All entries for Tuesday 03 March 2009
March 03, 2009
So I think I've abandoned the idea of regular updates now. I'm sorry, reader, but I'm really not in a great place to be putting a great deal of work into something which doesn't directly affect academics. I'm not moaning -- yet -- but I simply can't use this blog as anything more than a convenient output for my thoughts as they come and when they come. I'll try to be more regular over the summer, I promise.
Vague news concerning me: due to an unfortunate kitchen-related accident I've ended up with a rather messy chunk taken out of my face. Fortunately I got to the hospital, and now they've stitched it up. I personally think I look rather badass with eleven stitches in my face. That may, however, just be me.
Everybody seems to have personal problems at the moment, I feel like with a massive disfiguring scar I'm actually doing rather well out of my friendship group. I've noticed a vague trend in my posts to descend into the whiny and self-pitying. I'd better get that resolved here and now, lest I my keyboard be bathed in a sea of my own blood and tears and I can only manage to type in between listening to My Chemical Romance and straightening my hair.
Lot of conjunctives in the last sentence. Oh well.
I've noticed how little time I've found to do things I actually enjoy, recently. I haven't had a chance to act for nigh on over a year; I've stopped writing poetry almost entirely, I simply can't play video games anymore due to a lack of materials.
A brief side-note, I think, on poetry.
Why is it everyone seems so ashamed to say they write poetry? It's like something everyone does but no-one wants to admit to. I suppose in a sense it's a type of masturbation, another of those pleasurable but guilty pastimes. Except people joke about masturbation, so I suppose in a sense it's worse. It's like masturbating to pictures of children whilst covered in unicorn blood and listening to Girls Aloud songs.
But I'm running out of Unicorns.
The point I'm trying to make is that poetry is a thing people do, even if they don't really know about it. Even if we just think of little couplets in our head, or just become over flamboyant with a description, everybody commits to poetry. Like masturbation, so do it more than others; and like masturbation some do it better than others, but the point still stands. Though I do forget which topic I was making the point on.
Yes I write poetry when I can. No it's not the stupid gothy sappy poetry, but if it was there'd be nothing wrong with that, provided it was written well. Which it generally isn't. But sometimes that's funny too.
The point is I'm not really doing fun stuff anymore. I mean, fun stuff by myself. I still go out for drinks with friends, and play pool and all the standard razzle jazzle, but none of it is really for me. I don't get much leisure time anymore, so it's come to be a carefully spent rescource. If I have three hours of it in a day, those will be a fantastic three hours. You have no idea the kind of shit I can pull in three hours now, brother. I can read three lovecraft stories, play forty games of minesweeper and punch Hitler in his stupid face.
So you understand, I hope, that blogging is low on the priority list, despite how I enjoy it. Comments may induce summary posts, but otherwise I'm afraid you're just going to have to sit back and wait until I'm in Warwick. Stay safe, chil'rens.
Also: I know I don't deserve it, but you do. If you want, check out 'Good News for People who Love Bad News' by Modest Mouse. You'll thank me for it.