong CD if that is so - this has very dark lyrics, but it makes me feel up. I have always been a pagan at heart - even if I have never been a practising pagan. Wrong gender for Wicca. It's a bastardisation anyway. The original ways are lost. Crushed beneath the heels of Christianity. Blessed be. I am going to see if Tower have any of IS's other albums - although I'm not sure if I have time. This closing half an hour earlier puts a dent in my shopping. Is this lyric "song for our age" or "song for our rage" 1st fits the album tone better - but 2nd fits my needs better.