Towering white walls and stainless steel shelves
With brands bearing down and swirling round
Big block letters, special offers
And eerie music attacking the eardrums
A young woman foraged far from home
Her mind wandered and brain fizzled
Checking the guide the motherperson made
To push her on the lonely journey
Into a plastic packed, middle class world
The trolley filled and she lost her grip
And kachinking off course, a box fell out
To be caught by the loveliest figure
Of the most beautiful man she'd ever seen
In deep and dark leather boots
He picked up the fallen and read “Triple Choc!”
Laughing to himself carelessly
Placing it firmly back into her hands
And walking casually on his way
He had gone proudly up the aisle
Never taking her with him
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Gigs, Ho!
The next few months we spent doing a lot of writing and an awful lot of polishing, although we didn't actually start properly practicing till halfway through January because of the stupid Mini Ice Age.
I remember 1 Wednesday, the 6th of January, which was meant to be our first post Christmas practice, for all the disappointment it brought, some of the most I'd ever felt in my life. Even though we'd only had 3 practices before Christmas, I had instantly fallen in love with the band and the highlight of my week away from work and college was the 2 hours on a Wednesday night jamming with the lads. I'd done a lot of interesting things but being in a band was the thing I'd always wanted the most and never got the chance to do. From the 3rd week in December though, we couldn't use the rehearsal place... the Christians had something better to do in the festive season apparently?¿ Finally though I got Rob, the guy who opened for us, to come back out, or so I thought. The buses weren't running due to the weather, so I'd got myself all bundled up to walk to Bray in my comfy but ridiculous looking coat and warm baggy jeans. In the big inside pocket was also a large mix of Huzzar and Red Bull to keep me warm for the walk and to get the creative juices flowing, I was buzzing! Just as I put my hand on the handle to open the door to leave I received a text and got a horrible sinking feeling... I'd always known when it was him texting to cancel before, I knew he was doing it again! Sure enough, it was from Rob. In his defence, he had tried to leave his house in Stillorgan to drive out but his car couldn't handle the roads so he opted not to go for safety. Still though, I was crushed. Not only had I found out Santa Claus wasn't real, it was like hearing he had been the one who gave me homework and sent me to bed early. So I text the lads then just sat at home. Then I lived out another highly uneventful week working at Dunnes until we finally got our chance to play again!
Then came all the writing and practicing. We done this in a variety of places, The Christian warehouse, which eventually closed, my bedroom, Applrock Studios and Paul and Alans house! We wrote Talbot Street Blues, Tempos, Stadium Rock Song and The Gait and practiced them all to death. I think that there was a separate point for each song (except maybe The Gait!) in which before we fully finished it we just felt like scrapping it completely. But we didn't scrap any of them, we just worked and worked and looking back its quite amazing we managed to write 5 original songs in that space of time, considering David was the only one of us who really had any experience in that (no disrespect to Tell It Again) Once again I think it was just a feeling of containment, like everyone of us had wanted to properly write music before but never really got the chance, so now that we had we even surprised ourselves at this early stage! There was definitely something between the four of us as well. For a while it seemed like everything we tried went right and the more we played with each other the more we loved it. Seemed like one week we were writing Talbot Street Blues and I felt like we could be New Model Army or Joy Division then the next we were writing Stadium Rock song and I was sitting topless in Applerock feeling like we could be Kings of Leon. Obviously now we are a lot better I am a lot more down to earth, just at this early stage I was ever the optimistic one!
Still though, we hadn't actually got any gigs at all and this was proving quite difficult. Our first was meant to be in February at the warehouse, but it closed down! Then in March we were set to play I.A.D.T but for some reason the organiser decided against it at the last minute. Besides these there was no prospects since no one had actually herd us but ourselves. One Tuesday night out of desperation I asked my college friend and DJ Niall Darcy if he could help us out in anyway and he amazing got me in contact with Keith Florea who booked us to play Andrews Lane Theatre the same night as Von Shakes and Zombie Nation that Friday. I don't think I ever properly thanked them for that, I really must someday! Then the next day in practice we got booked for another two gigs, one from my uncle Kevin Brennan who wanted us to play his book launch which would eventually be held at The Button Factory and another which was in The Harbour Bar in Bray that night for some guys birthday. While the gig that night turned out to be a bit of a reality check because there was fuck all people there, we were all tired, the sound was shit and poor Alans tongue had randomly swollen to three times it size (which isn't really relevant, I just thought it was worth mentioning) the others would go on to be vital in helping us develop as a band and also probably weren't that awful to witness!
This is an awful place
Shelberino
I remember 1 Wednesday, the 6th of January, which was meant to be our first post Christmas practice, for all the disappointment it brought, some of the most I'd ever felt in my life. Even though we'd only had 3 practices before Christmas, I had instantly fallen in love with the band and the highlight of my week away from work and college was the 2 hours on a Wednesday night jamming with the lads. I'd done a lot of interesting things but being in a band was the thing I'd always wanted the most and never got the chance to do. From the 3rd week in December though, we couldn't use the rehearsal place... the Christians had something better to do in the festive season apparently?¿ Finally though I got Rob, the guy who opened for us, to come back out, or so I thought. The buses weren't running due to the weather, so I'd got myself all bundled up to walk to Bray in my comfy but ridiculous looking coat and warm baggy jeans. In the big inside pocket was also a large mix of Huzzar and Red Bull to keep me warm for the walk and to get the creative juices flowing, I was buzzing! Just as I put my hand on the handle to open the door to leave I received a text and got a horrible sinking feeling... I'd always known when it was him texting to cancel before, I knew he was doing it again! Sure enough, it was from Rob. In his defence, he had tried to leave his house in Stillorgan to drive out but his car couldn't handle the roads so he opted not to go for safety. Still though, I was crushed. Not only had I found out Santa Claus wasn't real, it was like hearing he had been the one who gave me homework and sent me to bed early. So I text the lads then just sat at home. Then I lived out another highly uneventful week working at Dunnes until we finally got our chance to play again!
Then came all the writing and practicing. We done this in a variety of places, The Christian warehouse, which eventually closed, my bedroom, Applrock Studios and Paul and Alans house! We wrote Talbot Street Blues, Tempos, Stadium Rock Song and The Gait and practiced them all to death. I think that there was a separate point for each song (except maybe The Gait!) in which before we fully finished it we just felt like scrapping it completely. But we didn't scrap any of them, we just worked and worked and looking back its quite amazing we managed to write 5 original songs in that space of time, considering David was the only one of us who really had any experience in that (no disrespect to Tell It Again) Once again I think it was just a feeling of containment, like everyone of us had wanted to properly write music before but never really got the chance, so now that we had we even surprised ourselves at this early stage! There was definitely something between the four of us as well. For a while it seemed like everything we tried went right and the more we played with each other the more we loved it. Seemed like one week we were writing Talbot Street Blues and I felt like we could be New Model Army or Joy Division then the next we were writing Stadium Rock song and I was sitting topless in Applerock feeling like we could be Kings of Leon. Obviously now we are a lot better I am a lot more down to earth, just at this early stage I was ever the optimistic one!
Still though, we hadn't actually got any gigs at all and this was proving quite difficult. Our first was meant to be in February at the warehouse, but it closed down! Then in March we were set to play I.A.D.T but for some reason the organiser decided against it at the last minute. Besides these there was no prospects since no one had actually herd us but ourselves. One Tuesday night out of desperation I asked my college friend and DJ Niall Darcy if he could help us out in anyway and he amazing got me in contact with Keith Florea who booked us to play Andrews Lane Theatre the same night as Von Shakes and Zombie Nation that Friday. I don't think I ever properly thanked them for that, I really must someday! Then the next day in practice we got booked for another two gigs, one from my uncle Kevin Brennan who wanted us to play his book launch which would eventually be held at The Button Factory and another which was in The Harbour Bar in Bray that night for some guys birthday. While the gig that night turned out to be a bit of a reality check because there was fuck all people there, we were all tired, the sound was shit and poor Alans tongue had randomly swollen to three times it size (which isn't really relevant, I just thought it was worth mentioning) the others would go on to be vital in helping us develop as a band and also probably weren't that awful to witness!
This is an awful place
Shelberino
Friday, July 23, 2010
Early, Early, Early Doors
I've decided to turn my blog into more of blog, and in doing this I'm going to write about what has really became a key theme in my life, being the drummer in the band The Excuses. I'll still write some short stories and abstract stuff from time to time, but for now this just makes more sense.
I'll start off with a very brief history of the band. We formed early in 2010, practiced and wrote a fair bit, began gigging in April and haven't really stopped since, playing venues like The Button Factory, Crawdaddy, Andrews Lane Theatre in Dublin and last but not least, the dearest Harbour Bar in Bray!
The earliest thing I remember about the band is our first practice in our first practice place, a born-again Christian warehouse turned youth club in Little Bray on a very cold, very dark Wednesday in November 2009. Paul and I had talked about jamming for a few months and had put off actually starting for 4 or 5 weeks, so long in fact that the guy who opened the warehouse for us and let us practice probably wouldn't have ever let us start if we postponed it even a week longer, my 5th consecutive cancelling of our Wednesday night slot had clearly irked him. In any case, with our future lead guitarist and husky vocalist David in his sick bed in a terrible state, whinier singer/rhythm guitarist Paul and his bass slapping brother Alan and I went to practice. We instantly weren't a hit with the crowd who frequented the place, with their first impression of Paul ending with him cursing his "shitty old guitar," I should have told him they don't like swearing. As we walked onto the stage in the back room of the warehouse which was occasionally used to throw gigs, Paul asked if we should run through Evil by Interpol just to see where we all stood. I had learned this in the few weeks previous since it was the flagship song of the guys older band, Las Armas.
So the first song we ever played was just the three of us, we produced a very bare and very rough cover of this brilliant song. I'd known Alan from around for years but never had anything close to a relationship with him (oh how that would change!) unlike with Paul as we had always been in the same close group of friends but just never been very close ourselves (change, change, change!). I'll forever remember what Alan said directly after the song though "I didn't know you were actually a good drummer!" How wrong he was! I'm not great now by any stretch of the imagination, but back then I spent weeks struggling to learn Hang Me Up To Dry and Evil because I simply didn't have the ability to play them. I'd been drumming for years but never had any extended practice and was really, really awful!
The rest of the practice went surprisingly well, for a lot of failed tries I'd never actually jammed with what could have been a real band before. This practice is also when we first played Don't Drop Me. The Doran's had written this song acoustically and been playing it for probably a year or so but this was the first time it would have drums to it. The drums were originally a very simplified version of the beat from Where I End And You Begin by Radiohead. I never usually take beats directly from a song but this track is special, I've listened to it thousands and thousands of times, no exaggeration at all. Its easily my favourite song of all time, its alternate title is what this blog is named in honour of and this drumbeat is the one that inspired me to learn the instrument which I love so much now, it was only fitting that the first song I ever crafted drums to was in the mould of the brilliant Phil Selway. All this being said, since the song has evolved over the months the drums have actually become much changed to what they originally were.
We finished the practice and went for a pint down in the old Harbour Bar. If anyone had have herd the music we were playing they would have acknowledged that it was complete shambles, but much like the first practice in The Commitments, it was definitely a start. Plus it was the first time we'd played two of our current mainstays, Hang Me Up To Dry and Don't Drop Me (Here is a live performance of Don't Drop Me and Hang Me Up To Dry @ The Button Factory last month)
The same time the following week we were to have our first practice with David O'Rourke, oh how I didn't realise how much this would change my life as the man who I barely knew at that time is now one of my dearest friends and one of the few people who make me hold on to what little faith I have in humanity! But thats something that I'll write about another day.
Great God!
Shelbs
I'll start off with a very brief history of the band. We formed early in 2010, practiced and wrote a fair bit, began gigging in April and haven't really stopped since, playing venues like The Button Factory, Crawdaddy, Andrews Lane Theatre in Dublin and last but not least, the dearest Harbour Bar in Bray!
The earliest thing I remember about the band is our first practice in our first practice place, a born-again Christian warehouse turned youth club in Little Bray on a very cold, very dark Wednesday in November 2009. Paul and I had talked about jamming for a few months and had put off actually starting for 4 or 5 weeks, so long in fact that the guy who opened the warehouse for us and let us practice probably wouldn't have ever let us start if we postponed it even a week longer, my 5th consecutive cancelling of our Wednesday night slot had clearly irked him. In any case, with our future lead guitarist and husky vocalist David in his sick bed in a terrible state, whinier singer/rhythm guitarist Paul and his bass slapping brother Alan and I went to practice. We instantly weren't a hit with the crowd who frequented the place, with their first impression of Paul ending with him cursing his "shitty old guitar," I should have told him they don't like swearing. As we walked onto the stage in the back room of the warehouse which was occasionally used to throw gigs, Paul asked if we should run through Evil by Interpol just to see where we all stood. I had learned this in the few weeks previous since it was the flagship song of the guys older band, Las Armas.
So the first song we ever played was just the three of us, we produced a very bare and very rough cover of this brilliant song. I'd known Alan from around for years but never had anything close to a relationship with him (oh how that would change!) unlike with Paul as we had always been in the same close group of friends but just never been very close ourselves (change, change, change!). I'll forever remember what Alan said directly after the song though "I didn't know you were actually a good drummer!" How wrong he was! I'm not great now by any stretch of the imagination, but back then I spent weeks struggling to learn Hang Me Up To Dry and Evil because I simply didn't have the ability to play them. I'd been drumming for years but never had any extended practice and was really, really awful!
The rest of the practice went surprisingly well, for a lot of failed tries I'd never actually jammed with what could have been a real band before. This practice is also when we first played Don't Drop Me. The Doran's had written this song acoustically and been playing it for probably a year or so but this was the first time it would have drums to it. The drums were originally a very simplified version of the beat from Where I End And You Begin by Radiohead. I never usually take beats directly from a song but this track is special, I've listened to it thousands and thousands of times, no exaggeration at all. Its easily my favourite song of all time, its alternate title is what this blog is named in honour of and this drumbeat is the one that inspired me to learn the instrument which I love so much now, it was only fitting that the first song I ever crafted drums to was in the mould of the brilliant Phil Selway. All this being said, since the song has evolved over the months the drums have actually become much changed to what they originally were.
We finished the practice and went for a pint down in the old Harbour Bar. If anyone had have herd the music we were playing they would have acknowledged that it was complete shambles, but much like the first practice in The Commitments, it was definitely a start. Plus it was the first time we'd played two of our current mainstays, Hang Me Up To Dry and Don't Drop Me (Here is a live performance of Don't Drop Me and Hang Me Up To Dry @ The Button Factory last month)
The same time the following week we were to have our first practice with David O'Rourke, oh how I didn't realise how much this would change my life as the man who I barely knew at that time is now one of my dearest friends and one of the few people who make me hold on to what little faith I have in humanity! But thats something that I'll write about another day.
Great God!
Shelbs
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Untitled
There's a gap between the trains
There's a way to the woods
Where they're sorry for a lot
Because the end is beautiful
Son you make me so proud
When I'm high as the clouds
You make me so proud
But I wish I could come down
And I'm sorry for your birth
The aliens rule the earth
The sky is dark and green
And beautiful
To escape my mind
To escape my mind
To escape mankind
To escape my mind
Please pardon all this day
As we feel our souls decay
Pardon all this day
It hurts forever to try
There should have been a place
The father taught his ways
And he loved always
Not in his sleep
To escape my mind
To escape my mind
To escape mankind
To escape my mind
I'll escape my mind
I'll escape my mind
You'll escape mankind
I'll escape my mind
There's a way to the woods
Where they're sorry for a lot
Because the end is beautiful
Son you make me so proud
When I'm high as the clouds
You make me so proud
But I wish I could come down
And I'm sorry for your birth
The aliens rule the earth
The sky is dark and green
And beautiful
To escape my mind
To escape my mind
To escape mankind
To escape my mind
Please pardon all this day
As we feel our souls decay
Pardon all this day
It hurts forever to try
There should have been a place
The father taught his ways
And he loved always
Not in his sleep
To escape my mind
To escape my mind
To escape mankind
To escape my mind
I'll escape my mind
I'll escape my mind
You'll escape mankind
I'll escape my mind
Monday, July 5, 2010
Shameless Plugging of Band on Blog
Not that this is something I want to get in to a habit of, but I'm so proud of my band The Excuses and the live set we played at The Button Factory for the launch of my uncles book Gurriers that I felt I had to share it on this.
Live at The Button Factory by The Excuses
Live at The Button Factory by The Excuses
Sunday, July 4, 2010
As The Bullet Flies
Oh, as I sit in this lobby in the House of Commons, the heart and mind of my beloved England, I wonder what will be the consequence of this seemingly normal day, the eleventh in this month of May, in this year of 1812. I stroke the gun which sits in the specially tailored pocket on the inside left of my overcoat as I watch these filthy dogs go about their daily bidding. I pay special attention to the great doors opposite the bench I sit on, my weeks spent lingering in here in the spare hours of my day have thought me that it is these doors that the man I want will walk through, for today England shall lose its head of state. Alas, his fate has been sealed since I spent those four years of hell in that Russian prison to have him simply turn his back on me, to have his servants tell me I should take whatever liberty I felt proper for they would not compensate the ruining of my myself and my family! Well, well! That liberty shall be the termination of Mr Spencer Percevals life by me, the perfectly reasonable and sensible John Bellingham.
The reason I wonder, or worry even, is that I fear my individual act of vengeance may inspire a chain of similar deeds from countrymen who feel they were wronged or hold some shallow motive taking the final option of the life of the head of state. As sure I am these politicians will preach that was my motive, I am that I do not want this to become of our green and pleasant land! That is the status quo of those revolutionary fools in France or America and should never be here. I hope on all that is good that this will not happen, I fear that my family simply could not live with the horror of that along with unbearable shame I shall undeniably bestow upon them. My wife has already conveyed her idea that I am losing touch with my mind and the reality we live in and has frequently pleaded with me to simply live life and try and simply let lie my heavy history. Unthinkable.
The clock strikes ten minutes past five. The doors open, but none of the figures who walk through are Mr Perceval. They are either too tall or their noses too small to be that doomed man. With this thought comes rising doubt, I have a sudden urge not to complete my task. Although he is just 49, Spencer bears the face of a man who has lived much more years. As Prime Ministers go, he has not been a bad one to say the least, although he is not the most intelligent of men it cannot be denied he is a hard worker who loves his country. But it is not even this which is defeating my urge to kill him, it is his pathetic appearance that I have noted these last weeks. Surely the world, the country, the jury will look so harshly on me for killing such a man of such pitiful physical appearance, such a meek man, for despite my years of malnutrition I stand so tall and so powerful over the majority of those who walk these corridors and the majority of those who walk the common streets.
The clock now stands at a quarter past five and now there is no time to dwell on these thoughts as the door opens and Mr Perceval walks through. I stand up, hand firmly on my gun. I walk in his direction. He takes no notice of me as he is conversing with a fellow M.P. While drawing my gun I speak with a venom which is surprising even to myself.
"Your position can't save you now!" I take aim at his heart and pull the trigger. Every single politician turn their filthy necks as the booming sound of the gunshot rings out throughout these corridors, like the sound that would have ran through the Palace of Westminster had Guy Fawkes succeeded with his gunpowder plot. But he didn't, and I did.
"Murder!" shouts that sorry soul as he falls backwards into the arms of one of his ministers. As I calmly walk back to take my seat I am overcome with two very different things. One is the politicians restraining me (I can even hear Isaac Gascoyne shout "Bellingham, that bastard is Bellingham!") but what seems infinitely more real is the fact that I am the first man to take the life of an English head of state, and with that there is a very bizarre sense of pride in myself, my actions but most of all my country.
One week later, John Bellingham was hanged in public for the assassination of Spencer Perceval. This murder was the only successful attempt on the life of a British Prime Minister.
Further Reading/Listening!
A brilliant summary of John Bellingham's life on Wikipedia.
An ever more brilliant song and music video inspired by the murder, also this is what inspired me to write the story. Spencer Perceval by iLiKETRAiNS.
The reason I wonder, or worry even, is that I fear my individual act of vengeance may inspire a chain of similar deeds from countrymen who feel they were wronged or hold some shallow motive taking the final option of the life of the head of state. As sure I am these politicians will preach that was my motive, I am that I do not want this to become of our green and pleasant land! That is the status quo of those revolutionary fools in France or America and should never be here. I hope on all that is good that this will not happen, I fear that my family simply could not live with the horror of that along with unbearable shame I shall undeniably bestow upon them. My wife has already conveyed her idea that I am losing touch with my mind and the reality we live in and has frequently pleaded with me to simply live life and try and simply let lie my heavy history. Unthinkable.
The clock strikes ten minutes past five. The doors open, but none of the figures who walk through are Mr Perceval. They are either too tall or their noses too small to be that doomed man. With this thought comes rising doubt, I have a sudden urge not to complete my task. Although he is just 49, Spencer bears the face of a man who has lived much more years. As Prime Ministers go, he has not been a bad one to say the least, although he is not the most intelligent of men it cannot be denied he is a hard worker who loves his country. But it is not even this which is defeating my urge to kill him, it is his pathetic appearance that I have noted these last weeks. Surely the world, the country, the jury will look so harshly on me for killing such a man of such pitiful physical appearance, such a meek man, for despite my years of malnutrition I stand so tall and so powerful over the majority of those who walk these corridors and the majority of those who walk the common streets.
The clock now stands at a quarter past five and now there is no time to dwell on these thoughts as the door opens and Mr Perceval walks through. I stand up, hand firmly on my gun. I walk in his direction. He takes no notice of me as he is conversing with a fellow M.P. While drawing my gun I speak with a venom which is surprising even to myself.
"Your position can't save you now!" I take aim at his heart and pull the trigger. Every single politician turn their filthy necks as the booming sound of the gunshot rings out throughout these corridors, like the sound that would have ran through the Palace of Westminster had Guy Fawkes succeeded with his gunpowder plot. But he didn't, and I did.
"Murder!" shouts that sorry soul as he falls backwards into the arms of one of his ministers. As I calmly walk back to take my seat I am overcome with two very different things. One is the politicians restraining me (I can even hear Isaac Gascoyne shout "Bellingham, that bastard is Bellingham!") but what seems infinitely more real is the fact that I am the first man to take the life of an English head of state, and with that there is a very bizarre sense of pride in myself, my actions but most of all my country.
One week later, John Bellingham was hanged in public for the assassination of Spencer Perceval. This murder was the only successful attempt on the life of a British Prime Minister.
Further Reading/Listening!
A brilliant summary of John Bellingham's life on Wikipedia.
An ever more brilliant song and music video inspired by the murder, also this is what inspired me to write the story. Spencer Perceval by iLiKETRAiNS.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
A Battle of Intellect
Something a little more lighthearted in between my two stories of the world which was destroyed by the falling of the sky. I've changed the name out of respect, most Greek names are very long and interchangeable anyway sure.
John Papadopoulos is a man who my friends added whilst on my Facebook some time ago for the purpose of trolling and whatnot. Today however, he noticed something which I wrote on my info section over a year ago. For those of you too lazy to return to my Facebook page which you probably got this link off, under political views it reads: All Greek People Are Gay - FACT! At 17:45 on Sunday June 27th 2010, John Papadopoulos seemed to take some offence to this:
17:45 John
All greek people are gay
I don't agree with this
17:47 Me
but you're gay
and greek
and i must admit you're the only greek person i know
i mean i understand greece has probably the richest history and culture of any country in the world
and that without them who knows what the world would be like today
but oscar wilde had a wife... clearly throughout history all greek people have been as gay as christmas
18:04 John
....
you know that's not true
18:05 Me
listen chap
i really think it is
in generations to come everyone will look back and realise how right i am
18:06 John
you better reconsider before i give you a right bollocking
So every single male person in Greece is gay?
That's fucking ridiculous
you homophobic twit
18:07 Me
hey i'm not homophobic or anything
or racist
i love the greeks, they're one of my favourite peoples, probably my favourite besides the finns
but its just my working theory that they are all gay
18:07 John
Look, okay
I realise ancient Athens had quite a reputation for pederasty and gay love
but that doesn't mean nowadays it's still relevant
18:10 John
Are you saying my Greek father was gay??
Oh no, I won't have that at all
or my grandfather
that's downright insulting
18:11 Me
john some of these claims you are making are very outrageous
18:11 John
what claims??
18:13 John
I will simply not accept your prepostorus claim that all Greek males like other males
that is not, never has been and never will be true
DEAL WITH IT
18:16 Me
are you saying that there's not even the slimmest chance that this is true? i mean, all humans are predisposed to be somewhat attracted to both sexes, i just feel greeks feel that slightly stronger than most
18:16 John
Why would they!?
18:17 Me
you'd be amazed at how relevant an upbringing in a certain nationality or culture can be mr papadopoulos
18:18 John
It's clear you have an issue with Greece and its people for some reason ... have a bad experience with one?
18:18 Me
i don't... i really don't
i love greek people
18:19 John
hah
18:19 Me
i used to always pick greece in rome: total war
18:19 John
... oh so that's okay
18:19 Me
despite their lack of heavy cavalry
18:21 John
I know SEVERAL Greek people who are not even remotely gay or likely to be
18:21 Me
well their clearly the exception that proves the rule
several out of 11,000,000
18:22 John
btw anyone ever tell you you're hot?
I saw your pics
quite attractive
thought you should know
John Papadopoulos is a man who my friends added whilst on my Facebook some time ago for the purpose of trolling and whatnot. Today however, he noticed something which I wrote on my info section over a year ago. For those of you too lazy to return to my Facebook page which you probably got this link off, under political views it reads: All Greek People Are Gay - FACT! At 17:45 on Sunday June 27th 2010, John Papadopoulos seemed to take some offence to this:
17:45 John
All greek people are gay
I don't agree with this
17:47 Me
but you're gay
and greek
and i must admit you're the only greek person i know
i mean i understand greece has probably the richest history and culture of any country in the world
and that without them who knows what the world would be like today
but oscar wilde had a wife... clearly throughout history all greek people have been as gay as christmas
18:04 John
....
you know that's not true
18:05 Me
listen chap
i really think it is
in generations to come everyone will look back and realise how right i am
18:06 John
you better reconsider before i give you a right bollocking
So every single male person in Greece is gay?
That's fucking ridiculous
you homophobic twit
18:07 Me
hey i'm not homophobic or anything
or racist
i love the greeks, they're one of my favourite peoples, probably my favourite besides the finns
but its just my working theory that they are all gay
18:07 John
Look, okay
I realise ancient Athens had quite a reputation for pederasty and gay love
but that doesn't mean nowadays it's still relevant
18:10 John
Are you saying my Greek father was gay??
Oh no, I won't have that at all
or my grandfather
that's downright insulting
18:11 Me
john some of these claims you are making are very outrageous
18:11 John
what claims??
18:13 John
I will simply not accept your prepostorus claim that all Greek males like other males
that is not, never has been and never will be true
DEAL WITH IT
18:16 Me
are you saying that there's not even the slimmest chance that this is true? i mean, all humans are predisposed to be somewhat attracted to both sexes, i just feel greeks feel that slightly stronger than most
18:16 John
Why would they!?
18:17 Me
you'd be amazed at how relevant an upbringing in a certain nationality or culture can be mr papadopoulos
18:18 John
It's clear you have an issue with Greece and its people for some reason ... have a bad experience with one?
18:18 Me
i don't... i really don't
i love greek people
18:19 John
hah
18:19 Me
i used to always pick greece in rome: total war
18:19 John
... oh so that's okay
18:19 Me
despite their lack of heavy cavalry
18:21 John
I know SEVERAL Greek people who are not even remotely gay or likely to be
18:21 Me
well their clearly the exception that proves the rule
several out of 11,000,000
18:22 John
btw anyone ever tell you you're hot?
I saw your pics
quite attractive
thought you should know
Thursday, June 17, 2010
To Die Alone
It had been probably 6 months since he began this trek and maybe 2 years since the sky had lowered and daytime had left. Tonight (what used to be 'day' was always night) was especially dark and bitter. He walked along what could have been the grassiest of fields but was now nothing but scorched earth, black and ruined and indistinguishable from any other place he had been. He wore his mask which was now as ragged as his old, smelly rags that hung off his malnourished body. His once trimmed hair was long and unruly and he he had grown a beard which seemed to all but enforce the state that all affairs had fallen into, but in his bright green eyes there remained what was either hope or madness.
Day 673 or 520: no sleep again last night. strong winds and no chance of shelter means that continuing walking was inevitable. food has been completely gone for 3 weeks, had this been before the sky fell i believe i would be dead, but after so long in these conditions i believe my body and mind are much harder and i am only beginning to feel the strain. whiskey is about to run out, finished maybe my whole final flask today and am quite drunk. if those from where i came saw they would be 'disappointed,' but i continue as if i were sober. why not be drunk in such awful times, such an awful place.
losing hope in search for hospital 12. my earliest memory after the sky falling is the survivors talking of 12, how 12 was salviation, how one day there would be a complete march to 12. but they began to bear their unbearable surroundings and it became clear no march would ever be made and they would die in the rut that they had created. so i marched alone for 12. my compass told me i headed north which means i was actually travelling south. geomorphological acceleration, or reversal, i try to say it allowed but my words are just slurred and my voice unfamiliar as it is the first time i've spoke in weeks.
Day 674 or 521: joy of joys! easier conditions and a depot of well preserved food today. i was not myself but still walking when i stumbled over a black box. it was well hidden and i struggled to see it even in front of my face. i opened the box and it was a bounty of canned goods. i was so tired eating that i cannot even fathom what it could have been, i just ate and ate without even considering the dangers of re-feeding myself so suddenly. after an unknown period of time the food was gone, so i continued to walk for a distance till i felt comfortably tired and collapsed into a much needed sound sleep.
Day 675 or 522: another mind blowing day, as if my mind wasn't blew enough already! after one of my longest walks in weeks i saw a dent on the horizon, a little black mark piercing the sky which was instead of black the deepest shade of blue. my hopes i held out for this were soon confirmed when i saw an old, completely ruined road sign in which all that could be made out was "12." i was there! my anticipation was only overcame with fatigue, after writing this i will surely fall asleep and tomorrow make for the salvation which has been keeping me running on empty for so long. my ruined body will finally rest after achieving what my stubborn mind had insisted upon for so long.
The next day he approached the hospital. The building was dilapidated but in much better shape than most other things since the sky fell. All was quiet for him as he approached the outside to discover the door was locked. He contemplated waiting here, but the wind which was gathering force encouraged him to shoulder the door in and enter, it was a wonder he had any power in his body left to do this. The fabled hospital was apparently empty, chairs, beds and gurneys sprawled across the old halls. Up and up he thought, what awaits him must be on the top floor. He climbed the staircase 7 times, or 8 times, he couldn't keep track of anything anymore except the desire he had to reach the top. The top floor had only one long corridor that led to a room at the end, the door slightly ajar. Who awaited him here? He walked down, all of a sudden aware of his skinny arms with sunken skin that was covered in dirt moving at his sides. He watched his hands open the door back even further. He entered the room. He observed.
There was only two chairs in this large room. One was a large recliner in which sat a dead, bearded man. His eyes were wide open, gigantic and red. Even though he was clearly dead for some time, his hands seemed to grip onto the arm rests of the chair, and his horrible stare was directed at the other seat in the room, direclty opposite him and only a few feet away. This would have been such a horrifying thing to observe if the disappointment of the scene hadn't drove the observer completely insane. He walked over and took the seat opposite the bearded man, sat back and looked into his eyes. Sometime later he died of fatigue or heartbreak.
And what a shame, no one will remember his name.
Day 673 or 520: no sleep again last night. strong winds and no chance of shelter means that continuing walking was inevitable. food has been completely gone for 3 weeks, had this been before the sky fell i believe i would be dead, but after so long in these conditions i believe my body and mind are much harder and i am only beginning to feel the strain. whiskey is about to run out, finished maybe my whole final flask today and am quite drunk. if those from where i came saw they would be 'disappointed,' but i continue as if i were sober. why not be drunk in such awful times, such an awful place.
losing hope in search for hospital 12. my earliest memory after the sky falling is the survivors talking of 12, how 12 was salviation, how one day there would be a complete march to 12. but they began to bear their unbearable surroundings and it became clear no march would ever be made and they would die in the rut that they had created. so i marched alone for 12. my compass told me i headed north which means i was actually travelling south. geomorphological acceleration, or reversal, i try to say it allowed but my words are just slurred and my voice unfamiliar as it is the first time i've spoke in weeks.
Day 674 or 521: joy of joys! easier conditions and a depot of well preserved food today. i was not myself but still walking when i stumbled over a black box. it was well hidden and i struggled to see it even in front of my face. i opened the box and it was a bounty of canned goods. i was so tired eating that i cannot even fathom what it could have been, i just ate and ate without even considering the dangers of re-feeding myself so suddenly. after an unknown period of time the food was gone, so i continued to walk for a distance till i felt comfortably tired and collapsed into a much needed sound sleep.
Day 675 or 522: another mind blowing day, as if my mind wasn't blew enough already! after one of my longest walks in weeks i saw a dent on the horizon, a little black mark piercing the sky which was instead of black the deepest shade of blue. my hopes i held out for this were soon confirmed when i saw an old, completely ruined road sign in which all that could be made out was "12." i was there! my anticipation was only overcame with fatigue, after writing this i will surely fall asleep and tomorrow make for the salvation which has been keeping me running on empty for so long. my ruined body will finally rest after achieving what my stubborn mind had insisted upon for so long.
The next day he approached the hospital. The building was dilapidated but in much better shape than most other things since the sky fell. All was quiet for him as he approached the outside to discover the door was locked. He contemplated waiting here, but the wind which was gathering force encouraged him to shoulder the door in and enter, it was a wonder he had any power in his body left to do this. The fabled hospital was apparently empty, chairs, beds and gurneys sprawled across the old halls. Up and up he thought, what awaits him must be on the top floor. He climbed the staircase 7 times, or 8 times, he couldn't keep track of anything anymore except the desire he had to reach the top. The top floor had only one long corridor that led to a room at the end, the door slightly ajar. Who awaited him here? He walked down, all of a sudden aware of his skinny arms with sunken skin that was covered in dirt moving at his sides. He watched his hands open the door back even further. He entered the room. He observed.
There was only two chairs in this large room. One was a large recliner in which sat a dead, bearded man. His eyes were wide open, gigantic and red. Even though he was clearly dead for some time, his hands seemed to grip onto the arm rests of the chair, and his horrible stare was directed at the other seat in the room, direclty opposite him and only a few feet away. This would have been such a horrifying thing to observe if the disappointment of the scene hadn't drove the observer completely insane. He walked over and took the seat opposite the bearded man, sat back and looked into his eyes. Sometime later he died of fatigue or heartbreak.
And what a shame, no one will remember his name.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Bloggers/'s Block!
4am. Tired. Dirty. Trying to turn a dream I had months and months ago into a short story to no fucking avail AGAIN! (6th or 7th time)
Friday, May 21, 2010
Meeting in the Abattoir
- 1. Why do people always say their "battling" cancer. Some battle. If something that powerful took over my body, something I knew would have the last laugh no matter what, I'd welcome it like I would an old friend and we could share that laugh together.
- 2, A penny for most people's thoughts seems a little expensive.
- 3/ It would be unreasonable to try and say what the greatest ever human achievement is but there's nothing more reasonable than saying its already happened.
- 4% A hero has to be naive above everything else and thats why there are none left.
- 5* Watch this, isn't it great? You're not watching, just watch this one part, its so good, if you just see this part you'll understand. Are you watching?
- 6& The hardest person to spend time with is myself.
- 6&! How can we really listen with these ears? They condense all the highs and the lows of real sound so what we hear in our heads is just filtered garbage. The only way to really feel is to cut them off!
- ₤7 People aren't allowed to marry themselves because the divorce rate would be so high.
- {9} The undeniable truth that none of us will ever see the best parts of this world makes my soul fit to burst.
- ¿¿¿ I wanted to write something positive to end on but I wouldn't be able to look in the mirror and there's nothing more important.
Monday, April 26, 2010
The Devil's Hands
For the first time in years and years, Mr. Henderson began to weep. It started in his sitting room, completely out of the blue. While watching his brand new 52" television and enjoying a fully organic breakfast, something dark overcame him and his eyes welled up with tears. He then headed up his picturesque spiral staircase (also new) to his large, walk in shower. But the hot water couldn't wash away this seething layer of sin. He simply broke down. He curled into a ball and cried and cried, the thought of what he had become made him physically sick and emotionally distraught. He was crushed, and so he wept for hours, he wept like nobody ever had before. He eventually composed himself, for it was evening now and Mr. Henderson had an important business meeting to go to. This man would simply have to remain at home while Mr. Henderson left, as if he should not be allowed in the outside world anyway! So steady himself he did, and get dressed he did. As he looked in the mirror the horrible feeling that had possessed him for hours slowly began to melt away.
It was such a beautiful day out, stings of clouds sparsely painted on the sky. Mr. Henderson walked down the road outside his house, he had decided not to drive, the exercise would do his ageing legs good. A mother and her daughter walked past, both dressed in their summer clothes. She had little fine legs.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Name of the Game
i wrote this short story very late at night last week, it was influenced by a dream i had whilst staying in my close friend's house. it took around an hour to write and is just over 1,000 words. been thinking of making it into a book this summer if i'm not working/drinking too much, but for now it just reads as a short version of a longer story
wake up
wash ears
wash face
break fast
leave house
walk north
board ship
sail...
Cross 37° S
sudden flash
exit world
enter world
purple sky
purple sea
sail...
dock...
new people
similar people
shun you
shun crew
farmers...
builders...
so intelligent
completely stupid
introduce cruelty
beat children
rape women
the death
the poverty
grow fat
kill children
the pigs
fight
fight
rape
fight...
eat captain
get beaten
get stabbed
die painfully
this is the story of a ship with a mere crew of 10 people (1 captain and 9 seamen) which left this world as it crossed the 37th degree of latitude. it entered another world in a flash of bright white light. it was strikingly similar to the one that we know, but for the vibrant purple sky and sea and the almost constant twilight. the ship soon found port to dock in, a small, isolated island containing no more than 300 inhabitants, all of whom spoke a strange dialect of english.
the islanders were all traditional farmers and builders, and of either white or a slightly tanned complexion with standard physical features. the island was not very developed, although had small amounts of electricity from a windmill. the farmers kept pigs. there was no weapons. the buildings had very unique square architecture, and would have looked futuristic if they had not been crudely built from stone. there was 2 public houses.
the crew of the ship were completely ignored by the islanders. after struggling to sustain themselves, they eventually started to use violence to commandeer food, clothes, and bathing facilities. it became apparent that the islanders had no concept of cruelty or violence as they simply did not defend themselves. the captain soon asserted himself to ruler of the island. his men lived like kings, being well fed and enjoying the spoils of the native women.
the mens greed being instantly fulfilled meant they soon became bored of 'just' domination. they began to beat children and kill and eat men for sport, or else feed them to the pigs. they grew fatter and fatter. the islanders became so downtrodden that they began to die of depression and heartbreak. the crew were not worried by this and their 'sport' became more and more horrific. they buried children in the ground until only their head was showing, masturbated onto it, and then kicked at it until it separated from the body.
the population quickly depleted to almost zero. the last islander was a resilient woman named cunha. sudden realisation that they would not survive without those who they had killed off, the crew began to turn on each other. they first tortured, killed and ate their captain before killing each other in a bloodbath which saw all the buildings destroyed. although a member of the crew had raped her several times during this final battle royale, cunha remained alive. only she and the fat pigs remained of what once was on this peaceful island.
cunha wandered the island for weeks, unable to die quickly but instead suffering intense mental and physical pain and a long drawn out death. the pigs also eventually died of starvation, having feasted on the rotting bodies for quite some time.
the crew had been on the island for 5 weeks
wake up
wash ears
wash face
break fast
leave house
walk north
board ship
sail...
Cross 37° S
sudden flash
exit world
enter world
purple sky
purple sea
sail...
dock...
new people
similar people
shun you
shun crew
farmers...
builders...
so intelligent
completely stupid
introduce cruelty
beat children
rape women
the death
the poverty
grow fat
kill children
the pigs
fight
fight
rape
fight...
eat captain
get beaten
get stabbed
die painfully
this is the story of a ship with a mere crew of 10 people (1 captain and 9 seamen) which left this world as it crossed the 37th degree of latitude. it entered another world in a flash of bright white light. it was strikingly similar to the one that we know, but for the vibrant purple sky and sea and the almost constant twilight. the ship soon found port to dock in, a small, isolated island containing no more than 300 inhabitants, all of whom spoke a strange dialect of english.
the islanders were all traditional farmers and builders, and of either white or a slightly tanned complexion with standard physical features. the island was not very developed, although had small amounts of electricity from a windmill. the farmers kept pigs. there was no weapons. the buildings had very unique square architecture, and would have looked futuristic if they had not been crudely built from stone. there was 2 public houses.
the crew of the ship were completely ignored by the islanders. after struggling to sustain themselves, they eventually started to use violence to commandeer food, clothes, and bathing facilities. it became apparent that the islanders had no concept of cruelty or violence as they simply did not defend themselves. the captain soon asserted himself to ruler of the island. his men lived like kings, being well fed and enjoying the spoils of the native women.
the mens greed being instantly fulfilled meant they soon became bored of 'just' domination. they began to beat children and kill and eat men for sport, or else feed them to the pigs. they grew fatter and fatter. the islanders became so downtrodden that they began to die of depression and heartbreak. the crew were not worried by this and their 'sport' became more and more horrific. they buried children in the ground until only their head was showing, masturbated onto it, and then kicked at it until it separated from the body.
the population quickly depleted to almost zero. the last islander was a resilient woman named cunha. sudden realisation that they would not survive without those who they had killed off, the crew began to turn on each other. they first tortured, killed and ate their captain before killing each other in a bloodbath which saw all the buildings destroyed. although a member of the crew had raped her several times during this final battle royale, cunha remained alive. only she and the fat pigs remained of what once was on this peaceful island.
cunha wandered the island for weeks, unable to die quickly but instead suffering intense mental and physical pain and a long drawn out death. the pigs also eventually died of starvation, having feasted on the rotting bodies for quite some time.
the crew had been on the island for 5 weeks
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