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Well I wrote this while I was in Africa. There's more of it but it pretty much decends into Calum bashing. You can really see my frame of mind at the time. Some of it is true. some of it isn't.
I'll let you decide.
The man was climbing with a purpose. At least he had a goal now, something to drive him, in this case, upward.
It was scaffolding placed along the side of a decrepit building. Obviously under repair it created the sense of another time. Like the time of gangsters and classy girls crossed with the future world of plastic sheeting.
At this point I just get bored.
I seem to forget what the point was. It's interesting that it always happens after about a paragraph. Anything after that I write seems to just be clichéd or too forced. A certain amount of envy goes out to writers who can sustain a thought. Though maybe im more suited to short story writing?
Ugh, I need another coffee. I think it's past two. I really should be sleeping. But the wonderment of waking up tomorrow morning and having even less of my schedule than today and even less motivation to write.
Im just wandering into the kitchen and banging out the used grits from my last cup 20 minutes ago. That's kind of how I feel. Like im washed out before I even got a chance to be coffee. Im being banged against the side of a bin until I sink out of sight. Morbid thoughts like this keep me company until the coffee brews and I wander back into my study. Well I use study loosely because I feel it makes me more writerly. As does making up words.
The room is actually where I sleep. Id say bedroom but it's a mattress on the floor, so that that count as a bed? Anyway, my study is my laptop glowing on the mattress. I find it easiest to write in the dark or when im drunk. I've thought about this before, in betweem paragraphs, why is it easier to write like that? Probably some sort of insecurity. Alcohol lubricates the transition of my mind onto the page.
That is the sort of shit I write when im trying to sound inspired.
I wasn't particularly proud of that sentence.
I'm thinking about packing it in. but the coffee is kicking my mind around now. Im restless and I want to walk. But honestly where would I go? Probably wander the suburb, listening to despressing songs until the coffee wears off. Which will make me feel much worse than I do at the moment, because it signifies a level of failure in tonights writing. The worst part is that it's a regular thing, my finding of excuses, I've been practicing since I first realised I didn't want to learn piano.
I grab my Ipod and wander out the door.
The streets at night are dark and stormy. I know that im thinking in clichés now and the thought drives me further into my funk. I have a brilliant ability to depress myself. Tonight I didn't even finish a page. I wonder again if buying a typewriter might inspire me. Then I realise I can neither afford it or be bothered to fix mistakes the old fashioned way.
My thoughts turn to Jenn. Oh let me tell you about jenn, I might as well we seem to be getting along well.
Jenn is THE ex girlfriend. An insecure model who dresses like a boy to hide the fact she's really beautiful. We tended to argue a lot when we were together. In fact, towards the end it was either arguing or fucking, which was not a healthy relationship for the most part. Now don't let that bias your opinion, I really loved her. But we grated on each other towards the end. But when im apart from her she's all I can think about.
She was the most substantial relationship ive ever had. The other girl ive ever told I loved her and meant it.
Times like now, im not sure if it's the loneliness or love. My thoughts tend to revert to her when I can't write anything, which is a lot of the time.
I think the coffee is wearing off, and im dealthly tired. My eyelids start to come crashing down and all I can do is to lean to the side.
People say write about what you know. What if I don't know anything interesting. Being compeltely average doesn't really make for good reading. I keep having this feeling that I need to do something drastic. I need a change. Something that will drastically change my perceptiion
But I have to get ready for work. I hate that I have to get so dressed up to sell something that is ultimately as trivial as video games.
Im looking into the mirror as I tie my tie. I lean in and inspect the dark circles under my eyes. These never seem to go away, no matter how much I sleep. Am I looking thinner than normal? Late night jaunts probably don't help. Mabye a tiny bit handsome but I mean, who could tell. My hair is matted because it looks even stupider straight. Im just generally not pleased with how I look. I stumble out the door.
Work, the same as always. For the most part, we do very little. I wait behind the counter and customers walk by looking self important. My boss, nice guy, stands beside me doing just as little as I am. We spend most of the day with coffee cups clutched in our hands.
What really kills me, what does my head in, is times like this one. I can see it coming a mile off. Im quite happy our store is out of the way. Mostly only kids and people like me. But this woman floats through the door. She's followed by what from most angles looks like an ape. I can't stand this. The man lumbers up to the counter and grunts something about a football game. I die a little inside. Numbly I point at the shelf and he wanders his way across the store on his knuckles. The woman, a beautiful woman like that, following around this mindless drone just kills me. Im chewing softy on the side of the coffee cup and silently hoping the roof will fall on him. I'm of the opinion that internally wishing something horrible to happen is perfectly normal and healthy way of dealing with something you despise. I'm quite sure everyone does it. So work goes on like this, trundling onwards towards nothing. This is the point where im hating. Im hating pretty much everything. I sit at home, lying in bed hating the roof. I hate the way my pillows feel and I despise the soft wind coming through the window. At work too, possibly it happens more at work because ive got less control about my environment.
Even when im writing, I start to spiral into these long tracts of hate. Soon no matter what I try to write it turns into a self-depreciating tirade about my faults.
Well I wrote this while I was in Africa. There's more of it but it pretty much decends into Calum bashing. You can really see my frame of mind at the time. Some of it is true. some of it isn't.
I'll let you decide.
The man was climbing with a purpose. At least he had a goal now, something to drive him, in this case, upward.
It was scaffolding placed along the side of a decrepit building. Obviously under repair it created the sense of another time. Like the time of gangsters and classy girls crossed with the future world of plastic sheeting.
At this point I just get bored.
I seem to forget what the point was. It's interesting that it always happens after about a paragraph. Anything after that I write seems to just be clichéd or too forced. A certain amount of envy goes out to writers who can sustain a thought. Though maybe im more suited to short story writing?
Ugh, I need another coffee. I think it's past two. I really should be sleeping. But the wonderment of waking up tomorrow morning and having even less of my schedule than today and even less motivation to write.
Im just wandering into the kitchen and banging out the used grits from my last cup 20 minutes ago. That's kind of how I feel. Like im washed out before I even got a chance to be coffee. Im being banged against the side of a bin until I sink out of sight. Morbid thoughts like this keep me company until the coffee brews and I wander back into my study. Well I use study loosely because I feel it makes me more writerly. As does making up words.
The room is actually where I sleep. Id say bedroom but it's a mattress on the floor, so that that count as a bed? Anyway, my study is my laptop glowing on the mattress. I find it easiest to write in the dark or when im drunk. I've thought about this before, in betweem paragraphs, why is it easier to write like that? Probably some sort of insecurity. Alcohol lubricates the transition of my mind onto the page.
That is the sort of shit I write when im trying to sound inspired.
I wasn't particularly proud of that sentence.
I'm thinking about packing it in. but the coffee is kicking my mind around now. Im restless and I want to walk. But honestly where would I go? Probably wander the suburb, listening to despressing songs until the coffee wears off. Which will make me feel much worse than I do at the moment, because it signifies a level of failure in tonights writing. The worst part is that it's a regular thing, my finding of excuses, I've been practicing since I first realised I didn't want to learn piano.
I grab my Ipod and wander out the door.
The streets at night are dark and stormy. I know that im thinking in clichés now and the thought drives me further into my funk. I have a brilliant ability to depress myself. Tonight I didn't even finish a page. I wonder again if buying a typewriter might inspire me. Then I realise I can neither afford it or be bothered to fix mistakes the old fashioned way.
My thoughts turn to Jenn. Oh let me tell you about jenn, I might as well we seem to be getting along well.
Jenn is THE ex girlfriend. An insecure model who dresses like a boy to hide the fact she's really beautiful. We tended to argue a lot when we were together. In fact, towards the end it was either arguing or fucking, which was not a healthy relationship for the most part. Now don't let that bias your opinion, I really loved her. But we grated on each other towards the end. But when im apart from her she's all I can think about.
She was the most substantial relationship ive ever had. The other girl ive ever told I loved her and meant it.
Times like now, im not sure if it's the loneliness or love. My thoughts tend to revert to her when I can't write anything, which is a lot of the time.
I think the coffee is wearing off, and im dealthly tired. My eyelids start to come crashing down and all I can do is to lean to the side.
People say write about what you know. What if I don't know anything interesting. Being compeltely average doesn't really make for good reading. I keep having this feeling that I need to do something drastic. I need a change. Something that will drastically change my perceptiion
But I have to get ready for work. I hate that I have to get so dressed up to sell something that is ultimately as trivial as video games.
Im looking into the mirror as I tie my tie. I lean in and inspect the dark circles under my eyes. These never seem to go away, no matter how much I sleep. Am I looking thinner than normal? Late night jaunts probably don't help. Mabye a tiny bit handsome but I mean, who could tell. My hair is matted because it looks even stupider straight. Im just generally not pleased with how I look. I stumble out the door.
Work, the same as always. For the most part, we do very little. I wait behind the counter and customers walk by looking self important. My boss, nice guy, stands beside me doing just as little as I am. We spend most of the day with coffee cups clutched in our hands.
What really kills me, what does my head in, is times like this one. I can see it coming a mile off. Im quite happy our store is out of the way. Mostly only kids and people like me. But this woman floats through the door. She's followed by what from most angles looks like an ape. I can't stand this. The man lumbers up to the counter and grunts something about a football game. I die a little inside. Numbly I point at the shelf and he wanders his way across the store on his knuckles. The woman, a beautiful woman like that, following around this mindless drone just kills me. Im chewing softy on the side of the coffee cup and silently hoping the roof will fall on him. I'm of the opinion that internally wishing something horrible to happen is perfectly normal and healthy way of dealing with something you despise. I'm quite sure everyone does it. So work goes on like this, trundling onwards towards nothing. This is the point where im hating. Im hating pretty much everything. I sit at home, lying in bed hating the roof. I hate the way my pillows feel and I despise the soft wind coming through the window. At work too, possibly it happens more at work because ive got less control about my environment.
Even when im writing, I start to spiral into these long tracts of hate. Soon no matter what I try to write it turns into a self-depreciating tirade about my faults.
Well I wrote this while I was in Africa. There's more of it but it pretty much decends into Calum bashing. You can really see my frame of mind at the time. Some of it is true. some of it isn't.
I'll let you decide.
The man was climbing with a purpose. At least he had a goal now, something to drive him, in this case, upward.
It was scaffolding placed along the side of a decrepit building. Obviously under repair it created the sense of another time. Like the time of gangsters and classy girls crossed with the future world of plastic sheeting.
At this point I just get bored.
I seem to forget what the point was. It's interesting that it always happens after about a paragraph. Anything after that I write seems to just be clichéd or too forced. A certain amount of envy goes out to writers who can sustain a thought. Though maybe im more suited to short story writing?
Ugh, I need another coffee. I think it's past two. I really should be sleeping. But the wonderment of waking up tomorrow morning and having even less of my schedule than today and even less motivation to write.
Im just wandering into the kitchen and banging out the used grits from my last cup 20 minutes ago. That's kind of how I feel. Like im washed out before I even got a chance to be coffee. Im being banged against the side of a bin until I sink out of sight. Morbid thoughts like this keep me company until the coffee brews and I wander back into my study. Well I use study loosely because I feel it makes me more writerly. As does making up words.
The room is actually where I sleep. Id say bedroom but it's a mattress on the floor, so that that count as a bed? Anyway, my study is my laptop glowing on the mattress. I find it easiest to write in the dark or when im drunk. I've thought about this before, in betweem paragraphs, why is it easier to write like that? Probably some sort of insecurity. Alcohol lubricates the transition of my mind onto the page.
That is the sort of shit I write when im trying to sound inspired.
I wasn't particularly proud of that sentence.
I'm thinking about packing it in. but the coffee is kicking my mind around now. Im restless and I want to walk. But honestly where would I go? Probably wander the suburb, listening to despressing songs until the coffee wears off. Which will make me feel much worse than I do at the moment, because it signifies a level of failure in tonights writing. The worst part is that it's a regular thing, my finding of excuses, I've been practicing since I first realised I didn't want to learn piano.
I grab my Ipod and wander out the door.
The streets at night are dark and stormy. I know that im thinking in clichés now and the thought drives me further into my funk. I have a brilliant ability to depress myself. Tonight I didn't even finish a page. I wonder again if buying a typewriter might inspire me. Then I realise I can neither afford it or be bothered to fix mistakes the old fashioned way.
My thoughts turn to Jenn. Oh let me tell you about jenn, I might as well we seem to be getting along well.
Jenn is THE ex girlfriend. An insecure model who dresses like a boy to hide the fact she's really beautiful. We tended to argue a lot when we were together. In fact, towards the end it was either arguing or fucking, which was not a healthy relationship for the most part. Now don't let that bias your opinion, I really loved her. But we grated on each other towards the end. But when im apart from her she's all I can think about.
She was the most substantial relationship ive ever had. The other girl ive ever told I loved her and meant it.
Times like now, im not sure if it's the loneliness or love. My thoughts tend to revert to her when I can't write anything, which is a lot of the time.
I think the coffee is wearing off, and im dealthly tired. My eyelids start to come crashing down and all I can do is to lean to the side.
People say write about what you know. What if I don't know anything interesting. Being compeltely average doesn't really make for good reading. I keep having this feeling that I need to do something drastic. I need a change. Something that will drastically change my perceptiion
But I have to get ready for work. I hate that I have to get so dressed up to sell something that is ultimately as trivial as video games.
Im looking into the mirror as I tie my tie. I lean in and inspect the dark circles under my eyes. These never seem to go away, no matter how much I sleep. Am I looking thinner than normal? Late night jaunts probably don't help. Mabye a tiny bit handsome but I mean, who could tell. My hair is matted because it looks even stupider straight. Im just generally not pleased with how I look. I stumble out the door.
Work, the same as always. For the most part, we do very little. I wait behind the counter and customers walk by looking self important. My boss, nice guy, stands beside me doing just as little as I am. We spend most of the day with coffee cups clutched in our hands.
What really kills me, what does my head in, is times like this one. I can see it coming a mile off. Im quite happy our store is out of the way. Mostly only kids and people like me. But this woman floats through the door. She's followed by what from most angles looks like an ape. I can't stand this. The man lumbers up to the counter and grunts something about a football game. I die a little inside. Numbly I point at the shelf and he wanders his way across the store on his knuckles. The woman, a beautiful woman like that, following around this mindless drone just kills me. Im chewing softy on the side of the coffee cup and silently hoping the roof will fall on him. I'm of the opinion that internally wishing something horrible to happen is perfectly normal and healthy way of dealing with something you despise. I'm quite sure everyone does it. So work goes on like this, trundling onwards towards nothing. This is the point where im hating. Im hating pretty much everything. I sit at home, lying in bed hating the roof. I hate the way my pillows feel and I despise the soft wind coming through the window. At work too, possibly it happens more at work because ive got less control about my environment.
Even when im writing, I start to spiral into these long tracts of hate. Soon no matter what I try to write it turns into a self-depreciating tirade about my faults.
September 21st 2009 14:53
September 13th 2009 02:53
just to remind you lot. I am still here. I have to post something before they shut me down, so it might as well be something shitty.
Ill post something worthwhile when i come up with something decent
[ Click here to read more ]
Fuck You. Let me just say this before we start. You could say it was my manifesto. Im a little sick of self-indulgent cocks with no humility that dash around showing off their ignorance or lack of imagination.
Ok, Im a lot sick of it
[ Click here to read more ]
I've been thinking, and i'm sick of a few things.
And as this is my blog and I can write whatever the hell I want on here. I might as well tell you. Because i'm probably speaking to myself anyway.
[ Click here to read more ]
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Comments (2)
Comment by Calum Wilson Austin
on Rosemary's Baby
The Big Kahuna Burger
Bloody Jaw
It's a glorified synopsis.
It's a damn wikipedia article.