I will promise to God that I will try and kill off this abundance of time by doing, among other things, more socializing. Actually, scratch that as a promise and write, "hope".

Please, also, give me the desire to post more. You should never post for the sake of posting. I don't know why I think this. Oh, I know why. It'll make posting feel like a chore and less appealing to do, in general.


Hello, everyone. We doin' good?

No surprises that the dream I had last night, which I am going to report to you, was slightly demented. Three guys were pursuing a vendetta against me. To start off, they were my chums. There were two young-ish, hippity-hoppity guys and a very old plumber-like person. We got along with each other. They both shared this thickset Boxer, who was also very friendly towards me. Then, one day, I meet them on this street and they launch the dog at me. One of them was carrying this gigantic stun gun, like the one used by Fortune in MGS2 and they used that against me too. The Boxer didn't actually bite me, it more like got his face pressed against me. I closed my eyes and felt myself being electrocuted as well. This continued for a while and then, everything stopped - they were gone when I opened my eyes. Also, I do remember them telling me the next time they find me, the Boxer will bite.

I was really shook up by this, so I went to the local hospital. At the A&E reception, I yelled that I wanted to be put in a coma, because then they would not be able to touch me. The personnel there agreed to do this, but as soon as they were arranging matters, I left. There was a resolve that got hold of me to hunt down the old man. For some reason, I thought it would be helpful to my cause if I start scaling roofs stealthily. I spotted him somewhere and I can't remember what else had happened ... oh yeah, I think he turned to be a paedo, which was quite a cliched outcome. The other two ended up in jail and I made some very long and supposedly impassioned speech about crime and, yes, the Boxer turned out to be robot.

Crapulence. Word isn't related to "crap". Be nice if it was like the noun because it'll be nice to use it in that sense. A bit of a drag, ain't it?

Hello everyone.

That last comment should have had you beaming like orang-utans.

i dreamt i was being pelt with stones and all sorts of things by people from my school. i tried to reason with them and they looked like they were listening, but they were never deterred from attacking me.


life is simply mildly shitty

I have entered the "GIVE NO SHIT" zone. The restrictions have led me to plunge into a mild depression. Now the mood has died down.


Oh yes, and it seems like I happen not to be on Street View. Which is good?

Got 2 As and 2 Bs in the January. Not entirely awful - the mark for the Europe paper was totally expected - but it means two extra exams in the summer. And I hate D1 (Decision Maths). I am pleased though that I didn't flop C3.

I will not let this get to me.

My head is a lot bigger than I thought it was. I became aware yesterday in the fitting room at a H&M branch.

There were three guys on the bus to college, who were talking about this guy, calling him a tramp and making claims about him, such as that he was bullied into washing his armpits in the PE changing room showers at school and that he did a lesson of that same subject, dirty and smelly from a shag that he had with a slut just before. I was amazed at this; it was one of the most exhilarating conversations I ever overheard on the bus. The sheer filth and malevolence underlying it lighted me up with glee.

The fire alarm went off during my FM class, and we went out into the field. Then, we entered into a snowfight. The college chaplain started it off, which delighted us since we were standing about, watching other people we didn't know engaging in snowfights with longing. I was hastily grabbing mounds and chucking it at whoever. It landed wherever, despite my efforts at targeting. Some presumably were not interested in attacking those who were not a good enough challenge and concentrated on other people. Although my intermittent on-target shots got them responding again. After a while, my FM teacher joined and we all advanced on him. I stopped with snowballs, and moved onto snowbombs - extremely large balls of snows, usually gained out of half-finished snowmen. I ran about with them, screaming and nearly always tripping into the explosion. Drew much laughter from everyone.

I have to say, this was the most enjoyable time at college ever! It would have been difficult to imagine this occuring last year, when my self-esteem was so low as to be restraining on myself. Clearly it now had developed quite highly. As I did not have gloves, my hands were immovable when we got back in the class. I went straight to the bathroom to heat it up and the defrosting effect was excruciating, yielding much foul-mouthed exclamations and girl-like squealing from me. I had a half a mind before to not participate for this reason, even though I'm glad I didn't. My clothes were wet and quite muddy, since we were on grass and the snow wasn't that deep.

2009, eh lads?

Frequency: I'd give anything to be able to just fucking live like a hobo, except with money.
Frequency: I'd drift from city to city, sleeping wherever the fuck I want.
Frequency: I just don't like the "starvation" aspect.

A couple of hours ago, I ran around some blocks. I didn't think I had recently done enough cardiovascular work; in fact, to be honest, I had done any exercise like that since seconday school. The total distance I covered was, according to Google Maps about a bit over a mile. When I got back to the house, I felt more spent than Paris Hilton at a hotel the morning after the day where the annual meeting of the North-American Interfraternity Conference took place.

My panting was extremely heavy and huge, so much so that it was straining my lungs. Top to bottom, sweat materialized about my body particularly when I got inside and collapsed onto the living room sofa. I was even slightly queasy - I should have thrown up, as my stomach was bulging with junk I ate yesterday. Dizzy, too, and I didn't help myself by wandering about the house in exhaustion for a complete ten minutes. I splashed myself with water and drank almost three cups full in one go. I then shat and rested for an hour before eating again.

If I ever want to run again like that, I would have to had good food the day before and get proper sleep - woke up three times the night before. The explanation for this? Slept for twelve hours yesterday and went to bed twelve hours later after having done fuck all during the day. I know for sure tonight I will have a good night's sleep. Shit better happen or shit will have its ass kicked.

I think I may be on Google Maps soon. I saw this car yesterday with a pole on its roof and at the top of it, there was a black box with multiple lens on each side of it which I can only presume to be a sort of camera. A sticker with the Google logo was on the side of the car and it was speeding along the road at the same moment I was walking along the pavement and a bunch of kids stood. The images will probably be added in around several months, but to think that there will be a picture of me on one of the most popular sites, if not the most popular site on the Internet. Fuck.

Looking through my LJ, I see that I use a lot of "elevated lexis". It jars with the flow of writing quite a bit and so, I pledge from now on, I will try to produce entries where the language is as minimalist as is possible.

End of college. No more of it for a few months.

The afternoon was mild and cloudy in Compton Hill. The street was not too busy, the one queue of cars that transpired on the road was due to the slow, laboured trot of a old lady along the pelican crossing. Buses stopped and restarted its moving, people about carrying shopping bags, an usual scene.

A moody-looking woman was one of these people, trailing behind was a child throwing a very animated temper tantrum. She swished her head violently and dropped her shopping onto the pavement. "Come along", she sharply pronounced. The child did not cease his petulance; he was now spitting and banging his fists on his temple. The mother picked up her shopping and stormed off, while her son stood still and had folded up his arms in defiance. Unaware of this, she continued to advance, had reached an adjacent street and turned right. She had covered a few paces and stopped. Sighing heavily, she retreated back to her child.

Once she had arrived to where she was before on the other street, she saw her child being dragged, with his feet scrapping along the pavement, by a nondescript male adult, towards a black automobile with one of its doors wide open. Instantly, the bags of her shopping once again hit the pavement and she darted in the direction of her child and the adult. The man sped up his movements at such a rate that he was already pushing the child into the car. The woman then launched into the air and arranged her legs into an arrow-like formation, hurtling straight for the man. He turned towards her, his face overcome with a sudden fright, but, before he could make any evasive action, her foot had shot across his face.

Forced back so hard against the car that his head had even made a small graze upon it, he slithered down to the ground, with all consciousness lost. The woman, after exacting the kick, flipped into the air and gracefully landed with her feet firmly on the pavement. The child was in the car, his face buried in his hands, muffled sounds of sobbing emanating from it. She bent down and warmly outstretched her arms. His hands cautiously widened, his fingers freed up, revealing the vulnerable tinkle in his eyes, and raced to his mother who circled her arms around him, tightly embracing him.

I was given the task of cutting up the tall grass on my front lawn which I unertook and completed this afternoon. It wasn't particularly hard - it didn't feel hard, but going back inside the hosue after it, my legs felt heavy, my arms too and my stomach rumbled like hell. I had to snip it at first to a mowable length with a pair of dodgy sheaths that luckily didn't cause a disgusting accident while I was cutting with it.

I sort of launched myself into it; I didn't contemplate the magnitude of what lay before me, just did it. The sun was out at intervals, which were quite warm and the breezes that followed were magnificent. I then gathered the cuttings together with a lovely rake and forced into those green bags issued by the council. Also, I feel I should mention that there was a great sense of superiority that I experienced over this; after all, it was only ME doing it. I ruled the task, it was mine, all ... MINE! Although, my mum did aid me with a very small aspect of it, that is, involving her holding the bags open whilst I stuffed it with the grass. But, apart from that, all MINE!

Then, I moved the lawn with a relatively powerful machine. At one moment, the box part of it where the grass was blown into was separated from the mower and an old man walked past it as it happened. He laughed and said, "Shame!” If only then I had the courage and the malice to have told him to fuck off and slobber a horse's cock. Well, you can't have anything. You certainly can't, otherwise your mum will be gang-banged for almost an eternity. I remained cautious so I did not encounter even the slightest of problems with it. I thought of the poem, “Out, Out-“, I studied for English Language and Literature, which is about a boy getting killed because he was handling a electric saw for a chore. Certainly, I didn’t think that would happen to me with the lawnmower - of course, I am a man! But, if it was gonna get fucked up, then I will definitely get into trouble. Actually, wait ... HELL NO! Anyway, the blade did jar once and the sound it made was most unpleasant, which was an ungodly screeching, and I was determined not to hear it again. So the grass on the lawn was quite short when I had finished everything, but from my bedroom window, it really did seem uneven ... ah, fuck it.

Hello.

I'm really struggling to decide on what to post about. Most of the things that I can think of at first, appears immediately like an idea worth typing shitloads on, but, afterwards, I see right through to the core of it and there is this steaming, wet pile of crap. Some are just superficial, others are just too simple. What's more, the few that seems so interesting and so worthy I happen to forget or I remember the general gist of them, but it suddenly slips out of my fingers, so to speak. Should I carry a pad with me all the time, so that when I think of a decent idea, I could jot them down on it? Nah, too much hassle. I'm lazy, I apologise.

Last night I had a dream where one half of it - the other half I couldn't as vividly recall; it was, anyhow, a warped pastiche of the Thick of It - started with me being on the bus and a guy I frequently meet eyes with, from college, who had just boarded it. He withdrew a cigarette and began to light it, even though smoking is banned on public transport. A little girl by him coughed when some of the smoke drifted by her, which he found insulting. It seemed like his reaction was that of going to press the butt on her face. Some of the people on the bus were about to scream to deter him from doing so, whereas I got up, myself, and advanced towards him.

"Don't do anything to her! If you're gonna do anything to anyone, do it to me!"

I was not completely sure why I said the last part, as then, it suddenly caused a fight to ensue between us.

We grappled about the bus, hitting the poles and the seats, making a generally large ruckus. The people who were about to scream earlier did scream now. The doors had opened when we came by it and we threw ourselves out of the bus and continued fighting on the pavement. I managed to hurt him as much as to keep him occupied momentarily, and so I ran. Ran as fast as I could. Down alleyways, into homes, buildings; doing my absolute best to avoid him. Little did I know, that when he had recovered, he procured a bike and was racing everywhere to find me.

Somewhere in the frenzy of my search for refuge, I had found myself in an enclosed space. All the doors and exits were barred, thus I couldn't escape. BAM! One of the doors had exploded; he stood there on his bike. I sprinted towards him, with the intention of leaping in the air and formulating a drop-kick on him. Incidentially, when he saw me coming, he rode, unerring, towards me. A clash was going to occur. So what I did, I made a kind of rugby-like dodge which he did not anticipate, hence, he crashed into one of the walls. I hoped that this would have rendered him finished, to just cease this arduous shit. But no, he got up - the man's so fucking resilient - all raring to beat the crap out of me.

We fought some more; it felt endless. Evading one punch, another grapple and another kick, reverse and repeat. Evading another punch, another grapple and another kick, reverse and repeat. Finally, one roundhouse by me landed beautifully at his chest and he flew towards one of the walls. I was too puked out to remain standing and so I collapsed onto the floor. When I had regained consciousness, I saw his face, a malevolent grin plastered across his stupid face, right in front of mine. I didn't bothered to get up or do anything, just merely whispered, "Can we end this all? Can we just be friends now?". He actually, actually assented; I was so astonished. Anyway, he helped me up and from the destroyed entrance that I completely forgot to heed, before tackling him again, retrieved another bicycle for me. Then, we both rode outside for a while together, talking about stuff. It became apparent that his actions on the bus were as a result of a very insecure mind, which was made insecure by some competition involving a group of friends that he normally hangs around with, at college. These people collectively have a very pseudo-cool*, rock-hard facade and I really do think if I had been to the same secondary school as them, they would have bullied me so badly.

Da End.



*I say "pseudo-cool" as most cultured people wouldn't accept them as cool, but the majority of people at college probably would.