And So It Ends...

Well that was that. University in all its wondrous and life making brilliance...

I promise I won't summaries anything. But these past 2 weeks I've never been so exhausted, and all I was doing was writing and presenting presentations.

The iEvolve Conference went extremely well thank you very much. I got many a laugh and an email afterwards from one of my lecturers asking for an image I used.

FYI it was this one:

I thought that'd make you chuckle. All around its been a good time. We just don't know what to do with ourselves now. There's no structure to our lives, the widening gyre, the falcon cannot hear the falconer. Man I love that poem. Things fall apart.

So everything is all well in the world, apart from now its down to Me and a few others to create the backstory to the Carmarthen Zombie Apocalypse (CZA) which is very cool.

I might find out whether I'm Cardiff's International Poet of the Year, I'll be reading something in the Carmarthen Ffrinj this year at the Dylan Thomas Boathouse, and I've got to try and finish my major literary masterpiece. Not much to do with a lot of time on your hands now is there?

Oh and I've got to fit in countless hours of Xbox and Tv.

I also think things with HB Sauce are looking up. I might ask her if she wants to catch a film, see what she says. Wish me luck. Wait, this isn't the end, it's only just the beginning (Ooooh I said it! Hi Tag!)

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

284 Days Later...

Well this is going to be a very long film...

So the time is almost here. Yes that's right, its the time at the end of things when I like to summaries everything I managed to do while I was doing the thing. A recap if you will. Only this isn't a recap or a summary - not this blog at any rate.

No I'm here to inform you all, that as of the 24th June I will have my results, and on the 5th July I will be graduating from, I'm not sure where yet, I think they'll change the name at least twice over breakfast tomorrow and a few more times before lunch. Either way its almost been 284 Days since this year has begun and her I type before you now.

If you didn't know I spent the last two weeks of my Easter holiday at home, which is nice and all, but not so good if you've got a degree to finish and you can't do much work because you're doing housework or gardening. And now that I have returned to Carmarthen I find myself unable to start anything due to this two-weeks of worklessness. So hopefully those gears should kick start with an early morning tomorrow, leisurely striding into the day, with casual breaks of video games in between (Hi Tag!).

I may also be in need of a job around August time due to this perfect getaway in southern Italy at the end of July. I need a holiday, I've not been on holiday in 7 Years, and even then I've not flown anywhere - YAY! Anywho, back on the job search, I've been constantly informed by my good friend HB Sauce (she's a very good artist, you should view here gallery here) that there are no jobs for writers of anything in this country, because all the other writers got a head start and have those jobs now. So I'm thinking about detaching myself away from everything I know and love and moving to California where, I'm inform by HB, the only good jobs reside. How would that be? A nice long holiday in a sunny, stormy, earthquake, disaster movie, area?

Meh, I need something new to keep me moving. I hope to God I won't be saying 'Would You like Fries with that?' at the end of the Summer...oh wait I forgot, I'm over qualified for that job now.

Unless of course you guys know of any jobs going?

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

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.