Arrgh!
Sometimes I worry about myself.
Like every other minute.
I've been in a weird state of mind lately.
Like I want to tear myself open, and rip out the organs that slow me down.
A bloke just walked in that looks just like Tyrone Noonan.
Bizarre.
Alistair's farewell drinks was cool.
Something around eight of us occupied a table by the door of the Devonshire Arms.
At the other end of the room there was a big screen playing Japanese Goth, Punk, Hardcore and Metal. And a bunch of punked up Japanese kids and a handful of Japanophiles (Nipponophiles? Otaku?).
Apparently Monday is J-Pop night at the Devonshire Arms. I must go back next week.
Alistairs friends were cool. I spent most of the night talking to a married couple of expatriate Australians named Aiden and something (if you're reading this, don't hate me, I'm lousy with names).
They told me to go to a club at the Water Rat in King's Cross on Friday. I think wassername told me that it was called B-Movie.
Alistair would probably be in the home strait (straight?) by now.
Other News:
I've made a list of all the shows that I want to go to this month, including the date, venue and ticket price.
Special attention was given to rooting out Australian acts that I can review for Faster Louder, since three reviews in four months is pretty piss weak, even if a shortage of quality Australian Acts in London did play a part (the other parts being occaisional shortage of cash and me being a lazy and contrary sod).
Toying with the idea of finding another website ot review shows for, specifically non-Australian bands that I can't review for Faster Louder.
And more stuff:
Following a link off the Dead Beyond Buried Myspace page, I found Hilary's Myspace.
A weird feeling. Reading her dislikes was unnervingly familiar.
Just for fun I set up a myspace page of my own.
24 hours later I just want to delete it.
I feel twitchy and lethargic at the same time.
I want to run but I don't know where to and what from.
I feel anxious but I don't know why.
You know that stiff feeling in your neck that won't go away?
When you can't bend your neck beyond a certain angle to the side.
But you're sure that if you push it the right way either the joint that is out of place with crack into place, or the muscle that is cramped will stretch back to normal.
Take that feeling and extrapolate it into a holistic Physical/Psychic/Emotional malaise.
Sometimes I'm sure that there is nothing wrong with me that a Cattle Prod wouldn't fix.
I found a website where there was a Java Questionnaire of ten questions to determine if it was possible that you might be clinically depressed.
Five or more was a positive reading.
I scored ten. Out of ten.
Why is it that the closer that I am to where I want to be the harder it gets to go there?
What is the nature of this strange Depth of Field dilation that occurs?
This is turning really pretentious.
Times like this I miss the band.
Because I miss the screaming.
"But you came to England to do music!" Sings the choir.
I know.
Long overdue Adulthood keeps asserting itself in ever more toxic ways.
"Another excuse!" Sings the choir.
"Fuck Off!" shouts the choirmaster.
"As long as you're my invention, I'll tell you when you can sing out!".
Tick Tick Tick.
Out of time here.
I have to go.
Over and out.
J
Like every other minute.
I've been in a weird state of mind lately.
Like I want to tear myself open, and rip out the organs that slow me down.
A bloke just walked in that looks just like Tyrone Noonan.
Bizarre.
Alistair's farewell drinks was cool.
Something around eight of us occupied a table by the door of the Devonshire Arms.
At the other end of the room there was a big screen playing Japanese Goth, Punk, Hardcore and Metal. And a bunch of punked up Japanese kids and a handful of Japanophiles (Nipponophiles? Otaku?).
Apparently Monday is J-Pop night at the Devonshire Arms. I must go back next week.
Alistairs friends were cool. I spent most of the night talking to a married couple of expatriate Australians named Aiden and something (if you're reading this, don't hate me, I'm lousy with names).
They told me to go to a club at the Water Rat in King's Cross on Friday. I think wassername told me that it was called B-Movie.
Alistair would probably be in the home strait (straight?) by now.
Other News:
I've made a list of all the shows that I want to go to this month, including the date, venue and ticket price.
Special attention was given to rooting out Australian acts that I can review for Faster Louder, since three reviews in four months is pretty piss weak, even if a shortage of quality Australian Acts in London did play a part (the other parts being occaisional shortage of cash and me being a lazy and contrary sod).
Toying with the idea of finding another website ot review shows for, specifically non-Australian bands that I can't review for Faster Louder.
And more stuff:
Following a link off the Dead Beyond Buried Myspace page, I found Hilary's Myspace.
A weird feeling. Reading her dislikes was unnervingly familiar.
Just for fun I set up a myspace page of my own.
24 hours later I just want to delete it.
I feel twitchy and lethargic at the same time.
I want to run but I don't know where to and what from.
I feel anxious but I don't know why.
You know that stiff feeling in your neck that won't go away?
When you can't bend your neck beyond a certain angle to the side.
But you're sure that if you push it the right way either the joint that is out of place with crack into place, or the muscle that is cramped will stretch back to normal.
Take that feeling and extrapolate it into a holistic Physical/Psychic/Emotional malaise.
Sometimes I'm sure that there is nothing wrong with me that a Cattle Prod wouldn't fix.
I found a website where there was a Java Questionnaire of ten questions to determine if it was possible that you might be clinically depressed.
Five or more was a positive reading.
I scored ten. Out of ten.
Why is it that the closer that I am to where I want to be the harder it gets to go there?
What is the nature of this strange Depth of Field dilation that occurs?
This is turning really pretentious.
Times like this I miss the band.
Because I miss the screaming.
"But you came to England to do music!" Sings the choir.
I know.
Long overdue Adulthood keeps asserting itself in ever more toxic ways.
"Another excuse!" Sings the choir.
"Fuck Off!" shouts the choirmaster.
"As long as you're my invention, I'll tell you when you can sing out!".
Tick Tick Tick.
Out of time here.
I have to go.
Over and out.
J
posted by the.exile at 7:36 pm
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