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I said I'd try to post every day, but I've been busy with work (six twelve hour shifts in a row this week, of which two are still to come) so this isn't as developed as I'd like - a piece of conjectural evolutionary psychology.
So, this is something I'm sure we've all noticed at some point or another: people (generally women) stealing food from other people's plates.
This reads like classic primate flirtation behaviour, to me - a demonstration of classic monkey survival skills.
There's more to the idea than this, but that's about all I'm ready to articulate right now!
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So, I was speaking to my housemate yesterday, and he mentioned that he had no intention of buying a bookcase for the unfurnished flat he's hoping to move into - now, the guy's a Bosnian evacuee with a drinking problem, but I still thought better of him than that!
See, to me a bookcase is more than just a thing that holds books - my bookcase is a picture of what I truly believe.
There's Altered Carbon and Glasshouse, because I believe in Transhumanism but don't expect it to fix the human condition any time soon.
There's David Eddings, because of the memories tied up there - me as a teenager first encountering Sir Sparhawk and seeing in his world-weariness an echo of mine - sharing them with my ex, arguing whether Ehlana was feminist (my argument) or annoying (hers) and trading tales - a moment that's gone and worth holding on to.
The complete collection of Ciaphas Caine books, a tribute to self-deprecation and whistling past the graveyard, and Neal Stephenson because sometimes we all want to feel clever - hundresds of points in time and memory, stories waiting to be shared - this one a loan from an old friend, this one abandoned in a cafe, fragments of faiths I've held and people I've known.
A bookcase isn't just storage, it's a piece of your soul you can show the world.
Current Mood:
shocked shocked
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So, I'm back from what I'm going to call a hiatus, and I'm going to try to post something every day - today, it's self-indulgence!
See, I'm trying to get used to expressing my thoughts for other people again - I've spent a long time wrestling Churchill's black dog, but it feels like I've got a good chance of shifting it now, and I'm so done with living life at arm's length.
That's my problem - I feel like I've become disconnected from the world, like I've drifted away from all the people I've cared about - never deliberately, but if I don't feel I've something to say I won't say anything, and just like that it's years since I've spoken to someone, and that just makes it that much harder.
There's no-one I can talk to about how I feel any more, and I'd almost convinced myself that that was because I didn't, but then all that changed.
See, back at the end of January I met a woman - a smart woman, an amazing woman, but also a faithless one.
I knew from the start what I was getting into - she was the friend of a friend, and I knew full well she was with someone else - someone who she thought neglected her.
This was the second time we'd met - the first hadn't gone so well, and this time she threw a drink at me (Which I'm assured was an accident, honest!) but she talked to me, too - we talked all night, in fact, just sharing our selves.
She opened her soul to me, light and dark both - and there was a lot of both there. Of course I fell in love! It was like rain on a desert, and I bloomed, felt things I hadn't done for years - care, and connection, and desire - They do say you always remember your first (And there's a fun fact for you - 24 years old, and I was still a virgin) and I could have done a lot worse - she did care for me too, and we were happy, but she still wouldn't leave him, and doubt started to set in - I mean, even if she did leave him how was I to know she wouldn't do it to me? So in the end, I broke it off with her, because I couldn't trust her any more than I could trust anyone else.
Now, breaking up with someone hurts, so I withdrew - and then I found myself re-reading a series of graphic novels that meant a lot to me as a teenager, The Books Of Magic by Neil Gaiman and John Ney Rieber.
It's like the perfect guide to growing up, and reading it just made me so tired of living half a life - it put me back in touch with my recently re-opened emotions and showed me that I could get myself to a better place, if I was willing to take my chances - and I'm trying, but I still feel alone - so I come to the main point of this post - apologies and thanks to the people who've meant so much to me over the years, people I've maybe not said enough to.
To the people of #gfaqs: You are the family of my heart. You've been there when no-one else was, and I'm sorry I'm so bad at being there for you.
To the marvelous Ms. Maravalo: You were the best friend I could have had, and I hope your life now is as wonderful as you could make it - I loved you (mostly) like a sister, and I'll always be proud to have known you.
To Gab: I really hope the UK is treating you well - you were always far kinder to me than I deserved.
...Is it weird that I've always been better at female friends? Anyway, whatever. Throughtout my life people have been great to me, I've never been good at recognising that in time, I'm grateful to you and I'm sorry I cut you out of my life.
...I may try to rewrite this to make it make more sense at some point, or I may not. My apologies for the ranting.
End of line.

EDIT: An apology I missed, for something more villainous than the others -
To Kylie, Sarah and Ivy: I don't think I ever really understood how much you cared, and I'm sorry for that - and for forgetting about you. I just reread my journals, and saw comments from you, and it brought you back and I'm sorry, because I didn't think I was the kind of person to just completely forget a friend.
Current Mood:
embarrassed embarrassed
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So I was browsing a messageboard, and I just saw something incredible - a rudimentary but functional conceptual grammar!
Image after image, a conversation entirely in shared allusion and assumption woven through the words, filling in the gaps.
We need this in real life.
Current Mood:
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We're almost a decade into the 21st century now, and the future is no closer.
Don't get me wrong, changes have been made - I do predate the internet, after all (and that never used to make me feel old)- but they're all transitional, only there's no sign of them actually transitioning into anything new.
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Just for kicks, I'm not even going to try to get it published.
It's not properly formatted or written yet, but I'm doing my best.

As for what it's about, well, let's just say that it's the tale of A pathetic creature of meat and boneCollapse )

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I'm either too smart or too stupid, depending on how you look at it.
I mean, I'm bright enough to know I'm broken, but not bright enough to fix myself.
Bright enough to know that I'm not the only person to feel like this, but too stupid to take any comfort from this.
If anything, that makes it worse; knowing that all over the world, flames burn in the darkness but they burn alone, a thousand lights, a thousand minds in concert, an elegy for youth denied.

I didn't realise how much I missed her until I went back and it crashed down on me, the lonliness I'd denied, and when I left it was winter, inside and out, but I'd thawed enough for the cold to cut.
And there's no-one I can tell this, because I can't let myself be weak in front of them, I have to be in control, and I don't know why; I never cry anymore, not even when I should or when I want to, when the lonliness cuts to the bone, when I think of the bridges I've burned, when the future crashes into me like a wave and it's ice, ice forever.
As I write this I'm staring at my blades, and it's like they're calling to me- I know it won't do any good, but I want it, I want it so much it hurts, but there's only one place this road ever ends up and I really don't want to see the inside of a hospital room again.
I'm falling apart, I know I am, I'm coming apart and I'm scared of what will be left because I know what I could be, How easy it would be to look the dark in the eye and make it my own, and why shouldn't I? What's the light ever gotten me?
I thought I was a writer, until I entered a class full of them and realised I was nothing, my writing fit for nothing, hollow and without feeling - because I don't feel, not like I should. I'm just a space, a rock life ruses around and doesn't really touch, just slowly wears away.

I feel like Laika, poor Laika, stranded and alone in a little metal tomb, a thousand miles above home and no way back.
I wonder if she was scared, if those walls seemed hateful when the air began to run thin, or if death came like a friend with a warm embrace.
And I think about how I'd like to do that, just just leave this blue planet behind and go where no-one expects anything of me, just sail away in the darkness.
"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
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Gods damn it, life fucking sucks right now.
I have neither smoked nor slept since friday, and this morning I was looking forwards to coming in to university, picking up my emails, and buying a fresh pack of cowboy killers.

No such luck, and for a shitty reason too!
The fucking cashpoint on campus is down, so I can't hit up the SU shop. I'm honestly considering shelling out the six bucks for an underground ticket just so I can go somewhere and buy more.
Also, the emails I've been waiting on haven't arrived, and I have £30 to live on until next week.
I'm pretty much coming apart at the seams here, although I'm re-reading Sputnik Sweetheart which always makes me feel better, it's such a fucking awesome book.
Anyway, whatever.

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By all the various gods, did you ever just have one of those days?
I've had three. In a row.
Except for my perspective, it's been one long, long day, as my old friend insomnia is back.
Caffeine and nicotine are the only substances sustaining the meat shell now, and I would sell my own mother for either a gram of blow or a sleeping pill.
I have some stuff to put up - nothing good, just a freewriting exercise which I thought went to an interesting place and a short story which is, as much of my life, extremely depressing.
However, I STILL don't have internet access in my room, so I'm once again posting from the campus library, so you'll just have to be patient.
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So, today is my first day of actual lessons at the University of East London, Docklands campus.
In about two and a half hours, I'll be going in for my lecture, but for the moment here are my thoughts...
ACCOMODATION: Pleasant enough, and the guy in the room next to me is an Irish punk, which counts as a good thing.
Bad thing: Further down the hall are some cypriots.
This in and of itself isn't a bad thing, save for the fact that it makes political discussion a tad tricky (I don't know if they're Greek or Turkish Cypriots) and the fact that last friday they were playing bizarre foreign music at high volumes until about 0400 saturday.
CAMPUS: Again, quite nice, but about half an hour away from where I am by bus.
Fortunately, the university lays on a free buss, but you have to get up pretty early in the morning to get on board before it fills up.
Current Location:
Library, UEL Docklands campus
Current Music:
Dresden Dolls, Half Jack
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