You know, up until this morning I had never sneezed vomit.
Isn't beer great?
Actually no, I really should stop I feel rather fragile today
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Music
The last few days I've been doing various things; writing, reading, playing games, even lowering myself to the depths of prolonged solitare binges. While doing all these things I've been, of course, listening to music. I usually have some music playing when I'm doing just about everything, even essay writing and sleeping. The misapprehension that most people seem to have is that it is background, that I just have it there because I don't like silence.
To an extent this is true, my ears do a strange thing when there is no noise that I can best describe in terms that might miss most people. It's like turning up the gain on a amplifier with no signal going through it - it starts as silence but ends up amplifying noise, if I just listen to silence for more than a few seconds I get the strange sensation of a sound that isn't really sound that rises to a deafening pitch but at the same time isn't actually louder than any of the minute sounds around me. However, that doesn't bother me, it goes away if I make a noise, which is why I make all sorts of strange noises when I'm on my own - see I'm not mad. Although that said reading back through this it does sound more than slightly peculiar.
But anyway, music for me isn't always the background; in fact quite often it is exactly the opposite. There are many people who have sat around talking to me with some music playing in the background not realizing that in my head things are the other way round. All of the various activities that I described above as ways of passing the time have, in fact, just been things to keep certain parts of my mind occupied while the rest of it is diggin' the sounds. Absorbed though I get I can't just sit and listen to a piece of music, I get bored, my hands and the bits of my brain that aren't involved in the music need something to do. If they don't they tend to disturb the other bits of my brain like someone playing trance music in an exam.
The best place to listen to music, I find, is when out walking or in a car, the constant stream of things that pass you allow you to absorb yourself completely in the music. All of the times that I've been really affected by music have been when I'm traveling somewhere; it was on the walk home that 'Castles Made of Sand' by Jimi Hendrix made me cry or when I got so into the album 'Beautiful Freak' by the Eels that I ended up walking around my neighborhood listening to it for hours rather than go home.
In reality what I've been doing for the last few days is trying to get all there is to get from various CDs. I heard sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts club band for the first time and liked it. I got completely sucked in by the images that Creedance Clearwater Revival and the Queens of the Stone Age stuck in my head. I jumped around like a mad hoon to the Mad Caddies and King Prawn. I read the entirety of a Terry Pratchett book while listening to Ben Harper and Skip James and can honestly say that although I was turning the pages and, in theory at least, reading the book I can't remember anything about it now.
This whole little article has, in fact been an excuse to stay up and listen to Bloc Party's new album so don't be surprised if this didn't make any sense, I'm not really paying any attention.
Bloc Party are Damn good though.
-Ben
To an extent this is true, my ears do a strange thing when there is no noise that I can best describe in terms that might miss most people. It's like turning up the gain on a amplifier with no signal going through it - it starts as silence but ends up amplifying noise, if I just listen to silence for more than a few seconds I get the strange sensation of a sound that isn't really sound that rises to a deafening pitch but at the same time isn't actually louder than any of the minute sounds around me. However, that doesn't bother me, it goes away if I make a noise, which is why I make all sorts of strange noises when I'm on my own - see I'm not mad. Although that said reading back through this it does sound more than slightly peculiar.
But anyway, music for me isn't always the background; in fact quite often it is exactly the opposite. There are many people who have sat around talking to me with some music playing in the background not realizing that in my head things are the other way round. All of the various activities that I described above as ways of passing the time have, in fact, just been things to keep certain parts of my mind occupied while the rest of it is diggin' the sounds. Absorbed though I get I can't just sit and listen to a piece of music, I get bored, my hands and the bits of my brain that aren't involved in the music need something to do. If they don't they tend to disturb the other bits of my brain like someone playing trance music in an exam.
The best place to listen to music, I find, is when out walking or in a car, the constant stream of things that pass you allow you to absorb yourself completely in the music. All of the times that I've been really affected by music have been when I'm traveling somewhere; it was on the walk home that 'Castles Made of Sand' by Jimi Hendrix made me cry or when I got so into the album 'Beautiful Freak' by the Eels that I ended up walking around my neighborhood listening to it for hours rather than go home.
In reality what I've been doing for the last few days is trying to get all there is to get from various CDs. I heard sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts club band for the first time and liked it. I got completely sucked in by the images that Creedance Clearwater Revival and the Queens of the Stone Age stuck in my head. I jumped around like a mad hoon to the Mad Caddies and King Prawn. I read the entirety of a Terry Pratchett book while listening to Ben Harper and Skip James and can honestly say that although I was turning the pages and, in theory at least, reading the book I can't remember anything about it now.
This whole little article has, in fact been an excuse to stay up and listen to Bloc Party's new album so don't be surprised if this didn't make any sense, I'm not really paying any attention.
Bloc Party are Damn good though.
-Ben
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Old Money
I'm trying not to talk about my life at the moment because there is nothing at all happening there. I have reached unseen new heights of boredom, the like of which have previously only been glimpsed by people in comas. The mistake I've been making with all this is that I've been explaining and documenting this boredom here, an act which itself just causes more. As I said before this was intended to be interesting but has become a place where I leave messages about my day for people that I've missed more than anything else. I think from now on I'm going to try and put that sort of thing in Emails, most of it is pretty private anyway.
I'm not saying that this will get any less tedious but it'll probably be a different flavour of boring; pretentious, self-righteous, editorialising boring rather than the minutiae of the dull life of some middle class wastrel.
I'm not sure what that leaves me to talk about really; normally it would be politics but at the moment I'm trying to avoid all that. The news is getting really repetitive. All this stuff about the bombings, the people who did the bombings, the people who might have influenced the people who did the bombings - it's all getting pretty monotonous, it's mostly conjecture too; most of the events reported are in the realm of spooks and police investigators, neither of which are exactly known for being particularly candid. This all means that the news is mostly misapprehensions and speculation - informed or otherwise - something that is solid fact one hour can be proven to be false by the next bulletin. The poor Brazilian guy who was shot dead on the tube the other day is a good example: The reports originally said that the police had shot one of the bombers during another attempted bombing. 'Woo' think the people, evildoers foiled. But no. As the hours and days pass I've watched, between the gaps in the fingers held in front of my eyes, as this valiant defence of feedom - or life or toast or whatever it is that people hold dear - turns into a cold blooded execution of an unarmed, innocent man; whose only crime was to not have a British passport and to run away from a bunch of ununiformed blokes with guns. I'm going to leave this all for a while, sample what it's like being Howie, and try not paying any attention to current affairs, or at least the ones that concern this.
I'm not saying that I don't want to know how the story ends, I'll come back to this whole sorry situation in a few weeks, when the press actually have some idea what has happened, who did it and why. I suppose this is me just wanting a happy ending, wussing out and wanting to see the resolution without the waiting and the setbacks that all others must endure. Well, screw that, all this has affected me far more than I expected it to and more than anything like this has before. I think I'd rather just go back to being traumatised or delighted by the events of my personal life. This whole dirty affair makes me really depressed.
Ok. I appear to have managed to write a great deal about politics for someone who is avoiding it. I suppose avoiding it is a political act of its own. Sort of. Albeit a pretty passive and lazy one.
-Ben
The reason that is called 'old money' is because I was going to write something else but couldn't be arsed. It's too late and I'm too stupified with boredom to think of a title so you can think of your own - pick one that makes you happy.
I'm off to bed.
Goodnight
I'm not saying that this will get any less tedious but it'll probably be a different flavour of boring; pretentious, self-righteous, editorialising boring rather than the minutiae of the dull life of some middle class wastrel.
I'm not sure what that leaves me to talk about really; normally it would be politics but at the moment I'm trying to avoid all that. The news is getting really repetitive. All this stuff about the bombings, the people who did the bombings, the people who might have influenced the people who did the bombings - it's all getting pretty monotonous, it's mostly conjecture too; most of the events reported are in the realm of spooks and police investigators, neither of which are exactly known for being particularly candid. This all means that the news is mostly misapprehensions and speculation - informed or otherwise - something that is solid fact one hour can be proven to be false by the next bulletin. The poor Brazilian guy who was shot dead on the tube the other day is a good example: The reports originally said that the police had shot one of the bombers during another attempted bombing. 'Woo' think the people, evildoers foiled. But no. As the hours and days pass I've watched, between the gaps in the fingers held in front of my eyes, as this valiant defence of feedom - or life or toast or whatever it is that people hold dear - turns into a cold blooded execution of an unarmed, innocent man; whose only crime was to not have a British passport and to run away from a bunch of ununiformed blokes with guns. I'm going to leave this all for a while, sample what it's like being Howie, and try not paying any attention to current affairs, or at least the ones that concern this.
I'm not saying that I don't want to know how the story ends, I'll come back to this whole sorry situation in a few weeks, when the press actually have some idea what has happened, who did it and why. I suppose this is me just wanting a happy ending, wussing out and wanting to see the resolution without the waiting and the setbacks that all others must endure. Well, screw that, all this has affected me far more than I expected it to and more than anything like this has before. I think I'd rather just go back to being traumatised or delighted by the events of my personal life. This whole dirty affair makes me really depressed.
Ok. I appear to have managed to write a great deal about politics for someone who is avoiding it. I suppose avoiding it is a political act of its own. Sort of. Albeit a pretty passive and lazy one.
-Ben
The reason that is called 'old money' is because I was going to write something else but couldn't be arsed. It's too late and I'm too stupified with boredom to think of a title so you can think of your own - pick one that makes you happy.
I'm off to bed.
Goodnight
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
"You can't not be able to get a job" Discuss
A recent outburst of Danny's at a party did rather get on my nerves; I know a lot of things that Danny says get on my nerves but this one was especially irritating. I've tried, but I got bupkiss. I was rejected by every branch of every temping agency within a couple of hours of my house. I was turned down by two supermarkets. My previous employer said that it would be "not cost effective" to employ me over some spotty 16 year old. After all that I have now reached the stage where I couldn't get a job anyway because after the application, interview and training I couldn't work there for more than about 3 weeks.
Therefore I have definitively and completely given up on trying to get a job. I said I would before but a final trip to my local job centres - which yielded no more temporary employment opportunities than a job as a building site labourer in Dartford (about an hour on the train) - did seal the thing for me.
And after all this when Danny asks me if I'm still lookin for a Job and I reply that I've given up he replies that my standards are too high, that I should have taken the Building site job etc.. The usual thatcherite bollocks, it makes me sad that he's turned into an all out toryboy, blind even to the fact that despite their best efforts four of his friends have failed completely to find any employment and two more have only got jobs because a relative has given them a sinecure. I couldn't work on a building site, come on, I'm a posh bugger whose normal speaking voice is pretty much inaudible to most people, I've got no experience with that sort of work and I've got all the physical strength of a balloon. The most annoying thing is that there isn't a chance that, given the same situation, Danny would have taken that job either, it would've messed up his hair.
Now he's made me all angry and depressed. This evening with everyone giving Danny evil looks and making subtle little slights at him that he probably doesn't even notice anymore made me sad. I know that this arrangement is going to make the group splinter up into little bits. If nobody snaps and actually confronts Danny then the group will probably slowly drift apart as people start having little, selective gatherings of their own, and all sorts of little cliques form. If someone does confront him then probably some people will support him and others won't and the group will split that way. It's a shame although pretty inevitable really. I figured a while ago that I'll probably drift away from most of the group over the years, although I couldn't see myself losing contact with Colin, Paul and Dave. I still think that holds true, probably, although It's hard to be sure.
Wow.
This is a big ramble. I'm not even sure why I'm writing it, seeing as my one reader probably won't read it for another few days. And most of it probably only really concerns me. Man these things are self indulgent aren't they. I meant to make this vaguely interesting when I started, write stuff that was funny and interesting, editorialise man. But now I'm just rambling like some middle class gothboy.
I think I'll cut down the amount I write in this as most of this is such crap, not really of any interest to anybody. Not even you.
-Ben
Therefore I have definitively and completely given up on trying to get a job. I said I would before but a final trip to my local job centres - which yielded no more temporary employment opportunities than a job as a building site labourer in Dartford (about an hour on the train) - did seal the thing for me.
And after all this when Danny asks me if I'm still lookin for a Job and I reply that I've given up he replies that my standards are too high, that I should have taken the Building site job etc.. The usual thatcherite bollocks, it makes me sad that he's turned into an all out toryboy, blind even to the fact that despite their best efforts four of his friends have failed completely to find any employment and two more have only got jobs because a relative has given them a sinecure. I couldn't work on a building site, come on, I'm a posh bugger whose normal speaking voice is pretty much inaudible to most people, I've got no experience with that sort of work and I've got all the physical strength of a balloon. The most annoying thing is that there isn't a chance that, given the same situation, Danny would have taken that job either, it would've messed up his hair.
Now he's made me all angry and depressed. This evening with everyone giving Danny evil looks and making subtle little slights at him that he probably doesn't even notice anymore made me sad. I know that this arrangement is going to make the group splinter up into little bits. If nobody snaps and actually confronts Danny then the group will probably slowly drift apart as people start having little, selective gatherings of their own, and all sorts of little cliques form. If someone does confront him then probably some people will support him and others won't and the group will split that way. It's a shame although pretty inevitable really. I figured a while ago that I'll probably drift away from most of the group over the years, although I couldn't see myself losing contact with Colin, Paul and Dave. I still think that holds true, probably, although It's hard to be sure.
Wow.
This is a big ramble. I'm not even sure why I'm writing it, seeing as my one reader probably won't read it for another few days. And most of it probably only really concerns me. Man these things are self indulgent aren't they. I meant to make this vaguely interesting when I started, write stuff that was funny and interesting, editorialise man. But now I'm just rambling like some middle class gothboy.
I think I'll cut down the amount I write in this as most of this is such crap, not really of any interest to anybody. Not even you.
-Ben
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Arse
I've just realised that I missed that anti-racist festival* today, completely forgot about it, even though two of my friends are working on it this year. Damn, another day spent sitting on my arse when I could have been doing something interesting. It's a shame I missed that, its usually a good laff. Last year Dad and a group of people rode an 8 man bike all the way there and were doing tours of the festival on it, as long as people helped with the pedalling that is. They usually have some OK bands - usually local youth Jazz bands and suchlike, some big names but not anyone that interesting.
It's a pretty vague and nebulous idea that they celebrate - basically they went "we need to think of something that everyone agrees is a good idea that we can get drunk about... Anti racist?... yeah!"
Oh well. It's fun.
Yesterday I left the house, Go Me!
I walked to Greenwich park and then through to Deptford. Back through Greenwich and Charlton until I got to Plumstead and from there back o'er** the hill to home (a round trip of about 5 and a half hours). I know that the place names don't really mean anything to you but I think it's about 10 miles or thereabouts. So I've done well...
I then downed 2 pints of guiness in the evening, so I'm sure any health benefits it may have given me were thoroughly negated.
I think I'll do it again tomorrow though. I'm not going to stop drinking but at least this cancels it out.
I'm not sure why I'm writing this as I think for the next week or so this won't actually have any readers at all, apart from perhaps if Eddie has got bored (it'd have to be really really bored, I gave up trying to write anything interesting in this thing a while ago, it's just too much effort).
*Greenwich council excuse for a big party; bands play, much chinese and Indian food is eaten and all sorts of strange musical groups and sports teams have demonstrations
**bit of accidental shakespearian spelling
It's a pretty vague and nebulous idea that they celebrate - basically they went "we need to think of something that everyone agrees is a good idea that we can get drunk about... Anti racist?... yeah!"
Oh well. It's fun.
Yesterday I left the house, Go Me!
I walked to Greenwich park and then through to Deptford. Back through Greenwich and Charlton until I got to Plumstead and from there back o'er** the hill to home (a round trip of about 5 and a half hours). I know that the place names don't really mean anything to you but I think it's about 10 miles or thereabouts. So I've done well...
I then downed 2 pints of guiness in the evening, so I'm sure any health benefits it may have given me were thoroughly negated.
I think I'll do it again tomorrow though. I'm not going to stop drinking but at least this cancels it out.
I'm not sure why I'm writing this as I think for the next week or so this won't actually have any readers at all, apart from perhaps if Eddie has got bored (it'd have to be really really bored, I gave up trying to write anything interesting in this thing a while ago, it's just too much effort).
*Greenwich council excuse for a big party; bands play, much chinese and Indian food is eaten and all sorts of strange musical groups and sports teams have demonstrations
**bit of accidental shakespearian spelling
Friday, July 22, 2005
It's happening again
If the news wasn't noteworthy enough to cross the Atlantic the news story is on the beeb.
It's weird, not managing to get a job in London is looking more and more like a good thing as the summer goes on. It was unpleasantly familiar this time around, sitting at the kitchen table while eating my lunch looking at the static pictures of police cordons and listening to the wild speculation and rumour that that rolling news purveyors have to rely on at times like this, especially when the police are trying to keep their mouths shut until they are sure just what is going on. It was noticeable, however, the difference in the tone of the reporting between the attacks of last week and today's confusing mess; last time it was all panic and shock, you could hear the weirdly human concern in the otherwise flat newsreaders. Today though it's just business as usual, admittedly this attack is nothing like the scale of the last one - although not for want of trying - but even right at the very beginning when nothing was known about what had happened other than 'Incidents' at three tube stations and one bus. Even with the echoes of the last attacks still ringing in people's ears people don't seem to be that afraid anymore, I think the attitude is that the bastards have done their worst, it's like a horror film that shows you the monster too early, it isn't half as scary the second time it appears. I think soon they will be seen in exactly the same way as the IRA - just a bunch of idiotic idealists, vicious thugs and psychopaths (and the odd combination of all three) - their mystique is breaking now, especially considering they fucked this one up.
Although I find that a bit strange, I'm assuming (my turn at wild speculation now folks) that this lot were a bunch of copycats, without the organization of the previous group, although the fuzz are saying that the forensics on the explosives matches that of the previous attack. If that is the case then it seems odd that they couldn't get the bombs to work the second time, I reckon that the spooks (MI5 probably - it's their scene) might have had a hand in this one; feeding them incorrect information or wrangling it so that their explosives were crap. In which case I think we might not know the truth about the matter until the 30 year rule releases the papers.
But anyway, I'm sounding like a conspiracy theorist now, and there are definitely enough of them on the internet already - top quality nutters too, not just paranoid but really creatively so. My favorite being David Icke - look him up if you want a laugh - he thinks that all people in power are in fact man-eating, shape-shifting lizards. Various Jewish groups think that this is some kind of thinly guided anti semitism but I think that they are really reading too much into the ramblings of a nutter; for god's sake the guy is an ex sports commentator who infamously declared that he was Jesus on live TV in the '70s.
hmm. I appear to have drifted off on a bit of a tangent here, never mind, I didn't really have anything in particular to say anyway. I'm just bored and itchy and I haven't left the house for days. Tomorrow I'm going to walk down to deptford and have a look at the abomination that is parked in the Thames down there - a cruise liner called 'The World' - according to madre it looks like a floating tower block that's been coated in PVC.
Now where did I put those limpet mines...
-Ben
It's weird, not managing to get a job in London is looking more and more like a good thing as the summer goes on. It was unpleasantly familiar this time around, sitting at the kitchen table while eating my lunch looking at the static pictures of police cordons and listening to the wild speculation and rumour that that rolling news purveyors have to rely on at times like this, especially when the police are trying to keep their mouths shut until they are sure just what is going on. It was noticeable, however, the difference in the tone of the reporting between the attacks of last week and today's confusing mess; last time it was all panic and shock, you could hear the weirdly human concern in the otherwise flat newsreaders. Today though it's just business as usual, admittedly this attack is nothing like the scale of the last one - although not for want of trying - but even right at the very beginning when nothing was known about what had happened other than 'Incidents' at three tube stations and one bus. Even with the echoes of the last attacks still ringing in people's ears people don't seem to be that afraid anymore, I think the attitude is that the bastards have done their worst, it's like a horror film that shows you the monster too early, it isn't half as scary the second time it appears. I think soon they will be seen in exactly the same way as the IRA - just a bunch of idiotic idealists, vicious thugs and psychopaths (and the odd combination of all three) - their mystique is breaking now, especially considering they fucked this one up.
Although I find that a bit strange, I'm assuming (my turn at wild speculation now folks) that this lot were a bunch of copycats, without the organization of the previous group, although the fuzz are saying that the forensics on the explosives matches that of the previous attack. If that is the case then it seems odd that they couldn't get the bombs to work the second time, I reckon that the spooks (MI5 probably - it's their scene) might have had a hand in this one; feeding them incorrect information or wrangling it so that their explosives were crap. In which case I think we might not know the truth about the matter until the 30 year rule releases the papers.
But anyway, I'm sounding like a conspiracy theorist now, and there are definitely enough of them on the internet already - top quality nutters too, not just paranoid but really creatively so. My favorite being David Icke - look him up if you want a laugh - he thinks that all people in power are in fact man-eating, shape-shifting lizards. Various Jewish groups think that this is some kind of thinly guided anti semitism but I think that they are really reading too much into the ramblings of a nutter; for god's sake the guy is an ex sports commentator who infamously declared that he was Jesus on live TV in the '70s.
hmm. I appear to have drifted off on a bit of a tangent here, never mind, I didn't really have anything in particular to say anyway. I'm just bored and itchy and I haven't left the house for days. Tomorrow I'm going to walk down to deptford and have a look at the abomination that is parked in the Thames down there - a cruise liner called 'The World' - according to madre it looks like a floating tower block that's been coated in PVC.
Now where did I put those limpet mines...
-Ben
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Drink
It took a while for me to write that word, as I have had rather a lot of the alcoholic variety of drink. My head hurts, and I have to be up at 8am tomorrow morning to take Issie to school. I hasten to add that I didn't know this until after I had already had about 5 pints; curse the lack of communication in this house.
So, now I'm trying my hardest to write in coherent english with the big delay on the computer and the big delay in my head confusing matters no end. I'm having to think more than I should about what I'm typing and where my fingers are going, I've already missed the keyboard completely a few times now.
I need a wee now, excuse me.
...And I'm back, wasn't that fun.
I was wondering what effect, if any, Alcohol has on socialisation and general grooviness. I have been sitting around drinking and talking with my friends in the garden all evening and I was wondering, how much of the rambling strange conversation was due to me being bored and how much was due to me being drunk. I've been told time and time again that you dont need booze to have fun, but I'm not sure.
While I think that it is of course possible to have a good time without drinking - most of my life from the age of 0 to 17 is testament to this fact - there is a certain flavour of fun that can only be reached by getting really, really munted. In the same way that many tribes think that a certain kind of enlightenment and grooviness with the almighty dudes can only be reached be eating-of-the-sacred-cactus or whatever, popping microdots or drinking mescaline if that's your thing. Either way, a state that can only be reached by indulging in the forbidden pharmaceuticals.
need a wee again.
...Wow isn't my life exciting, you're getting it real time here.
oh man.
I think that I've just been told too many times that I don't need alcohol and that it doesn't do anything other than make you a prick. I'm getting pretty bored with that whole argument, I'm sure it has some effect, although what that effect is still evades me. Perhaps it's just me, but being told one thing for long enough generally makes me want to do the other. My head is telling me that reliance on external forces to make me sociable is a sign of weakness.
It probably is, fuck. I need to stop drinking, I've got a bad headache now and I've got to be up in 7 hours. I'm sure the evening was different because of the alcohol, but whether it was better or worse is something that I can't really say.
Fuck, I'm lonely... that's something that alcohol makes more obvious, although I'd rather it didn't, bollocks.
I'm going to take some fizzygoodmakenice and go to sleep now.
oh man.
-Ben
So, now I'm trying my hardest to write in coherent english with the big delay on the computer and the big delay in my head confusing matters no end. I'm having to think more than I should about what I'm typing and where my fingers are going, I've already missed the keyboard completely a few times now.
I need a wee now, excuse me.
...And I'm back, wasn't that fun.
I was wondering what effect, if any, Alcohol has on socialisation and general grooviness. I have been sitting around drinking and talking with my friends in the garden all evening and I was wondering, how much of the rambling strange conversation was due to me being bored and how much was due to me being drunk. I've been told time and time again that you dont need booze to have fun, but I'm not sure.
While I think that it is of course possible to have a good time without drinking - most of my life from the age of 0 to 17 is testament to this fact - there is a certain flavour of fun that can only be reached by getting really, really munted. In the same way that many tribes think that a certain kind of enlightenment and grooviness with the almighty dudes can only be reached be eating-of-the-sacred-cactus or whatever, popping microdots or drinking mescaline if that's your thing. Either way, a state that can only be reached by indulging in the forbidden pharmaceuticals.
need a wee again.
...Wow isn't my life exciting, you're getting it real time here.
oh man.
I think that I've just been told too many times that I don't need alcohol and that it doesn't do anything other than make you a prick. I'm getting pretty bored with that whole argument, I'm sure it has some effect, although what that effect is still evades me. Perhaps it's just me, but being told one thing for long enough generally makes me want to do the other. My head is telling me that reliance on external forces to make me sociable is a sign of weakness.
It probably is, fuck. I need to stop drinking, I've got a bad headache now and I've got to be up in 7 hours. I'm sure the evening was different because of the alcohol, but whether it was better or worse is something that I can't really say.
Fuck, I'm lonely... that's something that alcohol makes more obvious, although I'd rather it didn't, bollocks.
I'm going to take some fizzygoodmakenice and go to sleep now.
oh man.
-Ben
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
A New Flavour of Boredom
When you are so bored that Waterworld seems like a good film. I don't think that it's as bad as the critics at the time said, they did make it sound less fun than leprosy, but it is not exactly a classic either. But I've nothing better to do, and I've been up since 8am - yes, apparently there is such a time.
Anyway, it now seems that after rent, I have rather less money than I'd hoped I would at this stage. This puts a nasty shadow on my drink-myself-stupid plan for the summer, as I don't particularly like drinking three litre bottles of white cider in a tramp stylee I might have to think of something constructive to do. Which is, of course, what I've been whining about every single night for the last god knows how long. But seeing as I've not been online for a while - a medium amount of drinky = a great amount of sleep - I thought I've give you my share of directionless moaning about my inability to use what small shreds of initiative I have to do something useful with myself.
I can't actually be bothered to write the meat of the actual moaning here so I'll just leave it to your imagination, you've heard enough of it before so I'm sure that you can fill in the gaps.
I'm gradually assembling something, I'm not sure what it is, writing wise. It's just random fragments, ideas and suchlike, not any coherent story, just I've decided to write down ideas, whether I cant fit them into anything larger or not. Not sure why exactly; it's just filling up my computer with random bits of prose and stuff. Still, it could be worse, there are a few deeply weird musical creations also on the computer now - my ability to compose music is rather hampered by my lack of talent - a three part riff done entirely on basses doesn't sound too great.
Still, it keeps me off the streets and I haven't felt the urge to do anything really stupid for a while now, although I did nearly walk to Crystal Palace (about 10 miles away - across London) today, which would have hurt a lot and probably ended up with me selling my body on the street for a train fare home - which is probably the best I could hope to get for it in its current state.
There I go again. Enough with the moaning already!
I'm really in a much better mood than all this bollocks would suggest
I think I'll try that walk sometime soon, but not without lots of water and an A-Z.
I'm off to bed now.
-Ben
Anyway, it now seems that after rent, I have rather less money than I'd hoped I would at this stage. This puts a nasty shadow on my drink-myself-stupid plan for the summer, as I don't particularly like drinking three litre bottles of white cider in a tramp stylee I might have to think of something constructive to do. Which is, of course, what I've been whining about every single night for the last god knows how long. But seeing as I've not been online for a while - a medium amount of drinky = a great amount of sleep - I thought I've give you my share of directionless moaning about my inability to use what small shreds of initiative I have to do something useful with myself.
I can't actually be bothered to write the meat of the actual moaning here so I'll just leave it to your imagination, you've heard enough of it before so I'm sure that you can fill in the gaps.
I'm gradually assembling something, I'm not sure what it is, writing wise. It's just random fragments, ideas and suchlike, not any coherent story, just I've decided to write down ideas, whether I cant fit them into anything larger or not. Not sure why exactly; it's just filling up my computer with random bits of prose and stuff. Still, it could be worse, there are a few deeply weird musical creations also on the computer now - my ability to compose music is rather hampered by my lack of talent - a three part riff done entirely on basses doesn't sound too great.
Still, it keeps me off the streets and I haven't felt the urge to do anything really stupid for a while now, although I did nearly walk to Crystal Palace (about 10 miles away - across London) today, which would have hurt a lot and probably ended up with me selling my body on the street for a train fare home - which is probably the best I could hope to get for it in its current state.
There I go again. Enough with the moaning already!
I'm really in a much better mood than all this bollocks would suggest
I think I'll try that walk sometime soon, but not without lots of water and an A-Z.
I'm off to bed now.
-Ben
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
No camera
I've one of those days where you sit there kick yourself for forgetting your camera. I went for a wander and ended up in the tarn (not literally, otherwise I would have got a bit wet) which is a sort of giant duck pond in a depression a few miles from where I live. I was walking down one of the rather overgrown and goose-shit-splattered paths - that place makes me want to take a shotgun to canada geese, horrible mean little shits that they are - when a heron walked out of a bush and stood about 3 feet in front of me looking ponderous as herons always do. It sat there and looked very regal and pretty for about a minute then shit on the path and flew up into a tree, it continued the task of staring at me from a safer position.
Huge bird, very cool.
But no camera.
Arses.
-Ben
Huge bird, very cool.
But no camera.
Arses.
-Ben
Friday, July 15, 2005
Boredom
I'm bored, very bored. In the absence of anything else to do I've taken to walking here, there and everywhere in an attempt to not end the summer looking like Jabba the Hut. I'm not sure how successful it's been on the exercise side of things - it probably consumes about the same amount of fat as I eat in about ten minutes of snacking - but it's got me out into the sunshine and gives me lots of time to think - not that I need it. With all this time I have on my hands I started to approach the boredom in a scientific manner - trying to understand it - I've given up trying to avoid it now, too much effort.
The science of Boredom was first revealed to me by the pioneering boredom scholar, and world-leading procrastinator, Douglas Adams. In one of the Hitch Hikers' Guide Books (I can't remember which one exactly, but I think it's the third one) He describes a specific kind of boredom; that of the long dark teatime of the soul - the state of mind reached in the time between lunch and anything decent coming on the TV, when the day stretches out before you in all its mind numbing inevitability.
Being in a good position to do a serious practical study, I've decided that I'll put them up on here as I discover them, and anyone else who reads this - I'm pretty sure it's only one person - can put up any they discover in their travels through life. I'll probably get bored with this idea too, but that can wait.
Currently I'm suffering from what, for the sake of reference, I shall call Boredom Number 1 - This is the vague tedium that comes from waiting for someone else to come online. It is a dangerous variant as it is part of the subgroup of Computer-assisted boredom, which is boredom exacerbated (had to ask word how to spell that one) by the presence of the internet. This particular brand of monotony can cause such actions as [A] writing bollocks in weblogs [B] Scrawling through webcomics that really aren't funny at all and [C] Gradually losing faith in the literacy and intelligence of humanity; or at least English speaking humanity - which is the only sort I can really comment on as my French grammar and syntax is even worse than my English. It can be fought by [A] Listening to music [B] watching TV or [C] Getting up and talking to someone and coming back later. Treatments do not always work however - sometimes the boredom fairy just decides that it is your time and you will be bored - in these cases keep some recreational drugs handy.
There are many other kinds that I shall document, some as warning as they can be dangerous, boredom in the presence of power tools for example is one with particularly grisly consequences. But the odds are that I'll probably reach some new height of boredom and never bother to write any more. Which is probably just as well as it could cause the spread of Boredom Number 2 - This form is caused by reading my weblog and can cause [A] a feeling of desperation at the level you've sunk to [B] A sense of shock that someone this illiterate is an English student and [C] An urge touch Donkeys, Mules and other pack animals in a highly suggestive manner. It can be countered by just not reading these tired ramblings and doing something pleasant.
-Ben
No! not the donkeys!
The science of Boredom was first revealed to me by the pioneering boredom scholar, and world-leading procrastinator, Douglas Adams. In one of the Hitch Hikers' Guide Books (I can't remember which one exactly, but I think it's the third one) He describes a specific kind of boredom; that of the long dark teatime of the soul - the state of mind reached in the time between lunch and anything decent coming on the TV, when the day stretches out before you in all its mind numbing inevitability.
Being in a good position to do a serious practical study, I've decided that I'll put them up on here as I discover them, and anyone else who reads this - I'm pretty sure it's only one person - can put up any they discover in their travels through life. I'll probably get bored with this idea too, but that can wait.
Currently I'm suffering from what, for the sake of reference, I shall call Boredom Number 1 - This is the vague tedium that comes from waiting for someone else to come online. It is a dangerous variant as it is part of the subgroup of Computer-assisted boredom, which is boredom exacerbated (had to ask word how to spell that one) by the presence of the internet. This particular brand of monotony can cause such actions as [A] writing bollocks in weblogs [B] Scrawling through webcomics that really aren't funny at all and [C] Gradually losing faith in the literacy and intelligence of humanity; or at least English speaking humanity - which is the only sort I can really comment on as my French grammar and syntax is even worse than my English. It can be fought by [A] Listening to music [B] watching TV or [C] Getting up and talking to someone and coming back later. Treatments do not always work however - sometimes the boredom fairy just decides that it is your time and you will be bored - in these cases keep some recreational drugs handy.
There are many other kinds that I shall document, some as warning as they can be dangerous, boredom in the presence of power tools for example is one with particularly grisly consequences. But the odds are that I'll probably reach some new height of boredom and never bother to write any more. Which is probably just as well as it could cause the spread of Boredom Number 2 - This form is caused by reading my weblog and can cause [A] a feeling of desperation at the level you've sunk to [B] A sense of shock that someone this illiterate is an English student and [C] An urge touch Donkeys, Mules and other pack animals in a highly suggestive manner. It can be countered by just not reading these tired ramblings and doing something pleasant.
-Ben
No! not the donkeys!
Sunday, July 10, 2005
Hungover Ramblings
I've been munted out of my mind since thursday. I'm going to give it a rest today, even though I'm going to a family barbeque, I think the liver needs a period of recuperation .
That, and I'm a bit hungover today. I think I had 8 pints last night, but I think there may have been Gin involved as well. So this morning = ow.
Went off for a little jammage with my (reunited) band, everyone has got better, Tony in the extreme, he's past what I'd consider pro-level now, getting into the brain meltingly brilliant sort of stage. All this makes me feel a bit thick, as I have learned little new skills in the last year and what I have learned has been generally useless, show off stuff that isn't really any use in a band that wants to sound good.
I've got to go now - It's red meat and relatives time.
-Ben
That, and I'm a bit hungover today. I think I had 8 pints last night, but I think there may have been Gin involved as well. So this morning = ow.
Went off for a little jammage with my (reunited) band, everyone has got better, Tony in the extreme, he's past what I'd consider pro-level now, getting into the brain meltingly brilliant sort of stage. All this makes me feel a bit thick, as I have learned little new skills in the last year and what I have learned has been generally useless, show off stuff that isn't really any use in a band that wants to sound good.
I've got to go now - It's red meat and relatives time.
-Ben
Saturday, July 09, 2005
London
I'm not going to bother to reproduce this becuase I should think the thing is doing the rounds across the internet already, it's good stuff. A lot of the politicians have been waxing eloquent but Ken Livingstone appears to have won the gravitas fight.
Here's the speech
SpeechySpeechy
I don't like to think that I'm spreading the usual internet patriotic bollocks but, I don't know, my usual rules appear to be suspended at the moment.
It has to be said that in my experience people live in harmony because nobody talks to anyone else, but I suppose nobody seems to bear any malice above the usual city stress. The photo that the independant went with today was good, full front cover - an elderly muslim man covered in blood being helped out of the bus in Russell square.
I'm still angry about all this.
I'm off to the pub to rant indiscrimnately at anyone who can't run away.
-Ben
Here's the speech
SpeechySpeechy
I don't like to think that I'm spreading the usual internet patriotic bollocks but, I don't know, my usual rules appear to be suspended at the moment.
It has to be said that in my experience people live in harmony because nobody talks to anyone else, but I suppose nobody seems to bear any malice above the usual city stress. The photo that the independant went with today was good, full front cover - an elderly muslim man covered in blood being helped out of the bus in Russell square.
I'm still angry about all this.
I'm off to the pub to rant indiscrimnately at anyone who can't run away.
-Ben
Friday, July 08, 2005
Oh fuck
Have a look at the news if you don't know what I'm talking about.
It's been getting more and more icky as the day goes on, at the beginning it didn't look too bad, London has suffered some pretty bad terrorist attacks over the years, but it's now exceeded anything that the Domestic nutters have ever managed.
Makes me feel sick, I don't mean that in a it makes me angry sort of way. I mean it actually makes me feel sick. It's horrible.
Although the thing is that stuff like this happens pretty much every other day in Iraq, usually killing more people, and millions of people die of needless diseases and things like that everyday. But, I don't know, this is closer to home; it's places I've been to, stations I've sat in for ages waiting for trains, places I might be working If I'd managed to get a bloody job. I think that people can only cope with the idea of a certain number of people existing in the world, everyone's world can only be populated by a couple of million people at the most, the others, disgusting as this sounds, are background detail. The people in London were real people in my head, just people on trains; cleaners, builders, nice people, bad people, old and young. They weren't a political target, not even in a broad sense, it wasn't a strike at symbol of imperialism or capitalism, they just killed a bunch of innocent people trying to get to work. The isn't any glory in that, no matter how sick you are.
OK. Now I'm angry
But I'll only get more angry if they try and solve this the same way they caused it. The British attitude to terrorists always used to work; Diplomacy and police work, and I think it can still. People talk about never negotiating with terrorists, not letting them win, but then they erode all the values of freedom that they are supposedly defending in their war on Terror.
Bugger. Now I'm being political. I didn't want to do that here; there's enough ill-informed opinion flying around on the net without me adding shit to the steaming pile. I'm not even sure if I really believe that stuff, drawing a comparison between the IRA and the Islamists is not going to work. The IRA were a bunch of glorified mobsters who would occasionally blow things up after telling everyone to run away in a pathetic attempt at looking merciful. It can't really compared to a bunch of fucked up godbotherers who think that what they've done is a "blessed raid in London"* and that somehow killing innocent people is going to improve their situation.
I'll probably be able to write something a little more coherent when I'm in possession of more facts and with the benefit of hindsight.
I don't know. I think a vaccine against religion should be developed.
-Ben
* http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/4660391.stm
It's been getting more and more icky as the day goes on, at the beginning it didn't look too bad, London has suffered some pretty bad terrorist attacks over the years, but it's now exceeded anything that the Domestic nutters have ever managed.
Makes me feel sick, I don't mean that in a it makes me angry sort of way. I mean it actually makes me feel sick. It's horrible.
Although the thing is that stuff like this happens pretty much every other day in Iraq, usually killing more people, and millions of people die of needless diseases and things like that everyday. But, I don't know, this is closer to home; it's places I've been to, stations I've sat in for ages waiting for trains, places I might be working If I'd managed to get a bloody job. I think that people can only cope with the idea of a certain number of people existing in the world, everyone's world can only be populated by a couple of million people at the most, the others, disgusting as this sounds, are background detail. The people in London were real people in my head, just people on trains; cleaners, builders, nice people, bad people, old and young. They weren't a political target, not even in a broad sense, it wasn't a strike at symbol of imperialism or capitalism, they just killed a bunch of innocent people trying to get to work. The isn't any glory in that, no matter how sick you are.
OK. Now I'm angry
But I'll only get more angry if they try and solve this the same way they caused it. The British attitude to terrorists always used to work; Diplomacy and police work, and I think it can still. People talk about never negotiating with terrorists, not letting them win, but then they erode all the values of freedom that they are supposedly defending in their war on Terror.
Bugger. Now I'm being political. I didn't want to do that here; there's enough ill-informed opinion flying around on the net without me adding shit to the steaming pile. I'm not even sure if I really believe that stuff, drawing a comparison between the IRA and the Islamists is not going to work. The IRA were a bunch of glorified mobsters who would occasionally blow things up after telling everyone to run away in a pathetic attempt at looking merciful. It can't really compared to a bunch of fucked up godbotherers who think that what they've done is a "blessed raid in London"* and that somehow killing innocent people is going to improve their situation.
I'll probably be able to write something a little more coherent when I'm in possession of more facts and with the benefit of hindsight.
I don't know. I think a vaccine against religion should be developed.
-Ben
* http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/4660391.stm
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Independence Day
Is a good excuse for getting hammered
Last night me and some friends decided to visit the pub for this reason. That, and the fact that it was monday. We even drank a token bottle of American beer, uuugh. I'm not doing that again; it's worse than fosters, although not quite as bad as Carling. But really, short of degenerative diseases and Fascists, what is?
I think I'm going to press for more spurious holidays in the British calendar. England has the lowest number of national holidays in Europe (Just England. Not Scotland, Wales or Northern Ireland - they all have a bank holiday on their patron saints day and various historical thingies) and that is obviously a terrible thing. Also the few that we have are mostly in either the winter, which is a bit shite, or during the summer holidays, which is no use to children - who are the ones who actually enjoy it, and students - who probably enjoy it but don't remember afterwards. Around this time of year would be a good time for a holiday.
We celebrated independence day last night but only because when you are a student everyday is a holiday, and every holiday is just another day, which takes the fun out of things a bit but that's not what I'm talking about here. To Americans July 4th is a celebration of independence and Nasty beer. We decided that it would be a bit stupid celebrating independence when we are all stuck living with our parents and as for nasty beer, well, it just wouldn't be British (or Belgian - which is usually better).
Instead I propose a truly British holiday. Dependence Day. We celebrate our dependence on pretty much everyone and everything, at both a national and a personal level. Our inability to make fire without krazy khemicals or hunt without guns. Our reliance on America for military power, pretty people and music that isn't annoyingly dreary or stupidly stylized. Our dependence on our parents for cash, support and genetic material. Our dependence on other people to make us feel less ugly [/emo]. Our dependence on fossilised vegetable matter for transport, heating, political power, etc.
I could go on but I think my abuse of grammar is bad enough as it is, so taking it further would only earn me letterbombs from the militant wing of the apostrophe protection society. What I'm trying to say is that Britain should have a festival where we celebrate our relative unimportance, because we don't have to make important decisions, earn money or have everybody hate us. We are free to get drunk on beer that is made in another country, sold by Australians and paid for with money we borrowed from our parents.
For as long as their patience lasts, which is where the plan falls down really.
-Ben
Last night me and some friends decided to visit the pub for this reason. That, and the fact that it was monday. We even drank a token bottle of American beer, uuugh. I'm not doing that again; it's worse than fosters, although not quite as bad as Carling. But really, short of degenerative diseases and Fascists, what is?
I think I'm going to press for more spurious holidays in the British calendar. England has the lowest number of national holidays in Europe (Just England. Not Scotland, Wales or Northern Ireland - they all have a bank holiday on their patron saints day and various historical thingies) and that is obviously a terrible thing. Also the few that we have are mostly in either the winter, which is a bit shite, or during the summer holidays, which is no use to children - who are the ones who actually enjoy it, and students - who probably enjoy it but don't remember afterwards. Around this time of year would be a good time for a holiday.
We celebrated independence day last night but only because when you are a student everyday is a holiday, and every holiday is just another day, which takes the fun out of things a bit but that's not what I'm talking about here. To Americans July 4th is a celebration of independence and Nasty beer. We decided that it would be a bit stupid celebrating independence when we are all stuck living with our parents and as for nasty beer, well, it just wouldn't be British (or Belgian - which is usually better).
Instead I propose a truly British holiday. Dependence Day. We celebrate our dependence on pretty much everyone and everything, at both a national and a personal level. Our inability to make fire without krazy khemicals or hunt without guns. Our reliance on America for military power, pretty people and music that isn't annoyingly dreary or stupidly stylized. Our dependence on our parents for cash, support and genetic material. Our dependence on other people to make us feel less ugly [/emo]. Our dependence on fossilised vegetable matter for transport, heating, political power, etc.
I could go on but I think my abuse of grammar is bad enough as it is, so taking it further would only earn me letterbombs from the militant wing of the apostrophe protection society. What I'm trying to say is that Britain should have a festival where we celebrate our relative unimportance, because we don't have to make important decisions, earn money or have everybody hate us. We are free to get drunk on beer that is made in another country, sold by Australians and paid for with money we borrowed from our parents.
For as long as their patience lasts, which is where the plan falls down really.
-Ben
Sunday, July 03, 2005
Drink along with Live 8
Today I have been wasting my time in strange and creative ways. Me, Eddie and Pat have been sitting around watching Live 8 and, like all bored students, devised a drinking game around it at about 2 in the afternoon. Basically when the BBC presenters talk about the 'atmosphere' or the 'Vibe' - you down two fingers. When the acts or any of the guests does some pre-watershed swearing (It's going out live so there's been a shitload - when Snoop Dogg came on we got a bit munted) - you down two fingers. When one of the soul singers goes crazy with the vibrato - you down two fingers. When one of the singers says "but seriously" or "seriously now" - you down two fingers. It's simple, as all the best drinking related activities are (My current favourite being the one from family guy - "You won the game!" "what game?" "drink the beer" "what do I win?" "another beer!") but surpisingly effective, as I'm a bit lubricated.
Yes, I know I'm drinking at home, but at least I'm trying to make it interesting.
-Ben
Yes, I know I'm drinking at home, but at least I'm trying to make it interesting.
-Ben
Friday, July 01, 2005
On Writing
Good news! I've got my groove back, things are working; I can cook without injuring myself, play bass without fumbling over my own fingers and write without forgetting what on earth I was trying to express.
I was wondering what strange force it is that governs this. Is it the moon? something in my diet? I have no idea, sometimes though my mojo just appears to be broken. It gets pretty annoying when I can play for hours without being able to string even a half-decent walking bassline together, then come back and hit my groove just before I have to go out or go to bed or something like that. It doesn't seem to be linked to my mood; I've written some very good stuff while in a serious funk but I've also produced cool stuff when feeling froody and hep. I think it might be somthing to do with restlessness, when I can't keep my mind focused all that comes out is shite. I need to be in the right frame of mind.
It seems that concentrating helps, I'd always assumed that teachers were lying.
Last night at about 2am I switched off the lights and went to go to sleep. I had no joy in that department and, after staring at the walls for a couple of minutes, got up and wandered over to my computer. Things were appearing in my head, as is often the way when I'm trying to go to sleep; fragments of song lyrics, some already existing, some in my head; pieces of dialogue, sometimes part of a story I've already come up with, sometimes just isolated fragments. Ideas for stories, old conversations, bits of music, basslines, melodies, all sorts of bits and bobs. I sat in front of my computer writing whatever hung around in my head long enough for me to get it onto paper until 8am, when I fell asleep in a pile of scribbled notes for a script idea I had abandoned about 2 years ago as unworkable.
Looking at the notes again today I can still say, despite last nights efforts, that it is definately unworkable. Not only that, also completely incomprehensible. The thing is that last night I think I could have made it work. If I hadn't run out of steam I probably could have sorted out a solution to all of the issues I had with it. It reminded me of the idea graveyard that sits in a box in my room, all the ideas that I didn't manage to get a proper framework down for before I slipped out of turbo-mode. After the initial burst of inspiration I lost my way and the idea faltered, occasionally the result is still quite funny though.
Looking through it today has been interesting. I forget just how much bollocks I've written over the years, scripts (The Party, A Walk in the Park, Prepwork, Strange Meeting), sketches (mostly comedy - some just isolated chunks of dialogue), short stories (usually attempts to get old ideas to work in a different format), plans for longer pieces that I knew that I'd never bother to write (Blue Bell Hill) and just plans and notes that never got any further than that stage, usually because I couldn't finish the story properly - filling out the characters, their situation etc(Facing Up, Mother). The last category are the ones that I still think I could do somthing with - they are ideas that were never ruined by me trying to write them down.
I attacked one of them last night (mother) and it went pretty well. It's the idea I explained to you Kristen. I started intending to just write notes on how the script would go but it sort of turned into prose I'm not sure whether to turn it into a script or attempt to turn it into a short story. Prose has never really been my thing though.
Anyway. I'm rambling again.
-Ben
I was wondering what strange force it is that governs this. Is it the moon? something in my diet? I have no idea, sometimes though my mojo just appears to be broken. It gets pretty annoying when I can play for hours without being able to string even a half-decent walking bassline together, then come back and hit my groove just before I have to go out or go to bed or something like that. It doesn't seem to be linked to my mood; I've written some very good stuff while in a serious funk but I've also produced cool stuff when feeling froody and hep. I think it might be somthing to do with restlessness, when I can't keep my mind focused all that comes out is shite. I need to be in the right frame of mind.
It seems that concentrating helps, I'd always assumed that teachers were lying.
Last night at about 2am I switched off the lights and went to go to sleep. I had no joy in that department and, after staring at the walls for a couple of minutes, got up and wandered over to my computer. Things were appearing in my head, as is often the way when I'm trying to go to sleep; fragments of song lyrics, some already existing, some in my head; pieces of dialogue, sometimes part of a story I've already come up with, sometimes just isolated fragments. Ideas for stories, old conversations, bits of music, basslines, melodies, all sorts of bits and bobs. I sat in front of my computer writing whatever hung around in my head long enough for me to get it onto paper until 8am, when I fell asleep in a pile of scribbled notes for a script idea I had abandoned about 2 years ago as unworkable.
Looking at the notes again today I can still say, despite last nights efforts, that it is definately unworkable. Not only that, also completely incomprehensible. The thing is that last night I think I could have made it work. If I hadn't run out of steam I probably could have sorted out a solution to all of the issues I had with it. It reminded me of the idea graveyard that sits in a box in my room, all the ideas that I didn't manage to get a proper framework down for before I slipped out of turbo-mode. After the initial burst of inspiration I lost my way and the idea faltered, occasionally the result is still quite funny though.
Looking through it today has been interesting. I forget just how much bollocks I've written over the years, scripts (The Party, A Walk in the Park, Prepwork, Strange Meeting), sketches (mostly comedy - some just isolated chunks of dialogue), short stories (usually attempts to get old ideas to work in a different format), plans for longer pieces that I knew that I'd never bother to write (Blue Bell Hill) and just plans and notes that never got any further than that stage, usually because I couldn't finish the story properly - filling out the characters, their situation etc(Facing Up, Mother). The last category are the ones that I still think I could do somthing with - they are ideas that were never ruined by me trying to write them down.
I attacked one of them last night (mother) and it went pretty well. It's the idea I explained to you Kristen. I started intending to just write notes on how the script would go but it sort of turned into prose I'm not sure whether to turn it into a script or attempt to turn it into a short story. Prose has never really been my thing though.
Anyway. I'm rambling again.
-Ben
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