I'm not cut out for you fucking people, I go and stick my neck out for the first time in months and get a knife drawn across my jugular vein.
Thanks for bleeding me dry once again, guys. I'm now running on empty, so cheers. I'll let you know when I'm topped up again, maybe make a group announcement, so you can make plans together to cut me back open, yeah?
..... At 1.07am on a worknight I'm too tired for this shit, and none of you would probably give a fuck if I kept on screaming anyway, so good night and sleep tight, you ignorant terrible people.
Tuesday, 28 July 2009
Wednesday, 22 July 2009
I've been trying to get to sleep but it feels like theres this twitch in my skull thats not letting me, and after setting myself to finding out what's causing it, I've decided it feels like theres just a bunch of jabbering and energy I need to expel. So here goes, an account of precisely why I love Doctor Who so very much, and subsequently get odd looks from my friends at times, which is about as brief as it is clear. Ie. Not enough. But we begin:
The Doctor: Nigh on immortal due to his ability to regenerate, and able to travel through time and space. The potential for what he can see or where he can go is endless, and due to his regenerative capabilities, he is able to go on indefinitely, recovering from whatever challenges temporarily overcome him. Basically, he can be seen as an embodiment of the aspirations of man: complete power over that which is unknown to us, and the freedom and lack of fear such power affords.
However, (noticeably found in the recent revival of the series) there exists a theme of loss, searching and, subsequently, powerlessness. Countless moments, most presciently under David Tennant's tenure as the character, have shown the Doctor to be utterly alone despite having the universe at his disposal, and emotionally devastated from the simple fact he cannot truly share his own entire life with anyone. Anyone and everyone he could ever love will die, while he carrys on, and on, and it becomes implicit that as much as The Doctor's companion's are awed by the sights he can show them, he too is just as enamoured with the fact he has someone there with him, and that he can make them happy. Even as he draws joy from these times, he lives with the burden of knowing that they will, in one way or the other, leave him alone again in the end. And isn't that what most of us do in our lives? Try to find someone who we can make happy, because it makes us happy (or vice versa), and make it through our existance with them? To focus not on the end we all face, but to fill the time we have with experiences and adventure and, ultimately, having someone to relate it all to. Whether in the heartbreaking exile of Rose, or the cruel, spiteful semi-suicide of fellow timelord The Master, there are moments of true loss dotted throughout Tennant's series': moments when The Doctor's facade of amiability and ambivalence cannot be maintained and his inner need to just feel that someone can care for him for once bursts through the surface.
No matter how much we see of his composed outer self, we know there is a deep need for a real relationship of any kind nestled in The Doctor's two immortal hearts (symbolism, perhaps?), and so there is always a lingering sense that his endless voyaging across time and space is as much a quest for this as it is for anything else. His never ending search across all that is, was and will be may well be ultimately be motivated purely by a wish and a belief that, for everything out there, one person cannot possibly be totally alone.
To have such a rich discussion of the human condition encapsulated in one vaguely ridiculous science fiction character blows my mind, but it is this humanising of the timelord which makes him such a profoundly affecting character for me. Certain episodes of this 'kids programme' have touched me more than almost anything ever, and while it would be amiss to ignore the incredible performances of the cast involved, the very nature of this character, so complete yet so empty, is innately powerful, and I truly find it hard to comprehend how someone, once made aware that it is so much more than 'aliens and time travel', would not at least be able to appreciate and be excited that, in an all too rare occurance, primetime mainstream, genuinely successful television is discussing what it means to be alive. It's borderline philosophical debate, and it's being broadcast into our homes on BBC One on Saturday teatimes under the equally as valid guise of pure entertainment. In my eyes, thats not just masterful programme making: thats an all too rare realisation and utilisation of the potential of television as a medium. Doctor Who, is to me, the summation and pinnacle of what mass popular media can, and perhaps every now and again, should do. Challenge. Entertain. Enrapture. Inspire.
Nerd much?
The Doctor: Nigh on immortal due to his ability to regenerate, and able to travel through time and space. The potential for what he can see or where he can go is endless, and due to his regenerative capabilities, he is able to go on indefinitely, recovering from whatever challenges temporarily overcome him. Basically, he can be seen as an embodiment of the aspirations of man: complete power over that which is unknown to us, and the freedom and lack of fear such power affords.
However, (noticeably found in the recent revival of the series) there exists a theme of loss, searching and, subsequently, powerlessness. Countless moments, most presciently under David Tennant's tenure as the character, have shown the Doctor to be utterly alone despite having the universe at his disposal, and emotionally devastated from the simple fact he cannot truly share his own entire life with anyone. Anyone and everyone he could ever love will die, while he carrys on, and on, and it becomes implicit that as much as The Doctor's companion's are awed by the sights he can show them, he too is just as enamoured with the fact he has someone there with him, and that he can make them happy. Even as he draws joy from these times, he lives with the burden of knowing that they will, in one way or the other, leave him alone again in the end. And isn't that what most of us do in our lives? Try to find someone who we can make happy, because it makes us happy (or vice versa), and make it through our existance with them? To focus not on the end we all face, but to fill the time we have with experiences and adventure and, ultimately, having someone to relate it all to. Whether in the heartbreaking exile of Rose, or the cruel, spiteful semi-suicide of fellow timelord The Master, there are moments of true loss dotted throughout Tennant's series': moments when The Doctor's facade of amiability and ambivalence cannot be maintained and his inner need to just feel that someone can care for him for once bursts through the surface.
No matter how much we see of his composed outer self, we know there is a deep need for a real relationship of any kind nestled in The Doctor's two immortal hearts (symbolism, perhaps?), and so there is always a lingering sense that his endless voyaging across time and space is as much a quest for this as it is for anything else. His never ending search across all that is, was and will be may well be ultimately be motivated purely by a wish and a belief that, for everything out there, one person cannot possibly be totally alone.
To have such a rich discussion of the human condition encapsulated in one vaguely ridiculous science fiction character blows my mind, but it is this humanising of the timelord which makes him such a profoundly affecting character for me. Certain episodes of this 'kids programme' have touched me more than almost anything ever, and while it would be amiss to ignore the incredible performances of the cast involved, the very nature of this character, so complete yet so empty, is innately powerful, and I truly find it hard to comprehend how someone, once made aware that it is so much more than 'aliens and time travel', would not at least be able to appreciate and be excited that, in an all too rare occurance, primetime mainstream, genuinely successful television is discussing what it means to be alive. It's borderline philosophical debate, and it's being broadcast into our homes on BBC One on Saturday teatimes under the equally as valid guise of pure entertainment. In my eyes, thats not just masterful programme making: thats an all too rare realisation and utilisation of the potential of television as a medium. Doctor Who, is to me, the summation and pinnacle of what mass popular media can, and perhaps every now and again, should do. Challenge. Entertain. Enrapture. Inspire.
Nerd much?
Monday, 20 July 2009
I still intend to make a tit out of myself talking about Doctor Who, The Mars Volta and so on, be without fear, but right now I wish to provide a continuation of the post-before-last, which concerned, essentially, this burgeoning sense of disenchantment and wanderlust I am feeling lately.
I'm doing something about it.
Not on the grand scale I talked about, not yet, but today, my first free day in what feels like ages, was spent vagranting by myself around Brighton, a place that has always been somewhat of a reliable escape to me ever since I was a child.
As a friend mentioned to me once, there is a funny thrill that comes from being in a new place, and being able to almost re-invent yourself. I am always conscious of the image I seem to have inadvertently created for myself here at home: It feels like it is one of just being monochrome, only into what people may think of as gleefully phillistinic: heavy music, stupid films, drinking, just generally being a dick.
However, this is not all of me. It is a character I feel certain friends expect me to play, and when it becomes those friends who you find yourself socialising with the most, the character becomes the actor. This is an exaggeration, of course, but perhaps that's needed to emphasise this; so as to better emphasise my overall point.
Walking into a record shop or art gallery or book store and asking for the folk section, or the surrealist paintings, or the philosophy shelf (shit, reading any book at all can get you looked at funny in certain circles) turned out to be unusually liberating today. Chatting to the people in the shops, asking for recommendations and discussing just how magical certain records can be, recommendations and records that would have been unbroachable down our towns misguidedly beloved main street, was, to be honest, far more enjoyable than a mere functional conversation should have been. Turns out, talking to strangers is actually a very fulfilling experience.
Days like today are the sort of thing I'm looking for, and I've decided this is not due to a desire for escapism, but for freedom, and self-contentment. It's who I want to be in the open air, because it's who I am inside my head, and just as I want to be this person, I want this person to be informed and shaped by more than just one social circle, or town, or country or culture. The prospect of drawing from differing diverse sources to create my own perspective on the world is one which has me completely. It excites me, it scares me, it fascinates me and overall, it puts ticks in every single box on the 'do you feel alive?' checklist.
You know what? It's not even hard to externalise this internal attitude, because it's just that; an attitude, one of just liking what you like, doing what you want, and not really giving a shit if anyone says you can't. There's a lot of wonderful stuff out there, and I'm talking about everything here, from music, to film to just, y'know, LIFE, and you'd be a fool to feel as if you weren't allowed to experience whatever of it you liked.
I'm always half-convinced of some sort of providence, by the way. I tend to find that when I've got something on my mind, the answers, somewhat beautifully, can be found in the coincidences of the world. Well check this out: of all the trains in the county, and out of all the people on the train today, the one I chose to take, found me sat opposite an elderly couple from New Zealand. They were going round the world together after finally retiring, 35 years after marrying, and then working, day in, day out. They'd waited their whole lives together to do this, and now they were out seeing the world, just with each other and a suitcase, not giving a fuck for whatever you can imagine life was inevitably throwing at them in their old age. And throughout the journey, there were smiles on their faces and glistening in their eyes.
I couldn't add anything to that situation which would make that any more beautiful. Everyday life can be the most profound thing.
Anyway, back to earth now, here's what I actually got in Brighton, partly because I know people can be nosy, but also because I know exactly how one friend in particular who reads this will react to one or two things, and that makes me smile.
Books:
1x David Sedaris- When You Are Engulfed In Flames
1x Stephen Fry- In America
1x Chuck Palahniuk- Snuff
1x Henry Rollins- Smile, You're Travelling.
(Do you have any idea how hard it is to find his books? Fuck!)
CDs
1x Magnolia Electric Co- Josephine
1x William E Whitmore- Hymns For The Hopeless
1x Bill Callaghan- Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle
1x Grizzly Bear- Veckatimest
and my ultimate prize of the day:
Neutral Milk Hotel- In The Aeroplane Over The Sea on 12 inch vinyl.
Yes, I have started buying vinyl. No, I don't have a record player yet. Yes, I am financially doomed now.
I'm doing something about it.
Not on the grand scale I talked about, not yet, but today, my first free day in what feels like ages, was spent vagranting by myself around Brighton, a place that has always been somewhat of a reliable escape to me ever since I was a child.
As a friend mentioned to me once, there is a funny thrill that comes from being in a new place, and being able to almost re-invent yourself. I am always conscious of the image I seem to have inadvertently created for myself here at home: It feels like it is one of just being monochrome, only into what people may think of as gleefully phillistinic: heavy music, stupid films, drinking, just generally being a dick.
However, this is not all of me. It is a character I feel certain friends expect me to play, and when it becomes those friends who you find yourself socialising with the most, the character becomes the actor. This is an exaggeration, of course, but perhaps that's needed to emphasise this; so as to better emphasise my overall point.
Walking into a record shop or art gallery or book store and asking for the folk section, or the surrealist paintings, or the philosophy shelf (shit, reading any book at all can get you looked at funny in certain circles) turned out to be unusually liberating today. Chatting to the people in the shops, asking for recommendations and discussing just how magical certain records can be, recommendations and records that would have been unbroachable down our towns misguidedly beloved main street, was, to be honest, far more enjoyable than a mere functional conversation should have been. Turns out, talking to strangers is actually a very fulfilling experience.
Days like today are the sort of thing I'm looking for, and I've decided this is not due to a desire for escapism, but for freedom, and self-contentment. It's who I want to be in the open air, because it's who I am inside my head, and just as I want to be this person, I want this person to be informed and shaped by more than just one social circle, or town, or country or culture. The prospect of drawing from differing diverse sources to create my own perspective on the world is one which has me completely. It excites me, it scares me, it fascinates me and overall, it puts ticks in every single box on the 'do you feel alive?' checklist.
You know what? It's not even hard to externalise this internal attitude, because it's just that; an attitude, one of just liking what you like, doing what you want, and not really giving a shit if anyone says you can't. There's a lot of wonderful stuff out there, and I'm talking about everything here, from music, to film to just, y'know, LIFE, and you'd be a fool to feel as if you weren't allowed to experience whatever of it you liked.
I'm always half-convinced of some sort of providence, by the way. I tend to find that when I've got something on my mind, the answers, somewhat beautifully, can be found in the coincidences of the world. Well check this out: of all the trains in the county, and out of all the people on the train today, the one I chose to take, found me sat opposite an elderly couple from New Zealand. They were going round the world together after finally retiring, 35 years after marrying, and then working, day in, day out. They'd waited their whole lives together to do this, and now they were out seeing the world, just with each other and a suitcase, not giving a fuck for whatever you can imagine life was inevitably throwing at them in their old age. And throughout the journey, there were smiles on their faces and glistening in their eyes.
I couldn't add anything to that situation which would make that any more beautiful. Everyday life can be the most profound thing.
Anyway, back to earth now, here's what I actually got in Brighton, partly because I know people can be nosy, but also because I know exactly how one friend in particular who reads this will react to one or two things, and that makes me smile.
Books:
1x David Sedaris- When You Are Engulfed In Flames
1x Stephen Fry- In America
1x Chuck Palahniuk- Snuff
1x Henry Rollins- Smile, You're Travelling.
(Do you have any idea how hard it is to find his books? Fuck!)
CDs
1x Magnolia Electric Co- Josephine
1x William E Whitmore- Hymns For The Hopeless
1x Bill Callaghan- Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle
1x Grizzly Bear- Veckatimest
and my ultimate prize of the day:
Neutral Milk Hotel- In The Aeroplane Over The Sea on 12 inch vinyl.
Yes, I have started buying vinyl. No, I don't have a record player yet. Yes, I am financially doomed now.
Saturday, 18 July 2009
Post number 100, don't you know? A momentous number... which I intend to commemorate and flesh out with more pseud0-philosophical rambling, in the form of some kind of overly intimate self-evaluation.
So no change there then.
Basically, right, my thing is the media and the arts. Film, television, books, pictures, music, even this here series of tubes we know as the internet, I honestly don't feel I could be without them.*
And I have noticed a common thread linking the sort of stories and songs and texts and everything I take into my heart and fall in love with, as opposed to just watching, reading, seeing or hearing.
This thread, as far as I can tell, is, thematically, the exploration of the potential for fulfillment and equilibrium, coming in the form of metaphore, surrealism, or other abstract vessels.
Or in normal English, I like it when stuff which seems weird on the surface is actually taking on what it means to be alive and striving for something, and is using its weirdness to do that.
It's 12:30pm and I'm too tired for any more depth here, but the next few posts I do are probably going to cover this in more depth, and will most likely be about why I love Doctor Who and The Mars Volta. (That's both a promise and a warning, by the way. Stick with me though, you've made it through the first 100 installments of my odd meanderings and for that I thank you.)
*Don't judge me. I accept that there are far larger problems in the world, but while I try to do my tiny bit to fix them, they don't affect me directly, I do not feel their impact impeding my day to day life, and the same is probably true for you. I mean, if you're reading this, then you're 'privileged' enough to have access to a computer or the internet, you know?
So no change there then.
Basically, right, my thing is the media and the arts. Film, television, books, pictures, music, even this here series of tubes we know as the internet, I honestly don't feel I could be without them.*
And I have noticed a common thread linking the sort of stories and songs and texts and everything I take into my heart and fall in love with, as opposed to just watching, reading, seeing or hearing.
This thread, as far as I can tell, is, thematically, the exploration of the potential for fulfillment and equilibrium, coming in the form of metaphore, surrealism, or other abstract vessels.
Or in normal English, I like it when stuff which seems weird on the surface is actually taking on what it means to be alive and striving for something, and is using its weirdness to do that.
It's 12:30pm and I'm too tired for any more depth here, but the next few posts I do are probably going to cover this in more depth, and will most likely be about why I love Doctor Who and The Mars Volta. (That's both a promise and a warning, by the way. Stick with me though, you've made it through the first 100 installments of my odd meanderings and for that I thank you.)
*Don't judge me. I accept that there are far larger problems in the world, but while I try to do my tiny bit to fix them, they don't affect me directly, I do not feel their impact impeding my day to day life, and the same is probably true for you. I mean, if you're reading this, then you're 'privileged' enough to have access to a computer or the internet, you know?
Sunday, 12 July 2009
You know what sounds good right now?
Jacking it all in down here and moving on. Taking my old job back and actually making use of my £10,000 piece of paper. Disappearing from this dead scene and starting again.
I'm not even being pessimistic or over dramatic. Here's some plain facts:
I'm throwing money at rent and bills, never quite making it above the line and getting out of debt but always getting just close enough to think 'one more month and I'll be there'. It's just not happening, and no matter what I try or how much I tighten the strings, this seems like it's not going to stop happening. Financially, it makes sense to leave.
My best friends are moving on and just really going for it, but I'm stuck feeling this ugly confusing mix of jealousy and joy and rejection when I think about them. I'm so happy for them, I really am, they're chasing dreams and visibly making them work, dotted around the world right now, but I'm not, and I find myself asking why can't they just stay and simply keep me company? Do I mean that little to them? I know this isn't the case but still, it feels like it sometimes. Is it selfish to ask where their time for me has gone? Theres not even a hint of anyone here who I think could be my little anchor either, and I'm increasingly aware that might be what I need, perhaps now more than I have for a while. Socially, I get the feeling now is the time to get gone.
And I'm reminded that, yeah, in some respects I ought to be grateful to be alive and able to have these opportunities that I only end up backing away from. But it's not enough for me to just be happy to be alive, whats the point of living if you're just drifting along? Fuck, if you ask me that's not living at all. Look at my last two posts here, so full of drive and where's it gone? Crushed up and swallowed by a routine I hate, and subdued by what I've been convincing myself are 'needs' rather than 'options'. I need to put promise into action. And as much as right now it feels like it would be giving in, I get the feeling that if I go, then down the line I'll see that it's not, and that it will simply be regrouping.
I don't want to do my job anymore. I don't really want to do any job. But funds have to come from somewhere, and, to quote a song, 'dreams cost money, but money costs dreams'. I do have dreams though, I've got ambitions. (Side note: I would quite like someone to share and fulfill them with, NOW.)
I want to go from coast to coast across America, with a few clothes and a guitar, not sure how to get places, but knowing that I will.
I want to educate children as to how important it is that they care, because they are about to become the ones who either save or doom this poor ailing planet.
I want to take in the deep south, to go where the blues was born, and visit places enshrouded in so much music that the air itself must feel heavy with ghosts of songs.
I want to play music in front of people, and have even just one stranger come up to me and say they liked it.
I want to go to Auschwitz and cry more than I've ever cried before or ever could again, willing forth six million tears and just praying that they come.
I want to feel ok about being alive as part of this disappointing, horrible human race.
I want to go to Iceland, and just sit on a glacier, looking out to a cold dark sea and finding completion in the solitude, with the sounds of the country's ice and earth and air playing in my ears.
I want to openly, unashamedly, be with someone I love, and who loves me, and make it last.
I want to get on a dusty bus or rusting old train somewhere in Northern Africa, or Eastern Europe, or Asia, and stick out like a sore thumb, amidst music and chatter and people and culture, going somewhere just because it's the journey, and not the destination that I care about.
I want to go to Japan, and become a tiny atom in all the neon and the noise. I want to be an alien, surrounded by the surreal and just utterly lost, so I can blow my mind, or find my way, or both.
And through all this, I want to stop every now and then wherever I am, and savour the air of the next breath I take, until I am fit to burst with the understanding of how beautifully impossibly defiant it is that I am alive on this earth.
I'm ready to see the big wide world now, and I know this because I've lost almost all faith in this little tiny one I'm living in at the moment. So if it means I have to lose a few things to gain so much more, I'm sorry, I really am so sorry, but I think that's what I might have to do.
Jacking it all in down here and moving on. Taking my old job back and actually making use of my £10,000 piece of paper. Disappearing from this dead scene and starting again.
I'm not even being pessimistic or over dramatic. Here's some plain facts:
I'm throwing money at rent and bills, never quite making it above the line and getting out of debt but always getting just close enough to think 'one more month and I'll be there'. It's just not happening, and no matter what I try or how much I tighten the strings, this seems like it's not going to stop happening. Financially, it makes sense to leave.
My best friends are moving on and just really going for it, but I'm stuck feeling this ugly confusing mix of jealousy and joy and rejection when I think about them. I'm so happy for them, I really am, they're chasing dreams and visibly making them work, dotted around the world right now, but I'm not, and I find myself asking why can't they just stay and simply keep me company? Do I mean that little to them? I know this isn't the case but still, it feels like it sometimes. Is it selfish to ask where their time for me has gone? Theres not even a hint of anyone here who I think could be my little anchor either, and I'm increasingly aware that might be what I need, perhaps now more than I have for a while. Socially, I get the feeling now is the time to get gone.
And I'm reminded that, yeah, in some respects I ought to be grateful to be alive and able to have these opportunities that I only end up backing away from. But it's not enough for me to just be happy to be alive, whats the point of living if you're just drifting along? Fuck, if you ask me that's not living at all. Look at my last two posts here, so full of drive and where's it gone? Crushed up and swallowed by a routine I hate, and subdued by what I've been convincing myself are 'needs' rather than 'options'. I need to put promise into action. And as much as right now it feels like it would be giving in, I get the feeling that if I go, then down the line I'll see that it's not, and that it will simply be regrouping.
I don't want to do my job anymore. I don't really want to do any job. But funds have to come from somewhere, and, to quote a song, 'dreams cost money, but money costs dreams'. I do have dreams though, I've got ambitions. (Side note: I would quite like someone to share and fulfill them with, NOW.)
I want to go from coast to coast across America, with a few clothes and a guitar, not sure how to get places, but knowing that I will.
I want to educate children as to how important it is that they care, because they are about to become the ones who either save or doom this poor ailing planet.
I want to take in the deep south, to go where the blues was born, and visit places enshrouded in so much music that the air itself must feel heavy with ghosts of songs.
I want to play music in front of people, and have even just one stranger come up to me and say they liked it.
I want to go to Auschwitz and cry more than I've ever cried before or ever could again, willing forth six million tears and just praying that they come.
I want to feel ok about being alive as part of this disappointing, horrible human race.
I want to go to Iceland, and just sit on a glacier, looking out to a cold dark sea and finding completion in the solitude, with the sounds of the country's ice and earth and air playing in my ears.
I want to openly, unashamedly, be with someone I love, and who loves me, and make it last.
I want to get on a dusty bus or rusting old train somewhere in Northern Africa, or Eastern Europe, or Asia, and stick out like a sore thumb, amidst music and chatter and people and culture, going somewhere just because it's the journey, and not the destination that I care about.
I want to go to Japan, and become a tiny atom in all the neon and the noise. I want to be an alien, surrounded by the surreal and just utterly lost, so I can blow my mind, or find my way, or both.
And through all this, I want to stop every now and then wherever I am, and savour the air of the next breath I take, until I am fit to burst with the understanding of how beautifully impossibly defiant it is that I am alive on this earth.
I'm ready to see the big wide world now, and I know this because I've lost almost all faith in this little tiny one I'm living in at the moment. So if it means I have to lose a few things to gain so much more, I'm sorry, I really am so sorry, but I think that's what I might have to do.
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