A Movie Script Ending?

Have we reached a point where in order to make a movie about "real life", the happy ending has to be sacrificed?!  I went to the QFT last night to watch a film called Fish Tank.  It was good, I suspose, except Christ, leaving it was such a downer.  The laughs throughout the film were generated mainly from hearing young children saying "fuck" and stuff, which in actuality, ought to have been depressing.  The main character had a weird/potentially paedophilic encounter with her mother's boyfriend, who was also secretly married with a child, had no friends, tried to free a pony which eventually got shot, and when she tried to follow her dreams of being a dancer, inadvertantly went to audition for a strip club.  Her only "good" thing was when her half boyfriend gypsy friend took her off to Cardiff in the end.  JESUS.

I have been misbehaving again recently.  However, as I am not annonymous in this, I actually can't write what I have been up to.  Shame, cause its hot.  Hahaha.

This Ain't Gonna Be Easy [Work work work]

My god, the past few days, and the imminent few days.  Thats all I have to say- My god.

Yeah, I'm pretty busy.  I'm working at a local festival, called the Openhouse Festival.  Its good fun, free music in return for pulling some pints.  If you are spirited, the tips are fairly mega too.  I also have a couple of writing gigs, which is good.  Yes, thats right, I said "good"- the universally accepted positive word to express a measured response.  Of course it is good to be getting work, to be getting recognised and approached for various projects, its just I can't help but feel that I'm perhaps on the brink of getting in over my head time wise.  I had a flash of inspiration yesterday and decided to just ring up the guy who runs Panic Dots and pitch a series to him.  He loved it, so I have to develop that fairly quickly.  I am also doing a piece for an old friend, who I really almost want to over perform for, as I was so flattered he asked me to help.  All this and lots of festival work too.

In another way, it probably couldn't have come at a better time.  I am so frustrated living at home.  I don't actually even want to write about it as it will only serve to fan the flames of irritation.  However, I applied to get on a Radio Journalism course at the BBC, where I will get a degree level diploma and 6 months direct work experience.  Basically doing all the things you simply can't get as a volunteer without technical know how.  Again, I am reluctant to talk too much about it, as I don't find out if I have got the place until Monday.  I don't want to get too excited, for fear of disappointment.  But yes, in that vein, were I to somehow secure a place, I would invariably have to stay longer at Merok.  I may apply to the Housing Benefit Executive, appeal for some sort of help.

Those French bohemians may have liked self induced poverty, but I bet they didn't live with their parents...

Fever Pitch

While I was sick during the weekend, I had one particularly fruitful night of dreams.  I was utterly convinced that many of the dreams I had would make excellent break through or defining novels/stories/screenplays for me.  Sadly I can only remember two now, but they just hit me again upstairs and I had to swallow a guffaw at my ill fevered brain.

1- "The Passion Of The Priest"-  A priest who falls in love with a poet who comes into his confessional.
2- A woman who is so tormented from her lost baby and lost love that she frequently mistakes a loaf of bread for the child.

HMM.

Parental Guidance?

How can you maintain a generation gap when the relationship between yourself and your parents is fudged to begin with?

This past week I have realised with increasing clarity that I am going to have to move out of my Mum's home soon.  It was only a temporary measure to begin with, but cracks have begun to appear.  I do enjoy a very close relationship with my mum, which is always going to shine up the good parts and highlight the faults, more so than a usual distanced parental relationship.

Recently, when I have challenged her about her acceptance of her best friend's (who is one year older than me and a gay man) really distastefully slutty behaviour of late, she fobs it off with "Ah, but he is a man, he is allowed/he has wild oats to sow,etc."  Firstly, do gay men sow oats?  It really frustrates me, because I know my mum judges me on how many male friends I have- nothing sexual involved.  I have asked her if she does not see the double standards which she is employing, and she cheerfully admits that, yes, of course she sees them, the double standards, but that she is right.

She is also overly annoyed about a recent occurance between myself and an old flame, who, yes, behaved in a less than gentlemanly manner, but all the same.  Her anger is unjustified, as I, and everyone involved, have made our peace with it, if such an action required doing.  I am of the mindset that, really, what is the point in harbouring bad feelings?  I know the person she is angry at is, at heart, a good person and regrets the actions, but her anger is damaging and I feel detrimental.  She doesn't understand my live and let live attitude, and perceives it to be indicative of me "falling under his charms again".  I feel again, that my proximity to her is drawing these negative emotions out more.

This weekend, I went out with my friend Emma and we had such a good time.  But upon returning to the house, exhausted, today, I was met with icy accusations of "abandoning her at the last minute" and not inviting her out.  I understand my mum's social nature, but I felt really annoyed.  It isn't my job to socialise with her, and I resent being punished for going out with my friends without her- I'm 23 and her DAUGHTER for Christ sakes.  We did invite her out as well, and told her during the afternoon we were going out, though she claims neither to have heard the invite, nor to have thought "we really were going out".  I am trying desperately to fight back the feelings I had as a teenager, frustrated at my mum's startling ability to fabricate truths and facts, out of thin air. 

Worst of all though today was my mum informing me that she felt depressed by me being in the house.  She said my heartbreak and sadness was difficult to deal with and she sometimes did not feel in a rush to come home.  I felt this was fair, although it jolted me, as my mum is the only person I am really truely, sorely honest with about my sadness.  I felt safe in this rawness, as she had encouraged it, and I felt that it was showing how close we'd become again.  I told her I will hide it more, because it can't be ferried off.  But I really have been a good houseguest, I do all the cleaning, laundery, cooking, etc.  I have bent over backwards, or at the very least, tried my absolute best not be intrusive, but to be helpful and respectful.  If I start to be more independent, she is wounded for not being involved.  If I give her the brutal honest relationship I thought she wanted as my mother, she is stressed.  I don't think you can cherry pick relationships and I feel like this is what she would like to do.  I don't know where to draw the line.

I really, really need to move out soon.

Two tragedies

"In this world there are only two tragedies. One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it. The last is much the worst; the last is a real tragedy!"

I really hate when something prevalent in your life only shows to highlight what you miss. 

However, last night I was not allowed to indulge in my grump slump.  Even after trotting to bed, I was dragged out to go down to the Hatfield to buy vodka and martini...which was then promptly thrown down my throat.  It doesn't necessarily help, being drunk, but it certainly brings sleep much easier. 

I do think, all the same, that I am coming down with a touch of the cold which isn't good.  HMM.

Bullet points

I feel the need to be concise.

• Got a temporary job working at the Openhouse Festival.  Yippee.
• Applied for an old school, but nonetheless potentially hilarious job.
• Dirty texted a boy I used to fancy when I was a bit drunk.
• Watched Dorian Gray at the cinema, and was highly amused when two aul grannies walked out in disgust.
• Got moderately pissed off at an old friend, as my perpetual olive branch (which she accosted me about) is being ignored.  I know that it'll somehow be my fault though when the story is relayed to other mutual friends.
• Got REALLY pissed off at a newer friend.  Have toyed with whether my rage is over the top, but have decided its not. 
• Feel a bit weirded out by my gay friend who is cheating on his boyfriend with not one, not two, but three different guys.  Am supposed to be seeing him and his actual boyfriend tonight.  Not sure I really want to, I don't want to sit there knowing what I know.

Dream Lover

Maybe it is because of the actual song I am listening to (Paris [Aeroplane Remix] by Friendly Fires), but I suddenly have a very strong and sad desire to vanish and disappear into French streets.  Any streets. 

Bit of a killer combo this morning really.  Dreamt I was with... the person I wrote the important letter to (from now on we'll call him Sam ok?  Its not his name, but I hate this lengthy explanation every time), yes so I was with Sam in a library, desperately trying not to laugh out loud. 

(According to the wise women of yore, this dream predicts that I will deceive my friends.  Not sure I see the relevance or liklihood of that.)

 It was a library I have never been to, but we were hiding under a study table between two large shelves of books on the third floor.  It was really lovely, basically the golden nuggets of dreams for me.  Waking up, I wasn't too down about it, in fact, felt grateful that if reality was going to rob me of what I really want, at least I don't have to suffer in my dreams.

So on that note, I trotted downstairs to get cracking with my work, only to very quickly become aware of a problem just sitting waiting for me.  If I have been reclusive, I will be more so now.  I feel awful and think my work today will be delicious in its melancholy.  Bathed in bitterness and seasoned with sorrow.  (Probably one of my better pieces, if only it weren't meant to be a comic number!!)

Wilde times

This weekend, I chose to be quiet.  It was great.  I know I am ignoring some things which ought to be dealt with, which are vaguely alluded to in my previous French post, but I don't care. 

I have been reading too much Oscar Wilde.  Good God I am glad I don't know him, I know he would encourage in me in the most deliciously dark ways.  I really feel like I am at a fork in the road.  My honest lifestyle is throwing up the same problems as before, if not more.  Not that they aren't much easier to deal with, for the large part, but yes.  Wilde.  By reading him, I see the many other avenues I could chose to take in terms of dealing with several of the big hitters going on at the minute.  I don't necessarily admire Wilde's morals, but he does articulate them beautifully.  I don't think he necessarily admired his morals either, but recognised they made for a good story. 

HMM.

My absence has been on purpose and I just hope the necessary "ker-plunk...shazaam!" moment of cognition has happened.  If it hasn't, fuck it.  I am going to get Wilde on it. 

I think this week I'll be bad. 

Un déguisement et une fuite.

Aujourd'hui, j'ai échappé à la ville.

Pourquoi?

Je suis en fuite.  Au moins pour le suivant pendant que.

La nuit dernière, j'ai appris quelque chose que je n'ai pas voulu savoir.  Je suis peu sûr comment m'occuper de la situation.  Un ami mien est ridicule.  Il me rend inconfortable et je commence à le détester énormément.  Ainsi j'ai voulu l'ignorer et quitter la ville.  Ce n'est pas adulte, ni très poli. Pourtant je ne me soucie pas. Je suis allé à la campagne et ai apprécié des choses simples.  Peut-être mon absense est la seule cure.  J'ai généralement le problème avec les hommes et c'est tout non invité.  Je ne veux pas blesser la susceptibilité, mais c'est un champ de mines d'émotion.  Il le bouleverse celui que j'aime est si lointain, dans chaque sens.  Et encore, apparemment je ne dois pas même essayer avec d'autres.  J'ai renoncé sur l'amour. Les gens croient que je suis dans la plaisanterie, mais je ne pouvais pas être plus sérieux.

Je l'écris dans le français comme faisant partie de ma fuite.

Peut-être je reviendrai à la société, quand la société peut agir normalement de nouveau...

Baby, baby, baby!

Oh yes, just got my first full length feature piece commissioned by an ultra hip London magazine.  I was kinda half pitching for reviews, as I couldn't really be arsed trying to be cool enough to think of a feature they'd be into.  As a joke, I said "How about 'Why the French Are The Coolest Nation On Earth?'", primarily because I've been watching, dressing, listening, eating, LOVING France today.  They were all over it, like peanut butter on toast.  Snappity Dap.  Fuck yeah, I can't wait, its gonna be pure indulgent shit, but you know, I like to give the people what they want, and they told me they "liked my style"

Who knew retardious maximus could get jobs?!

(Je suis fucking delighted.)

Right...wise up.

Indulgence over.

I got a reply to my letter of charming honesty. Thats why I became totally introverted for a few days. It blew my mind.

I basically need to fuck up my ideas.  And as of tomorrow I will do so.  The reponse generated another head melt, but at least I have drawn some conclusions.  Not that I am sharing them here of course, but sure. 

Tomorrow I am signing on again, yippee, free money.  It really is entirely the most depressing place on earth, the bloody benefits office.  Last time I went there, I had a really...what word to use.... unprofessional 'advisor', who did nothing but advise me how to screw the system into giving me more money.  I was in one of those little booths, very one on one, so I was forced to laugh, but it was nervous laughter.  I told him I'd rather keep my pockets a little leaner than totally rob my soul of any moral substance.

I also got given a really class heads up from a mate on an initiative being organised which provides training in journalism and radio production, as well as giving work experience in the media industry.  I am all over that.  I also got contacted by another e-zine today looking for contributors.  It looks cool as fuck, so I'll have to don some super fashionable clothes when I write stuff for that.  Pretend to even vaguely be cool.  I have got to keep focusing on the fact that every day good things happen to me, instead on dwelling on the bad shit.  Its the classic love letter v. bank statement battle....

I went strolling the streets today and it was like walking through my past.  I bumped into lots of people, which was quite cool in a very organic kind of way.   I bumped into my best friend from when I was 7.  She looks exactly the same, except is very much ahead of me in the "life" stakes.  All the same, all those scales fell away as we spent a good hour and half talking rubbish. 

AND....I was taken pity upon.  And got dinner in Muriel's.  Kinda crappy actually, I misordered.  All the same, some velvet sofa action always cheers me.

The worst part...

... is people telling me one of three things.

1) You'll be ok.

2) Its perfectly normal

3) You just have to get over it.

Particularly hateful people throw the trilogy at me. 

Karma Police

What a weird day.  I was still feeling a little socially spun out, but was thrown a lifebelt from the universe.  The charity my Mum works for was struggling today and so I offered to go help out.  For free.  I feel that is a karmically infalliable act?!  (Also was encouraged to leave quickly by the arrival of an extremely odd man who sat down very close to me at the City Hall.  Perhaps another sign from the universe?!)

I know I have a tendency to get too into karmic balances and stuff, but today I felt justified.  While I was helping out, I got contacted by a man I met at the lecture last week.  Basically he seemed to like my butt-bashing, geriatric-grilling style, and wanted to know if I fancied writing two articles on the Obama administration.  Best thing about this potential job is I would get paid to go to Washington for ten days.  I obviously....cmon, do you need me to say I OBVIOUSLY was all over it?  He wasn't sure if 23 was a bit young though, so I am going to have to bulk up my portfolio soon.  Or else get a fake ID.

If that is not karmic balance, I don't know what is!

I think Sunday really drained me, emotionally and physically.  Going into town I thought I was going to die.  Oddly, by the end of the day, my feet had changed colour?  I started to not only feel like death was imminent, but also look like it too...

I have actually had quite a bit of feedback about the last post, with everyone saying I should embrace mental illness and be honest as hell.  Ok, well maybe not in those exact terms, but you get the idea.  I am glad people are thinking like that because I decided the same thing shortly after writing that last post and wrote a guarded, but truthful letter which I mailed this morning.  I am terrified it will never reach its destination, but it is all I can do at the minute.  And it was charming, goddamnit.  Charming in a "Please-have-Mercy" sort of a way.

Found in my notebook a recommendation a girl I met from Holland left for me.  We'd been talking about how beards are thoroughly excellent.  Here it is.

Beard Lust By Natalie Portman's Shaved Head

Also got offered a few articles on the British Empire during the 17th Century- wowza, spare me?  Except I am in the running for them, as I want money to go to Muriels.  I literally love that bar and just want to become part of the furniture.  In a non alcoholic sense, I'm thinking more skin-turn-to-patterned-velvet.  If you wanna join, feel free...

Dare I be so doltish and indulge?

I just read about the "Sylvia Plath Effect", a term coined to describe the propensity creative writers have towards mental illness. Allegedly, the chap who came up with the phrase, a James C. Kaufmann, also claimed female poets were the most susceptible.  Am I concerned?  Hmm.  Am I surprised? Less so.

Earlier, I decided that despite any overwhelming sadness, there really is a silver lining.  Tears streaming I did confess that "I...I..*sob*...I know this is good because I do want to be punched in the face by life in every way."  It is clichéd but isn't it better to have loved and lost than never loved at all? This....This I debate. 

To feel such strong emotions is surprising to me.  Well, no, let me rephrase.  To feel this emotion surprises me.  However, how often do we surprise ourselves?  Rarely.  So in some morbid fold of my brain, I gleefully thought, wow, if I could only find some way to transfer this into my work. 

I am frequently in a state of empassioned terror at my attempt at brutal honesty.  I love it, but seeing as I write, I shudder at my honest emotions being captured down in something much less fleeting than a passing muttered statement.  I have been playfully dancing within the forays of non-fictional writing for a while now.  I do enjoy it, it requires me to think academically.  However, I know I have chosen this path out of a reluctance to truly be honest- the final hurdle in my quest for an enitrely open lifestyle.  Writing is important to me, and expression of my emotions is something I want to master. 

But yeah- lots of great writers killed themselves.  Do you think I ought to stay scared and run away from real expression, or embrace it, unleash it and potentially never recover mentally?

I am writing this entry in a state of 57% jest....

Its ridiculous...

...but today, I found myself crying over something I thought was finished.  Over. 

Its hard to know your counterpart exists without you.  A weather report made me cry the other day because I realised that someone out there is living, breathing, laughing, loving without me.  And that fucking stinks.  This is why I hate blogs, I hate this honesty, but I need to work on it.

Being Blasted By Backstreet Boys...

Tell me a lie
Oh I can't deny
That I hate you
I do.

I'm sorry if thats rash
But I'm feeling
Just like a car crash
Oh no.
Oh no.

Don't put me through this
Its a struggle, you see.
Don't put me through this
Its a struggle, you know.

Its a running joke,
That I find it hard to cope with you
Oh dear.

You're a constant struggle
And all I wanna do is blast your bubble
Oh no.  Oh no.

An Ode

My darling and my sweetheart,
I love you in truth and deed.
But daily you must fight amongst
Other things for me to read.

The Independent and Express
Try seduction but they fail.
I have even less attraction
To the Star or for the Mail.

Darling you're my one and only
I love you with all my heart
For in the face of other rags
You're witty and you're smart.

Oh Guardian you beauty
I'm glad to be your cliché
Its the least I'd give or do
To embrace you every day.

By all accounts, Elvis did actually have a monkey- a chimp, actually- but it was fond of alcohol and looking up women's skirts. Elvis was wont to refer to him as 'you coconut-headed little motherfucker'.

A Song That Can Never Exist

Is song writing cathartic? Yes. I felt angry. I wrote a song. I felt better. It can never be played, which I suppose defeats the purpose, but still.

Away and push your buttons,
You know how to work with knobs.
You ain't no friggin Elvis boy,
Despite your hot shot jobs.

Your rep overtook you,
And I defended you to the last.
Certainly you live it now
If you didn't in the past.

Soundman soundman,
Aye you're all zipped up and cool
[You think you're fucking Bono
You're not so mega cool.] /
[You wanna seem hard done by
But you're really fucking cruel.]

Get you with your lady loves
So hot and underage.
But no one wants the soundbox
When they can have mainstage.

Soundman soundman
Aye you're so ultra hot.
Truth of the matter is
You're really flippin' not.

A Fresh Start

This is probably the worst way I could start up a blog.

Its late. I'm tired, but my mind is ticking over a million things. I feel mildy worried and vaguely scared. I also feel a bit hungry.

Today, or yesterday, was all in all a full day. To go from 00.00am, I spent the first few hours in the company of probably one of the most genuinely interesting people I have met in absolutely ages. I am lucky enough to have met lots of new people recently, but none as yet have really inspired awe. I met this person towards the end of a long, debaucherous day on Saturday, and his very obvious wit sparked a desire in my drunken head to not seem too much of an idiot. Thankfully I mustn't have been too annoying- we met up last night, and the first few hours of the day were spent in his very excellent company.

When I eventually did something besides potter about on some writing projects, I decided to head into town for a lecture I was attending. It was the JFK Memorial Lecture at Queens, entitled "Leadership: The Presidential Perspective". It ought to have been excellent, but I found it a little too PG for my taste. The speakers were Dan and Peter Penn, a father and son who between the pair of them, had worked for both JFK and Obama. Nothing of any real import was said, indeed, a lot of shite was said. Dan Penn refered to elections being spiritual, which nearly made me choke on my (free) white wine. Fucking Americans. I am perpetually annoyed by the fact that they have the most beautiful constitution in the world, and continually ruin it.

Anyway, during this lecture, I got to meet lots of new people. Afterwards I went to a local restaurant and discussed the lacking elements of the lecture. It was good, I felt inspired.

However, upon coming home, I was to discover several things. My previous boyfriend, whilst "so happy I was back to ME again", apparently had expected some sort of edit on my Facebook profile, so once again had deleted me. He rang to discuss this with me, but I told him I was asleep. Yeah, I told him. Its a social networking site, WISE UP.

Sure go and cry your eyes
Throw the toy from the pram
Theres nothing more attractive
Than teardrops on a man.

I just actually find it marginally hurtful the way he has done this several times now. Its so childish and whilst it is a small action, it makes me feel guilty for living my life according to some credence which he does not approve of.

On top of this my previous previous boyfriend contacted me, talking shit in a vague and generally rude manner in a hopeless attempt at explaining his recent behaviour. He has swung between talking to me, discussing future reconciliations and then completely ignoring me. I don't like to read into other people's actions anymore- we have no control over what people do, so I try to live and let live. But I realised after the really enjoyable and lovely company of last night, I actually like being in nice company. I like being treated with an ion of respect. I'm no princess, but I realised by the sharp contrast of treatments that I had really allowed myself to be walked over. The previous previous boyfriend and I had a mini fight. He told me he knew he deserved to crawl into a hole somewhere. I didn't argue back too vehemently.

THere are a couple of other issues that bugged me too tonight, but what is the point on dwelling? All of them annoyed me until, once again, I realised that I was happy with my actions and that is really all I can control. If other people's actions upset me, I've clearly projected some sort of expectation onto them, and thats ridiculous. I got over my anger, my disappointment.

I then listened to lots of music, got tired and allowed a mist of melancholy to wash over me. A strong desire to share to an abyss, a creation of a blog.

Worst. Idea. Ever.