Why won't the Rebel Alliance just Quit?!...Take 2.

My first post this evening, sucked.

So as I sit here listening to the 1812 Overture - I emplore you all not to read the previous, aforementioned piece of tripe - and turn your optical nerves towards this post.

Yes, the Rebel Alliance have not been quelled yet, and Smeccles and I haven't even attempted to quell them further since our crushing defeats upon a laggingly white space ship. We even had Darth Vader on our side, and still the good guys won. How is that possible?!

Anyway, I complained enough in the first post about the stupid Rebel Alliance.

Moving on, I'm mostly alone this evening. Out of an 8 manned flat, there are only two flatmates residing here this evening - Smeccles and I. Though that is to change tomorrow evening when Wodge and Pill return from their weekend home.

Where was I? I have no idea. I find writing with music on in the background to be quite a distraction. I don't know how some people do it (Hi HB Sauce). It's an alien technique to me.

As the night draws on, I realise how quiet this place can become. I've never really witnessed it without life before. The echoing halls haunting me with faces on doors. A flickering light, attracting unwanted night life. It's just creepy.

At this moment in time I am in deep conversation with both Chaplin (a non-American friend) and Duckface (an American friend - the name was not chosen by me). They are both of the female variety of the human face, they are both creative, and they both have dark hair. Even now, while Duckface was quoting a poem by Nietzsche (The Stubborn Pen - for those of you who wish to know), and I was telling her that she should feign ignorance and take the credit for the poem. No one will remember that guy. He was too...dull (in my opinion).

Which brings me to the point I wish to make. Writing, tomorrow I will do some writing - and I shall subject you to the amount of writing that will be written, depending on whether or not it does get written or not (it will). It will be of either poetic or science fiction context. And it will be good (I hope).

Which brings me to another point. A 3-Minute Play of mine is being performed in Trinity College Carmarthen on Wednesday at 8pm. Entry is £2-3 and all are welcome (It'll be in the Studio bit at the back). I know, sad right, plugging that, but I'm sure it'll be a night of great stage entertainment. You should come.

I've got to go now. Technically this is already tomorrow's blog, but that's not going to stop me - and you know it (Hi Tag). Other blogs need my immediate attention - for instance, Duckface just made one (not under duress in anyway), and I shall go away and read it now, before bed.

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

P.S.

Duckface's Blog: http://unwillingquill.blogspot.com/

Tag's Blog: http://thoughtsofatimetravellingteen.blogspot.com/

Bells' Blog: http://onemoretimewithfeeling-anelebach.blogspot.com/

Scurvy's Blog: http://ginagibbs.blogspot.com/

Breakfast at Tiffanys...

I have a girlfriend.

Okay in the intervening time between then and now, I have acquired what some would call a girlfriend. She has long wavy red hair, lovely blue-green eyes, a curvaceous figure, and a brilliant personality to complement mine. I'm so happy. We went to town, we had dinner and drinks, and then we just walked back in the warm summer night. The moon was up, the stars were out, and the streets were empty. It was perfect. She was lovely, the night was lovely, everything was just so, dare I say it, lovely. But then I woke up...

Alright, so I don't have a girlfriend, so what? It's not like I'm lonely or anything.

Back to reality:

Believe it or not, instead of staying in today, because that would be a logical thing to do since we went out in the daylight only just yesterday, we went out again. A mutual friend of the flat, Jimbo, called me up at 10:55am and started to discuss the possibility of a Frankie and Benny's Breakfast. He said they serve breakfast until 12:00pm. This I thought was a bit late for breakfast so I rallied the troops together, much like Tag did on the previous day, already mentioned.

(Hi Tag!!!)

Anyway, so I managed to wake everyone who wanted to come, and get them all ready within 10 minutes. A world record for most of the ladies who came with us - not to name any names (Bells and Scurvy). So we left at 11:10am down there for 11:20am and I had American Pancakes with maple syrup. It was Looooooooooveeeely.

So we sat there with Jimbo, wondering what life would be like for people who just don't get up at that time of the day (namely normal Students) and go to breakfast.

I have to think that Breakfast, when done properly is perhaps one of the best and most filling meals of the day. A view both Jimbo and I agree with.

Here we are eating our pancakes, and drinking our drinks. I had Apple Juice (ordinary breakfast drink), Scurvy had tap water (the cheapskate), and there's Jimbo, Bells, and Tag with Alcoholic beverages ranging from a Pint of Bud to a Strawberry Daiquiri. I judged them, though Tag defended their alcoholic breakfast abuse with the phrase, 'it's two o'clock somewhere'. I still judged them.

So after, what was essentially, brunch, we went into the old townstead...again. I failed to acquire anything this time. Namely because I didn't need to, which is always good. Stopped off at Jimbo's, as was our leisure, and see how our friend had been living all that year. It turns out, it was quite well. A nice sized kitchen, a nice sized garden, and a nice sized bedroom. The only downside that I could see, was the overall smell and the lack of any sort of shutting device on the lavatory and bathing rooms (which were the same room as is the usual). This worried me a little, I mean how much protection can a sign saying 'In Use' really be when there's a drunk flatmate around, especially a drunk Jimbo. Not very much, and one of Jimbo's flatmates was a lady (lucky Jimbo - you advantage taking swine - lol - not really).

And that was my day so far - or at least the interesting bits. Quite peculiar, I have to admit, for us to do stuff two days in a row. We do get excitable and the need to calm down and just blog is a great one. So blog I shall.

My back is fine today. I'm in peak physical health, with a high recovery rate (not really, but my back is fine now).

So now I'm sat here writing this, thinking about writing that, and watching Tag blow up Wii Mii's using his ex-world-war-one dog fighting floating plane, on Wii Beach Resort. It's always fun when you turn a typically childish children's game into GTA (for all you non-gamers that's Grand Theft Auto - and an obviously adult sounding game). And I just saw him fly into the centre of a live volcano and burn to death (the poor Mii).

I don't actually know where I'm going with this but I just wanted to ramble which I have done.

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

P.S. I haven't actually written about Sleep-poetry or Chaplin today, things are looking up (oh wait, technically I just did...damnit!).

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...

Salutations, Shalom, Hello, Greetings...

Hi, I'm Tom and I enjoy life.

People say that they enjoy my company, and that my ideas and insights are welcomed and informative. I have the Smart Persona, the aura of a smart person - I don't believe this for obviously modest reasons.

I know many people, all of whom say some slightly differing accounts about me - though there are some definites that they might all agree on:

1. Appearance: I haven't weighed less than 20-stone in almost 7 years.

2. Age: I have definitely been told that I was born in the wrong century, and that I would be more at home in a quaint English countryside as a farmer in the 17th-18th Centuries.

3. Laughter: My laughs vary, though I have been told that my are one of my most memorable traits.

More about me:

I'm tall. I don't drive. I can eat. I don't have to eat. I'm single. I 'moo' when I sleep. I have written a poem while fast asleep (this was recently). I've broken my leg and walked home on it (this was not recently). I can cook good food. I never do. I speak the Queen's English and no other Language (well a little French, but that was a long time ago). I have a fear of the dark (namely outside in the dark). I have been mugged (this explains the dark thing). I'm writing this for the sake of writing this (so stop reading if you get bored). I have a deviantArt account (http://ajaxthegreatest.deviantart.com/). I want to become a successful writer. I don't think this will be possible (but we'll see). I've just finished the 2nd Year of a Creative Writing Degree in Carmarthen (I hope I've done well).

More interesting matters:

Okay, so let's talk about the 'writing a poem while fast asleep' bit. It was last week, either Thursday or Friday morning, and I wake up. My notebook, which had been sat on my desk, was now flat open on my bedside table. With pen lid on floor and scriblings on the page. I had subconsciously written, what appears to be a love poem. This poem details a certain fancy for a certain someone - let's call her Chaplin (well my flatmates tell me that the poem seems to edge on for the liking of Chaplin, at least). So it would appear I like Chaplin, whether I knew it or not. Chaplin being this girl who came down from North Wales to stay with us in Carmarthen for a few days (that's right, just a few days). So she came, she went, and I thought that was the end of it.

She being the good friend of my flatmate - let's call her Bells. Who is going out with Tag (okay I'm carrying on with the whole anonymous thing), who might just be reading this right now - Hi Tag - if you know who you are. So they, and my other two flatmates, Wodge and Pill, have been trying to set me up with just about anyone - or so I've been told, and it has been strongly hinted at. Especially with one of my other flatmates, HB Sauce.

Anyway, so she came, she saw, and she apparently conquered. And now I think I quite like her - well my subconscious seems to be hinting towards as much. And I've been writing more of the same poems - not in my sleep - but on the recommendation of my American friend, Clockwork (this being the sort of self-therapy I apparently needed). So I've embraced the dreams, and now, as of June 1st, I have stopped having them. I miss the vivid dreams - I think I miss dreams in general.

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

P.S. The Poems are found on my deviantArt (http://ajaxthegreatest.deviantart.com/) I imagine you can guess which ones they are.