the unexamined life is not worth living.

So That's It...

2009-04-21T17:45:47Z

My time on Livejournal, I'm pretty sure, is coming to an end.
I have 2 accounts on this website, neither of which I use anymore - I've been keeping a written journal as a way of recording my life and it's events, and for other things I once used this site for, I've now discovered other websites, that I prefer.

I'm trying to purge my life of things... Bad habits, useless posessions, harmful relationships, etc. And I've been doing it online as well. There are so many websites I don't use. I've already deleted myspace and, after using it for only a week, twitter. I need less things clouding up my vision.

I won't be deleting this account just yet, first I need to save all my personal entries (I feel saving them to disc should work fine), and move all articles, links, points of interest, to my tumblr, which is now my online scrapbook.

But... ah, that said.
I want to be able to post to ADIML. Damn.
Okay, I'm undecided about deletion yet. But I'll no longer be posting.

wanky_punjabi @ 2009-04-05T16:35:00

2009-04-05T15:44:00Z

See, I'm outside of my comfort zone here, truly, and I want to go home.
I called up National Express and they say that changing my return date is no problem.

Thing is, if I go back on the 11th like I want to, I miss Easter weekend, which was why mama wanted me up in the first place.
If I had the hindsight that Tom wasn't going to be home all April, I'd have only come up for that 3 day weekend.

But I'm going to be here 11 days and I don't want to, if I amend my return date, that makes today 6 sleeps instead of 10.
But it means I don't go out with my family on Easter weekend like planned.
Thing is, I am more than cool with that, but it would most likely upset them a bit.
Mama said if it makes me happy I should go to Stoke whenever I like, which would be the 11th, but I still feel bad about it, so I don't know what to do.

She also suggested going back on the 14th instead, meaning I would get to spend the weekend with them and it would be 9 sleeps until I'm home. But that seems like a poor compromise. Just one less day away from him. I mean, it's something, but it's not what I want.
Hell, ideally I'd be back with him tomorrow, but he's still at home in Wellesbourne.

I'm jealous of how comfortable he is at home, and how happy to be there.
While both our families love us a lot, there's a big difference in comfort zone.

He has his own room, with his stuff and his PC. His family are all relaxed, and his house is warm and he doesn't need to do housework or...
I know I'm being frustrating.

But here is cold, and everyone's shouting and coughing REALLY loudly and arguing and stressing out, and I don't have my own room or a PC of my own with internet that works at a reasonable speed. AND IT'S REALLY COLD.
I don't know, I'm so outside my comfort zone, and being in Sunderland almost puts my head right where it was before I left.

I just don't want to be here. Being here means being cold and frustrated, and thinking too much, and over analysing EVERYTHING.

I suppose in more positive news, I emailed Keele's accommodation people and asked if it would be possible to stay in a student room over the summer.

wanky_punjabi @ 2009-04-04T12:05:00

2009-04-04T11:06:21Z

I AM HOMESICK.

wanky_punjabi @ 2009-03-26T20:47:00

2009-03-26T20:48:12Z

ADIML

2009-03-17T11:49:31Z

16/03/09.
Today was my boyfriend's 21st birthday,
and it involves cuddles, cake, and lazing around.

There are 60 images in total.

'Pretending to still be asleep' picture.

For people who have no jobs, we wake up pretty damn early.

I get myself all clean, and then all ready.
I'm definitely presentable, if a bit blurry.

Tom plays on some terrible detective game he downloaded last night.

Hideous picture of me guzzling Monster. :)

By the time I've checked Notemine, Facebook, and various other websites, it's half 9.

I've got a whole load of domestic type tasks I want to do today in the flat, so I make a list.

First I clean up the sinks and countertops.

Then I get out all my ingredients...

... And start beating.

While the cake is in the oven I mop the floors, water a plant, and make Thomas a cup of tea.

Timecheck!

Tom comes into the kitchen for cuddles - I love the second picture of us! <3

I start on the second layer of cake once the first is out of the oven (I only have one cake tin!).

I find it a little perverse that the people who designed this packaging put a happy cartoon pig on the front when there is pork gelatine in the marshmallows.
Sort of a sick joke.
I didn't eat any.

While the next cake is in the oven, me and Tom take a walk up to the post room, and see a cool orange car along the way.

Tom had been expecting Resident Evil 5 from a games rental service he uses, but alas, his hopes were dashed - They'd sent him Prince of Persia instead.

Tom taught me how to use the macro setting on his camera, and I got all smiley 'cause today felt like Spring had finally arrived!

Timecheck for when we get back.

I realise I haven't had anything to eat yet today, besides cake mix, so I make some yummy tortellini.

While I'm eating I book a coach so that I can go stay with my family in Sunderland for 2 weeks next month! :D

Then I decorate the cake! I'm quite proud of it. :D
And I take it into the bedroom, all lit up, so that Tom can make a wish.

And here's the birthday card I made for him. :)

Then me and Thomas snuggle and watch Whose Line is it Anyway.
Inevitably, we fall asleep.

A couple of hours later I wake up and brush away the sleep breath.

Tom sleeps for a good while longer, so I make a cup of tea...

...upload some pictures to Facebook...

...and play in my journal.

Sure, it all looks very silly, but it's fun. :)

Timecheck.

Once Tom's woken up and is playing on his games, I spend some time annotating my Learning To Love You More list.

And eat tasty tasty food.

This is what me and Tom call the 'Obligatory day in the life cat picture'.
Unfortunatley you can't keep pets in student accomodation so we had to settle for a Google image. :(

I chat to my little sister and watch a Warship video.

Thomas does cute things with candy letters. ^^

I do a quiz on Facebook, and generally bum around on the internet.

And at around 2am, we're finally off to sleep!

It Just Takes Some Time

2009-02-22T14:55:49Z

I'm having a much harder time these days coming up with titles for my personal entries, seen as I don't listen to music as much anymore. I'm pretty sure I'm recycling old ones.

I don't have confirmation yet, but I heard through the grapevine that my laptop is fucked. I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to finance another one, considering I can barely afford to feed me and my boyfriend, let alone pay anyone back the money I owe them or start saving for my university needs.

I'm still waiting on a phonecall from a woman named Becci about that job in Stafford train station, the more I think about it, the more ideal I realise it would be.

I finished Haunted this morning, which I really enjoyed.
Not the best I've read, but far from the worst, and certainly memorable.
I liked the theme it had - That question posed of whether or not humanity enjoys it suffering, needs it, begs for it, and makes it when no one will inflict it on them. It seems like a very valid question.
Interestingly, I've now picked up Notes from Underground for the second time, and this book seems to have a similar theme in it, at least at first, about whether or not the character enjoys his suffering and bitterness, almost throws himself into furthering the sources of it.

I mean, when asked, I doubt anyone would say 'Yeah I like to suffer', but maybe there is something in the subconcious... Some people like a bit of sexual sadism. And there is the fact that, despite how easy it seems in my mind to start countries down a path to a less warring future, we're still hurling ourselves into wars left, right and centre, and taking everyone else in with us.

Right now I'm being a little dull. Having ticked off all the more immediate goals on my 43 things list, I'm left with the next step of my motivational development - goals which require more effort and movement, and, some of them, more money.

I really need to visit my nana's so I can pick up my sketchbooks and scrapbooks, and more to read. But I can't do that until Friday when I get some money in my bank enough to pay for fricking busfare. Until then I can work on collecting images for my scrapbooks, and of course, goal number 3 - "Stop complaining so much".

I've emailed Craig, my old english tutor, to ask him if he can verify my identity.
You see, to apply for student finance, I have to send them my goddamn birth certificate along with a form saying I agree that I'm me, and another one from someone I am not related to or romantically involved with, of good social standing, who I've known for 2 years or more.
Sadly, everyone I know that fits that description, lives in Sunderland, and so I have to email attatchments and ask them to then make trips to the post office.
He hasn't got back to me yet.

I've decided to stretch my ears to, and leave them at, 16mm for now.
Which means I only need one more expander till I'm there.
Thing is, my ears have been smelling awful at the size they're at! I looked up how on earth to stop them doing this, or how to at least reduce the stink, and the best 2 methods seem very reasonable.

The first is to use cocoa butter when washing the ears - to rub a small bit in and around the hole. This helps against growing bacteria, etc, thus helping with the smell, but it also makes the skin softer and suppler, which means that if I do decide to stretch them more, it should be a touch easier.

The other tip was to use plugs made from natural material, as silicone or plastic (which I have in now) often makes the smell worse. I was happy to hear this, seeing as I've always fancied finishing up with some wooden plugs. Problem is, they've always looked really expensive.

However, I had another look last night and found these -

:) They're gorgeous!

The maker is selling them on Etsy, and I've emailed her asking how much a custom pair of 16mm would cost. She hasn't got back to me yet, but fingers crossed they're cheap.

And for now, I'm gonna see about making the rest of this day a productive one.

It's Been One Week Since You Looked At Me

2009-02-22T00:26:02Z

It's been 6 days since I wrote anything here, which is annoying because I had resolved to use this journal daily (or at least close) for both personal entries and extracts from poems, books, articles, etc.

I finished reading Fight like a girl, the book Orly gave me months ago, and it was brilliant. Now I'm reading Haunted. Or rather, Im almost finished with Haunted.

Not much is going on, I'll write again tomorrow.

She Take My Money

2009-02-15T17:34:17Z

That awesome artist, Keri Smith?
Well she has a book out (one of several) called 'Wreck This Journal', which you should really check out the premise of on this website. I told Tom all about Keri and about this book when he woke up, about how cool it all is, and then he bought me the book on amazon when I wasn't looking. :D

I can't wait to play with it!
I've started reading 'Fight like a girl', which is a book on Feminist activism that my cousin gave me aaaaaages ago. I'm going through it with a pink highlighter so we can all have a good chuckle at irony.

Also, that woman hasn't got back to me, and it's the end of the week. :(

Also also, this was on postsecret this morning and I really liked it...

-----Email Message-----
Subject: Common Harmony

Dear Frank,

I showed my mom your postsecret book, which she read, and enjoyed, sort of, at least. She mentioned that all the post cards sounded like they were being written by the same person.

I don't think she believed that they were from all different people, because they had a very common underlying voice and tone to them.

It made me think, though, about how revealing that common voice is. The cards showed me how very similar we are, and how our hurts and joys all follow a common harmony.

Keri Smith

2009-02-14T22:10:34Z

I'm feeling quite cheery and inspired right now.
Tom has been in bed since about 12, so I've been pottering around all day trying to be productive. Got some drawings done, finished reading the Communist Manifesto, deleted my myspace etc, but a few hours ago I started to get bored, so went off on one of those 'Let's dive into the internet and see what we find' kind of tangents.

I've discovered this woman called Keri Smith, who is a writer and a guerilla artist and one of those generally all round awesome examples of human beings.

I'm not gonna write about her 'cause I'm busy reading and looking at everything I can find by her on the net. But you can get to most of it from here.

I'm Tellin' Y'all It's Sabotage

2009-02-12T19:03:19Z

So Tom' sleeping pattern has come round to him, once again, having a nocturnal week, that works something like this - He'll wake up at 8pm, me and him will hang out together till about 1am when I will then go to sleep until he wakes me at about 7/8am. We'll then hang out together until about 10/11am, when Tom will go to sleep.

There are upsides and downsides to this.
One upside is that I get space to get on with things, and also that we each get the bed to ourselves for a certain amount of time each day.
A downside is when Tom asks for the light to be left off at 7pm, so that I end up sitting in the dark and getting a headache.

A downside that is specific to today is that unless he gets up in the next 2 hours or so, I can't ask him to go to the shops for me and buy chocolate for my poor achey woman cramps.
That's the thing with being the one who is awake all day, you're always on ruddy shop-errand duty.

So anyway.
The biggest news is -

BOOYAH. :D

I feel jammy having 3 unconditional offers.
As soon as the last one came through I replied, putting Keele as my firm and declining the other two. Now I'm waiting on the application for accomodation to come through in the post.
Tom says Hawthornes has one kitchen and 2 showers for every 30 students.
I am NOT living there, nu uh.
I wouldn't mind getting myself a cosy little en-suite.
Hell, for an extra £20 a week I might as well!

I'm also waiting to here back about a cushty little Barista job at Stafford station. Logistically it would be PERFECT, so fingers crossed!

And, so long as the Abbey don't take any money out of my bank account on Friday I'm off to Manchester for the day with Tom and Sarah and Craig on Saturday! I'm going to do ADIML that day as well I think. :)

Buying A Gladiatorial Myth

2009-02-12T18:32:44Z

Both Bin Laden and US cold war nostalgics pine for epic narratives.
by Naomi Klein

Since the Pentagon released its own Osama bin Laden video last month, the al-Qaida leader's every gesture, chuckle and word has been dissected. But his co-star, identified in the transcript only as "Shaykh," has received little scrutiny. Too bad, since he offers a rare window into the psychology of men who think of mass murder as a great game.

A theme that comes up repeatedly in Bin Laden's guest's monologues is the idea that they are living in times as grand as those described in the Koran. This war, he observes, is like "in the days of the prophet Mohammed. Exactly like what's happening right now." He goes on to say: "It is the same, like the old days, such as Abu Bakr and Othman and Ali and others. In these days, in our times."

It's easy to chalk up this nostalgia to the usual theory about Bin Laden's followers being stuck in the middle ages. But the comments seem to reflect something more. It's not some ascetic medieval lifestyle that he longs for, but the idea of living in mythic times, when men were god-like, battles were epic and history was spelled with a capital H.

"Screw you, Francis Fukuyama," he seems to be saying, "history hasn't ended yet. We are making it, right here, right now!"

It's an idea we've heard from many quarters since September 11, a return of the great narrative: chosen men, evil empires, master plans, and great battles. All are ferociously back in style. The Bible, the Koran, "the clash of civilisations", Lord of the Rings - all of them suddenly playing out "in these days, in our times".

This grand redemption narrative is our most persistent myth, and it has a dangerous flip side. When a few men decide to live their myths, to be larger than life, it can't help but have an impact on all the lives that unfold in regular sizes. People suddenly look insignificant by comparison, easy to sacrifice in the name of some greater purpose.

When the Berlin Wall fell, it was supposed to have buried this epic narrative in its rubble. This was capitalism's decisive victory. Ideology is dead, let's go shopping. The end of history theory was understandably infuriating to those whose sweeping ideas lost the gladiatorial battles, whether it was global communism or, in Bin Laden's case, an imperial version of Islam.

What is becoming clear post-September 11, however, is that history's end also turned out to be a hollow victory for the United States' cold warriors. It seems that since 1989, many of them have missed their epic narrative as if it were a lost limb. Without ideology, shopping was... just shopping.

During the cold war, consumption in the US wasn't only about personal gratification; it was the economic front of the great battle. When Americans went shopping, they were participating in the lifestyle that the Commies supposedly wanted to crush. When kaleidoscopic outlet malls were contrasted with Moscow's grey and barren shops, the point wasn't just that we in the west had easy access to Levi's 501s. In this narrative, our malls stood for freedom and democracy, while their empty shelves were metaphors for control and repression.

But when the cold war ended and this ideological backdrop was yanked away, the grander meaning behind the shopping evaporated. The response from the corporate world was "lifestyle branding": an attempt to restore consumerism as a philosophical or political pursuit by selling powerful ideas instead of mere products. Ad campaigns began equating Benetton sweaters with fighting racism, Ikea furniture with democracy, computers with revolution.

Lifestyle branding filled shopping's "meaning" vacuum for a time, but it wasn't enough to satisfy the ambitions of the old-school cold warriors. Cultural exiles in a world they had created, disgruntled hawks spent their most triumphant decade not basking in their new uncontested power but grouching about how America had gone "soft", become feminised. It was an orgy of indulgence personified by Oprah and Bill Clinton.

But post-September 11, history is back with a capital H. Shoppers are once again foot soldiers in a battle between good and evil, wearing new stars-and-stripes bras by Elita and popping special edition red, white and blue M&Ms.

When US politicians urge their citizens to fight terrorism by shopping, it is about more than feeding an ailing economy. It's about once again wrapping the day-to-day in the mythic.

Post Secret

2009-02-09T17:50:30Z

I found an email someone had written about their opinion of Post Secret.

-----Original Message-----
Subject: Biography

Today I went to Barnes and Noble to purchase your PostSecret book. I had sent in secrets that had never appeared on the website, and now felt that looking at or buying the book was a secret in itself. I was having difficulty finding it, and was reluctant to ask for help. After about 20 minutes of searching, I finally caved and asked an associate to help me find it. The woman led me right to it - in the Biography section.

I was shocked.

How can this be considered a biography? A biography of who? It was written by hundreds of strangers - how is this biographical? I sat down with the book, and began to read. I slowly realized the answer to my question. I was reading a biography of myself. Of myself and everyone else I know, or have known. None of the secrets I sent in were published, but the secrets I was reading were mine nonetheless. I felt them, I felt their reality, I knew their depth and their strength. These secrets belong to everyone. This book is a biography of the human spirit, of human nature. It is the deepest, most true biography I have in fact ever read. Most biographies leave out the secrets, those small nuggets of stark reality that people keep inside themselves. This biography is nothing but that - and for that it is invaluable.

- Georgia

Factotum

2009-02-08T12:42:27Z

Cara lent me this book AGES ago, before I left for Brighton.
I've just finally read it in the last few days and I thought I'd type up the stuff
I liked best or agreed with or that got to me, so I can send it back to Cara.

"I remember how my father used to come home each night and talk about his job to my mother. The job talk began when he entered the door, continued over the dinner table, and ended in the bedroom where my father would scream "Lights Out!" at 8pm, so he could get his rest and his full strength for the job the next day. There was no other subject except the job." (page 13)

"I drank slowly and began to think again of getting a gun and doing it quickly - without all the thought and talk. A matter of guts. I wondered about my guts." (page 16)

"Each day without solitude weakened me. I took no pride in solitude; but I was dependant on it. The darkness of the room was like sunlight to me. I took a drink of wine." (page 40)

"A man could write much better after eating a porterhouse steak and drinking a pint of whiskey than he ever could after eating a nickel candy bar. The myth of the starving artist was a hoax. Once you realised that everything was a hoax you got wise and began to bleed and burn your fellow man." (page 63)

"The thought of sitting in front of a man behind a desk and telling him that I wanted a job, that I was qualified for a job, was too much for me. Frankly, I was horrified by life, at what a man had to do simply in order to eat, sleep, and keep himself clothed. So I stayed in bed and drank. When you drank the world was still out there, but for the moment it didn't have you by the throat." (page 67)

""Baby," I said, "I'm a genius but nodoby knows it but me."" (page 69)

""Someday," I told Jan, "when they demonstrate that the world has four dimensions instead of just three, a man will be able to go for a walk and just disapear. No burial, no tears, no illusions, no heaven or hell. People will be sitting around and they'll say, 'What happened to George?' And somebody will say, 'Well, I don't know. He said he was going out for a pack of cigarettes.'"" (page 97)

"How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 6.30am by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so?" (page 127)

"You know, I'm not a clothes man. Clothes bore me. They are terrible things, cons, like vitamins, astrology, pizzas, skating rinks, pop music, heavyweight championship fights, etc." (page 133)

"The idea, I decided, is not to think. But how do you stop thinking? Why was I chosen to polish this rail? Why couldn't I be inside writing editorials about municipal corruption? Well, it could be worse. I could be in China working a rice paddy." (page 148)

Bollocks,

2009-02-07T22:28:41Z

Nothing I own is selling on eBay.

You're The Sucker

2009-02-06T13:28:40Z

They called back and offered me a trial. I lied and said I'd been offered another job, thanks anyway. Ah, I feel like such a twat. But that job just wasn't gonna work for me. :(
At least now that's over.

Still no word back from Northampton or Keele, but I'm feeling very positive - I feel certain I'll get accepted! For one thing, the criteria for getting in to Loughborough was the highest of the 3 and they've already given me an unconditional! So I'm feeling like it's only a matter of time.
I really am only killing time till September now, so I actually feel fine about not getting a place. I mean, it's too much stress and hassle, and while I REALLY wanted one, I wouldn't even have the time to enjoy being there before I was moving out again for uni.

Tom's asleep right now, we weren't asleep until 4/5am last night, and he needs more sleep than I do. I've donated a lotthrough freerice.com today and updated my other journal. I've also got ready and had a shower.

I finished completely updating my 43 things list and it's now full of stuff I want to do, and well ordered.

Now I can't decide whether to keep reading Factotum, the book Cara lent me ages ago that I've finally gotten around to reading and spent 3 hours on yesterday and am really enjoying...
Or to play Rockband.
Who can say.

O Tell Me The Truth About Love

2009-02-05T00:04:40Z

Some say love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
Some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.

Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.

Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.

Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.

I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't over there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.

Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories vulgar but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.

When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.

Poor Folk

2009-02-04T23:57:44Z

And I will add this, little mother: man is sometimes a strange creature, very strange. And saints above! He sometimes gets really carried away by the things he talks about! And what comes from that, what follows from it? Absolutely nothing follows from it, and what comes of it is such rubbish that the Lord preserve us from it! I am not angry, little mother; it is simply that it is very annoying to remember it all, annoying to think that I wrote such fanciful things to you. And I went to the office today such a strutting dandy, too; there was such a radiance in my heart. For no good reason I felt in a holiday mood; I felt cheerful! I set to work on my papers with zeal - but what came of that? When I looked around me a bit later, everything was just the same as before - grey and dingy. The same blotches of ink, the same desks and papers, and I, too, the same; as I had been, so exactly had I remained - so what had been the point of my flight on Pegasus? And what had been the cause of it all? The glimmer of sunshine and the bit of blue sky there had been? Was that it? And what kind of scents could there have been, when goodness only knows what may be lurking beneath our windows! All that was evidently thet product of my foolish imaginings. After all, it does sometimes happen that a person goes astray in his feelings and writes down nonsense. It is caused by nothing other than excessive, stupid warmth of heart.

Tell Me The Truth About Love

2009-01-31T07:47:43Z

I meant to write in here the other day when I was feeling down, but I never got round to it.
I'm too tired now, having woken up two hours ago - Tom was still awake but now he's snoring happily and I can't get back to nod.
I might try again in a minute, but first...

Yesterday was a good day, despite waking up to Tom being ill. I went down the shops to get him some painkillers and chocolate, then saw signs for a book sale in the students union.
I got three poetry books for £6. :D

- Tell me the truth about Love (W.H.Auden)
- Ariel (Slyvia Plath)
- Kid (Simon Armitage)

Then later on I got a phonecall for a job interview on Tuesday about a position in a Care home.
I'm hopeful about it and want the job, but at the same time, the fact that it's in Stafford would complicate matters a little. I'd see a lot less of Tom.
But then me and him looked up places to rent in Stone, which is halfway between Stafford and Stoke, and the rent and deposits are so small! Comparitively anyway.
It's just a case of finding somewhere that would let me have a 6 month lease.

THEN Cara asked if I'd got anything on track. I said I hadn't, but checked again anyway.
And I've got an unconditinal offer from Loughborough! Which is sweeet. :D

Then me and Tom went down to the media building where he's doing an installation for an exhibit in about 12 weeks time. He's got this fucking creepy idea, where he's building a sensory deprivation maze, and only one person can go through it at a time, and there'll be strobe lights and disturbing images, and he's been making this mp3 file which the person will have to listen to through headphones as they go through the maze. It creeped me the fuck out when he played me it last night.

The guy that works in the media building and does all the helping out and everything and everything is called Terry, and he's really quiet and he has a stutter, but he's funny and he talks loads and he's really class.
Me and Tom are very fond of him.

We put down masking tape on the floor as a plan for where the walls need to go, took all the measurements, did a little walkthrough and scraped the adhesive left from the last exhibition off the walls. I'm pretty into helping out. :)

Right, it's 8am. My alarm is set for 10, so I'm gonna try sleeping some more.
The sky is so pink outside.

Self Evident

2009-01-29T17:42:46Z

Yes,
us people are just poems
we're 90% metaphor
with a leanness of meaning
approaching hyper-distillation
and once upon a time
we were moonshine
rushing down the throat of a giraffe
yes, rushing down the long hallway
despite what the p.a. announcement says
yes, rushing down the long stairs
with the whiskey of eternity
fermented and distilled
to eighteen minutes
burning down our throats
down the hall
down the stairs
in a building so tall
that it will always be there
yes, it's part of a pair
there on the bow of Noah's ark
the most prestigious couple
just kickin back parked
against a perfectly blue sky
on a morning beatific
in its Indian summer breeze
on the day that America
fell to its knees
after strutting around for a century
without saying thank you
or please

and the shock was subsonic
and the smoke was deafening
between the setup and the punch line
cuz we were all on time for work that day
we all boarded that plane for it to fly
and then while the fires were raging
we all climbed up on the windowsill
and then we all held hands
and jumped into the sky

and every borough looked up when it heard the first blast
and then every dumb action movie was summarily surpassed
and the exodus uptown by foot and motorcar
looked more like war than anything I've seen so far
so far
so far
so fierce and ingenious
a poetic specter so far gone
that every jackass newscaster was struck dumb and stumbling
over 'oh my god' and 'this is unbelievable' and on and on
and I'll tell you what, while we're at it
you can keep the pentagon
keep the propaganda
keep each and every TV
that's been trying to convince me
to participate
in some prep school punk's plan to perpetuate retribution
perpetuate retribution
even as the blue toxic smoke of our lesson in retribution
is still hanging in the air
and there's ash on our shoes
and there's ash in our hair
and there's a fine silt on every mantle
from hell's kitchen to Brooklyn
and the streets are full of stories
sudden twists and near misses
and soon every open bar is crammed to the rafters
with tales of narrowly averted disasters
and the whiskey is flowin
like never before
as all over the country
folks just shake their heads
and pour

so here's a toast to all the folks who live in Palestine
Afghanistan
Iraq
El Salvador

here's a toast to the folks living on the pine ridge reservation
under the stone cold gaze of mt. Rushmore

here's a toast to all those nurses and doctors
who daily provide women with a choice
who stand down a threat the size of Oklahoma City
just to listen to a young woman's voice

here's a toast to all the folks on death row right now
awaiting the executioner's guillotine
who are shackled there with dread and can only escape into their heads
to find peace in the form of a dream

cuz take away our playstations
and we are a third world nation
under the thumb of some blue blood royal son
who stole the oval office and that phony election
I mean
it don't take a weatherman
to look around and see the weather
Jeb said he'd deliver Florida, folks
and boy did he ever

and we hold these truths to be self evident:
#1 George W. Bush is not president
#2 America is not a true democracy
#3 the media is not fooling me
cuz I am a poem heeding hyper-distillation
I've got no room for a lie so verbose
I'm looking out over my whole human family
and I'm raising my glass in a toast

here's to our last drink of fossil fuels
let us vow to get off of this sauce
shoo away the swarms of commuter planes
and find that train ticket we lost
cuz once upon a time the line followed the river
and peeked into all the backyards
and the laundry was waving
the graffiti was teasing us
from brick walls and bridges
we were rolling over ridges
through valleys
under stars
I dream of touring like Duke Ellington
in my own railroad car
I dream of waiting on the tall blonde wooden benches
in a grand station aglow with grace
and then standing out on the platform
and feeling the air on my face

give back the night its distant whistle
give the darkness back its soul
give the big oil companies the finger finally
and relearn how to rock-n-roll
yes, the lessons are all around us and a change is waiting there
so it's time to pick through the rubble, clean the streets
and clear the air
get our government to pull its big dick out of the sand
of someone else's desert
put it back in its pants
and quit the hypocritical chants of
freedom forever

cuz when one lone phone rang
in two thousand and one
at ten after nine
on nine one one
which is the number we all called
when that lone phone rang right off the wall
right off our desk and down the long hall
down the long stairs
in a building so tall
that the whole world turned
just to watch it fall

and while we're at it
remember the first time around?
the bomb?
the Ryder truck?
the parking garage?
the princess that didn't even feel the pea?
remember joking around in our apartment on avenue D?

can you imagine how many paper coffee cups would have to change their design
following a fantastical reversal of the New York skyline?!

it was a joke, of course
it was a joke
at the time
and that was just a few years ago
so let the record show
that the FBI was all over that case
that the plot was obvious and in everybody's face
and scoping that scene
religiously
the CIA
or is it KGB?
committing countless crimes against humanity
with this kind of eventuality
as its excuse
for abuse after expensive abuse
and it didn't have a clue
look, another window to see through
way up here
on the 104th floor
look
another key
another door
10% literal
90% metaphor
3000 some poems disguised as people
on an almost too perfect day
must be more than poems
in some asshole's passion play
so now it's your job
and it's my job
to make it that way
to make sure they didn't die in vain
sshhhhhh....
baby listen
hear the train?

Resistance Is Creative: False Options And Real Hope

2009-01-29T17:35:56Z

Draft for speech by Theresa Wolfwood,
at Resisting Global Militarism conference,
Victoria, BC, Canada, Sept. 27-29, 2001

This summer I was driving behind a tourist bus here in Victoria with a big AD for McDonalds potato chips which said, "Resistance is Futile". I was so angry that I nearly went off the road. How dare they steal and corrupt our slogans? I went home and made the banner that says, "Resistance is Fertile". Now we need that resistance more than ever.

Today we are facing in this terrible global situation a polarization of false choices that leaves out the possibility of democratic civil resistance. We are told we must support the military terrorism of USA and its allies, including Canada. If we don't the USA President says we are supporting this unnamed, unidentified terrorism of the tragedy in the USA. Those are false options which can only lead to more violence.

They remind me of the cold war when again we were told to support the militarism of our side, state capitalism, against the militarism of the other side, state communism. In those days peace activists were harassed and investigated, ridiculed and called reds or commie sympathizers. During the FLQ crisis in Canada, ( Quebec Liberation Movement in 1971) the War Measures Act was used as an excuse to round up intellectuals, workers and artist who wanted peaceful change. It is happening again, this year special police and spy networks were set up to track anti-globalization activists and these networks will be directed against all of us. We can expect opportunists, provocateurs and spies. So we must be very clear and open about our work at all times. And we need to form affinity and support groups for those who are most likely to be the focus of attention.

Globalization, the power of a few enormous corporations to exploit the world, can only flourish with the military force of the world's richest nation and its sycophants. In post-cold war politics, the Pentagon stated in a policy document that its role is to defend the USA's economic superiority, the world's only superpower. Now as the economies of globalization, the G-8, are failing their own agendas of growth and power, the City of Calgary wants $18 Million to protect itself from protestors next year who plan to question this failed agenda in public. In USA military stocks rise as that country prepares for war. {The economies of the Minority World are all in recession -just like 11 years ago when we had the gulf war}. Let us face it, war is good for business, it has always been the panacea for bad economics.

Peaceful resistance to the evils of any kind of terrorism, by states, groups or individuals, is all that will save the world. Violence is elitist, anti-people and shows a lack of trust in humanity and lack of faith in collective social change. We have a big task to challenge these death ideologies - but we have a big movement. We will expose the lie that there are good and bad kinds of violence and that we must choose between them. As Bill Phipps ( moderator of United Church of Canada, at Resisting Global Militarism Conference) told us on Thursday, now is the time, we must seize the day, the global powers are in disarray. We reject all violence that kills innocent people wherever they are. 90% of the victims of modern state military warfare are unarmed civilians. The rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer -everywhere. 80% of the earth's resources are consumed by 20% of its population. Starvation, homelessness, grinding poverty and landlessness are also forms of violence.

Resistance is more than protest. Resistance is a locally rooted, globally connected life time project that seeks and speaks the truth about evil and violence. Resistance unites diverse people in the work for peace and justice. Resistance makes the connections between military oppression, the rule of elites, the oppression of the poor and dispossessed, the consolidation of power in international alliances like NATO, WTO, FTAA and the destruction of our planet's biodiversity.

Our lives are filled with the culture of consumerism and the glorification of violence. We must take back our space and fill it with hope. Our task is to overcome the brutal injustice and appalling inequality that the ideologies of death have wrought. We will have to reject, unplug, turn off the corporate media of advertising, manipulated news, violent and mindless entertainment. This is how they obliterate creativity, memory and discernment.

We need to create and strengthen our own means of communication, with each other and the world, take the time, as Rosa Luxemburg ( German socialist, in early 20th century) said, to find new forms and new language. { And I wish resisters would not use words like 'march' and 'target' and we need to reclaim 'security' from the military and talk about real human security}. To do that we need to reclaim the space in our minds, senses and lives that have been jammed full with the trivialization of consumerism and violence. Jose Bove, the French activist, told me this year that one of the great dangers of militarism is that it is used to impose the standardization of the culture of the strong on the weaker. We see today the results, everywhere, of that imposed oppression. Let's overturn it, overcome passive alienation and let's create a culture of peace.

Our resistance is creative. We take the inspiration of the Zapatistas, { I use them because I was a human rights observer in a village there, a few years ago} peacefully creating local autonomy in Mexican villages, growing their crops, using their own languages, true to their non-commercial subsistence life, even as the military returns to their homeland. Their uprising started the day NAFTA came into force, the day the indigenous people would lose their communal land and be forced by the military to leave their subsistence farms. Their resistance grows -can we do less?

Creative resistance is the wisdom of saying many ' NO's'.

No to Nuclear testing in the South Pacific

No to Genetically Modified Organisms

No to Oil exploration on sacred or ecologically sensitive lands

No to the trade agreements that favour and strengthen the military industries and forces.

No to speculation on the stock market - where military stocks soar

No to the loss of civil liberties everywhere

No to intolerance and violence against different ethnic and religious groups

We have many NO's, but only one YES, as the Zapatistas say. YES to peace with justice!

We need to root our YES in our own community. Build bridges with people in poverty. Support native land claims. Shut down Nanoose Bay Testing Range ( USA military test range for maritime weapons systems, near Victoria, BC). End USA military tourism and adventurism in our ports and waters. Connect with the local environmental movements, war is the greatest destroyer of our planet. Paving paradise is a precursor to bombing babies. The global can undermine the local - biodiversity is threatened on every level. Let us work in solidarity with groups in struggle against oppression around the world. In the words of Kay Macpherson, (late Canadian feminist/peace activist), 'when in doubt, do both'.

Again, we need to be creative about our response to media manipulation. Not only what we see and read, but why some stories and not others. We should question and doubt everything we are fed. The images of September 11 will stay with us, not only because the events were so terrible, but because 80% of the world's media repeated and repeated the images of the events.

But I want to tell you about some images that are burned into my brain.

On September 11, 1973, the democratically elected government of Chile was overthrown and President Allende was assassinated. Thousands of citizens were herded into a stadium by the military. The popular singer, Victor Jarra, was among them. He started to sing, was ordered to stop, he continued, they cut off his hands, bleeding, he sang until they killed him - and thousands more.

In Baghdad this year, I stood in a children's hospital ward, filled with still, silent little bodies, grasping for life. The doctor said to me wearily, "They will all die." Indeed 5000 of them die every month.

I just received a photo from my friend, Wanjiku Kironyo in Kenya. She runs a refuge for women and children in need. The photo showed two forlorn children, AIDS orphans, abandoned on the doorstep of her already bulging building. Thousands of children die in Africa everyday - from the diseases of poverty.

I ask - why aren't those images beamed around the world?

In the creativity of resistance, ' we can be our own media', as Rosalie Bertell (Canadian scientist and anti-nuclear expert) says. We can choose and seek to know what is important to us, and support and participate in our own independent media and networks.

In creative resistance we examine in our own lives - personal and local violence and inequality. We can plant our creativity in our homes, workplaces, school and churches. These are still influential institutions where ideas and attitudes are born. When we oppose nuclear pollution and radioactive contamination, we say that all the people of tomorrow are carried by in the eggs of women today. We can also say that all the ideas and inspiration of tomorrow are also in hearts and minds of people today. Birth and life are creative!

In our personal, community and global reality we will have to address the appalling inequality between men and women - in life conditions, wealth and freedom. And we must question the differences in values between men and women. Violence is glorified in sport and entertainment, an almost total male monopoly. Women and children are the main victims of domestic violence. Women own 10% of the world's property, produce 70% of our food and do most of the work. Another image I see in my mind, the streets of Managua, Addis Ababa, Manila, many cities, are filled with idle men. Women are invisible -they are working or confined to home- to work there, also.

The global factories that produce our cheap clothes, computers, weapons systems and toys are staffed by women - abused, raped and harassed by a few male supervisors. The sex trade exploits millions of women. They are trapped in their need to support whole families. Those idle men on the streets lack status, work and self-worth. Violence is often their only means of self-expression. They are ripe easy picking for ideological, ethnic and civil wars. Give them a uniform and a gun - and they are someone. Here too in Canada, the military lure the unemployed into the killing life. Our society and men, especially, must recognize the particularity of violence against women. Men do most of the killing -women do most of the dying. Yet all research shows that women, even in hawkish England, are less likely to support war and violence and more likely to care about the victims of violence. Where are the women's voices in this war situation? Why are the commentators and speakers usually men? Men and women everywhere need meaningful and dignified work. This is project for our creative resistance -even as we examine our own relationships within movements. The resistance movement can become a microcosm of the world we build together. Gandhi said, 'we must be the change we want to see in the world.

Resistance is an open borderless country which we can only create if men and women are equal, a community where people of all colours and backgrounds are at home, where nature is respected for its abundance, where we 'put life in the centre', ( Maria Mies, German author-activist) and where creativity blooms in everyone. A collective and united resistance liberates from our fears. We are not trapped between the terror of a great power and the terror of rage against that power. Pessimism is not an option; despair is a useless luxury. As Swiss anti-NATO activists say, solidarity, not war. Happiness is the best revenge for violence and hatred.

Resistance nourishes us and gives us a place and a purpose in life. We create that country by walking there together, smoothing the roads for those who come after us.

The SUN

2009-01-27T18:11:36Z

Benjamin Zephaniah is amazing.

I believe the Blacks are bad
The Left is loony
God is Mad
This government's the best we've had
So I read The SUN.

I believe Britain is great
And other countries imitate
I am friendly with The State,
Daily, I read The SUN.

I am not too keen on foreign ones
But I don't mind some foreign bombs
Jungle bunnies play tom-toms,
But, I read The SUN.

Man, I don't like Russian spies
But we don't have none
I love lies,
I really do love Princess Di,
I bet she reads The SUN.

Black people rob
Women should cook
And every poet is a crook,
I am told - I don't need to look,
It's easy in The SUN.

Every hippie carries nits
And every Englishman loves tits
I love Page Three and other bits,
I stare into The SUN.

I like playing bingo games
And witch-hunting to shame a name
But aren't newspapers all the same?
So why not read The SUN.

Don't give me truth, just give me gossip
And skeletons from people's closets,
I wanna be normal
And millions buy it,
I am blinded by The SUN.

The Size Of This Universe

2009-01-27T16:03:01Z

By Radolph Healy

There are more stars in the universe
than all the words ever spoken,
as many stars as atoms in a matchstick.

Tonight, standing in earth's shadow,
close your eyes and see
that this universe is itself a statement
within which every statement made
is partial and uncomprehending,
that every detail suggests a total
at which one may not arrive,
that no amount of words
countable in a human lifetime
can absolutely express truth,
that no finite number of truths is sufficient
to check all possible propositions.
Incomplete.
Uncertain.
When I was first told that the air is made of atoms
I worried for days about what was between them,
frightened of nothing.
Mintaka, Alnilam, Alnitak,
Orion's tilted belt.
Without uncertainty matter would collapse.
Silence.
The quantum vacuum
is brimming with particles
agitated
continually bubbling forth
in pairs annihilating
nothing in ferment
hir eien brennynge and cleer-seynge
over the commune myghte of men.

The edges are moving out at almost the speed of light.
All the stars
all the matter in the universe
to the space available
are as one grain of sand to the Atlantic.
Some talk of a bubble
in a foam of universes.
Look out for
Silence.

A Path Marked With Breadcrumbs

2009-01-27T14:31:33Z

Tony Lopez

A Path Marked With Breadcrumbs

The collapsed addict mother, passed out
under a hedge in the nineteenth century
knows the colonial economy
in point of fact. The child a sweet girl
changes into gold out of pure virtue
in a novel by a woman called George.

Tell the age of a hedge by counting species
how long it takes the natives to move in.
For the consumption of opium or diet food
see cultural ideal, see anorexic fix.
There is a circuit in neurotic behaviour
like racial fear in English literature

Where grazing rights and planted enclosures
are just real enough to be rented out.
You may continue to use your PIN code
in advance of the merger, even if
the false body image is politic,
floating on corporate identity.

It is not enough to be on the fence
one must be inside using surveillance.
We live on a little muddy island
grow rice, catch fish and care for our children.
Some very good submissive subjects
only one previous family now deceased

Can You Feel That?

2009-01-27T12:14:14Z

I'm going to pull myself away from LoveFilm now (Me and Tom have signed up to it and I've been browsing all the titles for AGES). Amusingly, the first two dics they've dispatched to us are BOTH Michael Moore films, much to Tom's annoyance. I've put a Anti-Michael Moore disc on the rental list for him, knowing full well it will physically HURT to watch it.
I'm aware his methods can be childish, and that he's not the most well-rounded of political activists, but then, which of us are? I appreciate him for his passion and anger, the things I have in but don't see in the mainstream.

I've been off track for a few days due to being back in Stafford. I've fell behind on all the things I was doing - Reading, keeping up my LJ, 43 things, freerice, etc.

So now that I've said all this, I'm going to earn a few thousand grains, write in my sex journal which I've been neglecting, finish copying articles from After Shock (which I've finished reading) on to here, read some more of the book I'm curently on, check up on my 43 things list, finish filling in an application form, and write a shopping list.

Also, I bought a bumper colouring book. I'm having fun with that.

Mememememe

2009-01-23T15:49:56Z

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page twenty-three.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next five sentences in your journal along with these instructions:

- Don't dig for your favorite book, the cool book, or the intellectual one: pick the CLOSEST.
- Tag five other people to do the same.

"We are all aware where we stand in relation to others as we pass through social space. We know what it is that we do but also know that the discourse of diagnosis about our actions is formed not be us but by others. We are judged both by them and by ourselves, using differently created criteria formed from different cultural contexts. We are all social scientists in that sense: we anlyse those we mingle with and comment on how they live their lives. It is life as 'soap opera' with the data of life being classified minute by minute as we form ourselves and learn to be poor and learn to be subordinate and, aboce all, learn to be criminal."

That's Cultural Criminology (And the carnical of crime).
I hadn't got to page 23 yet, so thanks meme for the spoilers.

I tag pickledbulletin, x_xblackout, i_am_looby, choc_milk and histrionicsss