Pulling me in closer...

It's six am and I've not slept. Gosh it's been an interesting few days.
I dropped someone home at around 3 (more on that later? probably not, not for a few months at least), But when I got home I sat down and started playing piano(Keyboard, technically), I got one for Christmas. Even though it was three, my head was hurting and I was tired, I played till about four-thirty. I really love playing, I'm pretty balls at it but I've not had any real lessons, just a few titbits Martin throws at me. I really wish I were better. Better at piano, better at guitar, better at filming, better at listening, better at remembering and better at writing. But everyone wishes they were better at something. I suppose I don't really wish I were better at anything except having the drive to get better at things. That's the main problem. There's no point wishing about it, it's all fully achievable, all it takes is drive. But how do you attain the drive to do things? I think for me it's people, at the end of last year I had quite a lot of drive to get better at guitar, and I did. For about four months. I was playing because I hated someone, I sort of still do, but it was long ago and it was far away, oh god it feels so very far. And if life is just a highway, then the soul is just a car. Oh, whoops, I fell into some Meat Loaf, sorry. After about four months the main anguish had worn off and I didn't care, I was too depressed to care, never having enough drive to do anything. The only truly creative thing I managed to finish after that faithful October was "Al Gores Magic Enviro-Movie" (I'm trying to get the tapes back so I can re-edit a copy. The original seems to have been swallowed by London Met, stay tuned). It was the only creative thing I did for almost a year, but I did it in November, when my Hate Drive was in top gear. Other than that I managed a vague treatment for a film about parallel universes and teleporty bollocks, a silly action romp disguised as a drama, looking back I see it was silly... It shouldn't be a serious Jason Bournesque film, it should me a mental, madcap Jackie Chan style flick. But it's a sad thought that didn't write for a year. Why not? I don't know, I suppose after a few months that hate consumed everything I wanted to do. I'd given up. It didn't go till the summer. Lately it's picked back up, that treatment I've just mentioned has bubbled up and now I'm thinking of all the ways it could be fun and silly. Other than that though, I got back into playing music. Hell, now I'm actually attempting (badly) to and write some myself. And I'm loving the piano, I don't know why, it just makes me happy sitting there twiddling away at keys. I really should get some lessons though, or read some theory, figure out some scales. Currently I just play random songs that I like, if I got some scales down I could sit there flying around the keyboard for hours.
I'm going to start wrapping this up now as it's taken me half an hour so far. God my head hurts.
The thing I really want drive for though is my writing. I've had actual ideas, but it's all just flying around. I need to get something down but haven't had enough drive to write. If I can't write a silly blog post then how am I going to be able to tell my current mad adventure? I don't know. This other person is helping though, just being around them gives me ideas. Makes my mind soar. Russell T Davies has helped too, there's a fantastic book called Doctor Who: The Writers Tale. Highly recommended for anyone that wants to write.. Well.. Anything really.

But this blog post was mostly down to me. In my head I was screaming at myself to write something, just get started. And eventually, I did. Now forty five minutes later my head still hurts, but I've written a page. Even if it is just a stupid, stupid ramble and none of it means anything. It's still something. Ish.

Maybe tomorrow I'll start work on my adventure game. (Shit. I just lost the game.)

But yeah, that'd be nice.


Peace and Fucking.

Shambles...

First of all, I know I haven't said much for a while, but this is just going to be a rant, I just need to vent, I'll do something real later.

I just got back from a night of drinking, we were at a place on old street till 6:30-11, then down to The Rocket at Euston, one of my favorite pubs. It's got decent music, low prices, friendly folk and a nice bar staff... Usually..

I went in today and there were two people stood separately at the bar, a man and a woman, the man being served. En route to the bar another man joined. When the first fellow had finished the barmaid came to me asking what I wanted. I, being that sort of person, pointed to the woman that had been waiting there longer and made reference to the fact. "I think it was her next".
So, of course, she walks over and serves the man. Ugghh. The woman looks at me with that, "oh, what a silly barmaid" look, I concur. While she is serving this chap four more people join us in our barside limbo.
After serving the man she goes to one of the fresh faces next to myself, blatantly leaving out the woman, he gestures to me saying it was my turn. I figure at this point she is obviously a moron with no facial recognition, this is why you hire Australians, it's Instinct.

Anyway, I decide to get my drinks instead of taking my chances and rolling the dice on who she might try and serve after I attempt to guide her toward the woman again. I get my drinks and while paying say, "I think it was actually that woman next"...

She clicks her fingers and points at me saying, "Great, thanks for telling me how to do my job".

A million thoughts run through my head, "If you'd have been doing it properly I wouldn't have to", "I was only trying to help, there's no need to be a dick about it", "Sorry, I didn't realise it was that time of the month", "She was standing right there, you ignored her twice, I wanted to check if you were in fact blind", "Fucking hell, I was only trying to be nice, she had been waiting since before I even walked in, you missed serving both of the people waiting at the bar before trying to serve me even though there were only three of us, I was actually trying to be nice to you so the other people waiting don't think 'What's up with this bitch, I've been waiting here for ages, she's looked directly at me and not actually bothered to serve me. I'm never coming here again, and if I do for some unforeseeable reason I'll make every effort to ridicule and taunt her, maybe even try and trip her over if she's walking by, what a cunt.' You see, I was only trying to be nice, and you just jumped down my throat about it. Fuck you for being so fucking sarcastic, I'm a sarcastic bastard most of the time, but usually only when people deserve it, which most of the time they do. But in this case I did not, I was simply trying to help a fellow patron. Do your job and people won't have to fucking call you up on it. Cunt."


But of course, I said none of that, because I really like this place and I genuinely try not to get on anyone's bad side, instead I just looked shocked while she walked off, then I turned to my friend and said, "What the fuck". He said it was probably just a joke, but then I said he was Mexican, and wouldn't understand unless it was a plot line in an overly dramatic soap opera... Well, I didn't say that either, but I should have done. I was too annoyed, it's two and a half hours later and I'm still annoyed, I don't know why. I like to think she's now going to hell and I've got a free pass just for putting up with her bullshit.


Peace and Fucking.

What the hell is this ITV? How dare you. Actually how dare you.. Actually how dare you..

I don't know how they manage it but ITV manage to piss me off at least 84% more than any other channel. It's never anything big, just little retarded things they do that make me wonder who the fuck is running the channel.
Today I was watching The World Is Not Enough, I always thought it was pretty shit, but I was waiting for Entourage to start, which, by the way, was an awesome episode. It's about 10 minutes till the end of the film and Bond is in the final fight with that henchman fellow, I don't know his name. They're fighting inside a submarine and it's a decent fight, until ITV fucked it up. This huge white box slides in from the right of the screen, literally taking up 50 percent of the screen. Inside the cyclopean box is small green box, about 5 percent the size of the screen, which says about Die Another Day being on tomorrow, then the sound drops and a voice over comes on and says it too, but it keeps going, trying to make it more exciting, blathering away. The voice over is going for about 25 seconds! All the while the sound has been dropped on the most climactic point of the damn film. The voice over eventually shuts up, but the sound stays dropped, then twenty seconds later the box slides back off the screen and the sound returns, just as the scene finishes. What. The. Fuck.

I really do give up on ITV, especially after that Dita fiasco a few weeks back. I'm just going to use them to watch Entourage, I'm not even going to bother with Al Murray, I'm just going to download it instead and fuck up their ratings.

Bunch of cunts.


Peace and Fucking.

Hmm..

Well, once again my blog writing was the cruel victim of the rest of the Internet. I started writing a post about my, frankly, terrible Sunday. It was pretty good, melancholy oozed out of it like blood from a zombie. However, I got distracted by 'teh Internets' and fell short once more. I was tempted to finish it off and post it anyway, but it was a spur of the moment piece, full of brutal misanthropy. I'm just not in the mood now. I blame Voltaire, his music makes me too happy.

"Well Blackbeard the pirate, you know for what he's feared,
It's mostly for the colour of his dark imposing beard.
He saw the beast and now nobody is scared of him because,
his beard turned white and all agree he looks like Santa Clause."

It's also got an accordion in it. I can't think of any reason to be upset when listening to one of them.

I've also finally gotten round to listening to Giant Squid and my is it good. Exceptionally so. It all sounds fairly standard, yet graphically awesome. And the lead singers voice is so painfully tortured yet beautiful. He almost sounds like Serj Tankian at points, however, the lead singer, Aaron Gregory's warblings fit the tune perfectly without seeming overused or stretched, as can be the case with the aforementioned Tankian fellows. Versus The Siren starts as a beautiful synthesizer filled dream whisper, flying you away through the clouds before brutally smashing your head against a rock a few minutes in. Then at the end giving you a soft cuddle with some, almost noir, saxamaphone vibes.

This week I've also managed to give 'Dreams Of My Sky' AKA 'Сны моего неба' AKA 'Alexi, that Russian chap' the full attention he deserves. I listened to every song I have by him over the course of a day and can finally see why the term Post-Rock Powerhouse applies perfectly. He manages to make every song seem simple but meticulously crafted. The songs cause you to loose time like I loose sleep, you can listen to a few ten minute tracks thinking only those ten minutes have passed when in fact it's been fifty (this is another reason I missed out on posting last Sunday). I really need to find out more about this band, which brings me to my next factoid.

I had to do a presentation about my current film project at uni on Monday, it was full on. We had to stand in front of the class and deliver the pitch to my teacher, the rest of the class and an actual commissioning editor for a Pakistani TV channel (It's complicated, don't ask), she was really nice though, I've always pictured commissioning editors as gormless media tits trying to shoehorn Barry Shitpeas into anything as often as they possibly can, but no, apparently not.

Anyway, I had to come up with a name, which I didn't know about. The best I could manage in the 15 seconds of thought I had was Forsaken. Which was balls. After three hours of thought yesterday I've come up with a new name and a varied plot line which fleshes out the back story and actually makes it all TOTALLY FACKEEN ORESUM.
Wait, what was my point? Oh, yeah, during my pitch I decided to set the mood a little, dim the lights, whack on a few film noir screenies in a slide show rotating in the background, along with The Sad Mafioso movement from the song East Hastings by Godspeed You Black Emperor! It really helped.

Later another chap in my class, Ilya, got up to do his pitch, he killed all the lights so we were in pretty much total darkness. He then hit play on his laptop, and what befell my ears, was post-rock. Awwww fucking yeahhh. The factoid I was going to get at was, he's Russian, he knows his music and I played him Alexi and he liked. But the epic thing is he can actually tell me how the fuck I pronounce Сны моего неба. Shit yeah. Tomorrow I'm going to see if he knows any sites that could be like a Russian version of Myspace in the hopes of finding out more about Dreams Of My Sky. Also in my class is a girl who likes Isis! WHUT.

That's pretty much it for the last few days, though I do think I've managed to come up with a Post-Country riff that I'm pretty fucking happy about, I'm working on making it a full tune at the moment...

...Well, not the current moment, it's far to late to be being loud...

Anyway, I'm going to fuck off to bed now, it's four in the morning and I can barely see.

Peace and Fucking.

So...

I was writing this hilariously witty first post about what I would be writing in further posts and about going to a post-rock gig, there was going to be a sub-plot involving me shoehorning in as many uses of the word post as possible. Unfortunately, I realised three weeks had passed since I was last working on it. I've therefore given up, in order to (The) Progress.


Oh, and I've decided I want a doormat that says:

"Come the fuck in or fuck the fuck off."