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!



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