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.
Friday, 11 September 2009
Thursday, 10 September 2009
Holy Fuck 11:52
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.
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 13:34
"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 13:21
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.” 05:32
-Jonathan Safran Foer
Lantern Sonntag 05:15
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.
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 00:01
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.
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.