Whiskey and Coke tonight...

...and some seriously loud music in my headphones. I actually detest living in this house.

I can deal with the conflicts between myself and those around me. I can deal with how small this place is. I can just about deal with the severe lack of anything remotely resembling a garden. All that will stand with me as long as it needs to. What get me are the residents of Fratton.

My neighbours, for example, have several, very loud dogs. I hate dogs as it is, but these foul creatures will wail and howl at any human or movement within a 1 mile proximity of their house, and they will keep going until either the termagant of a mother screams at them like a banshee or they receive the necessary blood sacrifice from whatever poor, unfortunate soul happens to be anywhere near them at that precise moment.

The family are loud, associate with other loud people and make no bones about it - They bitch and whine at each other until the sun sets, by which time they have all presumably returned to their respective bomb shelters and injected more adrenaline into their veins so that, when the morning creeps round, they have absolutely no problem leaping from the sheets to fire off more expletives at one and other, an event which is louder even than the disgracefully bad choice of music shamelessly blasted through the speakers of the stereo of the teenage daughter on the other side of my wall.

I don't know, perhaps i'm having a bad evening? Well, i most certainly am having a bad evening, lets not beat about the bush... perhaps i'm over exaggerating? Maybe they're all just tormented philosophers, desperately trying to seek new plains of understanding by battling out every day over questions above and beyond my own thought process...


No. That simply doesn't work. Nietzsche never bellowed "Gimme your eye-liner or I'll smash your face in" from the pages of Thus Spake Zaratrustra...

'tonm. xx




Book of the Moment: Still Stephen Fry's autobiography - See yesterday's entry.

Song of the Moment: "Butterfly Caught" by Massive Attack

Apologies for the break in the line...

... but if I had written anything in the last week, it would only have been contrived drivel; the residue of a long-gone mind.

Deadlines being as they are, I have become an unhealthy wreck over the past 7 days, relying on peanuts and coffee to drag me through the hours with annotations and printing ink surrounding me on every side. I've been petulant and reclusive and it's been horrible. Here I am though, on the other side, looking at the 3 weeks ahead of me and all their potential, grinning like a buffoon and listening to The Guess Who. Oh yes.

Psychedelic. Hmm... there's a notion. Let's go back there :D

Here come the grins. I'll be back with some good writing soon.

'tonm. xx



Book of the Moment: "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac. PART TWO p105

Song of the Moment: "Oil and Water" by Incubus.

Sighh...

es·say /n. ˈɛseɪ for 1, 2; ˈɛseɪ, ɛˈseɪ for 3–5; v. ɛˈseɪ/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[n. es-ey for 1, 2; es-ey, e-sey for 3–5; v. e-sey] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation –noun

1.	a short literary composition on a particular theme or subject, usually in prose and generally analytic, speculative, or interpretative.

2.	anything resembling such a composition: a picture essay.

3.	an effort to perform or accomplish something; attempt.

4.	Philately. a design for a proposed stamp differing in any way from the design of the stamp as issued.

5.	Obsolete. a tentative effort; trial; assay

I want to achieve well at uni, I really do. I see myself, ten years from now, in a new situation with new perspectives and possibly more facial hair, looking back at my time at university and thinking about what a great idea it was to work hard and how much I've benefited from those three years of effort.

The fact is, right now I have an essay to complete about Global Media which in no way excites me, interests me or stirs up even the slightest sympathy with a single media expert anywhere around the globe within me. I am trying to concentrate, but all I can think about is the other project I have which is worth more credits and which I am currently failing spectacularly. I keep thinking of interesting new lyrics instead of researching quotes and references (inevitably because I am having to sit through another one of my brothers' band rehearsals, which makes me both jealous and annoyed at contemporary music). What's more, I'm just so inexplicably irritated all the time at the moment that I can't socialise, I can't relax, I can't compose; I'm turning into this miserable tosser with no prospects and acute deafness in one ear.

What's the point in this bit? I know I went to university to work, to push myself further, but it seems to be affecting me as a person more than my academic mind - Essays and research files are things which will never apply to my lifestyle ever at all ever never ever again never. I enjoy writing, but not when the topic is a mind melting series of dull questions designed specifically to drain all the happiness from the air around you.

You just wait - I'll get into the swing of the question at about 8pm, write furiously but then find that I have a billion things to pack because I'm leaving for Portsmouth tomorrow. So, I'll be miserable, then realise I've not started my other project either and take it out on those around me. I really hate it, knowing that this is the next inevitable stage, but here I am, sure of it and I can't do a bloody thing.

Any ideas?

'tonm. xx

Book of the Moment: "The Stars Tennis Balls" by Stephen Fry

Song of the Moment: "Stepping Back" by Ben Mi Duck

I think the "Christmas Joy" has been slightly detracted from.

I'm not being a fatalist or 'old and mature' or anything - I think what's happened is I've arrived home this weekend and expected everyone to be madly excited about Christmas. I guess I imagined the house would be full of the rich smells of mulled wine and mince pies, or that there'd be boxes overflowing with tinsel on the floor of the lounge just begging to have their contents strewn all over the house.

But they're all still in school here. I mean, I am too, technically, but i'm home for the weekend (though that may become the rest of the week, depending on how much help I can offer my Mum) because of this concert.

I suppose maybe I'm still subconsciously recognising that; Maybe a little voice in the back of my head is rying to remind me that there's still one academic week left for me to confront, so I can't put all my heart and soul into being a merry old soul.

Alternatively, tiredness is taking hold of me - I did, after all, get up at 6:30 this morning in order to catch a train which would get me home for 10:45. It was still brilliant, mind - Everytime I catch a train I enjoy the journey. In fact, I quite enjoyed the entire experience of getting up before everything else. I think it should be a once-a-week thing. Though certainly not every Saturday. No, that would be preposterous.

Now, wine and an evening.
Let's try and infuse the household with some Christmas spirit, eh?



'tonm.
xxxx


Book of the Moment: "Q magazine: Issue 258" - Q

Song of the Moment: "Airport Taxi Reception" - Sondre Lerche

There's something so attractive about newspapers...

Okay, so help me with this one -

I'm enjoying another day outside of my house (an event which has gradually taken on a certain exclusivity since the beginning of term), wandering aimlessly in and out of market stalls, weaving my way past clipboard androids and the man trying to sell me an issue of the same magazine I bought off him 2 days ago. I occasionally enter the polished walls of an actual shop, in an attempt to stop myself from charging directly from one end of Commercial road to the other and then back again.

All the time, my eyes are wandering, shopping in their own right, examining each feature of every product. I know full well that my money is sparse yet my want for something to put in my bag to take home for my own is great. I won't steal - That's just stupid. It dirties the item, makes it worthless. So, my only real option is to remain vigilant, forever seeking that magical word:

"FREE"

Oh, bliss! A possession free of charge! The sweetest of all items in the city are those which don't even require me to brush my fingertips over the leather of my wallet. They are rare, however. I mean, fliers are numerous, but they have no substance. No, the real gems, the faithful constants, are underground newspapers.

Today's particular find is a monthly publication with the charming name, "The Stool Pigeon" - It's essentially an indie music review paper, up to date with developments in the silent world of the unsigned and out-of-chart performers of this world. I can't find any great flaws in it - Really communicative, relevant articles by more than capable writers with a real passion for what they love. It does get me thinking though...

Could I start one? You know, an underground publication?

I wouldn't want it to be anything major - I'm not looking to change the face of youth politics or "shout out" against the false social trends which fluctuate within our society of influential, weak-minded persons. I'm not well informed enough to be a source of new music knowledge either, regardless of how much I'd like to be. I sometimes think I could just write for people to enjoy. Nothing daring or really thought provoking - Just something to squeeze a tiny grin out of the stony faced student, whose many nights of excess have led to 5 hour days and a less-than-peachy perspective on things around them.

That's what I see these papers as - Little beams of light. Tiny novels for me to regard, take in and pass on; passages of words which stimulate my senses just long enough to tick the "Resolve Boredom" box in the deep recesses of my mind.


Maybe I'll have a crack at it - Last time I checked there were no laws against them, so why not use some of the free speech I seems to be quite happily ignoring?



'tonm.

xxx


Book of the Moment: I finished "Making History" by Stephen Fry. Give it a read. Stunner.

Song of the Moment: "Fox Fire Kilnamona" by Dean Magraw