On Giving Up.

Something I have given a lot of thought to, is the wish that life was something you could give up experiencing, and just observe, like the tougher levels on a computer game that you can't crack, so you pass to your sibling to finish instead. I yearn with all consciousness to just be able to say, when one realises that they can't feasibly carry on, 'That's it for me, actually! I'll opt out, if that's okay', as if life was a particularly tough game of chess.

Not suicide, though. Admittedly as a young 'un who still very much believed in God and Heaven and the possibility of an afterlife, the idea of suicide was an attractive one. When things got too much, I could just pop myself off and watch things unfold from above. But now, unfortunately I guess you could say, I am freed of such beliefs, and I'm stuck for a way out.

Because I cannot cope now, and by all indication that isn't going to change. I long so much for independence, but my Mother still has to send me emails telling me how to divide my money so as to carry on surviving. I'm never going to understand the world of bill payments, rents, direct debits, and why I have to wait until the 18th to repay LeakyCon, and I've had to realise* that after recovering from a series of very serious illnesses, she may not be around much longer.

So then what? I can't keep relying on friends, and in any case I have a habit of driving them away. I'm useless at relationships, particularly with the kind of people** that could actually help me sort my life out, and as such I have since given up on trying.*** I'm fucked. Absolutely fucked, and there's nothing I can do about it. I simply will never be able to cope with the pressures of adult life.

So what the fuck do I do?! Maybe I could become a convict, and spend a life in prison. Or, as celibacy is something I am set on anyway, maybe a hypocritical, self-loathing life in a monastery is something I could consider. Bah! Answers on a postcard.****

xo

gb

*Actually had to. My Mother has always been blunt.

**Usually women.

***Yes! As of the 22nd of September, 2010, I am now celibate and swear off all future relationships. If you wish to place bets on how long this will last, please speak to any of my flatmates.

**** Or in the comments.

Goodbye Moreton.

In a little under three hours I shall be leaving my childhood home for what will hopefully be the last time, to move into a house in Kingston where I now live with five other friends. I have no doubt that I shall spend time here again, when I inevitably run out of money, but it won't be the same. My room will no longer be my room, even for the fact that it no longer contains my piggy bank. It will take on that peculiar feeling that rooms that used to contain children always do, the trinkets on the windowsill and indentations in the walls mere sad reminders of the happy times spent there.

The word 'RIOT' written in deodorant stain between two posters in a moment of Paramore-inspired anger. The burn on the window-ledge from teenage smoking. The covered-up burn mark on the floor from a pyromanic moment. Amongst the poetry scribbled on each wall, a dedication in blue from the one time I had school friends over to my house. The pockmarked walls from seventeen years of postered dedication to whichever band held my heart at that time.

I recently threw out a battered pair of shoes, the kind you could well imagine turning up in a poor angler's unsuccessful efforts, and before I did, I spent a little while remembering what they'd seen. From the day I bought them with, best friend approved, after a day at the beach before signing on, to the last rainy day when their holes became too much, their day-to-day use saw one of the most important periods of change in my life. So what then, has this room seen?

It's seen me grow up from an optimistic youth to the melancholic pessimist I am today. It's seen a myriad of friends, girlfriends, constants and flows. It's seen happiness. Pure, childhood happiness at the joy of LEGO, happiness at the first time I tied my laces by myself, played a song through, finished a computer game, finished a book, film, tv show, finished a video or a blog post. It's seen tears: Tantrums, depressions, worries. The first time I was dumped, the end of Gladiator, the end of Harry Potter, and tears that weren't mine: When my girlfriend crashed her car, arguments with my best friend, my Mom crying on my shoulder. It's seen laughter, excitement, despair, ecstasy, shame, and bewilderedness.

I was in this room that I discovered Twitter, found the joys of the internet. This room that I discovered John Green, in this room that I heard him read the commencement speech that would kick start a period of change that continues daily today, and in this room that I first decided to act on that.

I've lived in this house since I was two, and consider myself uniquely experienced because of it. Leaving a house that has seen me learn to read, write and get dressed is going to be tough. The only reassurance is that soon I will move into a fresh, new house, with new memories to make. New laughs to hear, new fights to worry about, new places to feel life.

It was in this room, sat exactly where I am now, listening to the same song I am now, that I first made this blog. It's nothing like I planned it to be: It's not famous, it's not candid, and it's not about sex. It's hardly worth reading, really. I recently found out that the one steady reader I thought I did have isn't as committed as I believed. But I guess that's fine. Maybe one day it will be something big, but until then, like the crack in the wall against which I lean now, it can serve as a reminder of all my short time on this earth has come to be.

Throw your arms around me.

xo
gb

Why I love my friends:

Ricky: So, after the first day of competition....who are you favouring?

Me: What?

Oh

I think the Irish really have a strong chance again, man.

Ricky: I'm still rooting with the Irish

Me: Moran's better than ever, and Mullet may be getting on a bit, but he's still bringing in the points.

Ricky: Who can discount the Bulgarians though....Krum is still a force to be reckoned with

Me: True, but I think they've had their day, to be honest. I don't think they'll make it past the semis.

Ricky: How are you feeling the French this year?

Me: I don't think they'll make it past that match with Sweden.

Had they been drawn against, say, Italy, first, I think they'd have had more of a chance,

but I think Sweden will dominate them, and they won't really recover.

Ricky: A lot of the Scandinavia have some good representation this year

Me: They have.

Ricky: Finland are looking really strong....some really attractive Quidditch being played there.

Me: Yeah, they've gotten really good in the past few years. That win over Chile in the Qualifiers was fantastic!

Opening ceremony was as spectacular as ever..

Ricky: Wyrd Sisters...on key as per usual

Me: They're so consistently great.

Bagman went on a bit, though..

Ricky: How he worked his way up to Minister for Magic I don't know.

Me: Appalling decision. I mean, true, Fudge's second term wasn't much better, but at least he knew what he was doing..

Ricky: Fudge was always going to haunted by the war....and the fact that he was the man that let Voldemort come back.

He made a good fist of it when all's said and done.

Me: Yeah, but Bagman? I think that'll go down as THE example of a protest vote gone wrong.

Ricky: Yehh but it was him or Umbridge....who would you rather see there....it's a no brainer mate.

Me: Haha! You don't lie.

I think the whole Ministry needs a good overhaul. People seem to be pretty enamoured with that Potter guy, but I'm just not big on celeb politicians.

I think Longfoot could do the job, though.

Ricky: Potter should stick to catching the snitch. If he'd stuck to that and not gone sticking his scar into politics then he'd be leading this England squad.

Me: He would! What do you think of our chances, then?

Knocked out by Japan again?

Ricky: We'll never win it anyway....shows what you get for appointing that bloody Italian wizard as coach

Me: Too true!

Ricky: About time they installed that Wood guy as the coach.

He may be young but he's got the skillz

Me: Oh god yes! I mean, he's the reason Puddlemere are the team they are these days.

He was our best acquisition so far, after kitting the team out with the new Firebolt IIs.

Ricky: They've even got the Harpies worried!

Me: The Cannons need some of them! What are you guys on?

Ricky: Aha....Nimbus 2001's....if we're lucky.

Me: Haha! Bless. I mean, granted, you keep trying, but I think relegation is going to come knocking soon.

Ricky: Oh for a turnaround at that club!!

I mean, when you've Weasley as your best player...you know you're in dire straights.

He's not bad in front of the hoops....but again, he's no Wood aha

Me: True. I think you can count the number of goals Wood let in for his entire career on both hands.

Ricky: Weasley would need the spare fingers from Wood to even get started on his tally

Me: Hahaha!

Me: His wife's hot, though. You seen her?

She does a lot of charity work.

Ricky: Ahh....Hermione Weasley....the WAG to end all WAG's

Me: She has it all.

You know, maybe you should give her a run at being Keeper. She couldn't be worse..

Ricky: Well, presumably she know's how to handle the red balls...

Me: Ohoho!

The clash with the robes is something not to be sniffed at.

Ricky: It's horrific.

Me: You'd imagine they'd do better, actually, what with the glare.. It can't be easy to score with that in your eyes..

Ricky: Well it's not helped us out this season I can tell you.

or the last one, or the last one, or the one before that

or before that.

Fucking Puddlemere....YOU used to be the joke team....now it's really only us

Me: I know!

And all the new 'supporters' as well..

Where were you when we'd never won a game?!

I've gotta dash, man. Nom's ready.

Ricky: Inabit You wonderful geek you x

Me: I'll speak to you soon, though. Make sure to catch USA vs Germany on Saturday. Should be good.

xx

Upon finishing 'His Dark Materials'.

There's something so wonderful about finishing a really great book. It's that sublime combination of empathy, passion, and clarity of mind that flows through your veins as you come to the end of the last page. Wearied from the journey you've inevitably been on with the characters, burdened moreso by the weight of your own experiences, the sense of relief is palpable.

Really good books always leave me feeling a little drunk, and allowing oneself to sink into that blissful catatonia is one of life's greatest pleasures. The intellectual high combined with the base and complex power of the emotions you are left with, sweep over your life like a sea mist, dampening everything with its touch. This is the time to create. To fuck, to kiss, to do something with your life. Even just to sit and watch the magnificent glory of the world pass you by, feeling a little richer for your pleasures.

But it never lasts. The fog clears, the dew dries, and soon you are left clinging desperately on to the last fragments of whatever world you have just left. The schwa-like urges you craved to fulfil ebb away, and soon you are left once more to the mercy of the real world, with only a fragile sense of dislocation to remind you of what you briefly were.

You were an adventurer, and in this sense almost all good literature is a work of fantasy. For like the protagonist in any fantasy novel, you return to your world to a blank reaction. No one can know what you've gone through, and any attempt to try to explain would cheapen the epiphany. You must simply labour on, enlightened by the wonders you've seen.

xo

gb

Up Onto the Bandwagon and Round the Moat

Never one to miss a bandwagon, I thought I'd chime in on the raging media storm concerning serial attacker Raol Moat. Now I've been in a bit of an internet blackout for the past couple weeks, so I didn't catch the story as it was coming in, but I've read a couple articles, and listened to an interview. I may not be informed, but that doesn't stop The News of the World from going out every day, so why should it stop me?

Now I want to make it absolutely clear that of course I think that the acts committed by Raol Moat were atrocious, and I do not agree with any of the dissident opinions concerning him. I do, however, take issue with the nation's reaction to the Facebook group declaiming him 'a legend'.

Now these kinds of groups and fan pages are commonplace. They're basically the home take-away option for internet trolls. Instead of having to go out to YouTube videos and cause consternation in the comments there, they simply set up an obscene group and let the indignant come to them. They are nothing more than a cheap laugh for those that enjoy such a thing. Obviously there will be people coming to these groups that do harbour unsavoury opinions regarding their content, but overall, they are made up of bored idiots convincing themselves of their brilliance.

Now aside from the tabloid reaction to the papers being a dire case of 'feeding the trolls', the public demand to Facebook to remove such a group, and indeed, the Prime Minister's plea to the website, is something worth looking at. Although the page was indeed a joke, the government's sudden decision to tell us with whom we can and cannot sympathise is unacceptable. Enforcing moral character is not a governmental responsibility.

Unfortunately, in this case, the person behind the Facebook group did have the intellect of a particularly small amoeba. In this stunning interview with Ian Collins*, it is clear that Siobhan O'Dowd** doesn't have the brain cells to understand just why her case was important, neither did she have the wit to counter Collins' not overly challenging questions. The country missed what could have been a vital chance to openly debate the nature of opinion and how we can and should express it. Instead we got a half-assed, botched attempt at humour that was dragged on longer than necessary by a press waiting with baited breath for any possible chance at outraged indignation.

gb

*A man who clearly sees himself as a halfway house between John Humphrys and Jeremy Kyle but instead comes across like Tim Westwood trying to 'get politikal'.

**Who by no means deserves to share a surname with George or Chris

This Great and Terrible Truth.

It is not the least bit coincidental that adults who commit suicide with firearms almost always shoot themselves in: the head. They shoot the terrible master. And the truth is that most of these suicides are actually dead long before they pull the trigger.

xo

gb

Just another night in Nantes..

There are so many people I need to apologise to, and I started to write them all out, but firstly, it's too long, and secondly it's unnecessary, as it's all for doing the same thing. Letting you slip away, or disappearing myself, or, basically, completely abandoning you.

So I realised there's nothing I can say that isn't better put by this song.

It's been such a long time since I've seen your smile. I've gambled away my friends, time, and sanity, and all I want to do is scream and shout how not okay this is and how not okay I am, but it's business as usual for the rest of the world.

So I'm sorry.

xo
gb

Way to Normal

Sometimes I think I should try and be normal.

I mean, I just saw something that made me realise what normal men are like, and it just really brought home what people expect from each other.

I mean, by way of example, I have nearly 300 songs about Harry Potter on my iTunes, and I'm writing my own. I spent most of today re-writing the theme to Doctor Who, and I play, amongst other instruments, the didgeridoo, ukulele, and lute. If you ask me about teams, I am very likely to start talking about Quidditch.

Now, don't get me wrong: I'm not ashamed of being a nerd. I believe that knowing things is cool, I love reading, and I proudly wear my nerd colours on my sleeve (blue and gray). I just think that maybe somewhere along the line, I've completely lost track of things.

Earlier, my friend Bri expressed her admiration at the fact that I wear frequently wear nail varnish. I've had similar sentiments from other friends. From other people, though, I've had emotions ranging from bemusement to nausea.

Now I'm not going to claim that I don't care what people think about me, because that is quite obviously a lie. I don't, however, care if short-sighted idiots can't get past the idea of a guy wearing nail varnish, or wearing girls boxers, or being almost 20 and still professing his public love for Puddlemere United.

But the fact is that I'm not normal. I can't talk to you about real music. Albums made in K-Holes in Parisian bathrooms, played on childrens' toys - Yes. Why three lines of my iTunes are dedicated to an artist no one in the UK that doesn't know what DFTBA means knows of - Yes. But who Tinchy Stryder is? Who the Number 1 is at the moment? No chance.

I can't explain the offside rule. I drink Lambrini because I love it. I hate the taste of beer. I don't think I will ever be able to fall in love again, because I view it only as a chemical reaction. And I am never going to care if anything bad happens in the sporting world. I think people that have tattoos will regret them, but I plan to get my own. I judge people with facial piercings, but I have one myself. I want a toy Sonic Screwdriver. I still play act and pretend I'm a cowboy sometimes. My Facebook is in Latin.

I can't shake this feeling that I should enjoy youth while it lasts, because I'm going to end up lonely.

xo

gb

Always relieving to know

Created by Oatmeal

A New Regime

So hi.

It has, as usual, been a while. How have you been? How's that wonderful husband/wife/baby/boyfriend/girlfriend/dog of yours?

I've been in a bit of a dark place of late. There are a host of reasons, to which everyone will be sure they know the definitive answer. You don't. Regardless, the end result has been me not attending lectures for 5 weeks, not attending an exam, going back onto drugs, drinking myself into hospital on one occasion, and generally trying to keep myself buried in the little hole I dug for myself.

Obviously, this is not a productive way to go through life, especially university. I'm blessed with the fact that I've done a lot of what we're learning this year already at A-Level, so it won't be too hard to get back in, but it won't be without difficulties. I have, for example, blown off my singing teacher several times this term. I'm also lucky that no real* assignments were due in during this period.

So now, whether simply because I've run out of drugs and I'm running out of cigarettes, or whether it's due to some deep moral change, I'm changing. I'm gonna go clean, try and quit smoking again, restrict my drinking to healthy** amounts and turn up to lectures. It's going to be hard: I'm already getting headaches and nausea from some of the withdrawals and I spent most of last night dreaming about weed, but I'm going to do it.

Amsterdam might be tricky, though.

In related news, I've decided to lose weight. As a student, specifically a music student, I realise I am letting the collective side down by being anything other than horrifically skinny and malnourished. So, with a goal in mind, I'm setting out to shift a whole bunch (read: my love handles, stomach, and chubby-but-loveable ass wobbles) of weight. I won't be doing an AlanDistro-like blog along, simply because the added disappointment of 26 people*** on my conscience when I'm tucking into the free pot of Loseley Double Chocolate Ice Cream that comes free with every 'Party Feast' ordered from Red Planet Pizzas (I'm not sponsored, but if anyone from Red Planet is reading this, I'd be willing to negotiate) will be the last thing I need.

So that's it! My big news. I'll try and do another post this month, to bring you up to date with all that's going on in my life, instead of this rather unnecessary idiocy. For now, I'm off to wash 8 weeks worth of dirty washing and dishes.

Who knows? I might even shave!

xo

gb

*World Music doesn't count as a real module

** Well, healthier

*** Yes! That's how many people follow me now! Thank you all!

Boogie on down.

Eeco Rijken Rapp is a friend of my old piano teacher, Julian Phillips. Can't stop listening to this piece. Enjoy!




xo
gb

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Hysteria

If you can't stand middle-class white teenagers whining about their inability to cope, then I suggest you don't read this entry.*

It's generally been the case that as unstable as my personal life may be, academically, I've always been pretty fine. I'm lazy, true, and I have a habit of pushing my deadlines to the very last minute, but generally, whilst my relationships and emotions are crashing down and whirling up around me, the path of my education has been pretty firm.

Now, for some reason, the opposite is true. For the first time ever, I have a large group of friends, with a core group of really close ones, and I'm only 10 minutes away from the girl I've spent most of my life missing. I may not be able to make up my mind about romantic relationships, but they're either looking up or aren't an issue, so I don't really have any huge burdens of the heart either.

Despite all this, though, I can't seem to get happy enough to want to work or write anything of substance. I can't even bring myself to get up and do my laundry (I'm currently wearing a shirt I've worn three times this week alone). It's a good job I don't have any lectures for another week, because I sincerely doubt I'd go to them.

And I don't know what to do. I drink, but I know that's not the solution. If anything, it makes it worse. But I can't bare being sober and clear-minded at the moment: it allows me to start thinking. So what do I do? I guess I wait, hope for the best, and become superstitious enough to maybe pass my first year.

In other news, I'm not on Facebook anymore because of a breach of TOC, so if you want me, I'm on Twitter, or message me for my number.

xo

gb

*Although I would wonder why you're following this blog at all, were that the case..