Ice Creams and the Art of Bending Over...

Today is a very pretty day. Today is very warm. Today I went to town.

Well, when I say went to town, I mean I walked, and when I say I, I mean we. For it was I and some flatmates (Tag, Bells, and Scurvy). And we thought the need for ice cream was indeed needed. And Thorntons do some great ice cream.

But less of that. I'm well today. Despite on the way back from said town I injured my back by either bending too low or standing too wide for a quick duck under a fence. It ached quite a bit, and all the way up the stairs, and when I unlocked the door, and when I showered, and as I sit here now. Oh well, at least I'm writing.

And now we return to the 'writing for the sake of writing' thing. Here being a 'Creative Writing' Student, you'd think I'd have had enough of writing for writing's sake. The truth: NO! Not only don't we do enough, writing for writing's sake, but they also expect us to explain and analyse what ever we do write for writing's well not sake, let's call it purpose. It's silly really. But then I don't have to complain about it for a fair few months yet when year 3 comes about.

Moving on to a deeper conversation:

I've noticed recently that most of my friends, and indeed myself, have lost or are losing someone this year. I know that might be insensitive of me to say, but it's true. And it's made me think about my own mortality. Earlier in the week - before I created this blog, I wrote about such the topic in my notebook:

'The words on a page, they mean nothing, they mean everything. We write to show things, to feel things, to know things. 'Time is an illusion, Lunchtime doubly so.' This is a Douglas Adams quote. But why? I'm not saying he's a lucky and intelligent man, but I am suggesting it. Douglas Adams was a legend, is a legend.

'Where am I going with this? I don't know. Something to do with writing for the sake of writing [...]

(There it is again, it's like Bad Wolf or something - Hi Tag. Anyway Continuing on.)

'[...] Have you ever heard of those monkeys who write Shakespeare. This is like that. I'm writing until I write that line of brilliance, that one line which will be quoted though the ages - that line like 'Eureka' or 'Hello' or that Douglas Adams line about time [...]

(Okay, they were more like words, if you need examples go find them for yourselves - I'm just quoting myself and I'm not going to edit it!)

'[...] I don't know. I really want to be remembered by other people, other than my friends and family. I just want to be remembered by the world. How can I do that? Make a movie? Cure world hunger? Cure all diseases? Make the third world just a part of the world? To become immortal. What is that? My father always told my sister, brother, and I that he was immortal. He was immortal because he had us. And we would take his genes and his name on into the future. But then, my father always thought that he wouldn't get married, but then my mother is proof of his false thought. But either way, what is immortality? To last forever. I'm not sure whether or not I'd like to. To be remembered forever, now that's the fame I would like, not like the flatpack celebs of today. Famous for the sake of being famous. I want to be famous because people want me to be famous. And in being famous I will meet people. I hope I've already had an impact on the people I have already met. Some of them say so, but then I don't believe it, ever. I should really ask the people I've met most recently. Perhaps Chaplin [...]

(Okay, I didn't actually call her Chaplin, that's me going back on my word of non-editing. Oh well.)

'[...] would know, but then I only met her for a day and a half - and then there was all that sleep writing thing. Dream Sequences were written because of Chaplin and he whole being. It's quite bizarre for such an infatuation. But then I suppose the same thing happened with Cleever [...]

(Yes okay, I'm mostly editing, but just the names mind. Carry on.)

'[...] They both had boyfriend troubles before they met me. Does that mean I fix other people's relationships? Unintentionally? God damnit, why do I seem to repel pretty women? And not only that, but repair their broken relationships as well???!'

And that is where I got to. I think it might answer some questions about mortality and remembrance. Don't you you?

Anyway, I don't know where I was going with that. Perhaps the next post will include a lot less ranting and raving, and sleep poetry - and might include some actual coherent thoughts on a page. What do you think? You're probably right, it wont.

But that's me, until next time bloggers...