My name is Hamish.
This is my online journal.

contact: hamishtenex at gmail.com

Tuesday 10 November 2009

H1N1 Truth?

Alternate Title: Are you paranoid yet? You fucking should be!

BELL TOLLING for the Swine Flu (CAMPANAS por la gripe A) subtitled from ALISH on Vimeo.



This nice nun provided me with a lot of new information about H1N1 and its vaccine that I hadn't heard before.

I remember a week after the pandemic was announced, I saw the conspiracy theories about how swine flu was designed by 'the government' to infect and therefore control us all. I rolled my eyes.

Strange how there does seem to be something disturbing going on anyway. Where I live, there's are been reports/rumours that the H1N1 vaccine can cause some mental disorders but a lot of the folk assumed that this was worth the gamble to protect themselves from the dreaded pig-flu.

As it turns out, swine flu is less dangerous than common seasonal flu. I'm pretty sure that wasn't on the news.

Saturday 7 November 2009

Who Is John Galt? (and other questions)

There was no ignoring. It was so noticeably out of place that every pair or passing eyes would have been drawn to it. I was just going to the shops. Bread, coffee, batteries. But there it was, the awkward imposing question that every man or woman would prefer to be locked in the dark safety of their minds, not out on the street like that.

Graffiti. There's some graffiti in the underpass that says something like "Think once upon your being and twice upon your soul." This graffiti is one of many; a collection of meaningless pseudo-intellect that comes way down on my interest-foodchain. The graffiti that says "Neil loves men" is far more interesting.

Today though, more daring graffiti caught my attention. Sprayed on top of a supermarket, looming over the street: "Why Do You Do This Every Single Day?" Then again, on the same wall, about a yard to the right. "Why Do You Do This Every Single Day?".

It sometimes seems like England was doomed to be full of subservient folk. More so than any other country. We occasionally cast this illusion of freedom, but anything we freely do is monitored and recorded. The 'Nineteen Eighty-Four' analogy is almost pointless now. The comparison seems so... normal. Then there's Guy Fawkes Night; a disturbing British holiday where each year we ask children to reenact the torture of a 17th century conspirator who tried to overthrow the government and the monarchy. Or at least that's my understanding of it, and it's probably a little bit dramatic. But why do we have to burn his effigy? Why does it have to be a celebration? A gentle reminder that rebellion will earn you a dark few pages in the history books and a life time of vilification.

"Why Do You Do This Every Single Day?" I tried not to think about it. Today is Saturday, I reasoned to myself, and I'm just going to the shops. I don't do this every single day. Of course, Monday will come and I will walk past the supermarket and have to silently answer the question in my head. I tried to ignore it and carry on walking. A few meters down the road it was there again, on the back of a road sign, "Why Do You Do This Every Single Day?" and underneath, on a bollard, "Why?" So I said it under my breath. I go to work every day because this is the system that is set in place for me. Any alternative would be ostracised and ultimately ignored. This is how we function. It is a machine. Hints at anything better and more enjoyable make us feel excited but we look up at Big Brother for approval and he frowns and shakes his head, disappointed.

I decided to walk through the city instead of getting my coffee, bread and batteries. Rather awesomely, it was everywhere. Sprayed on nearly every road at some point. Things like this, could they really change anything? What would it take? Is there any point is reminding people of their perceived bitter "responsibilities" to the company or the country?

I want change, but I offer no alternative. Neither does this unknown and daring graffiti artist. Perhaps it was just to provoke a response. Or to cause people to just take a moment to realise that they don't have to work; they choose to. Perhaps that's the most depressing thing.



You know, I bet some people look at this graffiti and think to themselves "Because I love what I do." Such is life. I suppose the most important thing is that we all do what we love. There is a lot of honor in running a business or working in an office, and if you enjoy it then surely you are living a good life with purpose and meaning. But the system is already in place for people like that. What about the rest of us? Is it worth constantly swimming against the current for your entire life? In our hearts we would probably all say "Yes, it's worth it. To have not wasted your life doing something you dislike is worth the struggle." But here we are, doing it. Every single day.

Monday 19 October 2009

Alopecia



There are so many lights outside my window. The perspective is perfect, they look like luminous tram lines. I am pleased to have my curtains. In an ideal world, I would own curtain glasses. However beautiful they look, I like the perfect dark and silence. I need silence for sleep. My ex-girlfriend used to snore like anything. God, I could have hit her. (the acceptable face of domestic violence).

Holy fuck, was that a Christmas advert? Jesus Christ.

There is so much blood in my bathroom I would definitely get arrested if the Police decided to do a spot check. Actually, some of it is pomegranate juice and the odd bit is pomegranate shampoo. I was making a cocktail of shampoo, juice and blood. I call it Blood 2.0 with juice and shampoo. I cut myself shaving and went a bit dramatic with the clean up. Usually shaving cuts are like "yeah whatever, tissue paper will solve this." Not today! It was like like I left the blood-tap on. Everywhere, seriously.

Thursday 15 October 2009

Mentalism is hard, lets go shopping.

I predict that tomorrow there will be an earthquake in Chicago and that a 40 year old Jamaican woman will win $300,000,000 for some reason.

I devined this information just by making it up, which seemed as good a method as any. If it comes true, I expect to be hailed as a God.

Stay tuned!

Wednesday 14 October 2009

Golden

"Silence is very imporant. The silence between the notes are as important as the notes themselves." - so said Mozart

Sometimes I think that maybe I'm the silence between the notes. Other times, I feel like I'm the noise.

I tried sensory deprevation last night. It involves blasting white noise into your ears and staring at blackness etc etc... I guess most people know what sensory deprevation is. I didn't expect to see what I saw.

I saw dolphins, then a couple crying and fucking at the same time, then I saw through the eyes of a girl jumping of a bridge.

That's almost as good as dreaming! Maybe I can record things like this in my dream journal instead of my dreams seeing as I can remember these. Remembering dreams is hard when all your really want to do is eat some Wheatabix. Except I go for the Sainsbury's own brand; Wheatbiscs.

Only suckers eat Wheatabix. Look at that title, it's even got an X in it to appeal to young people. It's got wheat in it to appeal to old people, and they carelessly glued these elements together. Wheatbiscs on the other hand are superior because I can afford them.

Tuesday 13 October 2009

Next Day Air Machines

I wonder what it would be like to have a ridiculous amount of personalities. Like split personailty disorder but more like shredded or smashed. Broken, if you will.

You would just be this unpredictable, seemingly crazy dude.

And you would, at some point, love everything. Every view point from every perspective flashing in and out of your beliefs like a slide show. The first multipurpose human being, capable of almost any feat, but locked in a padded cell.

I wonder how many real geniuses are locked up. I wonder how many warnings against alien invasions we might one day wish we'd listen to. Maybe it is, as I remember one girl saying once, "all about orange. Everything in the world, it's all connected and all to do with orange." I guess she knows something I don't know, because I doesn't seem like its all to do with orange.

But I never went to university or anything.

Monday 12 October 2009

Trading Lives With Batman

http://www.squatorange.com/images/batman-logo-large-view.gif
In a weird turn of events, Dick Grayson came to my door yesterday morning and strongly suggested that I take over the burden of being Batman for a whole month. Obviously, this was completely awkward because I'm trying to find a new job at the moment and I don't really have time, but the guy has SO much money, he pretty much bribed me into it.

Turns out though, Norwich is a pretty safe place to live. Compared to Gotham City.

I missed a couple of major things which I guess would be used against me if ever I get judged for my efforts. There was a drunken fight on one of the bridges over the Wensum and a guy drowned, but I didn't even know about it because how the fuck would I? Then some other man died because two drunk dudes beat the shit out of him. It's tragic, yes, but wearing this custume is reeaallly embarrassing and I don't really want to be seen in it.

I cleared up some litter though and drove around in my car (didn't use bat mobile because it's way too confusing and has flying capabilities which is something that I really don't want to have to learn) looking for people who were being criminals but nothing actually came up.

There was a fancy dress party and some guy was dressed as Heath Ledgers Joker which threw me at first because it was a convincing costume and I'm not really qualified to battle people like that.

Another complaint I have, and I don't mean to go on, but I didn't get a Robin. It's not that I needed one, but if anything did come up, I would have probably fucked it all up. Robin could have at least given me a few pointers, but I didn't get anything.

I'm telling you, Dick Grayson owes me big time. If he didn't want to be Batman he could have just hung himself.

Sunday 11 October 2009

Like Smoke, Girl

I remember the taste, hot my mouth, then you stick to my lungs.

I exhale, and you're gone.

This particular girl prefered the taste of kisses after smoking, like it was a flavour. The night I learnt that was the same night I learn that dying a girls hair is wayyy to stressful because no one will every do it just right. It was that night that I retired from the hair styling community. The nation mourned.

Later on the bed, I'll think about a lot of things. Some things will be for blogger, some for my stories. I don't know how I decide what goes on here, but usually it comes from tangents or analogies made in passing.

A thin mist kind of like smoke is rolling around my road. I can see because I'm blogging on the windowsill. It's all reminding me of smoke, which is memory, seeping for a glow or fading spark and sinking down into my lungs where it settles and makes me feel sick. I'm not a smoker, I can't handle the memories very well.

I should make a nicotine patch for the past. You can patch right over it and be an ignorant motherfucker!

I remeber how my old blog used to be funny. I best try harder because I miss all that.

Saturday 10 October 2009

Hamish: A Cautionary Tale

It's essentially a catalogue of vices. A modern day De Sade, instructing in the art of reduction.

We need vices, the first line of the story of my life would say, because we are all so very very lost. After that, I might use the analogy of floating adrift in a boat on a great sea, trying not to drown. In that case, making mistakes fucking up may well be drowning, but it may also mean throwing an anchor.

The captain, lost at sea, thows his anchor overboard and remains perfectly still.

And we all stay completely still. Then at the end of our lives, we smile, knowing that none of us have really moved at all. Y'all glued. There's only so far you can go before you admit that every road is outside of your head.

That didn't make sense. None of the above did. It's late. Hamish sleepy.

This post should have been titled: Too much flu medicine.

Friday 9 October 2009

Wereboy and the Death Of Tomorrow

One day, that will be the title of my comic book.

It's about a werewolf, you see. Except he doesn't have any superpowers. In fact, he's not even a werewolf anymore and I think he's probably racist. Everyone loves a racist...

This hypothetical graphic orgasm is just one of many things that I intend to do, but out of all of them it will definitely be the most awesome. Racist werewolf!

There's something really juvenile about wanting to write comic books now that I'm, arguably, full grown. I'm supposed to stop wanting to be a rock star and have an amazing job like video game tester or comic book writer but really, the longer I go without these things, the more I want them. Time, I suppose, is slipping from the top chamber to the bottom... of the hour glass... the hour glass of life. Metaphore.

What needs to happen is that I go into a chrysalis and then come out the other end with totally badass drawing skills. The only other alternatives are that I draw it now with my completely inept drawing skills or I actually practise drawing my characters.

The latter option is preferable, but I know myself too well to put money on it.

Thursday 24 September 2009

And One Head Can Never Die



Hallelujah. My favourite band released an album and I feel like a crazy fanboy.

I was just going to write about how much I love Brand New and their new album, but I did something similar about two weeks ago after Derren Brown predicted the lottery numbers and I wrote a long blog post about how awesome he is.

But still... It's tempting. I mean I do love them... and it's not like anyone is reading this. Except you, of course, but this entire correspondence is completely hypothetical.

If you got spotify, listen to the album.

It's really clarified the way that I want to write new material though. I think I'll get a lot of work done this weekend, music wise. There's nothing like the lyrics of a terribly depressed man to inspire me.

Maybe I'll cover one of the songs and post it here.

Okay, running on now. Night.

Thursday 17 September 2009

Things Omitted From My Journal



Most mornings, I will wake up and awkwardly avoid the glare of my dream journal; its bare pages guilting me all the way to the shower.

These days, I'm supposed to keep a dream journal. The problem is this: as much as I want to keep a dream journal; I want to keep secrets too.

The dates in my dream journal go like this:
  • June 2nd
  • June 3rd
  • June 4th
  • September 17th
For the space in between, I constantly dreamt of a girl who was not my girlfriend. As if it wasn't enough to keep her out of my waking thoughts, she's invaded my dreams too. I can't blame the girl though, she never asked to be dreamt of.

So what was I supposed to do? My girlfriend always read my journal and I, god forbid, could not be honest about it. The regularity of dreams from which she was not a character were never frequent enough to justify keeping the journal, but I still have to keep it, I'm not allowed to not keep it.

Heavily edited versions of dreams will have to be produced.

Things omitted from my dream journal, September 17th 2009:

"...this was the place that I met her."
"...the only friend who also knew about the girl."
"...to meet the girl again."
"...I knew the way, because this is where we had sat and kissed for hours."

And you can see the predicament. Obviously, these things could not be included.

Heavily edited... It is the only solution!

Saturday 12 September 2009

Big Brother observe aussi bien.



My country was once written about in a way that was terrifying but all too familiar. It's not a new thing to say that "Nineteen Eighty-Four" became a self fulfilling prophecy for Britain, but I've had a couple of experiences that made me feel very differently about England and its neighbours.

I have a friend who lives in Ukraine and we took him on a road trip once, with no particular place to go. We just thought we'd show him Britain, maybe Ireland. It was weird because he hadn't really ever been to a city before. Not a large one, at least.

I've always noticed the cameras. They are everywhere, as the stories accurately report. Strangers tend to notice them too, but people who live here don't seem to see them. That's the way of things around here, outrages soon become normal as everyone realises there's nothing we can do about it anyway. My friend, Alek, noticed a few on our first day and commented on the Big Brother parallel.

"You've seen 10 cameras? How many times do you think you've been on camera today?" I asked him.

He shrugged.

The truth is, we'd been on camera over 300 times that day. Practically everything we did had been recorded. "300 times a day" is the general viral response when asked how many times the average Briton had been on camera in one day, but in this case, it was definately close to the mark.

"Who is watching?" Alek asked. I thought about it for a long time. So yes, everything I do is watched and there are some cameras that bother me more than others. At work, there is a security camera right behind my head. On the way to and from work, I can count 20 on the roads, not including speed cameras. In the city itself, where I live, its impossible to count. There are none on my road, as far as I can tell. But all these cameras must be watched by different people, even though I don't know who. Big Brother took a different shape then. Not as a secret ruler that I could blame all my troubles on, but actually another part of us. After all, who put the cameras there? And who didn't tear them down?

Alek also heard about the wind farms. There was nothing like that in his country at the time and there still isn't as far as I know. There happened to be one reasonably near where we were, or at least close enough to justify going to stare and the great big things. It was funny actually, after all the fuss there was about constructing them everywhere, I hadn't ever actually any.

We drove past a field with row upon row and giant towers, each one ominously looming over the next. Perfectly still. "They're not moving," said Alek.

"No." I said.

At the G20 protests earlier this year, the public came extaordinarilly close to rebelling against the police entirely. I thought about Alek then, as he constantly used to question some of the English normalities and its government and especially its people. Specifically, why we didn't seem to care enough to do "anything about anything", as he said.

A few months ago, the government were allowed to put cameras inside peoples homes to make sure that their kids went to bed at the right time in problem families. This was the main reason why the scheme was deemed such a good idea. About a month earlier, the police, with cameras mounted in their helmets were allowed to follow 'criminals' wherever they went, in case he commited another crime. The police would walk a few steps behind them and wait outside their house until they could follow them again. It successfully stopped more crimes being commited by this person but, as they all too often say, at what cost?

Bus stops currently threaten us with warnings from the police. A gently reminder not to break the laws that have been set for us. We are not allowed to take photos of buildings, specifically in London, there have been cases where the police have literally deleted photos off of someones camera. There are lots of quaint examples of this kind told every day in the newspaper, of all places. They're actually quite common.

The latest one that I heard yesterday was the new "You Could Be A Paeophile" database that 11 million people across the country will have to submit their details to if they have ever been near or even seen a child. There's a £65 fee to be on the database, of course, and you will also be subject to investigation. This was all done with the best intentions, I don't doubt. But there's a lot of "guilty until proven innocent" going on, which I'm certain does not sit well with most people.

It's not always for our protection though, as far as I can tell. Who could forget, or rather, why are we forgetting the £1 billion system that will give the Government access to our emails, text messages, phone calls and internet usage. Alek's words come back to me when he asked "Who is watching?" It gets confusing, I don't even know what they're looking for, let alone who's reading my stuff.

I am of the opinion that everyone has secrets and everyone has the right to them too. Although none of my secrets are dark and evil and I do not feel unsafe here, I don't like the idea that nothing is my own.

C'est la vie. Maybe it will all just go away.

Friday 11 September 2009

I Heart Derren Brown

And so Derren Brown successfully predicts the lottery, and furthermore admits to essentially breaking in to the BBC and personally rigging the result.

I love that man.

Even the fact the he dedicated tonight's show to a perfectly legal but obviously bullshit explanation to exactly how he did it warms my heart and makes me feel a sense of camaraderie for all fellow liars everywhere.

And now he promises to actually force people to 'stick to their sofa' this time next week... I would very much like to live with him.

I saw Derren Brown a few months ago at my theatre. He hypnotised my girlfriend to drink a glass of vinegar and then (successfully) psychically predict the contents of a strangers wallet. I knew how the drink was done, but it was still an awesome trick and made all the better by the fact that my girlfriend was in it.

By the way, I'm obviously just really excited and impressed by Derrens latest tricks because I'm just mindlessly talking about him on my blog... for no other reason other than it makes me feel like a little kid.

That is all. I love magic tricks.

Thursday 10 September 2009

Holy Fuck

or I Miss Missing or I Miss Going Missing, Being Missed By You.



Autumn does not feel like a real season. Here where I am, it's either getting colder or getting warmer, and those are the seasons. But right now it's the strange time of year where short sleeves and earmuffs isn't such a strange choice.

Looking back at my last blog post, I notice that it kind of sucks. I should explain that the hallucinations I've been having all week are from lack of sleep. I decided vehemently that the more I slept, the sadder and less creative I was. Who, after all, would really want their mind to be at ease? I much prefer my mind to be racing along, struggling and half processing many more things that it could realistically deal with.

The more we sleep, the more boring we are or eventually become.

I was becoming sick of sleeping more than living. Working more than living. It was the only time in my life so far that I thought "I better get some sleep." What did I think the consequences were going to be?

So I think I prefer myself tired. But I also think it's going to take a whole lifetime to learn how to live in my skin.

----

Post Script: I feel that, once again, I have written mostly about nothing so I promise that this weekend I will tell a good story to my blog and its nonexistant readers.

Monday 7 September 2009

Jachamelian


"However, I'm better. If not now then never."
-Li'l Wayne 2008


I'm hallucinating so much this week.

This is an amalgamation of essentially three different things. One, a nice picture. Two, an out of context hip hop lyric. Three, a statement of fact from my personal life.

I might make it the first in a series of posts following this basic structure.

Goodnight, brothers and sisters.

Sunday 6 September 2009

Half Write



Today I thought a lot about Andy Warhol, Truman Capote and Jonathan Safran Foer.

A girl said she thinks I'm mostly haunted by every choice that I didn't make. Things could have been very different and I often convince myself that almost all of my alternate realities would be better than my current one but that's bullshit.

I need to write some letters and make my girlfriend a mixtape.

I think I'm going to love her until I die of something.

“Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I’m not living.”

-Jonathan Safran Foer

Lantern Sonntag

Lantern Sunday in the city. Everyone spends days or weeks crafting their own paper lanterns.

A lot of people spend days or weeks just making one beautiful lantern, and they'll hang it somewhere in the city centre where people will see it, choosing their spot carefully as so not to lose attention from other lanterns nearby.

This year, we decided to make several hundered identical lanterns and string them all around the castle at the top of the hill, placed just so the people on the street below can't quite work out the eerie glow. The castle is the pinnacle of our city, all roads spiderweb out from it like how all roads lead to Rome. It looks like it should be the highest point because it's on such a steep motte, but it isn't anymore.

Usually, in the small ampitheatre next the the castle gardens, they do open air Shakespear plays on this day of the year. Hopefully lots of people will see our lanterns when they walk past. There's a glass elevator that leads from the bottom to the top of the hill so people can go up and look at the patterns we've made with out lanterns, if they want to.

Lateral

What a relapse.

I need a outlet that I'm actually going to stick to.

Because nobody really reads this, I feel comfortable exposing my soul for a couple of minutes. It's something I don't usually do and I've considered buying a journal for that exact reason but the truth is I can't afford a journal. I can't afford fucking anything...

There is a definate void in my life.

I need to start creating things that people can genuinely care about.

In the shower today, I thought about the band. As a kid, when we sucked and could only play a few songs, I kind of assumed that eventually, with time, we would be huge. Then I suppose when I got a bit older, fame was less important, it was just a word, which was reassuring. There's a couple of moments I remember that epitomize why I wanted to play music. One of them was playing to a big crowd and looking down from the stage over the barrier to see a girl mouthing out the lyrics that I wrote with my friend in his bedroom. As we sang them, she sang them too. It doesn't seem like much, but these were words that this girl remembered enough to be able to sing them back to us. Hell, I bet she still knows them... I wrote those words. Maybe they meant something to her. Why would she have heard my song enough times to know the words anyway?

I used to write stories to girls that I liked. There was one girl, her mother was a pop star in the 70s, I wrote her so many stories because she was so beautiful and perfect. When I bumped into her a few months ago, she remebered them and I really wanted to tell her why I kept on ridiculously writing these damn things. I guess stories alone weren't enough to get this girl to like me. She was an artist, I should have written her songs instead.

At night time, I think about comic books and digital music. Secret societies and other bright ideas.

For my last birthday, I bought myself a book of simplified anatomy so I could be a comic book artist. I'd been reading lots of things by Mike Mignola and Gabriel Ba, which was so completely captivating that I had to put my own stories into the same medium. I must have looked at the book 4 or 5 times.

Back when I had money, I spent a fortune on music production software and different types of synths and midi pads and effects processors so that I could start my solo project with everything I needed. I haven't started a single track in over a year.

Last year, about this time, I wrote a novel. Now it's stuck on PC in the boot of my car where I won't ever be able to access it. The subject matter is beautiful if poorly executed, but it was my first real novel. I want to do it again this year but I've made a ridiculous career choice which will consume all my time for the next three years and then dictate the rest of my life down a very narrow path.

Why have I spent thousands of pounds on a diploma in therapy when I just don't care about people?

I've convinced myself that I can just learn of this and then just play the part. These won't by counselling lessons, they'll be acting lessons. Then when I get my diploma, I can just get into character. How different could it be from my every day life? At least I'll be helping people... probably myself too. I'm certain it will be good for me somehow.

Man, it's late. But this is about 50% of what's plaguing me at the moment, which is enough. It helps to write it down. It gives me solitude... or fortitude. I'm getting stupider as I get older and I use the wrong words for things from time to time. But what I mean is that writing all of this down makes me feel like maybe tomorrow I'll actually write a song.

Hey look at the time... One minute past midnight. Today is brand new day.

Saturday 25 July 2009

Today I Remebered

The train station. It was really cold, it might have actually been snowing. I remember the conductor said he couldn't wait and I remember a terrible sense of regret as the door slid between us and your train rolled away. I left you a message where all I said was "I wanted to kiss you" because I thought that would be cool and romantic. Then I remember having to wait one whole week before I actually could kiss you.

Was that really five years ago? Man...

I still think it's a shame things didn't work out between me and this girl. Even though I'm happy with my girlfriend now, I always suspected, always hoped that we would somehow end up together.

And so it's hard when she's in town because I have to make a real effort not to be a complete infidel. It should come easy, I suppose. But it doesn't. I've done well so far though, we've hardly even talked and I haven't seen her once. Give me grace and dancing feet, I'm going to try not to screw anything up. (I'm good at screwing things up).

And now, because the pain in my back is slowly killing me and I physically can't move without waking up my girlfriend and getting her to help me, I'm going to spend Saturday night alone in my living room, ignoring all phone calls, and writing some music.

Good evening.

Wednesday 22 July 2009

A Memory of Elephants

Supposedly, memory is the correct term for a group of elephants, but it just sounds like a melancholy flashback to an elephant that you once saw.

Every morning, I hear zoo sounds and childrens laughter outside my bathroom window. Horses, elephants, what have you. There is no zoo in Norwich, let alone the city centre. A real mystery, but one I'm glad to have received. I'm even beginning to think that the people next door might have zoo sounds on tape and they play them from 7-9am.

In other news, the sink in the bathrooms at work have started screaming at me. As I turn the taps, a terrible noise comes from the plug hole that sounds exactly like a scream. I don't enjoy this unexpected noise quite as much as it still causes me to jump.

In other other news, I have salvaged a lot of software from my dead PC including a lot of music production/DAW stuff so I was thinking of writing another album. I think I'll probably call it Woods for Trees.

I remember this elephants, from long ago...

Sinks Lection

My links section look a bit strange. I should read more blogs.

Sunday 19 July 2009

Photo Shoot

700 photos of me, I wish I'd worn a clean shirt.

Today I wore a fox-scarf. It had the head attached and the legs still had claws in them and stuff. There was another fox-scarf too which weirdly had split off in two near the end and had two sets of hind legs. I wonder who makes these?

Wearing fur doesn't outrage people nearly as much as I hoped.

Saturday 18 July 2009

I still dream

I still dream, but only in the day.

I daydream of you. What do you dream about?

Give a Fuck.

There is no problem so big it cannot be run away from.

And really, a problem like this should not be a problem. I should not want to run away. There's a lot of romance in running away... this is best avoided.

But every time I get a text or phone call from this girl, my thoughts all cloud together until I'm at risk of stopping completely. And then I'm off, as in switched off. There is nothing I feel like doing. There's nothing I'd rather think about than her, but man, I don't want to think about her.

Nothing can occupy me. Thank Loki I'm writing again because I think I really need it now. Something to occupy me and my mind and keep me nice and sane. Because there are sharp knives in the kitchen you know.

(Suicide jokes seem weird.)

I need to keep still as well. No travelling about, no taking weird jobs.

About one year ago I wrote an incredably long story of all the things that had happened to me in the one year preceding that. It was painful and beautiful to recall butI wrote it well, I thought. I knew I would never recount the fucked up experience ever again so writing it all down was entirely theraputic. I thought of myself as a writer and this was a good piece, now out in the open, like therapy. As I clicked the publish button I remember that I had cleared my cache half way through writing down my experience. It was all lost.

This crushed me like nothing else. Ever since, I have not written one line of prose or music that's worth a single fucking thing.

It has to change. I am a writer; a musician. I can create, why am I fucking about with angst? Looking at everything that's happened now, it seems worth cataloguing. Perhaps I will find some worth, for my own sake. Self esteem issues are on the verge of a violent descent, I fear. I really need to patch myself up. Maybe it's all worth writing...

Every intangible encounter, skin brushing skin. Lies, sex, digital tinitus, hot counties, cold rain.

Keep your mind off of her, Hamish. Do this instead. Write.

Sunday 10 May 2009

Delayface

In other news, I still have completed my psychotherapist appication.

In One Of The Many Places You're Not, I Am.

Saturday 9 May 2009

We Are All Waiting

Ruminating on this: "We Are All Waiting."

And yes, we are all waiting for something.

I had been waiting for something to happen to me. I needed a good reason to quit my job but all I did was sit around and wait for things to get so bad that I would eventually have to retaliate. That's right, I bring the fight to me, bitch.

A few days ago I decided to do what I wanted to do.

But the process is this: I recieve a leaflet with trees on the front. Inside are lots of details on what my psychotherapist education will be like. It relies heavily on peaceful imagery and warns that I shouldn't take the course if I have been diagnosed with mental illness "(e.g. schizophrenia)"... I'm not schizophrenic (or so the voices tell me) but like every great artist I have bouts of terrible depression. I lied about this to get on the course. This was ill advised as it will all reach the surface at some point anyway.

It's going to take a long three years to do this and I have to continue working at the same time anyway because I'm poor, so that big question for me is why the fuck do I want to be a psychotherapistso much anyway?

The obvious answer is that I desire to have a kind of scarey power over other people. This is in fact the truthful answer.

But I can't write that on my application...

Friday 8 May 2009

3 New Messages

The first thing I remeber; bats on her wrist.

It's the first thing I think of. She hides from the camera and I get a really clear shot of bats on her wrist. A tattoo that I bought her when she turned 20. I hope she doesn't regret it now.

Every so often, one or both of us will get drunk in separate spaces, receive or send texts to the other, barely masking plain desires. All the words, regardless of what it is we text, all of them read "I still think about you all the time."

I still think about her all the time. I draw bats on my wrist.

I wonder if the tattoo reminds her of me?

And look now, three new messages:

"I lost my shoe"
"Hamish"
"Are you sleeping?"

Comrade

I'm going to build a wall, Comrade.

On one side, we will have happy people and on the other side we will have the sad. Doesn't that make sense? These people, seemly capable of a smile will doubtless prefer the company of those that can share their joy. As for the sad, well they certainly prefer to be away from such things.

Monday 13 April 2009

This is a test

testing testing testing testing testing testing testing testing testing testing testing testing testing testing testing testing testing testing testing testing