Getting all self-reflexive and so on

Oh man, do I miss writing essays. I remember about this time last year, I literally broke down because I wanted to spend more time on my essays (and, well, relaxing/partying) and I couldn't because of the amount of hours being piled onto me by the restaurant I was working at. I know, I know, there are so many out there who do so much more, but I'm not one of them, and shifting gears between smiley-smiley-on-my-feet-memory-index-face-of-the-pizzeria-waitress to essay machine was irreducably painful.
This year, while I'm still thankful I'm not a waitress, I wish to god I had some academic influence in my life. I have a few friends who are doing the course that I did, but lord knows they dont need my help. In fact with my background in literature I'm categorically unuseful to these stellar philosophy types, and my poor memory doesn't help. Derrida's what, now?
I was hopeful I'd carry on writing vaguely academic papers as time wore on, but without access to the academic library, I am unsurprisingly letting it all slip. For shame.
I have, however, managed to learn to knit rather effectively. Swings and roundabouts? From one equally ineffective and unapplicable skill, outside of a very intense and devoted field which pays very little if you are lucky enough to be earning in it, to another. Go me.
Still, check it, yo:







I'm proud of him :)
Zombie Christmas and a Zombie New Year, folks!

New Ye-ah!

Well, time for my diet of lemon juice, cous cous, water and shame to truly begin. Why must the most decadent time of year be immediately followed by the night where you are supposed to look your most spectacular? Admittedly I could behave myself over Christmas OR not care how I look on New Year's Eve, but it would be nice to pig out AND still look stunning. When I say stunning, I of course refer to having a less wobbly behind/pot belly.
Not that I haven't been really tempted by all the recipes I've found in You magazine. My grandparents get it with the Sunday Telegraph and it's generally a parody of reality, all £550 handbags and £2,345 wear-once cocktail dresses. The photography is lush though and they do spare some time for amazing recipes which I've been harbouring for years.

And now, New Year's Resolutions:
1) Manage my diabetes. It's been nearly five years and no one has tasked me to take it on as a resolution before. Obviously I'm getting better at present, after getting a bit too frightened about the state of my health, but I'm determined to truly own it from now on.
2) TONE DOWN THE CRAZY. This has also been a struggle this year. I have decided I need a new attitude to relationships. Blablablablabla. I'll probably not let you know how that goes.
3) Don't become your mother. This involves continuing the way I am, hopefully.

Now and Then

My corduroy knight, my middle class hero, strikes again. I have to be honest, the more I read everyday newspapers and the more I watch anything touched by the satirical Midas that is Chris Morris (Three Lions - HOW excited?!) the more painfully middle class The Now Show truly feels. However between the in-jokes and the slightly shaky impressions is the occasional moment of shining brilliance and this definitely is one:

Marcus Brigstocke's Dr Seuss Copenhagen


As another pointless but hilarious tangent, here are some of the performers of the Springfield Jazz Festival, which occurs in the Simpsons episode 'Jazzy and the Pussycats' (I'm not out-punned yet, Groening):
- Gooey Martin
- Willie Mimms
- Drop-Jaws Turner
- Sketch Friendly
- Tootsie Childs
- Sammy Builtmore
- No-Talent Jones
- Anwar Benitez
- Bossy Marmalade
- Bad-Check Mazurski
- Ray-Ray Takamura
- Shakey Premise
- Bootsy Crouton
- Richard Sakai
- The Pre-Marital Sextet
- CSI Miami
- D.W. Jitters
- The Chubb Group
- Cantaloupe St. Pierre

My favourites are definitely Shakey Premise, which appeals to the philosopher in me, I suppose, and CSI Miami. Which appeals to the CSI fan in me, obviously.

COOKIES!!!!!!!!!

Emma and I had great fun decorating these. Basic sugar cookies + ready to roll white icing + writing icing + The Mars Volta = delicious proggy Christmas :P









I'm still fighting with the html, anyone suggest any good tutorials?

Xmas-ness

Such huge apologies for not posting in so long. Been very very busy. Here is a link to a lovely Christmassy cartoon to make up for it a smidge:

The Spirit of Christmas

I'm currently watching the BBC version of Hamlet, with David Tennant and Patrick Stuart. Although the use of CCTV in this 'modern' version is perhaps a little Brechtian, it's really excellent. I'm adverse to the fact that Tennant's totally taken over the airwaves this season (Dr Who, Desert Island Discs, QI, and countless others) but he is aboslutely and ultimately way better than John Barrowman.
More festive excuses soon as.

'nuff said

Well, I didn't manage the tryptych, so I guess it was more of an open-faced sandwich, whatever the hell that is. Also I want to make mince pies but completely failed to get hold of some cutters.... idiot.

NEW DRESDEN CODAK!!!!!!!!!!

That is all.

or sparkling beams of light

part two, a story, of sorts:

I look with satisfaction at the blood trickling down my arm. Feel hot wet warmth. Was pleased I had bothered to get a decent knife from the kitchen. Even though I despised myself for feeling pleased. I know that this is barely mutilation at all, just a few scratches. No need for stitches, barely any blood, really. The arm never bleeds enough. I thought of some of my friends' arms, the patina of silver lines, and wondered how they had done it. Determination, years of agony and confusion and turmoil and all the reasons and feelings. More feeling than I ever had in my useless being. I've never been as devoted to anything. Can't even make mutilation more than a fairweather hobby. What with the diabetes, my own blood has become something of a mundanity. Still I love it. The colour, the warmth, the taste. The thought of all those workings inside me, being so real, look, there, it's flowing, I must be here somehow, why else would it pulse like that? What could be more tangible?
I always get a strange feeling, of this intensity, when I'm on my period. To actually feel the lining sloughing away from me. This ineffable force from the inside out. This symbol of life and death. Think of women in concentration camps: the first thing to reassert itself when they were finally reasonably well nourished was their menstrual cycle. It's powerful and terrifying in a way, this genuine force for life. Transcendental to womanhood but so fucking real too, that smell of earth and iron. What do men get that comes close? The smell of napalm in the morning? Effortlessly it symbolises life; they summon up death.
I push the knife in again, but already I'm chickening out. The zeal of the first cut will never be echoed, it does still hurt, I'm not so far gone.
And I always seem to do this after weed, after him. Such a terrible set of reasons. But i never understood what was so different, really, between doing this and getting a tattoo. It's all mutilation. Both definitely hurt, which some people draw pleasure from. They try and take control of their bodies. It's just one costs a lot more. Except, for me, all I really want is too see the blood. It's that colour: there is nothing like it. I want to cut myself and watch it bead forth and flow and drip everywhere, wreck everything, soil it, stain it. From pricking my fingers for my blood sugar meter, there are spots of blood on most of my clothes, notebooks, sundry bits of my life forever branded. Out damn spot, show me something truer, show me what it really, really means to be bleeding. I can't divulge this fear, this hatred, all of these feelings, there aren't words. But there's my body: there's my blood. It can speak for me, dripping on the bedsheets now. And i'm daubing at it with a blue napkin, fascinated by the vibrance still. Oxygenated haemoglobin, plasma. Science unrivalled in it's beauty. I want more but my arm hurts. Pathetic. Blood doesn't protest in pain, it simply is, follows forces, does the heart's bidding, meets gravity, takes the shape of the pool that surrounds it. Doing the heart's bidding is probably what got me into this state. And now i want to see blood. So we're both slaves. Sisters in shame.
I put the knife down, push it away. Put my head down on the pillow, arm held rigid in front of me.
Tomorrow night. Maybe the other arm.

Thoughts like errant butterflies

Sorry, sorry, sorry. Been busy. So today will attempt a tryptych of posts (working title 'Bad Sandwich') to make up for it. As a starter for ten, here is my most recent review on the 405:

Camera Obscura - The Blizzard

Bitter Ruin full review

Hurrah! A review has gone up!!!
Check it

Video Launch



Word, biatch.

Aesthetics Debate 2 - The Sun Also Wiesings

Sorry, sorry, sorry, I will work on that pun (I won't).
This leads on from this post here.
We introduce Wiesing, who has no Wiki page! And very few mentions, even in German domains. I'll see if I can find some further biographical details in an actual book.
Could skyrocket my SEO ratings (among aestheticists). Wiesing decided that rather than look at the limited nature of paintings which Wolfflin's theory involved (mainly centred around Renaissance artwork in its examples, and involving a necessary historical circular progression from linear to painterly, closed form to open form, etc, and back again) he would open up the concepts.
Wiesing suggests an alternative to Wolfflin's metaphysics of history. He wants the concepts to be free of these historical constraints and open them up to apply to all Bildung: to find the "necessary conditions of the possibility of pictoral content". I want to stress here that while this seems to centre around art, it technically shouldn't and it is to some extent an oversight of the lecture that more images weren't included. For instance, images that bear continual importance, outside of their invention within history, such as a bar graph (linear, closed, planimetric etc) or a Rorschach image (presumably painterly, open form). Thus Weising took the concepts forward into a transcendental philosophical grounding.
At least so he hoped......
My examples there divulge the line of thinking he followed. The idea of the linear and painterly becomes a theory about mark-making - the transition between marks can be more or less distinct. The focus becomes the locatable relationships between marks, and thus a scale, with the image locatable on it, is created. Equally the planimetric and recessional still represents surface and depth, in which visual representation is necessarily spatial, and closed and open form would mean the two ends of the scale would be 'minimally' and 'maximally' ordered. The importance of the Bildlogik here is that it can be applied to ANY image. There's more but I have to do some other things, and I would also like Patrick to find the time to reply. HINT.

Songs and S'Feminism

The Kodaly Method

Very interesting song styling - I might try it to improve my singing :p
Also, anything whose creator's name is ZOLTAN gets my vote!

I'm also giddy and excited because they have released a new English translation of Simone De Beauvoir's 'The Second Sex' (yes, I'm a terrible English person who doesn't speak French, and am endlessly jealous of those who do. My conversational German could probably get me by though...). Radio 4 informed me that originally, the book sold incredibly well in France, and was there purchased by an American woman. She assumed it was a rather more clinical and sex-based book (missing the point somewhat) and passed it on to a French-speaking zoo-ology student friend of hers for translation. The poor feller took it on all by himself and thus, as is often the case, many nuances of the language were lost and several awkward mistakes were made. I can't remember the examples mentioned but there was a very odd one where the phrase that would equate to 'the human condition' became something like 'women's activities', or a similar absurd term that seems couched in the 50s rhetoric of happy housewives.
One of the other guests did comment that Beauvoir was, in spite of her brilliance and perspicacity, very scornful of the 'traditional' aspects of women, such as bearing children and taking a partner, or even being a house-wife. She herself lived alone, with Sartre as her long-term lover (I cannot imagine) and thus was an "unconventional" female figure, at least, very much so for the decades she lived through. But as was pointed out, this doesn't mean that the feminine aspects of women as they are traditionally seen (and still regularly enforced) should be totally disregarded as archaic and thoroughly unfeminist. More that they should be embraced by men too.

I'm also waiting on a new translation of Heidegger's Being and Time that makes fucking sense. I think it's out in 2010.... the future!!!

Busy week

This has been a lazy few days for blogging. I have still madly been writing cover letters and also a few reviews, which don't seem to be showing up on the site :(
Links when they do. Bitter Ruin I am still completing a review of, out of intense nervousness of wanting to do right by them because of their sheer loveliness.
The photos I took of their gig can however be found here, and I intend to 'shop and post up my favourites properly.
This has been a week of buying shoes as I felt pretty rubbish throughout. Lest I go into detail about why I felt rubbish, I will instead say that I REALLY LOVE SHOES. Moreso than people, sometimes.
Photos of me wearing shoes will probably come about soon as well.
And I've begun two more knitting projects: a hot-water bottle for my housemate, despite the fact that, to my intense sadness, she is leaving us, and a zombie for my friend's Christmas present. Sadly I can't post up pictures, unless you promise not to look, Stuart?

Body Image

I have been noticing this more and more of late and it's beginning to upset me. Actually, it's really upsetting me. For starters, women seem to have a really complicated relationship with food. I might speak about that more in a another post, as I'm only dimly coming to a realisation of it myself. It's part of the way beauty is represented, for sure, but also men simply don't have a clue what you're referring to if you bring it up. Blokes seem to eat what they want: when they're young their metabolisms handle it and when they're old they either are lucky enough to stay slim, or they get fatter. Or they have a partner aiding their cooking choices. Massive massive generalisations aside, I can vouch for almost every female in my knowledge feeling, deep down inside, that life would be better were they 'a little bit slimmer'. This is including friends of mine who used to be anorexic. Some of my absolute closest female friends have survived this disorder, long before I knew them, and thankfully are all in fighting shape now.
I know that one Christmas, one of their mothers bought them a pair of scales.

So really, this is an open letter to the "Twiggy Generation", 40 to 60-year-old mothers:
YOUR DAUGHTERS ARE THE RIGHT SHAPE
I have never been more ashamed or mortified than when I hear these stories relayed back to me, and recognise them in my own experiences. They very rarely have anything to do with health concerns. The sly remarks, vague comments, rude frankness and sometimes open ridicule. Our mothers simply think we could be thinner. Perhaps, for the most part, inadvertently. I admit, this is an emotional issue and one I personally worry about. My own mum is a culprit, who talks proudly about how little she ate for lunch, who tells me to tuck my bum in with a tone of absolute horror (when I am already fully upright: I have a round behind), and, when I said I was happy with my shape and carrying myself better, told me I could 'still lose a bit of weight'. Her being my mum, I take these remarks to heart.
Try asking (nicely). Ask a woman in her 20s if she feels she could be a bit slimmer. Use the word slimmer, it sounds healthier for one thing, has less of the negative connotations of being 'thin', and you'll be far more likely to get an answer. Then ask her, whether she says yes or no (and amazing kudos if she says no) what she feels her mother thinks. If she still says her shape is fine, she is the luckiest person in the world.

This needs editing

http://www.myspace.com/bitterruin

My new favourite folk/burlesque/film noir group :D

'Trust is for fools'..... well said.

Also going to see Tubelord and Future of the Left tomorrow. Expect reviews and pics!

Review of Tom's First Nut Roast:
Stodgy, moist, and almost entirely un-roasted, presumably due to an over-zealousness with liquids, extreme hunger-related impatience, and an under-heated oven. But entirely worth it for an evening of innuendo about Tom's nuts. And, it tasted great, so who's complaining?
For future reference, perhaps follow a frickin' recipe at the time of cooking.

Further to puerile humour, if someone could just make one of these every 6 months or so, i would never fear i was out of the web-o-sphere loop again. Although it's worth asking if anyone thinks some of the greats have been missed. No powerthirst or charlie the unicorn, for one thing. I challenge someone to create a dub-style choon using clips with dialogue. And for it to be good.
Anyway:

Aesthetics Debate- ish

My good ol' buddy P.E. "Patrick" Lawrence and I are gonna attempt a cross-blog dialogue (hey, that rhymes!) about Stuff that we find interesting. Here is the lecture which we're using as a starting point to our first 'debate':

Universal Theory of Aesthetics

And here are some of my notes, but not all of them, as I may need some fodder to return fire with later! I'll try not to tread on the toes of the points Patrick has/ will raise and just stick to my original interpretations and responses to what was said in the lecture.
Lecturer first introduces the German-based study of images known as 'Bildwissenschaft' - wissenschaft referring almost literally to science and Bild meaning any kind of image (racial stereotypes of brutal German-ness aside, the categorising of 'pictures' seems an interesting facet to add to the 'What is art?' debate).
Heinrich Wolfflin wanted to introduce a study of art history based on visual roots, as opposed to social or cultural influences. This means that ideally he would create an art history 'without names', which removed an individual artist and instead focussed on transformations in the mode of representation: "Vision itself has it's history".
Wollflin opposed the history of art in terms of progress, versimilitude, and imitations of nature, such as the trend for a more and more accurate mimetic approach throughout the Renaissance. It's worth noting that in both the lecture and in Wolfflin's work, the 'art' used as examples is largely from directly before or after the Renaissance, within a fairly limited time period (this is where my arguments already begin to fray at the edges).
However, Wolfflin was interested in emphasising a theory that avoided looking at art in historic progressional terms. He defined five pairs of 'fundamental concepts' with which to analyse the modes of representation possible in images (the lecture chooses to look only at the first three, so I'm putting the last two in but not saying anything about them):
1. Linear and painterly - a linear style would show lines, planes, edges, and detail not normally absorbed by the human eye. This meant that there was a certain 'textural' or tactile approach, a plastic style in which details are rendered. By contrast the painterly involves an 'impressionistic' approach (without yet involving Impressionism), according to Wolfflin worked in light and shade and by 'grouping into patches' the subject matter. This creates an overall impression of the subject without necessarily delineating particluar parts of the image: more visual semblances similar to our actual experience of vision, where we just get an overall impression of a scene.
2. Planimetric and recessional - put simply, the way the subject matter of the image is ordered in relation to the 'picture plane', the front of the image through which we perceive it, I guess (pull me up on these explanations at any point, Patrick). Thus a pre-Renaissance image might show a group of people all "flatly" adjacent to one another, creating a feeling of static tranquility, arranged stability, and order. Recessional painting focusses instead on how the elements are ordered, creating a directional flow for the eye and more energy and movement.
3. Closed form and open form - similarly to this, how the subject matter relates to the frame of the image. Pre-and-during-Renaissance would generally have a self-contained and static image with a 'stable equilibrium of parts' regulated by the boundary, and open form would again invovle a sense of movement, not dictated by the placing of the frame, and perhaps obscured or only half-visible parts of the subject matter.
4. Composite unity and fused unity.
5. Absolute clarity and relative clarity.

Wolfflin felt that history takes these modes in a necessary repeating process from linear to painterly and back again... Then Wiesing came along...
I'll move onto Wiesing soon, but let's see what Patrick has to say, if anything (let me know if you want me to put the Wiesing stuff up before you respond, dude :P).

Snoozing vs Sex

I am so sleepy, and trying to write erotica.
And also some cover-letter related stuff. I'm going to just spool some stuff out tonight and then hopefully hone the hell out of it tomorrow, then do some more honing Monday with a view to applying to specific companies.
Then, y'know, get hired, wealth, fame, women, etc etc etc.
Wahoo.

*Update to bulk this lame-ass post out*
SCARF!!!!!

In mundane news, I just scratched my eye and came away with three eyelashes. Does this symbolise anything?

Dont know if I'll have much time to write (for fun) today so here's a very old review (previously unpublished) of one of my absolute favourite bands of all time:


Streetlight Manifesto at The Camden Underworld

Stumbling in from a rain-soaked Saturday night to the illustrious dive, the Camden Underworld, the support acts of the evening (and a pint) soon loosened me up. Dan Potthast, a quirky Californian, provided caustic wit with an enthusiastic and infectiously happy demeanour (t-shirts bore the phrase “Dan sang to me”). At one point he actively encouraged audience members to heckle, so that he could sing the song he had prepared to respond to those who might question the presence of a man-with-acoustic-guitar act at a punk/ska/rock/metal gig. A hilarious start to the evening.
Next were Random Hand, pounding out ska ballads in a style only four Yorkshiremen really can. Lead Robin Leitch threw himself across the stage, physically dragging the music with him, and alternating between his vocals and the trombone with an energy which encouraged a surprising amount of crowd-surfers.
Then, the Manifesto themselves. There was less of the tension and showmanship required of a bigger venue gig, and the band casually strolled on and off stage preparing their instruments and doing sound checks, to the whoops of the audience members. As far as I’m aware, they haven’t played in England for three years, and the anticipation was tangible. As the group finally took the stage (seven in all) and stormed into ‘Would You Be Impressed?’, a vicious deluge on mortality in our pass-the-blame capitalist world, the Underworld erupted.
The synchronicity between each band member, knowing every word, every note, every drop in pace, was mirrored in the crowd, who when not pogo-ing as if their lives depended on it were roaring lead singer and guitarist Tomas Kalnoky’s acerbic song lyrics back at him. Kalnoky should win a prize for the lightning delivery of his vocals, perfectly juxtaposed with raucous backing from the others, from whom even a shouted ‘Hey!’ in the right place seemed unbearably poignant. You knew that not one of the band members would miss a note.
I have never before been to a gig where the audience not only sang along, fervently, to every single word that they possibly could, but shouted along to the melody, the harmonies of trombone, trumpet, baritone, alto and tenor sax, and physically jolted to every movement of the drum and throb of bass.
This was music at its most pure and purely felt, and you could see the band’s gratification as we roared their own songs back at them. Streetlight Manifesto are undeniably one of the most close-knit acts I have ever seen, combining impressive technical ability with camaraderie, a thrilling physical presence (yup, all seven of them), and some of the most carefully crafted, fantastically diverse song-writing possible. This is all conveyed with stunningly good humour and not a hint of ego, especially in the relatively tiny venues they frequent – I was surprised that they all fit onto the stage. Their appeal is universal, their songs intelligent, and their live shows reveal their dedication to the music they create and the message they carry. The only disappointment for me was that their set lasted one hour instead of two. All this only served to concrete an impression of a band I was already in love with.

The 'C' Word

That's right...... "Christmas."
I've decided this year to make something cinnamon-y for my family... Possibly with root ginger or white chocolateas well, although that might be a bit of a flavour overload. I'm thinking maybe cinnamon pastries although I don't know how well they'll keep, and as I'm not going home til the 24th they have to be transportable. Cookies could be nice but aren't very seasonal. Plus I have the urge to employ the sewing machine this year so am thinking about fancier packaging than usual (Kath Kidston rip-offs perhaps? Fabric lined boxes?)
As you can tell, I'm excited about getting to spend this season not thinking about essays for once.
I'm also preparing a knitted zombie for one of my friends and a knitted hot water bottle cover for another as I finally (after a Lot of inattention) completed Sam's scarf!!!! Both zombie and hot watter bottle will be a challenge as I can barely understand pattern instructions, let alone follow them. Also I've forgotten how to cast on...
Pics shortly!

Aaaaaaaaaaaand this is my current favourite thing of which I cannot stop playing:

Hey, all you digital design and media companies out there!!!! Hire my friend Alex. He rocks.

Also, here is a site which has cunningly gathered some of my previous reviews.

Sha-woop-woop

On the days when I am especially busy and have fallen behind I shall sling up one of my old reviews that was never published anywhere but written for kicks and to preserve the glorious memories. Today, Jeffrey Lewis at the Freebutt:

Jeffrey Lewis is well-loved, and rightly should be. He is an anti-folk ass-kicking genius. Beginning his set with 'I love anti-folk', to the tune of 'I love rock 'n' roll, he is a vibrant presence. The last time I saw him he happily filled the stage, and packed out the upstairs venue, at the Komedia. Today he was simply playing two sets, a matinee and an evening, at the 150-ish capacity Freebutt. The Freebutt is a good venue, if only for its comedic value: the stage lighting is either ON or OFF, and there is a massive column bang smack in the middle of where the audience should be. Jeffrey is unphased.
Jeffrey and the Junkyard (brother Jack and drummer Dave) chose to focus largely on newer stuff, from the album 'Em Are I'. For those not familiar with Jeffrey's delivery, songs, stories, poems and slide-shows involving intensely geeky and self-referential things that interest Jeffrey, such as graphic novels and Leonard Cohen lyrics, are haphazardly woven into a magnificent and life-affirming set. Today's selection included a “traditional” detective story, and the evening's attendees were promised a story which didn't even have an ending yet. By the fourth song my face hurts from smiling – there are very few anti-folk artists who take themselves so seriously and yet are this funny. The band is coerced, by the end of the set, into performing a few golden oldies, getting a few hardcore fans rocking out to 'Whistle Past the Graveyard', 'Time Machine' and a personal favourite, 'Back when I was four'.
Lewis is all about the beautiful, whimsical, hilarious lyrical precision. He is a word surgeon – not one syllable escapes him, even when he stutters, laughs or seems to forget what he's singing entirely. Theirs is a pared-down, bare-heart sound, incongruous but far from unappreciated on a Saturday afternoon. I'm saddened I wont be staying for the evening set too, but Jeffrey is addictive, and I know whenever he and his Junkyard are back in England, I will be back for more.

My brain hurts right now

Oh, hangover..... *to the tune of 'Oh Vienna'*
Went to Komedia's Born Bad night, great fun except for all of my friends leaving at once at the end without telling me so that I found myself being chatted up by a guy called Chris who was shorter than me. bahahahha. I have gone home with someone called Chris before, but seeing as it's my brother's name I try to avoid it...
I now have guilt for trying to phone my friend at 3 in the morning, I have no idea if he was awake. It's more complicated than it seems, inappropriate time aside: this guy is a new friend and I can't really treat him like that yet, ie, phoning him at all hours when drunk. Hopefully he didn't mind and slept through it.
500 Days of Summer soundtrack is my new favourite thing. I defy you not to feel happier and sortof shimmery while listening to it. I do tend to skip straight past The Smiths to the Hall and Oates though. Hey, I've had my time as a teenager, we all know the way The Smiths are going to make you feel. I would never ever censor the arts someone chose to enjoy but my god, Morrisey, you must have caused the suicides of thousands. I'm not very certain about the version they have of 'Here Comes Your Man' either, why couldn't they use the original? Did they think it wasn't "alt" enough?

Three Balloons

Today is very grey outside.
Wish I had my camera with me yesterday, I sat on the beach watching the breakers rage against the stones. Walk away with salty lips. It would have been more perfect had there not been a large amount of very foamy pollution floating around - I blame France, it all floats across from the industrial towns on the coast there.
Have been listening to a lot of Stephen Lynch lately, and by a lot I mean I put all four of his albums on yesterday and very little else. It's frustrating and I hate to admit it but he's really gone downhill. The songs have so much less of that inspired, twisted, surprising idiosyncracy which was what made them funny. They now tend to contain swearing instead, or generally far more crass humour, such as 'Medieval Bush' (too much strange imagery about having a hairy vagina) or 'America' (main argument: 'fuck you'). The 'Dear Diary' songs, while clever, contain the underlying horror of what is actually implied. Rather than joking about a fictional mentally retarded child, or a hypothetical father who likes gambling, ten dollar whores, and rubbing against little boys on the bus, the reality of what happened to Anne Frank or Christopher Reeve leaves a melancholy taste in your mouth. Certainly there's a raw edge to all of his songs, but founding them on real-life tragedy seems even more insensitive than he might have seemed before. I'm not afraid to laugh at it, nor do I think it should be in any way censored, god knows 'they' probably do, but the humour is derived from a different place now, somewhere a little bit darker and also a bit less original. That said, his latest album (3 Balloons) is a studio produced affair, whose polished vocals and backing sorely lacks the genuine charm of his live performance. He's sexy, he has a great presence and rapport with crowds, and I think recording studios forget that. Hopefully his next release, when it happens, will be live. And hopefully he'll have found some of that old inspiration, too.

Today is the day after the first day of something or other

Well, this blog was aimed at me finding out what I'm interested in. It seems currently, that isn't quite blogging. Aside from diary-keeping being a somewhat sporadic habit of mine, I haven't really thought about what to do with this blog and that has been annoying me. Certainly, I want to use it to improve my chances of employment, but I'm unsure how exactly. I also wanted to indulge my personal interests and get some of my general creativity up, but it seems I'm too addicted to paper and writing whilst on trains. Is there a space for me in this world?

It's been raining hard lately which suits my mood: irrational, frenzied, brief but overwhelming.

Something about Philip Larkin, trains, and moonlight.

Brief Update

I met Joey Comeau on saturday!!!!!!
It was pretty much a case of me being about as terrified as I've ever been. I've never been so starstruck in my life. It was hideously embarrassing but my friend Paddi assured me I behaved with perfect aplomb. Just.
Also had great fun in general at a small publisher's fair, they are my new addiction.
More to follow!!!

What We Write

I think people write the love they cannot possibly feel.
Here's an example of flaming great spittoons of hyperbole from Pablo Neruda. This is like an encyclopedia of feelings I doubt I will ever feel:
Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.

You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.

Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.

The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I can contend only against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.

You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Cling to me as though you were frightened.
Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.

Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your breasts smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.

How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans.

My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
I go so far as to think that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.

I want
to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

I find Shakespeare got it far more right here:
Sonnet 130
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;

Coral is far more red than her lips' red;

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.


I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,

But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

I grant I never saw a goddess go;

My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

As any she belied with false compare.


This, on the other hand, is probably my favourite love song (obviously, tinged with a healthy dollop of 'what the fuck, Anthony?! Stop talking about your male band-mates'):
This Velvet Glove
Close to my skin
Im falling in
Someone whos been

Sittin by the phone
Im left alone
In another zone

John says to live above hell and
My will is well

No one is waiting
For me to fail and
My will could sail, yeah

Its such a waste to be wasted
In the first place
I want to taste the taste of
Being face to face with common grace
To meditate on the warmest dream
And when I walk alone I listen
To our secret theme

Your solar eyes are like
Nothing I have ever seen
Somebody close
That can see right through
Ill take a fall and you know
That Ill do anything
I will for you

Sailin for the sun
cause there is one
Knows where Im from
I care for you
I really do, I really do

Come closer now
So you can lie
Right by my side

Sittin alone in the sun
I wrote a letter to you
Gettin over myself, yeah

Your solar eyes are like
Nothing I have ever seen
Somebody close
That can see right through
Ill take a fall and you know
That Ill do anything
I will for you
Your solar eyes are like
Nothing I have ever seen
Somebody close
That was made for you
Ill take a fall and you know
That Ill do anything
I will for you

Close to my skin
Someone whos been
Im falling in

Disasters are
Just another star
Fallin in my yard

John says to live above hell
My will is well

Long to be with
Someone to tell
I love your smell

And finally, feelings we can all probably relate to, thanks to Steve Albini:
Prayer to God
To the one true God above;
here is my prayer -
not the first you've heard, but the first I wrote.
(not the first, but the others were a long time ago).
There are two people here, and I want you to kill them.
Her - she can go quietly, by disease or a blow
to the base of her neck,
where her necklaces close,
where her garments come together,
where I used to lay my face...
That's where you oughta kill her,
in that particular place.
Him - just fucking kill him, I don't care if it hurts.
Yes I do, I want it to,
fucking kill him but first
make him cry like a woman,
(no particular woman),
let him hold out, hold back
(someone or other might come and fucking kill him).
Fucking kill him.
Kill him already, kill him.
Fucking kill him, fucking kill him,
Kill him already, kill him,
Just fucking kill him!
Kill him, fucking kill him, kill him already kill him, kill him, fucking kill him, kill him already, amen.

MUSIC!!!!!!!

Lovely weekend with lots to speak of music-wise, which I will pretty much use to fill this week up with as I haven't got a lot planned at present....

Yesterday's Soundtrack: Shellac - ; Spectrum 7 - EP; My Tiger My Timing - EP.

Soundtrack from last Weds: The Hives- Your New Favourite Band; Pearl Jam - Vs; Nick Drake - Five Leaves Left.

I've been trying to make a note of the music I listen to each day, mainly so that other people can get an idea of what I like and help me expand my horizons.... go nuts!

The less said about Friday the better, perhaps. I lost a silk scarf for one thing :(
BUT Saturday was spent here at The Coachwerk's Soundcurious event which was fantastic

http://www.sonsofnoelandadrian.co.uk/

http://www.myspace.com/mendiamler

http://www.myspace.com/animalmagictricks

Love's not the end of the world but the world is probably going to be the end of love

This is my friend Patrick's photography - and I'm under no obligation to post or plug the stuff so I must just really really like it :D

'Love's not the end of the world but the world is probably going to be the end of love'
RANT TIME:
I never expected that 'right place, right time' would overtake 'right person' in the relationship stakes. But that seems to be the case. Not that I would go back on any relationship I've had (even the shit ones - they were all formative of where I am now. Either that or didn't really seem to affect it that much anyway), but would some of them have occurred very differently under different circumstances? And how many out there are simply not going to occur at all? Whilst the romantic in me cries that of course I would have still fallen for the same people and made every effort to be with them, I can list in my head the times and reasons where it all went wrong or didn't 'went' at all. And they are, of late, more and more about the distance as opposed to the people. It gives your brain that eerie sliding-doors effect to think about – somewhere out there is perhaps a me who dealt with long-distance relationships (or monogamy in general) far better. How the hell is she doing? I think she may have had some happier times, but could have been more self-assertive. You have to admit when things wont work – its the most painful aspect of being with anybody. Breaking up on good terms is difficult but manageable: even the far more gutting 'choosing not to follow up on a situation at all' shouldn't mean an end to everything. Friendships are sometimes more important – I have a lot of good friends through the long arduous process of getting romantic feelings to go the fuck away. Still, there's that always the thought of those sliding doors...

Mooncakes :d

Whatever happened to these guys? Fan-dabby-doo pop-rock, in my opinion.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lpLeP7FSsVM (til i get the hang of embedding videos....)

Also feels like most of my relationships these days. Not so much the "not carrying on" as the "over 'fore it started". Not that I'm complaining... well alright I am. But more on how I feel about love at the moment later...

Also, my friend who is currently teaching english in Beijing informs me that these bitches are doing the rounds Mooncakes OM NOM NOM NOM
I think it would be interesting to have a bash at making them. I promised some people a Sunday roast... on Sunday, obviously. It will be my first, should be an adventure. I feel ashamed having gotten this far without endeavouring to do one on my own but it lost its appeal during university, too much organisation was needed. I'm trying to keep it fairly simple. A chicken, some roast veg, and some mash. And copious amounts of onion gravy!!!! Cant go wrong with nice gravy.

This was a foodie post, I hope to put up some music-y stuff later as I realise I haven't posted much this week - start as you mean to go on :D

Lack of time and Coffee

This is where I was on Saturday: The Krankenhaus . Still no time to upload stuff!
I promise I'll play with all this soon because I realise the key to a good blog is PRETTY PICTURES. However my household has no internet right now. Argh, as they say.

However, here is a thing I prepared earlier:

Just in case you thought I was at all sensitive or intelligent. I know there are a few forums out there upon which this topic is discussed, but I thought I would highlight a few of my favourites. Obviously, they're mix-and-matchable, but a comprehensive list makes it simple:

"I like my coffee like I like my women...."

ground up and in my freezer
hot
sweet
black
strong
with a spoon in them
over the counter
in bed
cheap
available on every street corner
in chains
keeping me up all night long
imported from Columbia
mixed up with whiskey
creamed
full of tranquilisers
bitter
filled to the rim
very rich
with donuts!
over the counter
waiting in the kitchen
with music on long journeys
grande
in my crotch
warmed up in 45 seconds
with nice buns
quickly in my lunchbreak
first thing in the morning
….......................................................quiet

Catching up on the weekend

Well I took a load of photos of Gin Panic on Saturday so if they're any good hopefully I can put some up here. No fun hyperlinks today either I'm afraid! How dull.

Grounding young thoughts
In marbled reality
Night still whispers;
Part of you is lost to this
And I know I have left
Nothing tangible, but
It remains there
Crouched on my heart.

Soundtrack yesterday: Fugazi - 13 Songs; Deathcab for Cutie - The Photo Album (I think... maybe it was Plans); The Cure - Greatest Hits

Just remember, whenever you think you've found something good, someone else had to hurt and hurt and hurt for it to happen.

Friday, time to rock the frack out

Today's lyric: "Tonight, oh tonight, I promise to remember that making promises is always a mistake"

So off to see Ex Libras, Gin Panic, Silent Front, and They Died Too Young in London tonight! I say London, it's Greater London suburb Kingston, home of the fabulus venue The Fighting Cocks. Should be an exciting gig, even if for the second time I dont arrive until half way through Ex Libras' set. Someone please bill them higher than the opening act, some of us have crazy working hours!!! I will post a review and possibly photos if I take any, or a link to some of the ones that will inevitably occur.

Today's Soundtrack: Weezer - Green; Mono - Hymn to the Immortal Wind; We Are Scientists - Brain Thrust Mastery.

First of October, First Post!

This is the first post of what will hopefully be a good old fashioned general interest blog, until I perhaps find a higher purpose to my life, or focus it down into something in particular.

Potential idea for a TV series: 'Thrushwatch'. I sit in a Brighton cafe pointing at all the annoying girls wearing leggings instead of sensible leg coverings. I'm an advocate of giving your crotch the space it deserves to breathe.

Things I will be regularly (probably) updating on:
Knitting projects, currently a scarf for my friend Sam. It's red, fuzzy, and quite short at the moment. I learnt to knit about three weeks ago and am loving it. This is my first stray away from a basic knit-purl into a pattern known as Faggot Stitch. Haha Sam. I found it here, and have also been using videos from YouTube, my patterns are almost hole-free nowadays :)

Reviews and such I post on the405.com.

Various baking experiments. Most recent success was a modified Banana Bread, had to use almonds instead of walnuts, which made it much lighter but equally as delicious. Ultimately the best way to dispose of spare bananas. Previous to that was a great chocolate cake recipe which used sunflower oil instead of butter - good on a budget. I can write that one up if anyone is interested. I'm also going to be looking into getting some decent diabetic recipes up - using sweeteners can be a nightmare. And don't tell me to stop making cake instead: I have rights!!!

Any comics I come up with or can be bothered to put up. There may be some copyright issues with XKCD.... hopefully he just wont find me......

Soundtrack for today: Muse - Showbiz; Radio 4 (the station, not the band); Colour Revolt - Plunder, Beg and Curse; Tubelord - EP of some kind; and these guys.