Russian, Standard.

Again, distant crazy lands of magic and mystery have been calling me. I’m not one to believe in ‘signs’ or ‘fate’  as such, but sometimes there seem to be a few too many coincidences that connect in odd little ways for me to not pay attention.

Ljubljana, Paris, Holland, London, Ulan Bator, Moscow – they all seem to be appearing in ideas and conversations – inspiration from times on ERASMUS. See, five separate cities and countries, excluding the UK of course.  After 6 months of ERASMUS in Helsinki and a month of travelling to China and back, I promised myself to leave the UK again, keep on travelling and moving to different worlds. One thing is for sure, I have slipped into the island mentality I always swore to avoid. Well, FAIL, there then. The UK (to those born and bred here) seems to breed lethargy, acceptance of situations that are not always what you want, the belief that it is hard to leave this country and that there is no need to learn other languages.

Although I fully appreciate English is one of the leading languages in the world spoken by approximately 329 million, Mandarin is spoken by almost 850 Million people. Go compare. How many native-English speakers do you know speak Mandarin? Spanish is spoken by marginally more people than English, perhaps this is something all those ex-pats and 18-30 holiday wankers workers should take into consideration.

For about two years, I have been promising myself that I will learn other languages. Russian and Spanish being the priority. About 150 Million people speak Russian, making it roughly the eighth most popular language in the world. I used to know the Cyrillic alphabet; since I haven’t used it in almost 3 years, it’s fallen out of the old brain noodles. Here are some er, beautiful Youtube videos, that are helping me rediscover the Cyrillic Alphabet 😀

First, There was this, closely followed by this. Then I found this one. Girls always sell things better.

The time has come where I need to get off my ass, stop living like tomorrow will not exist, and DO SOMETHING. I can waste time quite well. Its very easy to 🙂 My excuse for the last week or so has been Flu and a chest infection. My face now looks like it is made of dull putty. I was terrified I had meningitis again, an experience that can still bring me to tears in the middle of the night out of pure fear. However, I may be exhausted by walking to the kitchen and back,  collapsing and breathless from coughing, but I know there are things I need to do. Like London and learn Russian.

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Another list and Tank Girl

I have made some decisions. 

  • Shave my head for My friends 30th Birthday in March – cult film theme. I’m gonna be Tank Girl
  • Stop caring so much. I am far to sensitive. I need to grow a spine
  • Move to London later on this year. Change, moving on – *not* running away.
  • Start some Open Uni modules
  • Make an effort to pay off my loan, rather than relying on small monthly contributions with butt loads of interest added.

Boozing.

Oh look. I made another list. I need to stop drinking so much also. My plan to do this is simple. I am going to go out with the aim to get completely rat-arsed. Yes, surely this is the a proposterous stupid way to go about it. However, hear me out.

Recently, I have been intending to cut down, stop drinking so much so often. I keep saying I will only have 2 drinks, or only stay an hour. And I keep getting drinks brought for me before I have a chance to protest. This inevitably leads to me staying out longer and ultimately becoming , well, wasted. This is not a bad thing, in fact, I think I owe a lot of you all a fair few drinks. But I cannot afford to continually do this. So, if I go out aiming to get drunk, sods law states that this will not happen. Erm, maybe, yes. Lets see. Alternately, I might just end up alcoholic 🙂 again, lets see. I don’t *really* believe that will happen, as it’s something I am aware of.

Although, seriously I do need to stop drinking so much for the sake of my mental health. I am kinda fragile at the moment, and trying to separate and detach myself from a lot. I am still very sad about recent times, which I’m not going to go into on detail about on here. There is the court case of my friend who was killed by a drunk driver this Friday,

slightly apprehensive. All I know at the moment is that I have to get on and keep myself busy or I think I will actually have a full on breakdown. But hey, I’m eating at least everyday, having some fucking awesome highs (lows.. not so good) and am super-sensitive to caffiene, sugar and booze. Its kinda fun. And I have some of THEE BEST socks in the world. >>>>

It’s all a bit French

France, it seems is calling me tonight. Through boredom and attempts at busyness (which have mostly worked, actually) I decised to talk to my friend Rich, in Paris. This was of course, cool. Conversations with Rich generally evolve into ones about writing/illustrating/producing films or stories. Incidentally, we still need to write “The serene snail of Snellingrad, The snail of Siberia, or The anthropod in Andalucia’ , whichever title is chosen. (Yes, I did save that convo as I said I would.)

Anyway, back to the French theme. I have now downloaded thanks to Rich’s recommendation both Micmacs by director Jean-Pierre Jeunet who’s eyes look crazed, and Delicatessen (directed by Marc Caro and Jean-Pierre Jeunet). Both French films. The Micmacs trailer says ‘You have a slug in your brainbox’ WHICH I FUCKIN LOVE. The sentence that is. While Delicatessen promises me food as a post-apocalyptic currency amongst many sharp knives *evil smile*, butchers, disapearing maintenance men, underground beings known as Troglodytes,  snails and slime. According to the IMDB anyway. Sounds goooooood.

In my super-awakeness, my brain is quite up for eating knowledge. Which led me onto philosophy>my last post on time/duration>the bibliography for my dissertation at uni>Henri Bergson>George Berkeley>Immanuel Kant>Maurice Merleau-Ponty>Rene Descarte. There is a lot of Frenchness in the above.

However, it is now 0208am, and common sense and norm tell me I should probably go to sleep before I stay up until 0930am once more. So, my attempt to make myself sleep includes the following: Bath, any booze if I can find it in the house, Badger Sleep Balm (amazing stuff) followed by maybe sleeping pills and reading Descartes ‘Discourse on method and the meditations’. Hopefully all of this will provide sleep. If not, I’m fucked =D

Keeping to the theme, French maids cannot be forgotten 😉

I am procrastinating

Lists. –noun

1. a series of names or other items written
or
printed together in a meaningful grouping or sequence
so as to constitute a record: a list of members


Thought of the last day or two. Lists. They are compulsive, logical, obsessive. They are calming to unorganised brainboxs and a physical manifestation of whatever the hell is compiled in the list. They are a nice little bit of control. 
Here is my list of now.
  • Watch Schindlers List
  • Eat
  • Shop in Londis/polski sklep on Lodge Road. I need pizza bread, polski yoghurt, Reeses cupcakes and broadoak pear cider in my life
  • Wash face before work
  • Make time to write more indepth posts on here
  • Research time and duration
  • Make a list of papers I want from googlescholar/JSTOR
  • Take washing out of machine
  • Build a tardis
  • Become awesome
  • More caffeine highs
  • Dawn photography
  • Sleep
  • Finish making mock up of a corset after 5 months of starting to create this and 18 months of owning the pattern.
  • Have mushroom, shisha and wine dinnerparty with the good ‘uns.
  • Apply for MA
  • Find a cuddle friend. I need cuddles. >_<
  • Get an internship with an ezine/media organisation/publication/newspaper….
  • Stop writing emo bollocks on facebook, and here for this matter
  • Sort out real life stuff: Driving license type thing, debt collectors, monies owed to various different horrible corporations
  • Hang washing out (so rock ‘n’roll)
Reading this article, I have discovered my new favourite word. Taxonomy. The science of classification.
Its 2pm, and I have just dragged myself out of bed after finally going to bed at 9.30am for 3.5hours
sleep. I should have stayed up. Now I need to find some motivation to actually do the stuff on the list. And I gotta get to the pub. And drink at least 3 more cups of coffee (from the mug that takes 2 tablespoons of coffee just for normal strength coffee. Any cup like this has got to be pure goodness).And call people to make sure they get to the pub. See, I’m doing it now. Listing things. The fact I am doing this and typing faster the more I write, makes me feel slightly obsessive. Or, perhaps I am just worried about being obsessive and thinking too much about this. Or it could be the fact i’m listening to Rusko (awesomeness) and the coffee’s starting to work 😀 Speaking of which, I need more. And too tidy up after the early hours of this morning.

A Smog and a million

I love London. Every time I spend time there, I remember that I want to be there more. Yes, it’s a lonely place. A million people walk by, a million people with a million lives, a million people you will probably never know or see again. Yet there is so much to do, an obscene amount of variety. Always something happening. I love the anonymity – you can be anyone and anything. You can change and adapt and alter. A life as a human chameleon.

I spent most of the last few days in Camden and Soho. I feel the need to have more time in, or become part of the fetish/freakshow/dance/electro/industrial scene in London (this is post-Camden visit, could ya guess?). Probably, I would get bored of the pretentiousness, cliques and exclusive nature associated pretty quickly. I doubt I would find it that interesting after 6 months or so.  I am just another cliché. Probably just a phaze – possibly not. One way to find out!

Wondering around Soho the other night with my housemate from uni times, we found The Ship in Soho. Actually, it was the first bar we wondered past that didn’t look like a Village People hangout and didn’t ID on the door, as Alba (Fail, Alba, Fail! :p) didn’t bring her ID. But, a nice pub. Nice variety of people. Nice music from King Crimson stylee psychedelia, to Down, The Beach Boys and Marilyn Manson. Incidentally, the Marilyn Manson hoody I brought at about 14, got bored of and gave away; should be returning to me 10 years after I brought it. There seems to be a large amount of male-only gay venues in the main Soho streets we wondered. Where are all the lesbian bars? Maybe not knowing Soho and wondering is not a great way to locate these places, not that I am particularly searching for them right now. Had lunch with the lil sis Chloe, we were hippies for an hour or so. This is justified by eating organic, vegan Japanese and Thai yumminess at a restaurant I can’t remember the name of *Brain Fail*. I was concentrating more on eating the healthiness i’m either gonna vomit or shit out at somepoint. To be fair, normally these days id prefere Pizza or bogstandard non-vege Thai food, but the sheer amount of vitamins in this was IMMENSE. And I need some decent nutrition at the moment, any nutrition! mmmm. Nutrients (barf).

It’s been a while since I have sat in a pub, drank *slowly*, talked about everything and nothing and doodled silliness on blank cards to send to randomly selected people (Alba will give me an address. Of SOMEONE). Via Snail Mail. Yes, it actually exists still despite our virtual existences. We are becoming more of a virtual nation. The net is so impersonal. It’s deleting our daily communication skills. Isolating people to the small pieces of robotic beauty and frustration we all own (‘Hi laptop. Hi Smartphone. I can’t exist without you anymore’).

This just makes me think about when I was living in Helsinki in 2008. Human contact, isolation and lack of real, physical, verbal communication was already a national problem. Admittedly, the snow, cold, darkness and ice does not help people to be social bunnies, however that is besides the point. People – to the point of panic – would rather send an email than pick up a phone. If the Finns can avoid talking to someone, they will. At the time, I had 5€ Nokia phone that text’d and called with retro Snake (love it), no TV and the only internet access I had was at my school, Teatterikorkeakoulu. So my time in Helsinki was NOT tech in the slightest. There seemed to be a huge social impact, that has rapidly spread, or maybe its just become a lot more apparent and visible in everyday life. More and more people are living seemingly entirely virtually; forgetting about reality in a quest for knowledge, love, shopping, porn, friends, gaming, gambling, networking, qualifications, news, TV…. You get the idea. Everything, pretty much. This is not a new idea, or even very interesting statement. It bothers me a little that people (including myself) are addicted to an online, impersonal world. Sensation – physical, real, sensation – is such a huge part of life and is rapidly a dying art. I say Art; and art is a skill, something that can be sculpted and formed into something beautiful or terrible. Physical rather than virtual interaction and sensation is not only an intuitive thing, it is something learnt from real, live, experience and practise. This post is rapidly becoming a tangent of tangents, so no more.

Its all slowing down

Duration and the passing of time, are fascinating me currently. It’s always odd and unsettling how sometimes everything is over in a split second, whilst other times seem to last an eternity. Rationally, Big Ben and daylight tell us how long a period of time has been. Consciousness and intuition have a right to be included here; inbuilt intuitivite knowledge can give us a good guess as to roughly how long something has taken.  Henri_Bergson my old friend, your theories have re-entered my life. Having not read any of Bergson’s theories in a while, I am now coming to the conclusion that his works are a lot of airy-fairy bollocks in some ways. Saying that, I need to read further, different theories of time and its passing.

But then what happens when insomnia and sleep deprivation appear? Or when you hit lows and everything ceases to have any conscious meaning? I know recently I have hit a low and painful time right now in my life. Things (feel like they) have started to move at a sludge-pace or are blank. Hours swallowed up with by nothingness. I have found myself lying in bed, my phone tells me its four or more hours after I woke. Yet these four hours have been wasted with no meaning or use. They have not even created a direction for the next four hours. They have not even contained any form or sense or thought.

What would happen to the world if it was left to run on individual’s experience and perception of time? Utter chaos would inevitably happen as not much would be in sync with anything else. The chaos and random element would be beautiful and terrible. Beautiful, in an unknown way, terrible in a life/death situation. What if I decided I was going to speed up my personal time by overdosing on caffiene or MDMA? I would probably run around for a good few hours, and on hitting sobriety, feel like time had passed pretty damn quickly. Those people around me, if not in the same state, would not have experienced this. The multiplicity and simultaeniety of time are a constant, solid part of time. This is a fact that I currently cannot pick fault with(unless someone can give me an arguement against, or opposing theory).

Shall continue this later. My break from Goblets is almost over, and this thing called eating and painting a new face on calls. Laters.

(Ps. Might even continue to research BurgerPorn later. Not entirely convinced I want to. Greasy, food filled porn. Yum. Or not. This is not going to be good :s)

Hi, PornBurger.

PornBurger. Does what is says on the URL. I’m going to inform you all about Burger porn, amongst other peculiar and frequently boring posts and emo-style rants at the world.

So what is the point of this blog? Why is it called PornBurger? I’m not entirely sure I know why, but it seemed like a good name at the time. Researching the word ‘Pornburger’, has created few, but some amusing, results. That is without trawling redtube, pornhub and the rest.

Two schoolboys from Driffield, UK, have created a Porn-burger Van. Selling greasy nosh, the lads hand out porn with orders over £5. Using a small caravan plastered with vinyl images of chips, burgers and the like, a small yellow poster surrounded by chavtacular ‘ladies’ of Driffield posing drunkenly next to the van, simply states: ‘Personal service guaranteed. Free Porno with every order over £5’. Im sure the women posing next to the van will be squawking for weeks about it, posting photos on facebook, while waiting like vultures over a dead babies eyes, for all their friends to comment on the pornburger van, their hair, their clothes, them stood pointing at the van, fag in hand, stupid grin stretched over plastic painted faces. There is a facebook page dedicated to getting the guys to go onto The Apprentice in 2011. Good luck to them and their venture, to be fair, it would attract me on a drunken stumble home.

www.icanhaspornburger.com is the adult version of locatz. I hope this site is updated regularly; a woman doing a shoulder stand being shagged by a guy doing squats with the text ‘We iz doing peelateez’, has got to brighten up anyones day. But then again, I was never a fan of lolcatz with its tacky cuteness. Perhaps the smuttiness of this appeals to me more than fluffy kittens dressed up in cutesy-sickly outfits with phonetically tacky slogans slapped on top of photos.

Enough about burger related porn for now. I will see what I can find for next time.

So what is the point of this blog?

Mainly, it is to give me an excuse to write more often. I love writing, and don’t write enough. I need some sort of reason to write, or more accurately, deadlines. Essentially I am a very lazy person, hardworking, but lazy. I need some sort of incentive to do things (be this money, love, completion, sex drugs and rock n roll). My aim is to write for some kind of organisation or publication. Not necessarily full on journalism. I want to go back to Uni this year and start an MA – in something relating to arts criticism, reviewing or simply just plain old media and journalism. We shall see where my fancy and my feet take me.

Writing is a therapeutic art to me. An escape and a brain-offload. It also keeps the mind alive. Apologies in advance, if I come across as a brainless, small-minded twat, or an emotional and neurotic person. It is not my intention.  Despite my best efforts, I have had a troubling, painful, insightful and fun-filled past year or so. Regardless of relationships utterly failing (of many kinds), a person who was a huge part of my life being killed on his motorbike by a drunk driver, contracting meningitis, homelessness/sofasurfing (all through fault of my own), dealing with someone very close to me suffer from severe mental illness, redundancy, depressing jobs, gigs, experiences, festivals and the realisation that my friends are the glue that holds me together; I am still somehow standing and partly alive.

The idea is that I can listen, live life and appreciate what I can learn from others. Take something forward and live as much as possible. If you are still reading this now then fair play! I’m possibly going off on a bit of a brain-bleugh from here onwards. There is no point stagnating and sitting in the algae that is not going anywhere. Mould is not a situation you should be in. Even though I am trying to concentrate on the good times, I still wake up on some days, like the last two, in a horrible place. On opening my eyes, the Scottish Widows advert music appeared in my head, the word cunt silently shouting and I just want to punch the wall. Remembering that something beautifully important has cracked, and I am lost and alone. Devastation does not cover it.

In all honesty I feel like I am becoming too tired and weak, to live. The little light inside me is fading away and relighting less and less. A broken boiler pilot light springs to mind. Eating and sleeping have become pointless. I physically don’t know how to half the time. How do cutlery work again? Alien objects in my hands. Then I get distracted, or some kind of survival instinct kicks in and sorts it out, but this seems to becoming less and less. It’s fascinating going through the sensations of different states of health. Noticing that your eyes don’t focus properly and everything is a bit glazed, or like you are watching yourself plod on while somehow completely detached. At least I can find this intriguing, it maybe means there is something alive in me somewhere! Enough depressive crap for now.

The next blog update should hopefully contain some kind of information on sensation and seeing (through the eyes), this fascinates me muchly. How the world is depicted through different viewpoints (particularly inverted viewpoints) is definitely an interest of mine. Also, do you have a lazy eye? Is it common for the majority of people to have the same lazy eye (the right eye seems more common, from limited personal experience) or is it completely random? This is one of the trivial things that some how interests me

Comments, suggestions, criticisms are most welcome. If this is a pile of shite please say. Adios motherfuckers!