Meaning in the rambling

Some guy finding his feet in his blog to say nothing much important

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Delirium and depression shifting me when I needed to change regardless...

So, I'm still just some guy, who never found his feet, and never had too much to say, despite rambling incessantly. For anybody who still reads this, you're probably aware that in more recent times, I've been despondent about this blog... I'm fairly sure nobody is reading it for starts, which bothers me a little, kinda hammers home the fact that I'm meaningless, despite my greatest effort to be productive, but I guess I only have myself to blame, rarely have anything to post and never have anything interesting to say and always express myself in the most incomprehensible of ways... and I know none of that is ever going to change... which makes me smile... I'm going to be failure all my life, because that's who I want to be... I want to do my thing, even if I'm just chattering in the dark to myself...

right, so, I'm tired of this blog and stuff, particularly because the only people who ever seem to take any interest in my pretentous egotistical rambling are the people who want to poke at my flaws and point out that I'm awful person as if I didn't already live with the concept drilled into the back of my skull, as if they couldn't tell by the way that I use self depricating humour to carry a point that I hold the opinion that I'm one of the worse on this shit pile of the world, but regardless, that's said and done now, I don't like me, shock horror, there's plenty of stuff that keeps me entertained that it slides into insignificance...

so yeah, where was I, yes, I'm tired of this blog, partly because I seem to be rambling to myself and asshats and nobody funky (sorry if you are of the funk, I didn't know you were reading), but mostly because the rambling of some bitter and messed up "dying to be a "post party at spargoes" style socialite" while actually just being a loony loser isn't really who I am any more... these days I'm just a lonely pretentious "wishing he was artsy wierdo" dying to produce insane impossible ideas, crazy head, troll squirrel... this green place isn't for me any more... I want somewhere I can ramble and draft stuff, and I want somewhere I can quickly ramble stuff that erks me, rather than feeling like I'm trying to tell stories about nothing to an audience of nobody... I want blogs to act as a place for me where people can feel free to observe but not really designed with them in mind... because lets face it, when their in mind, it doesn't seem that any of them/you care about it...

Meanwhile, all of this is coming forward and being expressed because I'm ill. Yeah, I managed to nuke my summer by getting glandular fever and my body refusing to do anything... pissing me off and driving me into delirium to be actually stuck in the hovel everyday, but meh, I guess I just have to sit it out till I'm well and capable... which as you're all probably aware is really pretty much never, but hey, someday I'll be out in this sun, I'm just hoping it's soon, so I can remove myself from the apparent hostility of the imposing tower fan kept a foot away from me and blowing day and night to keep my fever down... oh the fun...

Back to other topics, as some of the more emotionally bound individuals who have wronged me in the past may be aware, that I tend to defend myself in the dirtiest of ways; mostly due to haste and anger. Recently; due to a story that may be shared as a close to this blog in the near future, I pulled out all the stops to insult and ridicule Lunchbox' Gaurdian Force, because, as a few individuals may be aware, you insult me for taking my mindless and meaningless opinion to heart, then I'm going to insult you for being such a closeminded and self centered individual. I mean, it's an opinion, it's not like I was voicing it behind the back of the individual in order to bitch about such individual or voicing that opinion in my blog to openly insult the individual to the nobody that reads it. Rather, I rationally and openly expressed it to the individual directly, because I wanted to offer my drunken impression of what actually occured that evening, rather than the irrational anger over everybody at how the individuals were treated... well, as I should have expected from past overly dramatic reaction to mindless social politics, Miss GF, Shiva if you would, threw a hissy fit and disowned me socially, despite an apology for my behaviour.

Now you may be wondering why I am currently sharing this irrelevance with you, especially as when Lunchbox mentions this comment Shiva shall probably want my ass served on a plate; the reason for this is simple, due to my disownment mixed with Lunchbox and Shiva being a gemini engine of the modern age, I don't expect to see Lunchbox again. Yes, I'm sorry inmates of an insane asylum, I don't expect there to be the mythical perfect 5th episode of "Lissenersayzclamptz," which as I think about it is a very good thing. Firstly, we're the poor man's Adam and Joe, and seen as how Adam and Joe are free these days, I don't see why you'd bother looking for negative valued podcast, unless you want us to give you money and that's certainly not going to happen, "we're student bums! damn it!" Secondly, Steve's desires for world domination were beginning to surface and his progression for our cast in relation to his ideology wanted to stretch into a Clampted nation of Lisseners who say stuff, and other such rambling of a wannabe despot. Thirdly, we were starting to develop an odd style of free formed ramdomly induced meaningless jazz casting, which while fun, meant we never got round to anything interesting or productive. Finally, our fifth was to be our final show because of how summer was playing out, and how I'm ill, and how we are all going to be living a different style of existance post-september.

So with that finish that never came in mind and recent events, I now proclame LissenerSaysClamptz our/my first dead cast. Episodes three and four will be up for download for a while longer, but eventually I will be taking them off my server. The Lissener Sayz Clamptz blog is shared between me and Steve, I plan to keep it open to keep future projects from both of us still networked from one point in history and cyberspace, but Steve may have different ideas. If anybody, and I'm kinda hoping for no response from this, because it would genuinely worry me that they desire such torture, but if anybody wants any of the four episodes of mine and Steve's first romp into the world of podcasting, feel free to contact either of us, using stalker powers or some such and we'll be happy to give you access to any of them.

Now, At this, the wake of my dead feed, I announce the birth of something else. "The Voice Of The Wretchedly Ill," as I'm going to be ill for at least another month yet, and wanting to remain productive in that time, I'm going to beta a second cast. I want to try finally rambling alone, see if I can pull off anything interesting at all, which I'm doubtful, but who's going to bother suffering though this post to this point to become aware of it's existance, let alone suffer listening to it. It's going to be a mini and tempory cast, just to try out solo podcasting and producing stuff. Lets see how it plays out.

Also, I'm closing this blog, as I think I made clear above, because it's more an archive of a variation of me that doesn't exist these days. I'm going to open a second blog for my second cast. I'm going to open a third blog for me to blog in a more personal style than here. I'm still unsure about opening another blog to present drafts of Zombie Hordes, but I'll think about that more when I have drafts that are publically readable.

While on the subject of Zombie hordes, drafts of drafts of drafts are spewn everywhere, and production of it is becoming very confused and messy, so I'm going to take a break from the huge overview drafts and focus in on some of the more vague middle sections and expend them, hoping that it relieves the confusion felt through the overview. However, without a solid opening, this process is different for me. This whole project has been incredibly difficult for me, purely because I'm not used to writing at this scope or scale. Usually my writing starts and I'm not sure where it's going and I find it within a paragraph or two and draw it to an eventual conclusion, this time, I know the beginning and the end and most of the middle, but having that general overview in place makes it impossible for my mind to find the detail that my usual process of writing focuses round... if anybody care and if that makes an ounce of sense...

So, I guess I'll see you people around, stay funky everybody.

Edit: I think HolyShitInc may still be the address of my main blog, I might shift this one to another address... not sure yet, depends how I feel about it when I start blogging in a few days...

Thursday, June 22, 2006

That's it, I'm done. Roll on summer

Not much to say, it's midnight after my last exam and I'm tired... just touching in to tell you it is over, my eduction in general school systems is finished... University in October... Lots is going on, and I'm kinda just being swept along in various conflicting currents and pretending I know what is going on... maybe I'll do a retrospective take on the last four five crazy weeks in the winter months when this scorching presummer is a hazy wonderland in my mind... not now though, not tonight...

"To the ones who have loved me,
And cared for me,
And who die when I tell them,
I just had to go,
Please believe me when I say,
This is how it has to end,"
- The Cooper Temple Clause, Murder Song

That's the closest you are going to get to poignant quoting from me, so be greatful...

I'm going to open a new blog I think soon to kinda demo my "work" on zombie hordes... fuck knows though, I think I'm the only one listening to a damn word I say these days...

Night Night one and all,
Keep Happy and Funky

Saturday, June 03, 2006

Changes take a hold of you, pull you to their whim

A quick one I think... a moment to touch in... explain my absence... not my life...

Middle of the exams season. Trying to juggle revision, a desire to skate, a insignificately small but incredibly funky social life and a pilot draft that I've been squeezing out of my skull for about a week...

Brief explanations are in order maybe... I'm not sure, not in a state to write one of these...

The revision goes well, but I'll be better when all this junk is over...

Skating gets no better, but heck, that adrenaline kick is unbeatable... I'm going to overhall my board with my ema bonus so that I have a decent ride for the summer... shall be fun... Clone deck and the such... the local skate scene rules...

Social life is well, you know, people and gatherings and everything else... it is what it is...

The pilot draft is... well it is hell. I really want this to be right... and it's so totally above me, I think I think too big. I have huge prose note form plot drafts littering my room and my hard drive... covering the scope of huge backstory irrelevence to arching series plots into vital moments... sewing all of it together raw is impossible, too much varriation and disjointed overlapping ideas... what I need is to begin from scratch... prologue in eyeshot, notes within reach... and write it like I've been planning to for days... weeks... months... but I know it's going to take a long time that I'm not even sure I have inbetween exams, revision and generally living...

I'm not sure what's going on with this blog... because living in that amusing socially inapt student manner isn't something I'm enjoying writing about anymore, particularly since I'm in pretentous epic zombie character drama mode these days... I may convert it into a place to put drafts of plots and stuff... but I'm not even sure anybody will be interested in the progress of a failing writer :P... I may close it altogether... well for reasons that mentioning here would be counter productive... meh, I guess comments *cough* would help with that one... maybe you guys want to still hear the bizarre ramblings of a modern crazy... in which case I may open a new blog to cover the Zombie Hordes Are Back progress... which incidently I really should update the title to... Hope you're all funky and well...

Thursday, April 06, 2006

"The Chaos of Nothingness" & "Anarchy Head Trip" & "Four Wheels Good" & "Sending Noise Into Cyberspace"

- "I think it's happening again" -

Hello. Finally this writer has returned to his tiny coven in the nether of digital existence. I feel like the prodigal son, if the prodigal son had never actually left, but had just been to lazy to leave his room and inform his father that he still existed. I don't plan to leave it over a week again, too much has built up. It's hard enough to retell fragments of life in concise and entertaining ways; as you may notice, I've failed to do either. But on this occasion I'm trying to bring you to speed with the nothings important that have built up. I'm possibly going to try a more broken story styled format, see if it's easier for you to digest. Oh damned, I feel so rusty.

- V for Very Fucking Amazing Mr. Alan Moore -

So, lets skip back a week and a bit. The sun was shining and birds sang and everything was of that hazy beauty that fading memories pick up. My dad was hanging about the general area, as many of you are already informed. We had a lot of fun, chilling out, being consumer whores with no money and watching movies.

Meanwhile, Hollywood finally unveiled its new flawed action movie gem to place in the dull crown of the decaying corpse. "V for Vendetta". My father was momentarily bummed that he would have to wait to return to Florida before being able to enjoy this film, but quickly he remembered that it was a worldwide release date and hence began formulating an assault upon the local Warner "MyVue" Village "Quit Changing Sodding Name" Cinema. After two evenings slide out of his grasp due to odd screen timings, he finally settles on the Thursday as a small family escape to enormous moving picture land. Thursday evening rolls on; the three of us dive into the car and roll out in order to storm the massive concrete complex.

After 10 minutes of flying about roundabouts and tiny one way roads in a desperate attempted to find somewhere to park without needing change for pay and display machines, which none of our cheap asses have in any form, aside from my dad, who does have money, just none that is English, we run into a most bizarre and unique chance; My dad's grooviest mates are crowded outside the cinema waiting for more of my dad's grooviest mates to arrive. The three of us all do a double take to check what we've just seen: How can this group of funky individuals make their way to the cinema on the same night that my dad, who wasn't even in the country except for these two weeks, and his sons just happen to be going the same cinema to see the same film?! Now, if I detach myself from my excited astonishment, it's kinda obvious that this group would eventually flock on mass to witness this spectacle, so running into them isn't really that unbelievable, but to be honest, it's still pretty funky; life seems to enjoy throwing me a lot of circumstances like these, this is just the first time I'm documenting one; but I got to say, I love it every time it does. Makes you pay attention to how much flux there is beyond the sphere of usual perception, if only for a little while.

We drive-by wave them and they return flashes of smiles. We slide into a car park and pay the meter all we can find, hoping we've fed it enough to lasts the extent of the movie. We amble into the graffiti laden pedestrian subway; I love this place, every time I walk through it, I wish I was good enough to skate it up, it's a perfect little spot that extends 6 arms into other tight little spots. When I can drive, I can so see all my petrol money disappearing on finding spots. We walk out of the subway and out into the nightclub strip, stumbling towards the cinema at the end of the road and discussing what various critics have said on the film. You might have wondered where I get my over-analytical geeky obsessive perception of the world, and sometimes I do too; usually in between a dark day of the soul and escaping to the unexplored recesses of my skull. I don't think my dad is to blame entirely for my geek-complex, but he definitely sowed the seeds for its progression. I think this perception is wonderful by the way, but I think I'm the only one who sees it that way.

Approaching the ticket booth for this place, and we see the whole crowd queuing. All eyes make contact and there is an loud exchange of "Hey!" made by everybody present. Conversation is had; mostly focused on trying to work out why my dad is here, as opposed to being in Florida. Movie is about to begin and we all shuffle in. Trailers and adverts are shown, nothing worth mentioning, aside from:

http://www.encams.org/general/advert.asp

Enjoy the 60 second one. It made me giggle. The movie rolls.

"V for Vendetta", as a movie, is action movie junk, but it was entertaining. It's a Victorian-era styled variation on the matrix. It's fun and fast paced and feels like it has meaning underneath. It runs for long enough to not ever rush everything within it. It has characters that exist and flow and develop, even if that is a very thin development and on a few occasions doesn't even seem logical. It is also the first mainstream movie post nine eleven that comes to mind that faces the discussion of terrorism without concession, even if it is dealt in a trashy action movie form.

The credits roll and the group takes two minutes to dissect the film. The general feeling was that it was entertaining, but not on a par with the source material; a couple of them were kinda pissed that the Wachowski brothers appeared unable to handle the source material correctly, but everybody's hopes were so low from piss poor reviews that they were quite surprised. I made very few comments because I had not had the pleasure of sampling the work of Alan Moore. When that was made apparent the offer was made to lend me bits and pieces of his creations, which of course, I duly accepted. The three of us had to get back, so we bid farewell to the groovy individuals and made out way back to the car. A few days later, a copy of "Watchmen" is dropped round. After digesting that masterpiece, a copy of "V for Vendetta" is brought round in exchange.

"V for Vendetta", as a book, is just purely dumb-struck "WOW!". Alan Moore knows how to write; he knows how to carry a point, he knows how to be subtle, he knows how to take his time while maintaining interest, he knows how to add layers of themes while enriching the plot, he knows how use a beautiful opening setup to close with a satisfied feeling at the correct pace, he knows that cultural relevance make a book carry its meaning beyond the confines of the cover and how to use that effectively, he knows how to do things on a scope of significance without it losing itself in pretension, he knows how to tell a story. He knows how to write; purely, beautifully and simply. "V for Vendetta" by Alan Moore and David Lloyd is so much more than the version most people will know because of the film. I should do a more substantial review, with context to the plot, but I do not want to invade for a single moment upon the storytelling, so just go pick up a copy somewhere. It's usually about ten pounds and is worth so much more.

- Emo girls and arrogant frontmen -

It is friday. After about two weeks of over hyping, finally it is the day of OK Go. I spend the day dossing about, because, heck, it's a friday and I do one and a half subjects; what else am I gonna do? Maybe draw a picture of a fresh part of my skull... nah... that came later... I just slouched, wrote another brief plot draft of "ZHAB" and listened to music, most of it being The Offspring... you can't beat signing along awfully to that band. Finally the day drags itself off into slumber and the evening begins. I stumble out of school with Little Bear and into his mum's car. The car pulls away, taking us to his home; from which we'll be hitting the road to the gig. We stop at these lights; Little Bear is talking about the kilt he'll be wearing for the end of year leaver's party. His mum is saying how this time, when the photos for the event are taken, if sensible ones are a possibility, she'd be most grateful... well actually she was telling him if they were stupid she'd fucking kill him... well something between those two extremes of parental behaviour... but closer to the killing bit. So he says, "Don't worry mum, with my photo-shopping skills, I can make anything look awesome." Now, come on, no matter who was in that car; you'd have to be a useless friend to miss a shot like that, so without any hesitation, I loudly proclaim, "Oh! So that's why your girlfriend was so impressed with your penis!"... My friend laughs... and then falls silent, looking angry and shocked. I could see in his face he was saying "Dude, my mum is gonna crucify you. It was nice knowing you." His mother turns in the seat and says, with hells fire full in her eyes, "Do you realise I'm his mother?!" This deathly silence falls over the car; even the engine stops ticking over, waiting to see if blood will be spilt on its back. I swear that moment of existence is frozen for eternity somewhere in the multitude of time; the cultures of four dimensional beings use it regularly to demonstrate how to actually physically damage time; the decaying effect that three dimensional beings has upon their environment; and how to embarrass your friends in front of their parents. The lights turn green, I lived.

Half an hour later, we've ate and are heading out the door. We say our goodbyes and while stepping out the door, his mother yells "Wanna Jumper?"... So I yell, "Yeah, in my room"... they both just look at me confused and he says "nah, I'll be ok like this." We say our goodbyes once again and slide on over to the car and get this show on the road. Sitting in the car, pulling out of the driveway; Little Bear cracks up, "That one was fast dude, took me a while to catch up for that one, you quoted that or something right?"... I think he was aware, as I'd been when I made the joke, that I'd been tactful enough on this occasion to avoid his mother's death sentence. I'm glad the joke didn't totally go to waste, and I find it amusing that it took him so long to get it, it's a rare occurrence when you're resorting to yelling cock to get a laugh 90% of the time. I'm indignant though that the first bit of sharp wit I've shown in weeks and it's presumed I'm not smart enough to pull it out of my own skull; that I must have been borrowing it from somebody else... meh, guess that's the price you pay for quoting jokes occasionally...

So, an hour on the road and we get to the venue. We step in and instantly my eyes are bombarded by the sight of a whole nest of emo girls. It's like Little Bear, T.A.R.D.I.S girl and myself have stumbled into some forlorn funeral for some friend we didn't even know very well. I was never expecting OK Go to pull the emo crowd... then again, I was never expecting to be a synth pop metal head. Clusters of them; hair covering most of faces, eyeliner covering the exposed portions of faces... whispering and pointing, trying to see which of them would look old enough to buy from the bar. Amongst this horde were the occasional emo guy and then a sparse mix of total randomers. It was going to be a weird evening.

We head for the cloakroom and drop all our junk in there. We purchase more junk from the tiny merchandise stand and then try and convince the guy in the cloakroom to let us put it with our stuff already in there. We stumble up to the stage and realise this is a tiny venue. I thought they'd have had a bigger following than this, but apparently not. This emo girl chats up Little Bear and tells me to sod off. This individual then notices T.A.R.D.I.S girl, wondering how somebody of her stature will be able to see over the crowd. T.A.R.D.I.S insists she'll be ok; the emo girl says, "you could always get on Little Bear's shoulders," but Little Bear's girlfriend just tells the emo girl not to worry about her. The emo girl just says, "well, if you aren't gonna, I'll sit on his face." Then just turns away to chat to her mate. T.A.R.D.I.S and Little Bear just stare at each other in shock and I'm just laughing at how smooth this little emo chick was. It was going to be a weird evening.

The support come out and do their set. They were the pure embodiment of mediocre. The guitarist looked like he was either really nervous or wishing he was playing black metal; those two produce similar glazed looks, hence it is difficult to know which was his mindset. Which ever was the case; that cat was too lazy to even strum his instrument. He just held a vibrator against the strings and occasionally changed chord. The contemporary battery powered couch potato culture is even infecting the sythn pop world now. In his defence though, that vibrator of his did produce an unbelievable hypnotic ambient wonderfulness. Yet I was not massively impressed by the support and it appeared the crowd were not either. I have seen worse support acts though, the dreadful "Flowing Tears" to name the guilty party. The support set finished and the hum of small clumps friends in conversation flew into the air again. Emo girls would occasionally cut a squeal of "DAMIAN!" through the air. Little Bear would occasionally turn to me and announce "DAMIAN, WE LOVE YOU!" he was very excited. It was going to be a weird evening.

OK Go finally graces the stage with their presence. The night tumbles into a blur of music, Tim's beautiful bass fiddling and Damian being the most arrogant frontman to which I have ever bore witness. They were damned funky. I had not had the pleasure of any kind of concert, aside from metal, hence I learnt something: I have way too much hair for enjoying a gig that isn't metal. At a metal concert you stand, you raise your arms in the air, you headbang and raise your hands in the generic horns; occasionally you may enter a mosh pit, in which case you do all of that amongst a flurry of elbows. However, at a pop concert, I was not aware that you bounce your entire self along with the music while trying to create a pâté from the audience around you, including yourself. The band finished their set and announced that in five minutes they wanted to meet people at the store. It was going to be a weird evening.

We stumble into the crowds thronging round the band. We slowly and surely collected signatures. I pulled my usual "My brothers a drummer" routine on Dan. He told me that I'd got to him five minutes too late, but if I came to another gig he'd save me the sticks. I asked if he was sure and he cooly replied "yeah, don't worried, I'll remember you. You're the hideous one." Little Bear calls me over and we get a very low quality picture of his gawping smile beside Tim's cheeky smile poorly hiding an overwhelmed confusion. Having retrieved our coats from the sea of people outside the cloakroom, we get pushed out of the venue into the cold night and stumble ourselves back to the car. It was a weird evening, and I loved every second of it.

- Lissener Sayz Clamptz -

So, having sat there saying "I'm going to podcast, I'm going to podcast, I'm going to fucking podcast," and then confessing I probably won't get round to it for a while, I actually went and produced one. The link should be kicking about this page somewhere, if you haven't checked it out already. The actual catalyst for this unnatural occurrence was that Lunchbox passed his driving test, so a big congratulations to him, and while I'm at it; congratulations to Little Bear and the others who passed just recently. Damned groovy for the lot of you.

So, anyway, back to the cast. After a week of editing and stuff, I got the feed working and up on iTunes and everything else. I'm officially a podcaster. Now the task at hand is to be a good podcaster. That first episode is very disjointed and I was oddly nervous, which apparently means I swear about fifty times more than usual. Plus, I still can't annunciate a word to save my soul. But scarily, it was apparently well received. People enjoy me and Lunchbox talking utter garbage. People are freaky.

The next episode, which I haven't found the time to edit down into a show yet, is different. Lunchbox, the productive wizard that is, was desperate to make sure episode two was done on the day we had assigned. I on the other hand, I'd had an awful day. So, the episode is an odd contrast of Lunchbox putting me onto topics he knows will make me talk, while I answer him in a subdued tone because I have to get up on my soapbox and share my thoughts on the topics he raises. It's different from the first, and feels like it might have some context. Regardless, I'll let whoever judge whatever once I've thrown it onto the feed. On a final note; please leave comments on the podcast blog if you feel you have something worth saying.

- Skating, how I missed thee -

A long time ago, in an existence so ancient that it may as well be in a galaxy far far away, Little Bear did amazing in his GCSEs. To celebrate this event, his mum gave him 6 handmade vouchers to Heaven. Well actually, it was Heaven in Hell. Well actually, it was Rampworks in Liverpool. But he was a big skater at the time, Rampworks is Heaven to that breed of human. To try and explain, Rampworks is a huge skatepark. It is on the outskirts of Liverpool in an enormous warehouse. It is, apparently, the biggest skatepark in the UK. It was the largest in Europe back when it was made in 1997, but I don't think that stayed as a fact for too long. It's 50,000 foot of beautiful plywood skateable loveliness.

Anyway, I raise this all because Little Bear used the first of his vouchers this wonderful easter half term holiday and I got the wonderful pleasure of an invite. It was the first time I had skated in a very long time, but after ten nervous minutes getting the feel for riding and dropping in and skating, I was vaguely back on form and loving every moment. The whole park is so spacious. There are sections that rusty newbies like myself can spend all day riding, while elsewhere there are sections that are so huge and sick that you watch these guys shread them as you sit in total awe of their unbelievable ability. It was one very superb day. I've picked up the itch to skate again. Damn, I missed riding that crazy piece of wood.

So, Little Bear passed his test the next morning; sneaky bastard told nobody that he was taking it. Surprised everybody that day. Early afternoon, he comes over my place with T.A.R.D.I.S girl and invites me to go skating the "local" spots. We drive 10 miles away to this tiny spot with two quarter pipes, a flatbank and a "fun" box. We all pile out and we skate the spot for about 15 minutes, at which point I lost interest, demanding that we go a few more miles and look for the biggest local spot. I skated this really nice spot about two years back and my memory is telling me that it is only a few more miles away. Little Bear isn't convinced, but these BMXers turn up and swamp the tiny equipment, hence Little Bear decides to listen to my insane ramblings and we fall back into the car.

Five minutes down the road and we find the mythical spot in my skull. It's an eight foot quarter pipe, eight foot S ramp, two five foot quarter pipes, one of which has a tight hip transfer, and two sweet fun boxes. LB and I jump on this tiny sweet spot and skate it for all it is worth. I feel like I have progressed slightly in two years by dropping in on the 8 foot S ramp. This local kid gets some sweet air off the little five foot quarter pipe. I follow his line and try to do a meaty lip trick on it, but don't get my back axle over the coping and, with my weight shifted all wrong, bail quite violently. Having ate the concrete, the kid yells, asking if I was still sweet. I jump up and roll onto one of the fun boxes, admitting I'm funky. The kid asks where I'm from. I tell him where I'm from. He looks confused and asks if I'm from up that way, why am I over here skating this spot when there is a huge spot much closer to home. I immediately ask him where the hell it is and he proceeds to explain how to get over to it. I decide I'll check it out with Lunchbox the next morning. Me and Little Bear skate for another five minutes and then it begins to pour with rain. We call it a day and slam ourselves back into the car, heading home.

So, next morning, I ask Lunchbox if he is willing to do a shop run. He's game and I explain that after the shop run I want to explore the forest section behind the mall. He is game for that too. So, we walk about town; I buy a couple of albums, "Hit To Death By The Future Head" by The Flaming Lips and "Gallowsbird's Bark" by The Fiery Furnaces, and a copy of "Forbidden Siren" for the PS2. Student discounts are a wonderful wonderful thing. We get back in the car and drive to the far side of town. I vaguely know where I'm going, but not really certain. I'm expecting a couple of nice quarter pipes and a fun box or two, but I'm not really certain. We pull up into this car park where I think I've spotted what it is I'm looking for, but I'm still not really certain. Me and Lunchbox stroll over this hill and I stop. It is beautiful. There is no way I can describe the beauty of this skatepark to a general audience of non skaters. It is just truly a thing of beauty. We get back in the car and head back to my place. The whole journey home I'm saying to Lunchbox, "dude, it's so beautiful," and babbling about the designer being a genius. I call up Little Bear and we head straight back out there. I know LB is sitting in the car thinking the way I did; there will be a few nice quarter pipes and a fun box or two. Me and Lunchbox and Little Bear stroll over this hill and Little Bear stops. He knows, as I knew, finally we have a local patch that is actually a heaven. Him and me just start riding the spot; Lunchbox is guarding our gear and watching everything that is going on. I'm so sketchy, unworthy of this spot. I'm in total awe of how wonderful it all it. Finally we have a skatepark.

- "One Of Them Will Be Me, Watching You Run" -

So, there you are. All caught up on my last three weeks. Hope everybody else has had a groovy time.
Have a funky Easter everybody.

Monday, March 20, 2006

Of Freezing Florida Birds and Fantastic Films

So, I got distracted. Having sat there saying, "I'm gonna podcast, I'm gonna podcast, I'm gonna fucking podcast!" I still haven't got round to podcasting. I have no excuse, except that, in everything I've recorded, I sound like myself; which, in case you haven't yet spoken to me in reality, basically sounds like a toothless howling monkey with huge chunks of banana sitting round its gums... I think maybe he was trying to fashion some banana teeth, but keep forgetting what he started and just swollowing the chunks down and then sticks a bunch more of the banana in when he remembers he wanted to make some teeth... see, I get distracted... basically, I'm gonna leave it now in development hell and just say it's coming soon and hope that I can find the time within that timeframe.

So, my dad and his mate are slumming it in the soil of england having been living the american lifestyle for a good three months. They're back for two weeks and we're hanging when we find the time, which is funky, missed hanging... watching movies and talking about random-random stuff and traipsing about the local shopping establishments; having not had the money or the need to shop for months, my father leads me into a HMV and proceeds to remind me of the twenty seven million things I still want to watch hear or do... I'm such a whore for other peoples stories and creations. Spent what little I had, and then what little my dad had, getting my tequila drenched hands on a copy of Primer and the Coheed & Cambria album "In Keeping Secrets Of Silent Earth: 3". I'll start with the music as I would like to group the movies together... I'm assuming nobody minds...

I have been expanding my musical tastes for the past... well, it's always kinda on the grow, but over the past year there has been kinda of a major influx... meh, I think it was probably more accurate to say it's always on the grow... This is prewritten, i really shouldn't be this unclear... I just meant I kinda had a shift away from the pure black metal (insert "Roar, Roar, Black Metal forever," type chants here); it started with my love of Eternal Sunshine Of A Spotless Mind leading me to The Polyphonic Spree and then falling into Sigur Ros through a friend and then not really wanting to stop finding all this really beautiful new stuff after Sufjan's Christian pop stole my heart... So, new music means new people who love this music and want to show you more stuff that they love... the good doctor, for lack of a clearer obscure way to name him, he's currently my main pimp for finding the new stuff... but recently new lines of music have been found, in particular, an individual who has the most impeccable tastes... hence I found the recommendation for Coheed & Cambria. All I'd known before putting that CD on the counter was that they were some comic book geeks who make varried music... I think that's still all I know; only now it's supported by the knowledge that the varried music is damn funky and kinda covers every area in the space of an album that my ears kinda wanna go in about an hour... and to top that, my plot whoring "meaningful creative projects please" side is appeased too...

right, so while my dad is over from florida, we watch some movies, we're big movie watchers... we sat through the copy of Primer I bought... and tonight he brough over Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, which he'd purchased today. Now, about the movies... about two hours ago, I was gonna sit here and get up on a little tiny soapbox and didactically yell that every single one of you who comes and reads my minutiae of life in this little corner of the universe should go and see Primer... but, having sat through Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, the significance of Primer will have to share the space within this blog... basically because they are both damnedably superb...

Primer is a very low budget Sci-Fi Piece about four guys who build stuff in their garage. I'm not gonna say any more about the plot than that, and if that doesn't sell it, I'm sorry, but I think saying anymore ruins the construction of this film, which is perfect, in personal opinion. Esoteric and detached enough to fuck your skull, yet constructed perfectly so that it's like having your skull fucked in that good way... you know... I think that just about covers what I needed to say about Primer... on to Kiss Kiss Bang Bang... Right, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang is Lethal Weapon if you take out the barrier of the fourth wall and make it parody 1950's crime fiction and include the best joke I think I've ever seen... I mean, I can't even begin to imagine how that joke was originally stubled across and the writer went, "I know, in the next movie I want to write, I wanna do that," it's just so... wrong... and wonderful... basically it's like watching The Big Lebowski without the nihilist, the bowling, the white russians and the marmot... actually... it's not really like watching The Big Lebowski at all, I just love mentioning that movie... and that rounds up my pathetic attempt at reviewing movies for today... stay turned, I'll be sitting through GITS2:Innocence hopefully sometime next week, I'll probably pimp that to in a similar vague, "just go watch it," fashion.

Finally attempting a first draft of Zombie Hordes... it's damned thin and sketchy atm, it's really impossible to do the pacing to something when you don't know in what way you want it to be experienced. I'm tempted to do a purely prose first draft and see how it stands on it's own... meh, I'll keep working on it for know and let you all know. All I do know is it's gonna be good, even if there is only three or four people who agree. I must remember to be esoteric... having played with the plot for ages, I've forgotten how I wanted the actually story to carry... remembering as I write it though...

Right, I'm gonna have to close this off... I've said so little of actual importance... but then again, that's life... So, I'm going to see Okey Dokey Good Good on friday... and to make a unsubtle yet hopefully obscure leap... I'm sorry... I was out of line... and Lunchbox, could you get your ass down here before friday, I wanna hang out sometime this week, you know, sip good beers you don't know exist, watch a bit of the firefly, adlib comedy that makes sides rupture and bleed out... we have to wade through the bloody guts of our amused dead to pick up wallets and and other valubles... it's a masterful plan, may even find the keys to a VW golf or something in there... you know, we'd so kick ass... well you'd kick ass and I'd make you look good, but whatever... I'll touch in again soon... Use the funk everybody...

Thursday, March 16, 2006

"The world of cowboys and indians and milk"

Damn, I let it slide. I had this whole blogging thing reigned in, but then I went and ruined it all by failing to write the podcast and then by physics coursework, which is impossible by the way.

Right, I shalt not keep you long, and infact I'll scare you all by doing a tiny post. (cue "OMG, TINY POST")

Just wanna say that for the few (and by few I mean one, and by one I mean me) waiting for the podcast; it will exist tonight, even if it's just a five minute thing of my mumbling incoherence into a microphone. I need to just get it rolling.

At the moment I'm sipping a sol and bitching to steve for not pulling his butt down the hill; he has an unbeatable reason, but it's not really an excuse :P.

Hope you're all having a great great day;

Be so funky it hurts.

EDIT: due to occurrences within the last hour and the fact that everybody stayed in, I shall say that the podcast WILL be tomorrow... plus I'm drunk now, posting me talking drunk online can't be doing anybody any favours. Have a funky one.

EVEN LATER DRUNKEN EDIT: I fucking fucking fucking fucking fucking hate my cunt of an ex which I am burdened with and every mother fucking one of you cunts who has anything to do with her for being the most two faced manipulative ass wipes who I've ever had the misfortune of being involved with. Thank Odin and the other fallen lords that in 5 months I won't need to see another of you again. I'll so regret saying this in about a week, not because it's not true, it's always been true, it's just none of you pathetic cunts are really worth writing about and because the few people who read this and are funky as sin don't want to listen to me whine about you half wit shitholes. Plus, if I ever felt or thought it, I wanna say it here, so I feel ever so slightly vindicated that the a few of the people in the world worth the time of day got to know what dickwads you all truely are.

MMMM, self-centred posting.

Saturday, March 11, 2006

"Are you dumb enough to break the mold, or are you smart enough to bail,"

Thanks for coming to this blog to read the adventues of a crazy head. Nice 48 hours, feels alot like a blur, lots of fun though. Not really sure where is a good place to begin. I guess friday and the social gathering is a good place, but it's difficult. First arrivals were the couple who I am going to view Ok Go with, the midget and her smooth pimp. It's around 6 pm, too early to do a beer run I feel, and so we slide into the DVD player the trash fest that is "Lords of Dogtown".

Now I should explain that, me and little bear (the smooth pimp), we're skaters, you know, "dude, let's board" type skaters, totally like "sweet like totally" kinda guys, at least, we like to pretend we are. He's been skating about four years, the dog is tight on it. I've been skating three years, and I'm like some sketchy kid with a style that isn't used by anybody because getting it to look sexy and tight is a total arse and actually being sexy and tight using it is ever harder. Damn fun though, I wish I had the concrete and the weather to skate like a super sick monster dude, but I'm sure I wouldn't be, even if my current enviroment supported the idea. So, back to the reason I explained my skating roots; "Lords of Dogtown" is one of the worse movies I have ever seen. Myself and Little Bear, we were both hoping for a skate video with a tiny bit of plot that really wasn't worth listening to. What we witnessed was a parade of how not to, ever, even if you are a drunken chimp who is learning to speak english, write a script and shoot a film. "Lords of Dogtown" is a self-indulgent 2 hour ego fest from the skull of Stacy Peralta. Now, don't get me wrong, Stacy, now that dude can skate, and oh my, that cat can shoot a tasty skate video, but I can't even begin to explain how much that ego-driven moron can not write; the guy can't even pull a single scene out of his money swimming butt, let alone a cohesive plot or any sense of empathetic drama. This is a story in which the main character is himself. This is a story that every skater who cares about the culture of skating knows and does not need to be retold. This is a film, which having made an award winning documentry about already, has been rehashed into a series of barely interesting half truths, then padded with teen party scenes. It really amazing how he has managed to adapt an actually interesting piece of history into this poor a film. I'd have been happy with a plotless skate video about that beautiful style of old school concrete surfer skating. I'd have been happy with a nicely paced film about fictional characters developing a land version of surfing padded with scenes of just that. I'm not happy with a lame ass drama about the meaningless effect of broken homes on all these troubled teens who turn to skating as an escape and then barely skate at all. When I purchased the film, I was buying the documentry, it came for free. I am so damn glad this is the case. This film deserves nobody's money. Everybody, please go out and buy "Dogtown and the Z-boys," that is a masterful skating documentry about the rise of skating in southern california. Please do not even joke about watching "Lords of Dogtown," I think I've been clear enough already as to why, but just to clarify, it takes the awe inspiring story of the rise of skateboarding in southern california and turns it into a very boring, very awful teen party flick.

About half way into "Lords of Dogtown," Mark arrived, yes, that's right, I got naming permission, drunk and supplying cider. I hate cider, terrible stuff, makes my brain shrink just thinking about it. We pause the movie none of us are watching and do a beer run, leaving Mark in charge of the house. In retrospect, that something nobody should do, but the house still stands, so I got away with it on this occation. We grab a crate of Calsburg, which is flavoured pisswater in my opinion, but the red headed particle seems to enjoy it and it's mostly her money. We also picked up a multi pack of McCoy's, a tube of Pringles, two boxes of Jaffa Cakes and I finally got my dirty pisshead hands on my, long sort after, bottle of cherry brandy. Finally, I can make Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters and Cherry Hookers; Cocktails are so damn tasty, it's all Tiki Bar TV's fault that I've fallen into such forbidden loves so early. We make it back to the house and Mark has nearly finished his supplied cider and is offering to finish the cherry brandy with me. I quickly sway him off the idea as I get the food into an accessable munching point, only to find that the Pringles have already been devoured. I live less than 50 steps from the shops, how the little'un has managed to stuff that many pringles into herself in that amount of time is beyond physical conception, you need to slip into the realms of science fiction to explain the phenomena; T.A.R.D.I.S like ideas need to be drawn into process of thought. Regardless, we crack open the booze and sit back in front of the film none of us are watching.

Roll on nine thirty; the film has been finished a little while and we've drank enough to force the worst of it out of mind. We're down to the last few beers. Me and Mark are snuggling down to watch "My Name Is Earl," of which this eve channel four are supplying us with a double bill. "My Name Is Earl" is a masterful comedy staring the charismatic Jason Lee, who incidently is also a skater, the skater who started the, now failed, Stereo Skateboards Inc. before becoming Kevin Smith's actor gimp for a good 10 years. Spike Jones directed the classic skate video that contains Jason Lee; if anybody knows where I can get my clammy claws on that piece of damn sexy skate history I'd love to have it pointed my way, please. The last of the few who could make it to this great evening finally arrive with fake Malbu and even more potato based snack produce. This allows us to make another beer run, this time for Tetley's; which turns out to be the spike haired arrival's drink. I throw together margaritas for the few who want them and then settle back into the end of the second "My Name Is Earl" of the evening. Somebody is missing at this point, but I'm not sure who, too drunk to care about anything at this point but the comfy comfy chair. Roll on conversation and a review of the sickly entertaining Death Wish week that channel four provided the friday night shut ins during January. My bladder has reached a point that it needs to get rid of its contains in the fastest possible way, and so I excuse myself before flesh and urine cover my friends from the forceful explosion of my poor tortured bladder. Stumbling onto the stairs I'm hearing a very loud and heavy panting that makes me stop and wonder who the hell is upstairs. Suddenly my brain performs a spot the missing person on the living room and I realise that both T.A.R.D.I.S girl and Little Bear are missing and have been for some time. I decide it is wise to probably not try and interupt them, as I'm not sure of what or who I may see and I'm not sure I want to ruin friendships and the such in that way. For future reference, when I finished the last post with Learn the funk, I really never meant in my room. But such is horny drunk teenagers. My friends everybody, such wonderful people. Of course it raises the invaluable question of "fleeting or love?' but time will tell on that one, and heck, they make each other happier than I've seen people be happy, which is nice... just not in my room again please.

So, everybody is cleaned up, bladder is emptied and relaxing is to be had. The sexually charged couple are picked up and many jokes are made at their expense. I'd retell a few here, but it's all a haze by now. The fake malbu girl is not having a good time with Newton's fur, my cat. So, they discuss leaving. I'm not so keen on the idea; I've been fleeting all over the place all night, I've no idea how much either of them have drunk, and I'm stonked enough to think everybody is drunker than me. I really don't want people driving drunk when they can welcomely crash and be safe. Of course, I'm not thinking about the fact that she is choking as her air way slowly closes with this cat fur, but regardless of my worries it's decided that they shall leave. So, I say good bye to the second couple as the evening runs into the usual drunk rambles of me and markie. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a nagging paranoia tells me I scared them away, but I'm sure that's not the case, they knew I was crazy before last nightt, I'm sure. As their car drives away and I stumble back indoors I must end the retelling of last night as I don't remember anymore, but I remember why I don't remember. Once I'm back indoors, I notice that both margaritas are mostly unfinished and down the both of them. That's about eight units of alcohol and one of the dumbest things I've done in a while. It was a damn fun night.

Woke up at 9 am, my room is a tip, my mouth is furry and my mind is a screaming firey evil pit that is so dehydrated and tiny that I'm sure it's at the point that the nerves that attact it to the walls of my skull are so taut that I'm sure the slightest movement will sever every connection and kill me, as it detaches and escapes my torturous ways by sliding out my ears. I tidy my room followed by the house and drink fizzy water to try and shift the dwarfs mining my brain for food and education. I slide back into bed and then spend the next few hours charging in and out of my room as my stomach punishes me for last night and I punish it back by throwing more sugar and carbon filled water against it. Barely recovered and hacking my PSP to run Nethack, Little Bear turns up in my room, I'm very confused by this and we talk as I rush to pile clothes on and be in a sociable fashion. Turns out last night I apparently agreed to be a lighting/sound guy with him at the local theatre tonight. I'm shocked by this, but I stand by my drunken word and come along. Being a crew member is fun suprisingly, and while I sucked, it's not like it was finding the point on a plane in Cartisean form. But sweet Jesus those bulbs get fucking hot. I'll get up tomorrow with them swollen and blistered I'm sure.

Steve, Lunchbox extrodinare, has begun his blog. I'm just pimping it. He's a better and more entertainging writer than me, so enjoy, and his profile says where we live, so I think I'll probably stop being so closed about that information now I guess. Right, that's enough of an essay for now, hope you all enjoyed it, and sorry if I've forgotten to inform you of anything interesting. Keep being funky people, but not in my room.