Thursday, 29 December 2011

We have arrived here again.


It has come to that quiet point.

That lonely silent week between two great cacophonous medleys of chaos.

I am alone, I have been alone for some time. Searching for sounds on digital waves to remind myself that there are others out there on this lonely husk of a planet.

Even the facebook is slow and with little charm. Not that it ever has anything close to charm when it is busy.

my soul
I find myself on the strange and unearthly part of youtube, watching videos of things that no person should ever have to see and then deleting my viewing history in wretched, pitiful shame.

I hear the hum of distant traffic, a mechanical echo of the world outside, the world beyond my window, beyond the threshold of my solitary retreat.

I beg for peace and silence and solitude in order to think and write and reflect. Yet when this silent gift is handed to me, by the Gods of chance and fortitude, I reach out, pained by the noiseless empty space I occupy.

God I’m bored.

Wednesday, 28 December 2011

That was the end

Urgh! Thank God it’s over!

I feel like I’ve had something removed, like an abscess, or a child.

I feel blessed relief, a strange sense of freedom and release as if the black cloud, that had been pressing ever closer, has finally dispersed. Although not before squeezing into my brain causing me fits, blackouts and searing pain.

But now it is over. It is gone.

However I urge caution, for it won’t be too long before the clouds start to gather on the horizon once again and we have just under a year to prepare ourselves.

even that won't keep him down
Oh and this time we shall be prepared!

We must remember these past few days, we must force the memories to remain engrained on our minds, however agonising it may be. We must not allow nostalgia to rose-tint the memories of the weekend, to cloud our judgement or numb the pain.

It has been hard being away from my little bloggity blog and I am convinced that you have missed my ever comforting words. Now stay strong with me over these coming months and together we will hold off the horror of that which must not be named.

Friday, 23 December 2011

The mundane non-event of the cat in the daytime

I was approached by a small kitton with ears and a tiny little tongue. It looked at me with its face of faces and it beckoned me lower to the ground so that I may hear its whispered words.

“Lady person person lady please” It said, well I suppose you can’t expect much sense and grammar from kitten, it was like three months old, I was talking rubbish at three months as well.

Anyway.

“Lady person person lady please” It said with wide eyes, teeth and ears and all that kitteny stuff “What is your opinion with regards to Karaoke?”

this is not the kitten in question

 “Well” I replied, pleased that after having taken the trouble of learning to talk, the kitten had also spent some time cultivating enough knowledge of our world and culture to enable it to come up with a suitable conversation starter.

“Well” I repeated for no reason other than to lengthen the story “you may think that I am opposed to Karaoke…”

Now I have to admit that I do assume that most people would assume (and one must never assume for it makes and ass out of you and me) that I do not think much of karaoke and I will admit that at 2am on a workday when the next door neighbours are clearly inebriated beyond the point of any scrap of talent they may have had, then I would say that I fundamentally disagree with the existence of karaoke.

However that is not to say that I would ordinarily disagree with karaoke.

Just because your sense of what is ‘fun’ and my sense of what is ‘fun’ are aligned along different wavelengths, doesn’t mean that I have to hate everything you hold dear to you heart.

Now this does not mean I am going to watch ‘Big Brother’ with you. So don’t get excited.

However I do have to admit that on occasion I have been persuaded, with very little persuasion I might add, to participate in the subtle art of the karaoke.

So what did I tell the kitten?

Well I told it nothing. I chopped off its ears and fried them with a little salt and some olive oil.

Nom nom.

Thursday, 22 December 2011

Just something else to eat my soul

Right well that’s it isn’t it?

Someone has done something and gotten some kind of recognition and semi award for it. Well dooby doo.

Of course I now have to do obligatory thing and do the whole “Oooh congratulations, I lick your feet person of greater worth and value!” licky licky

The fact that I have been overlooked, that my passion skill, wit, intelligence and talent has been spurned by those who deem themselves to be worthy of placing judgment on others, clearly has nothing to do with any of this at all.

So here we go, it is a votey thing. This means you have to go onto the video on the youtoob and clicky clicky the votey vote button. Can you manage that small sequence of events? You mindless baboon.

Well here is the video:


You have to click on the place it says youtube, that will then take you to youtube and then you follow the instructions.
 
Just remember of course that every time you vote for this video that you are eating away a tiny part of my soul. That you are beating my body with the spoon of hatred.

But I will have you know that no matter how much of my life-force you chip away, you will never destroy me! You cannot destroy me!

For I have strengthened my immortal soul by splitting it into a thousand pieces and spreading those across the globe. I have learnt from my foolish predecessor not to hide these in plain sight but to actually fricken hide them! Are they a single pebble on a beach being washed away by the ocean? Are they steel beams integrated into the mightiest building? Or indeed could I take part of my soul and place it into the body of another?

Could it be that I could ensure my existence lies trapped inside your body and that you cannot live without guaranteeing my own life?

Who knows? Who can say?

All I will say now is that the next time you see me, the next time we pass one another in one of those god awful places you insist on going, just ask yourself: 

Have I got something to put in you?  

Buried beneath a synthetic joyless replica world


At this very moment I am buried amongst tinsel, the feather boa type tinsel, the stuff that can be stapled to your desk while you’re not looking. I feel like I’ve been violated by giant synthetic slug and its left it’s silver plastic trail like the string of polymers that make up its synthetic DNA.

Are we all so soulless and without humanity that a shiny brightly coloured plastic blob of crap brings us joy?

Is that joy as artificial as the decorative objects it has been enhanced by?

Does it matter what the root of joy is? As long as there is laughter and light, does it matter that the light is emanating from a diode and not from the sun? Or that the laughter is brought about by a plastic man removing plastic trousers and displaying a plastic bottom?

Would it be classier if the bottom was real? Certainly not.

Will we all die if the light from our sun were to be covered and we were all given its essential vitamin D in pill form or through some electric sunlight replica? No we would not die.

but is it real?
Would we all melt if the music that we listened to was created not by the creativity of passionate and dedicated music lover but by the programming of a specialised computer system? Nah, we’d be fine.

It doesn’t matter if it’s plastic. It’s doesn’t matter if it’s fake. The feeling is real, why have a plastic decoration at all, just put it on your computer desktop, not the real solid desktop, what a waste!

Let’s all go the way of 15 million merits and just decorate our interweb space.

In fact if we gonna go to all that trouble, we might as well just plug ourselves into the computer and not look at real things at all, they can all be copied.

Why even look at things? We could just get someone to poke our brain a bit. Cut out the middle man and just prod our laughter button, or joy button or whatever other button needs to be pressed.

Wouldn’t that be lovely?

Wednesday, 21 December 2011

Our Darkest Hour

Where have you been? What have you been doing? You haven’t updated your blog in days!

These are the cries I hear echoing through the halls of our mutual existence and I heed your little voices, my minions. I hear your pitiful cries as you pine for my words. So hear I am, throwing scraps of my own fascinating thoughts in your general direction so you can gobble them up and enrich your strange, little, fetid mind.

Well first of all I have made cookie dough. I am sure it is lovely but I overlooked the fact that I am dairy, wheat and gluten intolerant, so I have made unintentionally altruistic cookie dough, I shall give it away at some point. Not to you though so don’t get excited.

Also I desperately need to tell you that we are in the dying moments of the year!

“Oh but it’s not New Years Eve?!” I hear you grunt in vague protest.

Well we are not all tied to the Gregorian Calendar like rats in a bucket of glue, some of us have a mind free of restraint. Well, partly.

It is the last day of the year, because it is the darkest and shortest day of the year. The Northern Hemisphere has reached its darkest turn (I am ignoring the southern hemisphere and their heathen summer and as for the equator, well the least said about that lot the better) and from this point forth the days become lighter and longer.

gobble gobble
“Why do you care? You’re a vampiristic troglodyte!” This is a vicious and unfounded rumour and has no basis in fact. I have never lived in a cave and I have not drunk any blood in years.

Anyway we have reached our darkest point, our longest night and yet the world moves perpetually forward, carrying our pitiful lives on its back like nuclear-capable fleas on a mongrel rock. I’m sure there is a deeper meaning in this isn’t there? About how we always get through the worst of times etc...

Well I’ve done most of the work for you, I’m sure you can find your own meaning in it somewhere.

Now stop bothering me with your mindless heckling.

Monday, 19 December 2011

Why is everything just absurd?


Am I the only one who has problems with these things?

I mean really, everyone else in the world, especially small children, understand all these technology things, why am I stuck at the back of the class with a furrowed brow?

I am a genius goddammit! Why won’t my brain realise this and be useful to me?

I can just about cope with all the tweets and tubes and pokes and tags… it is the MPV’s and the FLR’s and the avatars (my understanding of the word avatar is clearly very different to the rest of the world) oh and then we get on to the html…

Now this is just absurd; all the colours have a little code like #00000F for example, so you input the secret code and out comes a completely different colour to the one you expected because you haven’t memorised the exact number of zero’s or whatever.

Why is there a code?

I’ll tell you why there is a code - it is so nerdy, crazy, uncommunicative people with no social skills can create an elite system which they understand and therefore feel superior to anyone who does have the ability to talk to others. It is the equivalent of elvish or klingon. It is not useful!

smarmy git
“Oh but it’s the programming language, you have to use the language for the computer otherwise it won’t work.” Blah blah blah… we created the friggen computers, we could make the damn things understand whatever the frick we want them to understand you fool!

There was no need to create this ‘code’ for all the different colours, for someone to sit there wasting their time lining up all the different colours of the spectrum and assigning them numbers based on their position in their little chart. Why? Because we all ready have a code word for black... its flippin’ BLACK you moron.

“oh oh oh… but we needed a universal language so all the people of the world could choose their background colour in harmony….”

Then pick a language that already exists rather than making one up that only friggen Rain Man could understand.

Friday, 16 December 2011

IT'S ON IT'S WAY!!!!!

Right well it’s getting awfully close isn’t it! People are getting all excited about it, it’s all over the radio. It seems to be on most people’s minds at the moment, there are even people selling illegal tickets to it.

I mean the Olympics of course, silly. What else could I possibly be referring to?

Are you excited? If you are excited then I really have to ask why?



From the moment I heard we had won them I was in despair. Admittedly we beat France, which is always satisfying, but chuffing Nora what are we doing?

We are going to humiliate our country with the opening ceremony, the only way we can possibly get through it is if the whole two hours is just Boris Johnson running around waving a flag. If we bring back that red bus with the reality show winner atop a pedestal I may have to be sick all over it. Sick with shame.

Then there is the actual Sporting events them selves. Suddenly we have hundreds of people queuing (in a sense queuing, there are no physical queues) for tickets for events they don’t even like. When has anyone ever willingly gone as a spectator, not as a relative or friend of a participant, to an Archery tournament? I think the last time would have been around 1714 and even then they only went for the port.

People are paying thousands of pounds (mostly to websites that don’t actually have any to sell anyway) for these tickets, some people even bid for hundreds of random tickets in the hope that they would get one or two. What for? So they could sit miles away from someone running at a stick.

Go to a friggin sports day, there’ll be more drama.

Although if you don’t have children participating in the event, you may get arrested.

Wednesday, 14 December 2011

I’m going to destroy the world.

I could say that I’m going to start with the morons and then work my way up. But let’s face it, once I’ve finished with the morons there will be no one left. The cities will be left to become empty, desolate waste. The countryside will be left, once again, to the badgers, kings of the wilderness. Giant, oxygen-excreting worms will evolve and live in the tube network (you’ll only get that if you’ve seen Dune and even then it is a very dubious joke).

Why this sudden hatred of morons?

Well it’s not flippin’ sudden for starters but I’m all riled up cos of all this chatting malark.

Yeah that’s right, chatting. Mindless, uninspiring , vapid chit chat. I have noted in the recent past that I am not a fan of talking to people. But I am even less of a fan of people talking to me.

Banter is fine. Conversation is good. Chit chat is inane and hurts my face. Like sharp pins gouging out the last crumbs of intellect from my mind.

“Oh I put lots of hairspray on this morning.” So? I don’t care. Don’t do it again. It should burn well. What do you want me to say to this? It isn’t a question it’s a random, pointless statement. Are you looking for reassurance? “No Dahling you have placed the perfect amount of spray on your hair, your likeness to a bouffant with a cretin attached is purely coincidence.” I am at a loss.

“Oh I’m always forgetting how hot super noodles are.” ...Erm... well try to remember. Don’t burn your face off. You should work on avoiding the glutinous mass of pre-digested food in the first place; if indeed it can be called food when it clearly isn’t fit for human consumption. Sod off and leave me in peace to consume my gluten free, dairy free, taste free misery meal of hate on a plate.

Stop it. Stop the chittity chat!

The whole thing was only started so that soldiers had something to do while they were picking the body lice out of their clothes in the infestation ridden trenches. They needed to take their mind off pain, misery, hideous living conditions and the horror of war, not fill their vacuous minds with banality. They had an excuse.

I do not tolerate it. I cannot tolerate it. I will destroy you all. But first: Lunch. Then maybe a nap.

Tuesday, 13 December 2011

Bloggity Blog

Well I have spent the last few days festering in my jiminy jams. Lovely. It meant that I did have a chance to catch up on some television. Woo hoo!

I watched Silent Running.

Ah, brilliant film. I was a little annoyed that he so easily let the other plant spheres go. I was also a little annoyed at the arrogance of the Americans to think that in the future they would be the only nation to want to preserve the forests, so that when the Americans decided to destroy the last American forests they would, by default, be destroying the last forests in existence.  Rubbish. There would be loads of other nations preserving forests - Canada, Denmark, Finland, Sweden just to name the most likely - in fact the only way that America would be the last nation to have a forest is if America was the last nation.


‘Twas lovely. I do like Charlie Brooker (shock) and so peering deeper into his mind was a delight and I can’t wait to watch the next one – which should be on demand. Yay the internet!

Lastly I watched a few episodes of Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace. It was so good I could eat it. I need to watch the other episodes but there is so little time.

who is this?
I like Alice Lowe (I liked the others, but I know what happened to them) and did a bit of rooting – I didn’t recognise her from Hot Fuzz, I shall have to watch it again to admire her performance.

But I did discover her websites, and I liked Jackal which has lots of short films. I didn’t have the eye capacity to watch them all but I suggest you watch some. Just a friggen suggestion, don’t get all hoity toity.

Some are strange. Some are funny. Some are strangely funny.

I feel that I may have to do my very own documentary following a pop star. It is time.

Saturday, 10 December 2011

There’s no way out.

Oh lore.

I’m going to have to do it, there is no way around it. Absolutely no way.

Personally I find it embarrassing. I know there are a lot of people out there that do it, people you wouldn’t expect. I have been surprised to discover the kind of people that do it, it has changed my opinion of them.

I won’t say it has become higher or lower, just different. After all, we all have different ways of expressing our self and one should never judge.

I remember a long while ago the first time I found a friend had done it she became all defensive about it. I laughed and mocked at the time but I have to say that practice made perfect and she is very good at it. A little too good in fact.

Most people are actually quite rubbish at it but still shove their attempts on facebook.

I honestly don’t know if this is through bravery or pure, blind stupidity. Which is why I say my opinion of people becomes neither higher nor lower when I discover that they take photos or videos of themselves. Often in the mirror, often with the camera/phone still in shot.

These things freak me out. What the frick are they doing?
Why do I have to take part in this bizarre ritual? I hear you ask with fervour…

Well because my attempts at filmmaking (usually spent cackling at those patient enough to follow my obscure instructions) has not yet borne any fruit.

I have to reluctantly admit that this may have something to do with the fact that I have absolutely no idea what’s going on and glaze over with disinterest when someone starts talking about white balance….even the thought of it sends me drifting off…

However I must learn, or remain stagnating in the fishpond of obscurity.

So I’m going to practice, with a camera and everything. Just so that I know how to put a scene together in an order which actually makes some sort of sense. I’ve started drivelling on about scenes now, I’m boring myself.

Oh sod off and leave me to it.

Thursday, 8 December 2011

The Edge of the Apocalypse is on the Horizon!

Is it me?
Well this is clearly the first stage of a Zombie apocalypse.

We all know that the calendar runs out next year (The Mayan Calendar of course) and this combined with a number of references in Revelations and a few Jesus nuts let loose with mathematical Formulae has  confirmed that 2012 is The End.

The final year.

The Apocalypse.

I won’t say Armageddon, because we’ve already had that.

My reasoning?

Well cos everyone is friggen ill, that’s why. That’s how it starts, a few people get ill, they die and then rise as a Zombie army.

The only thing that is making me doubt this assertion is that I am one of the ill ones. Looks like I’m going down in the first wave.

Which is funny as I always thought I would be one of the stalwart and unlikely survivors, but it wouldn’t surprise me if I was like the Queen Zombie and only my demise can signal the end of the Zombie reign.

Either that or it will turn out that I am immune and never get turned into a zombie, but instead hold the cure for the entire human race.

Now there’s a thought.

Either way you can clearly see that I am far too important to be zombie fodder.

Wednesday, 7 December 2011

Mustn’t Grumble.

Why mustn’t I? I have a perfect right to grumble, do I not?

I live in a land (largely) free from tyranny, with free speech a staple of our democracy, why can I not grumble about the things I deem to be grumble worthy?

I pay no heed to these northern sayings. I shall continue to grumble, mainly due to the cold which has decided to park itself on my chest.

As this dreaded illness holds me coughing and spluttering within its taloned grasp, I fear my entries may become shorter and shorter as I weaken under the weight of the nasty, chesty cough.

I feel like that nasty mucus monkey is sitting on my face and his frenzied children are dancing on my lungs. I’ve lost all faith in lemsip and even Benylin’s effect has been weakend by the strength of my terrible condition.

Not only do I suffer under the wrath of infection but I am surrounded by those in a similar (but lesser) condition, coughing and wheezing and spitting, until the air is filled with the juices of contagion.

It’s gross.

On another note I have written a truly terrifying Ghost Story (Well it might make someone of a delicate nature slightly perturbed) so we can all gather round and listen to each others creepy tales of creepiness.

It means more filming. Woo hoo!

But I still haven’t edited my first film. Boo!

Oh well, whatever. Mustn’t grumble.

Tuesday, 6 December 2011

Pot, Kettle?

I know I shouldn’t share too many thoughts with you in one day, I’ll get myself all over tired and have to go for a little sleep in the corner.



However I felt compelled to share this most important thingy!



I just wonder how Cadbury (Kraft (evil)) has the audacity to imply that the Olympic Mascots lack substance.

Although I do have to agree with them on this point.

Surely a mascot or a motto or a crest is supposed to be symbolic, to demote meaning, it is an image which clearly conveys the message of a group or family etc it is rooted in history and has some relevance. By looking at the mascot you have some understanding of the people.

These sad excuses for mascots were dreamt up around a conference table in a brainstorming session focusing on branding and market potential.

And why the frick is their head an eye? What does this mean?

Deck the halls and walls and streets and...

Well it’s everywhere. You can’t breathe for it. In fact it is probably on our lungs clogging up the airways. I wonder how many people choke to death every year on Christmas decorations.


Watched somebody spend most of their lunch break (at least I hope it was their friggen lunch break) decorating a tree, only to realise there was no where to put it.


Cue crisis meeting.


do you have one too many?
I also got accosted by freakin’ weird lookin’ elves the other day. To be honest they scared the bejesus out of me. Some one had got these strange old, (like really old, like shoved in a loft for 30 years, with owls nesting in their faces) mannequins, dressed in vaguely Christmassy stuff, i.e. anything green and/or red and then shoved them on the street outside their house. Just shoved.


As if that was all the Christmas spirit that was needed. A bit of shovage, that’ll do. Ahhh.


Then you get the nutters who drench their house in Christmas, pour Christmas in all the windows and chuck buckets of it on the drive, then sit inside all comfy knowing that the world outside is dying under the radioactive glare of their cheap, tacky, joyless, festive, vomit.


I might put up a tree, I’m not soulless. I’m no Christmas hater.


But really, there are limits.


Monday, 5 December 2011

Evil Travels by Rail

I’m feeling a bit cough cough sick sick. So my ranting will not have its usual venom. I have not the taste for it today.

However I had the misfortune to be on a delayed train yesterday, I had someone coming to pick me up at the other side but had no way of telling what time the train would be arriving at the destination.

I had access to an iPhone and thought (sensibly) that I would look online. I had to put up with intermittent internet connection but upon seeing the ‘free wifi’ signs I thought ‘nice, I’ll have a bash at that’.

As long as you pay the fee
Nope. Apparently the wifi is only free once you have paid the fee.

I cannot even begin to fathom this and it enrages me so!

But even when using the intermittent internet I could only find out the route times of trains which had yet to leave (brilliant) or arrival times of trains without access to their leaving times so I had no idea which train was mine.

Needless to say I eventually arrived but was so angered I have taken to my sick bed.

Friday, 2 December 2011

Flippin’ 'eck

I’m at the point of distraction. My innocent phone is being an arse!

A big, giant, wobbly, hairy arse of epic proportions.

I have put up with its many inadequacies including its ungainly figure and nail trapping buttons, its bizarre menu layout (I imagine every sensible layout had been copy written) and truly awful ringtone library.

But all this is nothing in comparison to its demented personality. It chooses its own ringtone as my choices are inadequate (it doesn’t like Dolly Parton apparently) it writes its own text messages or inserts peculiar word or number choices into my own. It chooses when to take photos, not when I want, but when it thinks that perhaps it has captured something magical, like my nose.

He's a bloody cocky git an' all
Its worst habit is lying. It lies about having received messages, or having sent messages, it lies about people ringing me, as if it is too embarrassed to tell me that I missed a call. And most annoying of all it lies about being charged. Three seconds after attaching it to the charger it emphatically screams “I’m Charged!” It bloody isn’t.

‘Get a new one then!’ I hear you shout with exasperation.

But what? I am utterly befuddled by things which zap and swing and sing. I want a neat little brick that makes and receives calls. If it is not too much effort I would like it to have a text message service as well (I hate talking to people).

I don’t even want a camera. My life is miserable enough without proof.

I don’t want to pay one million pounds a month for the rest of my life for a complicated piece of gadgetry which will never be used to its full potential and is out of date before it hits the shelves.

And now, thanks to the overcomplicated world of ‘the latest thing’ I sound like a barmy old bint that accuses iPod’s of sorcery. Well thank you very much.

Thursday, 1 December 2011

Yo ma bro! It’s no mo! mo fo!

These buggers are out again.

You may not understand the above sentence, I certainly don’t, however it has something to do with supposed altruism.

Charity muggers were never my favouritist of peoples (even the one that sang the Thundercats theme to me) but over the years I have become aware of worse.

I’ve heard of compassion fatigue. I don’t have compassion fatigue. I still have the same compassion for others that I have always had (don’t be funny). What I don’t have is an interest in a middle aged woman waddling half a mile around a park, or someone wearing a pair of jeans. I’m sure that there are further depths to plummet (I have faith in the human race) but over the last month I think I have witnessed the nadir of pointless things to sponsor.

Countless men (I’m sure someone somewhere has counted the number of participants, in fact they probably got sponsored to do it but I don’t care enough to do the research) across the country have been growing their facial hair. As in they have actively been growing their facial hair. As in they have not shaved. They have stopped completing their daily grooming regime in order to sprout facial fungus and waft it in my direction. 

Well pat yourselves on the back lads, you didn’t shave properly for a month, here’s a fiver.

How much will I get if I refuse to shave my legs? It’s getting cold I could do with an extra layer. I promise that if you give me a wad of cash I’ll donate it somewhere. In fact I should probably do in the middle of summer; I shall walk down a crowded beach in a bikini and all my unshaven glory, I shall do it to raise awareness of Skin Cancer wouldn’t that be lovely? Wouldn’t that make us all think about Cancer? And the effect of Cancer? And the money needed to support research into Cancer? Or would it just make everyone a bit sick?

Or maybe I won’t wash for a month to improve awareness of lyme disease? Or even better I’ll just lay in bed and do nothing to raise awareness of ‘locked in syndrome’?

How many people have decided to do something banal or even fulfil a personal ambition or something that they were going to do anyway and have then gone out to look for a worthy cause to give them an excuse? Such selfless people.

Worthy Cause! Worthy Cause! Worthy Cause! Worthy Cause! Worthy Cause!

We have all been reduced to judging a worthy cause by whoever has the loudest voice or the stupidest idea. If I’m gonna give away my money I’m gonna do it for a reason. I’m going to give money to help fund research into prevention and cures for Cancer. Not cos some bloke couldn’t be arsed to shave.