Ghosts

Today i saw something.

I was waiting for the number 7 bus to come at about 10:30 at night at the bus exchange, sitting in the seats on the side at platform C, reading a book. Hard Times, Charles Dickens. To my right sat a black-bob-haired girl maybe 20-21 wearing a red coat with black buttons. Across from me sat a young mother 23-25 with her child who was maybe 3-4 and they all sat and waited. Finally to my left sat a man. This man was maybe 38-45 it was hard to tell. He had a rather unshaven, coarse look to him with a sandy beard and unkempt and unwashed hair pulled back into a small ponytail. He wore trackpants and a jacket. He had a small star tattoed onto his cheek below his eye. He never said a word.
As I sat there, on one of the odd times I would look up from my book to think, I saw the young boy smiling. Not just smiling, but grinning ear to ear in a way that threatened to take his top off. It was a infectious smile, one that the veiwer cannot help but reciprocate. He then covered his face for a second or too, giggled, and then threw his hands out wide. He burst into a refrain of laughter and once again smile that could help but be mirrored upon my own face. I looked to the left and saw the man doing the same thing. He covered his face and uncoverd it, covered it and uncovered, uncovered and covered it smiling all the while.
As I watched them, enthralled in their game, the actions changed. The man shook his fist at the kid in mock anger and the kid laughed and shook his head. This time the kid did no give a sympathetic action. This time he did something different.
He held up two fingers.
The man laughed.
The kid laughed.
And the girl began to sing... I don't know what song it was.. In fact it was less a song than something pure melody, feeling cutting through the cold surround that didn't seem to belong here, doves amongst a murder of crows.
The man's eyes watered and he pulled back his sleeve a little. Weeping sores and scabs. Junky tattoos.
"Smart little kid" he whispers.
And the kid...
The kid looked sad...
The kid looked sad...
The kid looked sad...
Boy, he looked sad...



Then my bus came...
So I left...
I wish i hadn't...
I want to know what comes next...
But hell, don't we all want to know that.
So i got on my bus.
So they dissapeared into my memory.
Ghosts.

Music I Make.

http://alonetone.com/rosarybead/playlists/hope-for-the-evryman
listen to Fairy Lights And Flying Machines first. I'm actually rather proud of it.

Hello Friends

Gotta get up. Gotta get down. Got be cool. Gotta sleep 'round.
Gotta be nice. Gotta get clean. Gotta be right. Gotta be mean.

You are what I am and we are what we are. Andrew, I am. Andrew is tired in the 3rd person.

Oh God, she can't be dead...

Hello again, this is Andrew here reaching out to you through the world wide web.
This is another of those blogs and here i am displaying what could be a condescending, frivolous attitude to my blog. I notice many people do it. Its obviously a defense mechanism. Of course we wouldn't want to actually appear to care about anything now would we? Because we all know that when we care we get hurt. So we tippity-tap-tap typo on our keyboards our pseudo-deep thinking with our pretense of oh-so-sophistication, to-cool-for-school attitude.
Just like I'm doing now.
Haha, Andrew, that was deep, pat on the back for Andrew, everybody laughs.

I feel Apathy. Apathy for those who don't know is like self pity. The kind of self pity that saps the energy from your bones and leaves you dry. It takes colour from your eyes and leaves you grey. It puts the world through a bad copy machine so you get that crappy black and white speckled picture instead of the vibrancy that other people see.

Oh aren't I complex.

there it goes again. Cynicism. making sure you understand that i don't actually care. making sure you understand i don't actualy care. making sure you understand i don't actually care.

You can't hurt me.

"Oh i forgot to ask, how did you feel after they named that place in London after you? You know, Prickadily circus?"

I said that to some cock on the bus today as i was getting off...





I felt rather pleased with myself.

Here in which the author describes to the good reader his journey to the place of Hornby

Today i had a compulsion. You know, one of those things people think are like meaningful? Like the big dude is saying do it, its cool? yeah those things. Well i had a compulsion to walk to hornby mall. So i did. Pretty exciting so far.
Well as i slowly moved towards my destination, alternating between walking and jogging cause i felt like i should do more excercise (one of those compulsion things again) i found something on the side of the road. It was a two old school books, ragtagged and shited, lying flapping on the side of the road, a pair of roadkilled, struck down deaded birds, feathers flapping in the wind still, mocking the life once instilled in them. So being of the curious sort i picked them up and read.
....................................................................................
.................................Jo Bloggs..........................................

....................................Page 1...........................................

Thought Analysis

I'm meant to be doing homework
Rambo is cute
her butt was cute
you can't wait on her like that
your too old
Thought what if this doesn't work
Thought about cup day
Thought about Mama's hours
Thought that i'm eighteen
Thought that i could have a personality disorder
Thought i must be studying
Thought that i'm a gypsy
Thought that she needs to have time off
thought that she's worked too hard
thought that we're all not perfect
thought that my brothers okay
thought bout oscar
thought i nearly fell asleep
thought that i'm cold
thought thougt that i try to be perfect at uni
thought i dn't wannna be eighteen
thought what if i fail
thought i am a failure
thought i get so angry
thought i wanna die
thought well i'm nearly there
thought i don't wanna go to prize giving
thought i care wat people think about me
thought they must get annoyed
thought tough love
thought mum musn't think its that bad
thought niks a dick
thought i'm cold
thought she hates me
thought its sweet
......................................Page 2.........................................

i've had enough, literally
i'm cold and wet and small
and i want 2 die
i no lnger want 2 fight
i'm ready 2 surrender.................thought gotta keep
after exams i'm dead.................doing this
i'm gone underwater................thought about lady
exams are over its quits...........wanting daughter to
i give in............................achieve something
i give up.............................thought about dave
i resign, i can't, i wept, i'll see....thought hayley
i want to go............................thought i'm tired t
live alone and safe.....................................bored
i've been so narcissistic i know.........thought i wish i didn't
i'm ashamed about that...................have to face these
my thoughts r ruining me.................thoughts
i can't i want it over again
i give in, dad its hard
dad i'm angry
dad its cold and i'm scared
r u alive?
i don't wanna do this
what if i can't do this/
i can't be stuffed
i'm tired and sore
i don't wanna have these thoughts nemore
i seriously don't - i'm tired of them
i wanna be different
i wanna feel different
my head hurts
I'M A LESBIAN
...i wanna go home
...i'm tired and i want to go home
...i'm tired i'm bored i'm sick
...i fear i'm dead, i'm done i'm out
...i give up, i give in, i give out, i can't i wont
...can't live with thoughts...

...thought its going to be alright
....................................End..............................................

ssss

tipity tap tap type.. fingers on the keys of my keyboard dance in a circle my mind spins for a week without sleep and i don't know what it means...

Dawn... Birth... A blood red sky... A newborn day... Same as the last.

A man woke up. He got out of bed, dressed himself and crossed his room to a door whereabouts he stopped. He stared at the door. It was white wooden door with a wooden door knob. It served as a portal between his bedroom and his bathroom; that was its purpose. It didn't stick or creak when you opened it like other doors might, no, this door did its job well. The man sighed; he envied that door.
"What are you trying to tell me?"
"Nothing i havn't told you before"
"What does this all mean?
"the meaning is irrelavant"
I'm sorry good bye hello this is how we do it uh huh retard go go girls dance in a line looking fine never to be mine hahah isn't this a laff.
Can you touch? Can you feel? Can you live? Can you heal?
So the girl in the painting sits. She sits and stares. No one knows her name. Simply because she doesn't have one. She sits and she cries looking at a ceiling. She hasn't moved for centuries she has seen so much yet she'll never let you in on it. smiling a knowing smile she cries.
Florescent lights and billboards signs advertise a wonderful life, full of effervescent smiles and happy eyes. one sentence must be half decent in all this shit....

Liar

You are weak, you are slow, you are nothing, you are a liar, you sit on your liars chair and lie so you don't have to look, blind your eyes to the truth, are you afraid? Are you scared? you should be. because you know they know, you know so what do you do? you lie some more, and you lie to yourself, build the a wall of lies so no one has to look upon the pathetic shrivelled two faced shit covered human refuse you are. But take hope, you aren't alone, because every one is a liar, we all lie to ourselves, how else would we get by? how else would we get up in the morning?? we lie to ourselves today will be a good day, and we go home the same, angry and disenchanted, pissed with school, people and life. and we lie. So lie...

A Question with no Answer.

People are fickle, like the wind,

You never know what they'll blow

I wonder what is purpose? Is anything we do really on purpose? Or is everything just a series of accidents? People seem to crave purpose, they will do drastic things to find it and yet, do we really need purpose? Many wondrous things are without purpose. A flower's colours, a butterfly's markings, the way dew crystallizes on the silken strands of a spider's web. People will try and explain to me "Oh the flowers bright colours purpose is to attract bees so they will pollinate" or "The markings are designed to scare off predators." but when they do explain their purpose and i am "enlightened" suddenly the petals become dull and lifeless and the markings are boring, their beauty tainted. To tell the truth I would rather not know their purpose. Label me ignorant and un-enlightened if you wish but I would rather wonder. Half the fun in life is guessing. When I read a novel or go to see a movie I hate it when people spoil the end for me, its such a killjoy. Once you know the punchline of a joke its not so funny anymore is it? People seem to think knowledge is a wonderful thing, it ain't. It a sick joke with a cruel twist that laughs and spits in your face. Its like a drug, the more you have the more fucked up you become. Its more a duty to become knowledgeable. And i thank those willing to take that duty unto themselves because we'd all be frigging backward shit heads and many inventions wouldn't ever have been invented if they hadn't. But in the same don't try and force it on the rest of us, let us revel in our wonder. Let us rejoice in the mysteries of life, let us be astounded and enraptured by the simplest of things like children, ignorance is truly bliss.

Things needn't have purpose to be deemed important. After all the purpose of a question is to find an answer, but is a question with no answer unimportant? No i find they are the most important. So then what indeed is purpose? My friendsit is a question with no answer.

Romantacism of an Artist

How does one value a person? This is the question that i have been thinking these past few days. Is it how intelligent they are? How fast they run? How good they look? What does the world value in people? Morals? Loyalty? In the world today it would seem morals and loyalty are of little value; People should be cut-throat if they want to get ahead. I sit here thinking as a teenager how I am valued, Who am i valued by? Do people really think that much of me? Am i of as much value as the next fool in line who thinks that they are ever going to make a difference? Now my thinking strays from value to plain significance. What are we to the world? At school i constantly hear teachers talking of how everyone is special and talented yet sometimes i wonder. I look around and see many people who are not really that talented and i wonder what will become of them? Will they leave school and instantly be sucked into the daily grind, another 9 to 5'er, never sad but never truly happy? Will that happen to me? I myself dream of being a musician, someone who writes music that they love and people love. To tour with my band and see the world is my dream and that perhaps somewhere my music is speaking to people. I understand that it will be hard, i was never gifted a music (I failed music every 4 years in a row) nor did I ever care much for it til now. Now music is my life and to think of doing something other than music is something i can't even begin to imagine. People tell me that its just youthful optimism that says I can live this dream, that one day I'm going to have to give it up and go to some office job and be an average Joey. I DON'T WANT THAT! I am going to fight for this! I am going to make it! But then your personal bastard reminds you hey you aren't that good, I mean come on, I type in guitar on you tube and i can see 1000's play guitar more proficiently than you, what makes you so special eh? What does make me so special? Hell, am I even that special? Probably not.. fuck... but hey you know what i'm going to do? I'm going to try. Hell, i'll do more than try, i'll make it, whether you say i can or not all you skeptic bastards out there, you can be lord yourself up with your critiquing but guess what? One day you'll be sitting at home, my friend, you'll be sitting in your unextrodinary home, just getting back from your unextrodinary job, living your unextrodinary life and you'll turn on the t.v. or maybe the radio and guess who'll be there? Guess who that person living the extraodinary will be? That person will be me.

Hello

This blog is the drain pipe in a metaphorical way. To me it is where i can release the ideas that i come up with and record them lest they be forgotten. Don't expect much.