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.
Saturday 25 July 2009
Wednesday 22 July 2009
A Memory of Elephants 23:54
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...
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...
Sunday 19 July 2009
Photo Shoot 07:06
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.
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
Give a Fuck. 17:18
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.
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.