"...Great nations built from the bones of the dead,
With mud and straw, blood and sweat,
You know your worth when your enemies
Praise your architecture of aggression..."

A quote I should no doubt have used in my absurdly rushed and badly written essays (Mustaine 1992, 3) . Handed in with little sleep and a worryingly low wordcount, I have undoubtedly produced the worst essays of my academic life. Oh well. Will try harder next time, or will do worse depending on how much of the meantime I fritter away sitting down and doing bugger all.
OH WELL. Next up is the shockingly ill-prepared for CEMETARY PROJECT. Who I observed no one giving a crap about over the last few weeks. It involves interpretations of data that has been filtered through data processing methods. or alteratively rambling bullshit about made-up stuff that we've not bothered looking at.
All in all I care more about fixing up the massive trousers of my gorgeous purple suit which is looking particularly neglected in the wardrobe there. Just look at it. It's all purple  *off into a daze*

RIGHT - 'm going to go and construct a few charts of this cemetary data, gain some conclusions and then write a neat consensus of the work that's been done.

AHAHAH nah I'm gonna have some toast and draw instead, sod the sodding cemetary.

More words Friday

O - x

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Mustaine, D. 1992. Countdown to Extinction. Track 3. California: Capitol Records

"I heard men, women and children
Crying out to their God for mercy
But their God didnt listen
So they were burned alive"

...a day late. Whoops. S'what happens when you state your purpose I suppose. Since my interesting ache-tinged Monday I have not suffered since from any such physical malady. More a crushing stress to get these essays done, one probably dictates the other I should imagine, but I'm not within the right deadline to combat the latter. Instead I must fight through and try and get something at least half-coherent on paper so that acedemics can judge the intake and excretion of my knowledge. If I were less of a man-shaped-doormat I might question the need for such assessment, surely you continue to learn at this stage of your life because you want to. Those who are academically minded but technically incapable are fundamentally screwed. However if their passion for the subject is enough it's sure to get them through to something resembling happiness.

My passions lie elsewhere and in just over a year I will be out into the world proper, nude and defenceless to seek employ from within them. Probably, in my doormatt'd form doomed to stumble into another percieved stress-scenario wherein I whittle away my passion with hollow work until it's nothing but a wordless regret knawing at my mind til death.

OR on the other hand I could gain money from activities I percieve to be fulfilling and meaningful, and build the life that I want from it. However chances are if the former scenario takes place, or the latter, I will have duped myself to believe I'm on the right path.

...then I'll feel the regret...

More words Tuesday

O - x

"....Make you sit in your
House and say
Will it be me
Come the day..."

We had grand plans for yesterday, the house and I. We'd spend it in Bar 1, indulging in the barbeque and beer offers, taking a well-earned day in the sun away from essays. Only we'd not done any essay to necessitate a break, there was no sun or beer offers and about halfway through the day one of my beloved internal organs decided to ache and has since then not stopped. So here I sit, shaken and grounded - without work done. Guilt plus stress plus sedentary lifestyle equals internal organ failure obviously.

That's it. I've got nothing else to say that isn't simply perpetuating all the nonsense in my fucking mind.

More words Friday

O - x

"Woooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

You've got to love Little Richard. He's nuts.

So, quite a lot quite a little has occurred since my last posting. The most significant event has been the FAT ONSET of stress regarding these bloody bastarding essay things. It's enough to drive me out of my living bonce. Big beautiful news in the form of MASTODON playing humble humble sweaty Corp on June the 5th. Safe to say that despite exams earlier in the AM on that day, the tickets are booked and a crunchy metal time shall be had by all.

Last night went to see Wishbone Ash - that was all good, proof that old men continue TO ROCK IT. We spoke to them afterward (and by them I mean the boggly-eyed bassist who may or may not have been winking at me throughout, but showed no sign of dissappointment that I was a man) and it was all very jovial. Nice.

Then I went to the IC and drunkenly printed out some sources, which I'd recommend to anyone, because it removed all feeling of impending doom from the pages and pages of environmental archaeology text that I'll have to read. With these tucked under my arm I then journeyed to Bar One to see what remained of the day's ale. Very little. Although Loz found a lot of pints lying about and proceeded to drink them. Which is fine alright, if you want to catch FUCKING SWINE FLU.

That's it. That's it for today. I'm done now.

More words Tuesday

O - x

"...and time flies by on the wind..."

Time in all it's myriad forms has sped up phenomenally. Days pass, term begins, deadlines are achieved, and this Saturday my radio show is back. Which is something. In regards to the randomly selected 'You and I' title, it is nothing if not bitterly ironic.

Truth be told there isn't a lot to say, which is another factor into why my Monday entry was conspicuous in it's absence. The filthy feasibility study is out of the way and now I've two 2000 word essays to start researching and writing for less than a fortnight. Which would normally not be an absurdly daunting prospect if it wasn't for that wonderful sensation of carelessness that somehow permeates the first couple of days before absolute panic sets in as the deadline gets closer and CLOSER AND CLOSER AND CLOSER AND CLOSER.
... but it's okay because that panic will get it done, so I'll just relax now.

Oh how sweet and cyclical life is. Or rather how sweet life would be if it were cyclical, and I could return to those days of maddening naivety and optimism. OH WAIT. I am maddeningly naive and optimistic. SENSATIONAL. For surely, it is the naive man who lays his mind bare in the presence of a brick wall and optimistically expects a response...

RIGHT. Essays. Yes indeed - apologies for the cryptic metaphors, I would be utterly honest about the comings and goings of my brain, but I'm bloody sick of being honest at the moment - so with that in mind I'm off to Margate to barter the pope for a shipment of chickens.

More words on Saturday


O - x

"..I'm gonna let my little guitar do the talking..."

Except that I don't have a guitar...and if I did I would be unable to play it, let alone play it to the standard that it could be said to replace my voice in terms of proving anything. I'd say I'd probably let my mouth guided by my brain do the talking. Such is the way that I pick song titles to headline my blogs. Randomly. Sometimes they are relevant, sometimes they are clearly not.

However this is fitting really given how little is currently going on, and how much is so very soon going to start happening. The feasibility study is done and ready for a'signing, people are flocking back to the city and by the end of today the house will be one hundred percent full again. Like the drawing back of sand from the beach afore the strike of a wave, the present is very vacant. This minute, this hour, nothing much is happening. So it's now I choose to write, perhaps unwisely.

Saw two marvellous ancient films over the last 24 hours. First was Buster Keaton's The General. The first full-length silent film I've ever seen and quite amazing, if only for the ridiculous stunts and the fact that I could play music whilst watching it (Black Sabbath came on during an epic train chase, it was mind-boggling). The second, 'Kind Hearts and Coronets' an Ealing comedy featuring Alec Guinness in eight different parts - which was astoundingly witty and a worthy distraction from a broken Simpsons disc which has been playing on my mind.

I have 4000 words to write in 14 days. Not the hardest of feats but I can percieve it being a struggle given I haven't chosen what to write about yet. Additionally I've heard no word back from Bulletproof; the publication I sought to gain employ within. OH WELL. Life is full of such snubbing, the art must continue. However without proper motivation it's hard to produce anything.

More words on Monday.

O - x

"...But that stone just keeps on rolling
Bringing me some real bad news
The takers get the honey
Givers sing the blues..."

The title of this entry is not a reference to drug intake (ALTHOUGH IT CERTAINLY SOUNDS IT) but more a tribute to Mr Robin Trower. Last time I was at the Boardwalk venue in Sheffield it was this cheeky blues guitarist that I was seeing - last May I believe. The evening that was yesterday's I was there again seeing Focus; an astounding jazzprog quartet famous for the insane 70s hit 'Hocus Pocus'. Fucking marvellous it was too, aged was the keyboard-bound original member Tjis Van Leer and the drummer too was also shrivelled from the passing of years, but neither of them had lost any of their insane talent and kept it going for many hours. Fabulous it was.

The support was a local band I think called Tantrum. Looking like Bar 1 denizens and sounding, after the first song at least, very samey and a little stuck up, I will not be rushing to see them in support of Wishbone Ash that's for sure.

ANYWAY. Enough bog-standard gig revue. It was when standing in front of that self-same stage last year watching the takers getting the honey and the givers singing the blues that I had the bold idea to get bongos. Which I duly did, and they still resound proudly from my room every other day at least, and will hopefully form the basis for some manner of recordings later this year if not in my life. Now this time at the Boardwalk my revelation didn't come at the time but afterward.

...I'm ditching the denim. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of looking thrash when my heart is increasingly hard...rock that is. So the denim is thrown to the four winds of the wardrobe, and I bring out...a jacket. Oh yes. I'd rather look dapper than a man in a denim cut-off sporting a thrash patch who just so happens to be a pacifist (read:coward). Only problem is with the rock shirts and the black jacket I look a bit like a minature beardless Justin Lee Collins. What a berk. Looking into getting a purple jacket. Now THAT would look fabulous. I have the purple suit now of course, but that's for special occaisions don't you know.

On a final note I have at last finished the dreaded dissertation feasibility study. BUT AT WHAT COST?! ...messed up the train tickets to Brighton so I'm not going. Which upsets me greatly. I need Robbo's sage words of cynicism delivered from his own jaw.

SAD TIMES - as bastards would say. TRULY. More words on Saturday...as I will be Sheffield-stranded to my eternal horror.

O - x

"...Too much in the truth they say
Keep it 'till another day
Let them have their little game
illusion helps to keep them sane..."

Whereas I am lofty tower of honesty. Or so I stated when I started this fucking shebang. I'd made grand statements about how it was a testament to ego and honesty. That was like, near to a month ago now and there have been 10 odd entries documenting banal daily occurences.  Sad really.

Martin said that this was potentially because there's been nothing going on. Which is a thought certainly, but when things are happening will I be similarly comfortable to shrug off my initial mission statement and go for a by-the-numbers account of my daily dull goings-on? This post is a reminder then, a reinforcement of honesty and the like.

I don't want to make this journal private, I don't want to say anything that I wouldn't want everyone I know who has the internet to see, and I don't want to think that I'm not free to say or be whatever the hell I want without all-and-sundry judging the buggery out of me. I'm not here to be judged, I'm here to be me. Get over it.

Now, to the banalities of daily life with added hyper-self-aware thought. Sat in with ales and watched the new Ashes to Ashes (which was reassuringly vague. It's trash telly in a fairly acceptable way I think) and then Stewart Lee's last Comedy Vehicle which was bewilderingly deconstructive and leaves me wondering where else comedy can go if the en-vogue attitude is bitter cynicsm and crippingly self-aware tracts of thought. We'll find out I'm sure.

Rice is back now which is much better, feels like The Long Wait as was is now coming to an end with sunny weather, a fuller house and prospective activities in the immediate future. Glory be. Now the only thing left is to do this SODDING FEASIBILITY STUDY.

ARGH! More words Thursday. More honest words.

O - x

...And who would steal the candy
from a laughing baby's mouth
if he could take it from the money man...

Ah HAH! Yesterday morning I struggled diagonally uphill and lo there stood the post office - and within, my precious purple package. Struggled back down, put it on.

...yeah. Yeah it works. Gonna need to take the trousers in a bit (they're ENORMOUS - obviously as a man with a massive chest I am expected to be very long-legged as well. Nope. I'm a dwarf like that) - but the overall effect is stunningly purple. My first reaction was to get some photos, but I think I may save it for the old birthday. It'll make more of an impact that way.

Aside from suitage - Al has returned and the house has gradually began to reflate which is nice. Going for a pub lunch today with Mr Martin Collins which should be a lark. I've never actually set foot in the Old House and I know it only to be a place which harbours cocktails. So there's that.

This..uh...dissertation thing hasn't really gone anywhere scarily. I wrote everything that I wanted to say, everything I was advised to say, everything that needed to be said, added excess padding and further padding if the excess was not good enough - - and uh, it's 500 words under the limit.

FIVE-HUNDRED WORDS. And the limit is like, nine-hundred. I can't even write for nine-hundred words about this sodding thing... Oh well. It's gnawing at my brain with such large and guilt-inducing teeth that I surely can't avoid doing something in the next twenty four hours.

Right - There's nothing else that I can usefully say. Off to lunch. More words on Tuesday.

O - x

...But the walls were shaking,
The earth was quaking,
My mind was aching...

Ivan's home-made mead. Very powerful stuff. As Mr Pakhotin himself will attest - or would attest if he didnae pass out. We failed to end up visiting Wednesday Corp either...much to my bitter bitter regret. Ahaha.

Even though, yes, there was technically a yesterday it really isn't worth talking about - or even remembering. The hangover stole most of the day from me anyway. Therein lies the question - is it advisable to use champagne yeast in a mead mix? Potentially. I know nothing of the brewers art, but I do recall talking to dear Calum for many hours who packed soberly whilst I ranted incoherently. Indeed.

He's off on some ambitious Europe-traversing hitchhiking thing. Further making me feel a little small for only having one thing to really write about, turning a saucy AC/DC lyric into a reference for noxious homebrew. Depressingly the only other event on my immediate horizon is a trip up to Crookes post office to collect my PURPLE SUIT. Oh yes. Freshly flown in from the exotic climbs of New York state and ready (as long as I got the measurements right) for me to clamber into and become the man I am in my mind - - the same, but wearing a fucking purple suit.

For anyone interested it looks a bit like this - images.marketplaceadvisor.channeladvisor.com/hi/7/7234/98_purple_101_5.jpg

Nice. Further words on Sunday.

O - x

...lady luck please come my way...

The Long Wait does not relent - and unwisely I've invoked more things to wait for. Firstly by ordering a load of bollocks off the internet and secondly by hurling a ton of truth against a brick wall that responded very much as brick walls are famous for. Now the house is (effectively) empty and I've got this dissertation thing sitting in front of me...gloating.

Tonight I may or may not go to Wednesday Corporation (for those not in the know it is the rock club Corp's money-making night of studenty sleaze) . I don't know if I want to subject myself to a familiar environment so horribly different, it's dark interior stained by the sweat of gawping shells of wasted flesh that writhe and rut and grope like a seething pit of maggots. No offense to those who regularly attend, I've been told it's 'actually quite fun if you're drunk' by reliable sources.

Anyway - shorter entry this one as I feel I should be wasting my words on this bastard of an unfinished word document. Will report again friday -

O - x

...but I'm not a liiioonn!

The Long Wait continues like so many...buses. Didn't say but my zen broke at the weekend, not tremendously exciting I know but it's fucking ludicrous, only had it for four months and it's not in warranty. Weepy weepy weep. That's it for me. Creative Labs can stick it I'm going back to Sony and getting a wee cheap mp3 player thing. Out of money-saving and the vague hope that it's as ridiculously indestructible as my old Sony CD player was, that thing bordered on the supernatural.

Some people to meet up with this week which has made me partially hopeful that I can un-dub this holiday The Long Wait and call it something a bit more hope-stuffed like; "The Constant Fun". Although that just sounds horrific.
Went to Corp on Saturday - free of students it is a little more intimidating, and oddly more crowded. Not the fault of the people I went with but I failed to have any real fun - you need big groups for fun at Corp really, otherwise it's just tiring when the old standards come out. Left when everyone was singing Tribute. Not sure why I hate it so much, it must just be jealousy. I'm fat and annoying, how come I'm not as famous as Jack Black?!?! ...The mystery continues.

Red Dwarf finished this weekend, a lot of people seem to dislike it which is fair enough but any true VAST fan such as myself just takes it in their stride. It is a greatly flawed program; melodramatic and ridiculous and sometimes unbearably unfunny. I have a long history with it, so these flaws are probably obscured by years of love for it, I'm just permanently endeared to the fucking show. Enough not to shoot it down the moment it resurfaces. Carry on Naylor you miserable sod. Carry on.

Purple zoot suit is on the horizon. Don't think I should buy it but I'd look so sodding dapper I don't really have a choice. Only problem is I have no idea what size I am.

Update on Wednesday

O - x

...just you wait...


But on a lighter note, the new Red Dwarf was on last night. Very...sterile but quite snappy. The Long Wait continues unabated and I've settled down now into doing absolutely sodding nothing. I will do some work next week. Oh definetly. Went for a big fat walk yesterday to look at the architecture of Sheffield, trying to get my mind into this damned topic. Said to myself that I'd do another today up around Broomhill and Crookes but I just haven't thus far. Weather isn't exactly inspiring. Should've gone out more when it was sunny.

However this evening I'm going to actual go out and do something (after new Who and the second part of Dwarf, naturally) - the pub actually. Not sure how friendly the atmos will be given there'll be no students, but we'll see. How bad can Broomhill natives be?

...famous last words I'm sure. More words on Monday.

O - x

...and the sky is crying. It's a whole mess of song titles up in here.

Progress, as it turns out, is slow. Not only am I subjected to this awful dull waiting (partially now tipping over into self-inflicted work avoidance) but I have been faced with further proof that people don't seem to change. Ag.
Other aspects of 'the long wait' (which Easter has been renamed to in my mind) haven't shifted a jot and now it's raining like a bastard which doesn't exactly inspire me to do as everyone else and walk up into the peak district.

The mumps doesn't seem to have afflicted us as yet either, which has to be a good thing. Hopefully by Saturday I'll have made some progress with this dissertation nonsense and I can put it aside - and hopefully whilst working the world will shift and things will change.

Hm. Chance'd be a fine fucking thing.

O - x

G'day, 

Our house has now been officially infiltrated by mumps and we're all waiting to see whether we're actually resistant to it or not. So there's a sickening sense of impending illness. That's number one on the list because it is a list of things that have yet to happen but will potentially happen and that I am sitting here WAITING to happen.

Other notable things on the list include those several e-mails that I mentioned in the previous entry that have yet to be responded to and the moronic dissertation feasibility study that I'm waiting to find the necessary waffling bullshit in my mind that they are expecting me to write down for pitiful marks and nothing else.

         "includes a brief outline of your proposed schedule for collecting and analysing the necessary information, and for producing the dissertation including text and accompanying tables and illustrations. In the case of a dissertation that necessitates travel outside Sheffield (e.g. for archaeological fieldwork, or for visits to libraries and museums) the time required and costs involved should be clearly stated. In producing this schedule you should take account of the other deadlines for submission of Level 3 assessed work. You should also identify a series of milestones to be achieved at set dates, preceeding the Level 3 tutorial meetings, i.e. autumn semester: weeks 3 and 9; spring semester: week 4."

             "An outline of the structure of the dissertation. This should comprise a series of chapter headings, each accompanied by a summary of what is covered by the particular chapter. "

Let me remind you that this has been willingly acknowledged as 'unimportant' by a lecturer - and not, in fact, a structure for our dissertation, but a way of marking us in the mandatory pointless module of 'Research Skill in Archaeology'. So how am I supposed to get motivated to summarize my ENTIRE PROPOSED DISSERTATION for a few sodding marks? 

Sod them I'd rather sit here waiting. Waiting waiting waiting - for a virus to materialize, for e-mails that'll never come, work that'll never be done and someone to sweep me up in a thoroughly idealistic manner and distract me from all this sodding waiting.

 O - x

Manifest as loneliness.

Sure the house may still be one hundred percent full and the majority of Sheffield remains remarkably populated but for some unknown reason I feel I have entered the long dark Easter of the soul.
Sent a great number of reply-worthy e-mails circa Friday (but didn't update this, what a swine I am) but have yet to receive a single response to any of them, further adding to the plodding frustration of the weekend.

Was that my phone?!

- no. No my thigh just inexplicably buzzed. An internal muscle spasm of fatigue and boredom. I was let go by my writer this weekend, so the long-awaited comic has become another piece of creative flotsam strewn in my wake. I did however re-apply to Bulletproof who I had contacted last year - - http://www.bulletproofcomics.co.uk - - which will hopefully lead to something.

What about your dissertation work?

What about it? Go away. I don't need to think about that I'm too busy making lists of things and watching more Wire than I can handle.

Oh - and yes I did just update because you did Rob. Way to set me off you consumptive geek - now get writing something and become the producer for once - !

O - x

G'day,

Alarmingly the deadline for the dissertation feasability study has been pushed back to the end of the month, so now my lack of interest in it is complete and I cannot even bring myself to start. Even though it eats dangerously into my end-of-term writing time. Oh well. Easter holidays approach and the majority of everyone will be leaving so it'll be a bleak time no doubt.

Went to see 'The Boat that Rocked' today - which would be unforgivably cheesy if the cast weren't obviously having such a lark. Classic Richard Curtis though, absurdly optimistic. Left me feeling bitter. Must be a terribly depressing thing to be Richard Curtis - knowing that England isn't the glossy land of schmaltzy romance and multiracial harmony that he so often paints it. It's been said before.

Roll on realism I say, give me something to believe within my everyday. You needn't distort life entirely to find joy in it. For instance - Charlie Brooker is on tonight and I'm trying friendship. Should be fun. Catch up on Friday again.

O - x

Ugh...

Our house has entered a fat pickle. That being one of our residents Marc has SHANKED us with a contract-breaking screwdriver (of sorts) and we are left scrabbling desperately for a new housemate just before the Easter holidays.
A pickle it is. A fat one.

Additionally we're all being pressured into this ludicrous dissertation feasibility study. Which is ludicrous, being placed at this time not for convenience nor advanced understanding of our dissertation ahead of us, but for shallow evaluation purposes. Making the entire venture feeble and pointless. In short, I'm unable to become motivated to start - even though the deadline is Thursday.

Yesterday I spent the entirety of the day doing nothing at all which left me feeling bizarre and paranoid. My turn of apology seems to have done good, but something is amiss that I'm not certain about even in all my wordly perception. Which really isn't too impressive given it allowed me the misdirection to cause such hurt in the first place. We're none of us perfect I suppose.

A realization that has come upon me too late to save the feelings of some.

I'll report again on Wednesday.

O - x

Ach. Haven't had one of these dealies in a while. Welcome to the age of the ego -

Why get a LiveJournal?
That's a good question emboldened writing, I like your style. I don't know who's on it - aside from Kim who referenced me to it. So who can read this aside from her? - only time will tell.
A deeper reason is that I fly the flag for honesty - and what's more honest than a diary? I've got a diary. It's PURPLE and I love it. However it often bothers me that no one else can read it, which is an ego thing as much as it is a desire for complete honesty.

So there are the two reasons. Ego and honesty. There.

Honestywise you've missed one hell of a debacle this week (I'm referring to anyone that reads this as a big singular person, get used to it) which is now thankfully over. I'll not dwell on it unless it resurfaces, which I'm hoping that it does not. So there's not a whole lot to say in that arena in the right now.

I may write once a week - or once every other day. All I know is I've got a sinister 'dissertation feasibility study' to write for next Friday and I best not be wasting all my fancy fancy words on this here electronic diary blog thing.

Ach. Who'd want to read this? Or is it just for me? - -

Find out in my next stunning world-beating entry.

O - x