District 9

I haven't seen it but I'm raging at its very premise. Too much subtext, too many fucking obvious messages that even a five year old could catch flying past them at 500mph every 2 seconds. They should've just packed the film full of Indians, Asians, Nigerians, whatever the fuck else race you can think of and been done with it. Whoever wrote this piece of shit must be a huge coward - let's address the subject of racism but through totally fantastical and ridiculous characterisation. LITERAL illegal aliens. How clever. I bet no-one in the fucking world ever made that comparison before.

The contemporary film industry and all of its (not so) hidden messages should stay where it belongs, languishing in disused media studies lecture halls on hard stools stained with the hopes and dreams of a million and one delusional adolescents, soaked with the notion that they will one day create a masterpiece and finally coerce the world into listening, truly listening, to its own relentless criticism.

Yeah, using aliens as a metaphor for a racist society is surely the way achieve that. Fucking idiots.

The Abyss

Is now what I'm referring to my life as. Seriously though this has been the worst 11 weeks of all time, and I'm not even sure if it's longer than that - my memories have melted into one long string of 4:00 in the afternoons. These are literally the only words I have to describe the never ending boredom and unbearable yet unavoidable self-analysis spawned from a life of complete nothingness. Alright too far yeah, basically I've just been doing nothing at all for weeks upon weeks while everyone else I know is out living it - this, coupled with frequent arguments and the realisation that my social circle is smaller than my own mother's, has consequently taken a toll on the old self-esteem. I just generally feel like shit and need to get out of this pattern. I wish I could move back to London sooner but sadly I have others' preferences to think about. I think I need a dramatic overhaul or something - to completely resuscitate my life and actually do something for once.

I think I've become the definition of 'waste'. I'm literally just sitting here, all the time. My mind is decomposing.

Bad Ideas, Bad Times

So it isn't tuesday but whatever, I couldn't be bothered writing earlier in the week so it looks like now's the time. I did drink the Robo though, and believe me there will be no repeat performances. I guess I reached the 2nd plateau or whatever by doubling it to 200ml but FUCK it was fucking horrendous. Exactly like K, gross as shit dude. I hate that stuff anyways so having it sprung on me like that, woah. I couldn't even see straight for like 5 hours and all the while I was trying to engage in these normal conversations with people online. I'm not even reading that shit back 'cause who the fuck knows what I was on about probably.

So yeah, DXM ain't for me I guess. I've heard pretty weird stuff about the 4th plateau though - people apparently use high doses for 'shamanic practice and spiritual enlightenment' which sounds cool. I read a story about this one dude who thought he was a flower he was tripping so hard. I don't trust myself though I know I'd puke everywhere or die or something. It's hella dissociative too so I'd probably end up doing a load of crazy embarrassing shit and not remembering it. Guess I won't be reaching the higher plateaus any time ever then.

Other bullshit...trying to find a house with semi-luck but it's stressing me out too much to even think about right now. I'm going down to London to sort it all out next week for 43 BEANS which'll be nice for my bank account etc. But hopefully I'll come back with a house so sweeeeeeeeeeeeet.

Anyways, I'm sleepy.

Robo Trippin'

I chugged some DXM the other day. I know it's fuckin' sick but I'd only heard good things. I was expecting it to taste gross or something but it was actually pretty good, like cherries. I only did 100ml, and it didn't kick in for the longest time, something like three hours. I was sat on my bed just waiting forever, then I got up and walked to the bathroom (robo seriously fucks with your stomach) and it hit me just like WHAM. I went all dizzy and light, it felt a bit like I was floating around the place, but I felt heavy at the same time. I had this weird oozing feeling in my chest, like things were sliming around my ribcage. It was cool. I wrote some shit down, I'm pretty bad at remembering myself when I'm wasted, so I'll write a few lines up here:

"...I feel weird, like I should feel like shit but I don't really. I feel sick. I keep having to run to the bathroom and I can't stop shaking, weird. I'm hot and cold, really comfy but restless. My face feels prickly. I hope this doesn't fuck me up..."

Then I remember feeling like I was in a forest or some shit for a while and that's generally it. I don't think I swallowed anywhere near enough for a full-blown trip, but it was cool for a first try. I'm headin' to the pharmacy on monday so I can give it another shot. Need to get this job out the way first though, fuck working behind a bar on a comedown. I hope it's better than last time - I think I'll double the dosage. Maybe just buy a big bottle. I'll have to do some more research though, I don't wanna take too much and start freakin' out. I might do it in the day, sit outside or something. Make it more interesting.

More to come on tuesday...

WHAT THE FUCK

I hate my life. HATE IT.

Edit: I can't even remember what the hell this was about. The lack of food in this goddamnsonofabitch house probs.

P.S. I'm talking like the mafia this week.

Rubaiyat Soho

"The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.

But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays
Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days;
Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.

Ah, Love! could you and I with Him conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits--and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!"

I'm already in love with this guy. He has this awesome handle on life, some massive grasp of unchanging fortune. It's pretty humbling when you realise it was written in the 19th century - even 200 years later most people still aren't capable of forming such coherent opinions. Rather than trying to battle life he embraced it, regardless of its frequent downfalls. He knew that however long he brooded it would not change life's inevitable outcome, so it's stupid to waste time wishing for something more.

One of my favourite stanzas in the whole poem - aside from those three - is this:

Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,
And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire,
Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,
So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.

He's basically denying the physical existence of Paradise and Inferno, reasoning that Heaven and Hell are products of our own lifetime - how we face our mortality. At least that's how I interpret it, and it actually makes a shitload of sense if you think about it that way. Why spend your whole life according to the rules of an assumed higher power just in case there's something better on the other side when you can make the most of the present and know that it is real. Life isn't a theory, the afterlife is, so it makes sense that you should embrace one and keep the other at arm's length.

It's only ever when I'm at my most reflective that my dad decides to invade my train of thought with the loudest hairdryer ever invented. I'm not even joking, I'm haunted by the BaByliss Pro.

Fantasy Birthdays

And finally,



Tom Selleck + chocolate sprinkle chesthair. Classy.

'Sup World

I'm back. Except this is less of a comeback and more of an I'm-bored-and-just-realised-that-I-started-a-blog-months-ago-and-haven't-yet-done-anything-with-it initiation into the world of the online journalista. So now I've reached my hyphen and words I just made up quota I can begin this shit.

So right now it's the summer holidays and I've spent most of my time attatched to the one and only Accutemp™ air conditioner I'll ever own. It's been nice, but now the rains are here and our relationship is waning. I've read 6 entire books and worked 35 hours in 3 days, things I feel will always be milestones in my already jam-packed full of awesomeness existence. It was the most fun I've ever had, and the whole time I was stuck behind that huge-for-no-reason bar I wished that I would never have to leave. That I would become fixed to the Bacardi soaked lino, able to immerse myself in the magic of the Jubilee Bar forever more.

My co-workers were a delight. There was this one dude, Anthony, oh how I willed him to never shut up about his amazing adventures in "The Living Room". He even had his own "bar blade" (which I assume is Living Room slang for unnecessary bottle opener) and could throw Smirnoff bottles around in fantastic and unbelievable ways - ways I didn't even know existed outside of a masters degree course in serving drinks to inebreated d-list celebrities in an otherwise unheard of drinking establishment - until he dropped them, which happened around once every 2 seconds. You can't argue with £5.75 an hour though, and believe me I didn't try. Or rather, believe me I have the confidence of a particularly harrowed shock victim and therefore wouldn't dare.

Here I am with the managers:



Anyway that's over now, and I have the drugs I found on the floor to prove it! Not really, I threw them in a bin. I didn't realise horse racing was an ecstacy-fuelled event.

Memz

Anyone else remember when this happened?



Sweet. I'm totally sure that badass hair stylist was the Quizmaster.