how does one go about the project of becoming less english?

i now have weekly lessons to aid this. i am developing my accent rapidly and can now speak english more or less fluently with a solid russian accent. that's not bad for a beginner.

one thing i am struggling with is the facial expressions of a non-englishman in london.

a lot of foreigners walk around with wide-eyed delight at the bustle, culture and architecture that i take for granted. instead i seem to walk, or more accurately stomp along looking like i'm about to burst in tears.

i've noticed this quite frequently of late and other commuters seem to look towards me sympathetically which amuses me greatly. every now and then, if i am lucky enough to get a seat on the train and one next to a window, i occasionally catch sight of my reflection in the train window whilst i listen to music.

my initial thought is invariably, hmm, those are big headphones, i wonder if the noise is leaking out and the people around are getting annoyed by the music i am listening to.

then secondly i think, ahhh. doesn't he look sad.

i put together a new mix the other night to accompany my journey to and from work. it works perfectly for the journey home, a rousing song to accompany my exit from work, some nice electronica and cool beats for the first train, going into some spirited words from the delightful 'hymie's basement' and other mixed stuff for the second train. by the final train i have fully hit into the sunset music to accompany the opening up of the city and the arrival of some wide-open spaces.

the mid part of it surprised me today as i realised that i had stuck three of my favourite sad electronica songs back to back. whilst listening to it gazing into the darkness out of the window on the tube i caught sight of my reflection and i felt my eyes well up.

i made a good show of pretending i had dust in my eye of course, got to hold on to those last threads of any dignity. it made me laugh though and that i think, is what made me look proper crazy.

always beware of the lone commuter listening to music, staring out of the window of a tube train and laughing - it is a clear sign of something being drastically wrong.

sebastapol adrianapolis

to be useful, one must be charming, and my pen has lost that art. some will malignantly contest this loss. be that as it may; nevertheless, i feel that i am fallen, and one cannot sink below nothingness.

sebastapol adrianapolis

"any man who consults his heart after a tragedy is aware that he is deeply affected and softened. although great sufferings may be depicted, the high level of intensity and the great joys which accompany them induce men to prefer a life which bears such risks rather than one devoid of both the joys and the sorrows engendered by great passion."

armpits, grease and general nastiness aside, i'm busy.

busy in most senses of the word. my mind is on ten things at a time. on the journey to and from work i find myself reading my book, turning the pages and getting through it but then i snap awake and realise i have been daydreaming for the last 20 minutes.

today i realised this a little late and found myself on the a number of stations from my intended destination. oh, and also on the wrong train line entirely. i was only 45 minutes late for work in the end after a 2 hour journey there. not bad really.

not that the boss can complain. i am getting rather suspicious of the compliments they have been dishing out this last week or so. something vaguely hansel and gretal-like about it. like they are getting ready to come in for the kill. the praying mantis technique if you will.

i realised today that i have now mastered every aspect of my job. it's taken about two months (of admittedly limited effort and no small time spent slacking) and i changed jobs to something entirely new less than two weeks ago but i have mastered that already. there's nothing left in it to surprise or test me in any way. i am now feeling hungry for a fresh challenge. i have found my feet and dusted myself down and now i'm ready to start climbing.

the soothing noises of a new tom waits song currently tranquilise my soul and i make plans. add them to my little store. i sit on a substantial bed of ideas, thoughts, hopes and of course, to provide some balance i have a slightly overbearing bank of fears to keep me from becoming another one of the marching braindead.

i have now found that in this country, it is always correct to assume the worst of everyone. no matter how reasonable or friendly or kind their eyes look, they all turn out to be vain or arrogant or thoughtless or 'british'.

i wonder if there are any more like me round these parts?

"any man who consults his heart after a tragedy is aware that he is deeply affected and softened. although great sufferings may be depicted, the high level of intensity and the great joys which accompany them induce men to prefer a life which bears such risks rather than one devoid of both the joys and the sorrows engendered by great passion."

this was a nail on the head moment.

sebastapol adrianapolis

and while i'm at it i just want to get this off my chest:

why is it that no matter what train i get on, i always end up standing squashed in a corner with either a sweaty armpit in my face or.....

today....

i had to suffer the indignity of standing for 20 torturous minutes on the underground, crushed like a fucking sardine with a greasy, vile, unhygienic, sweat-soaked pervert standing in front of me.

no matter how i moved his hair was in my face. and he stank of rot. it was so, so, so terribly awful.

i was gagging and close to throwing up. one girl saw my complete discomfort and did little to help the situation by glaring in disgust at this hairy tramp of a man in front of me.

seriously, the smell of piss on the station platform when i got off the train was a welcome relief.

give me another 40 years of this for 5 days a week. i think i might just join the army instead.

sebastapol adrianapolis

have some sympathy for the terminally nostalgic.

i have lots to say but not the will to spill it all out right now. some painfully funny things have happened. there's always a flipside of course, the funniest moments generally coming out of great unpleasantness.

my time away cannot come a moment too soon.

i am contemplating heading south to sarasota but i realise this is just a lyric in a nice song by pavement.

i want to go to antarctica to be on my own because i can't stand this clutter. i feel trapped and claustrophobic in this city and in this country and i need to get out there and breathe.

the opportunity doesn't come easily and i know ihave to work hard for it but still, a lucky roll of the dice right now would be graciously appreciated.

that �10 i won on the lottery doesn't count though. financial reward is nothing when you're searching for a canvas to paint on. i have a picture that is very vivid in my mind, when i try to focus it often disappears or becomes more distant. not sure what any of this means though...

maybe my minds eye needs to visit the opticians.

maybe the exhaust fumes have finally knocked me off my ledge.

silly.

sebastapol adrianapolis

an awful lot has happened since the last entry.

tom waits tickets sold out within minutes. first gig in 20 years and all that. i didn't manage to get one and am subsequently gutted. i'm going to see if i can get hold of a ticket somehow but expect to be buying off a tout for an exorbitant amount.

went out on friday night with a mate from lund who was in town to graduate which was cool, though i discovered to my horror that my recent monk-like behaviour has rendered my powers especially weak. i was, in short, a weed for the night. i let the side down a huge amount and made a bit of an arse of myself in doing so, but what the hell.

i also booked up my holiday. my first proper fortnight's holiday in 10 years and i am absurdly excited and hatching plans to visit a thousand and one places and people.

i suppose i should tell them that i will be passing by, or should that read passing through?

anyhoo, things are pretty nice right now even if under the surface they are secretly a bit shitty.

found my focus and am back on my mission.

thank god for the smiths!

sebastapol adrianapolis

so to summarise, tom waits is playing live in town. for the first time in decades, the big man is coming here. and i'm going to be first in line. for tickets and on the night, i can't wait!

work is tedious, but also irrelevant. my friends have upset me.

i've upset some of them i suspect.

i'm tired of it all and i need to sleep, this evening was a watershed. i saw a very bad thing tonight and i don't want any more where that came from.

oh the long journey home.

sebastapol adrianapolis

some days are bad and some days are awful. some days are not so awful and others are even quite tolerable.

in many ways today was okay. not "just" okay as the advert says, it was genuinely ok. a reasonable day. hard to fault with any true conviction. in the words that i have oft quoted, stolen from the inimitable o'shea jackson as his family know him. o'shea, known as ice cube to regular proletarians such as yourself is on record as saying

"...and it read ice cube's a pimp
drunk as hell but no throwing up
half way home and my pager still blowing up
today I didn't even have to use my a.k.
i got to say it was a good day."

i must clarify, my day wasn't based in south central la, i didn't discover i was officially a pimp, there was no airship saying so in the sky. i didn't get drunk or throw up. i haven't thrown up for at least a year. i haven't got drunk for quite some time either. i don't even own a pager, i have a mobile. it doesn't even work very well either. poorly made consumer goods which are not designed to last any longer than the year the company wants me to own it for.

sorry, that was a little off topic, distracted by my political slant. where it does come true is in the last line. i can categorically state that i didn't have to use my a.k. this is indisputable. i don't even own an a.k. i have never even touched a gun. nothing more than an air gun on a school adventure holiday. wouldn't if i could. unless of course there were mitigating circumstances; i am a pacifist and i don't agree with such wanton violence.

but, as i said and as i must reiterate now, i did not use my a.k.

now that we have established this basic truth we can also observe that today was a good day. decisions have been made and my eyes are beginning to open from this brief slumber that i have allowed to delay the journey along my path.

again, i can see the material world that torments me in this trashy and floundering society of which i sit upon the edge.

i can see a light.

it is a streetlight that is directly outside my bedroom window. it burns with a bright orange sulphurus glow and it tells me that i should be getting ready to leave.

sebastapol adrianapolis

i finished the last book, on to another one. not the most pleasing or inspirational but very funny nonetheless.

includes the choice quote:

"it's the way we are when we're angry or scared. i get crazy and talk too much."

i'd agree with that one but it's not as funny as:

"now he tensed with outrage. i am sixty-eight, he said to himself. what was there about him that gave the people the notion he had come to the terminal to be done or have his balls licked? where the fuck was mcmahon."

if you can guee where that comes from i'll give you a chinese burn.

there's a lot of idiots around here and i think i might be the biggest.

i think i'll head back a few months and read my entries about the m�m concerts to see if that cheers me up.

oh, before i forget....

a family of swedes got on the train next to me on the way home today. i had my headphones on but could make out the distinct sounds of their hurdy-gurdy language. i turned off my cd player, closed my book, rested my head back against the headrest and with the wind in my face from an open window, for a moment i felt safe and content.

sebastapol adrianapolis

bank holiday weekends. they never let you down, always a disappointment. a weekend with two sundays. rubbish.

did some shopping, bought some more nice clothes for myself - it's the only good thing that has come out of the last few months is that i have money to buy myself some nice clothes for the first time in absolute years.

i got some smart stuff as well, no longer am i the terribly scruffy student type. i am now dapper like the smoothest, smartest, twattiest goon.

i also had a stroll around the national gallery this morning too. very brief mind, and my favourite painting that i dropped into see for the first time in the last two years was being rehung.

i know where the sodding thing is hung, i can home in on it with my eyes closed but it wasn't there, just an empty space and a sign of apologies. shame.

saw all the biggies and a few of my other favourite paintings including a wicked Van Eyck but the place was too filled with tourists. when winter comes round and the legions of bored-looking schoolkids and snap-happy japanese tourists aren't flocking around sunflowers and the other van goch paintings i will be able to enjoy this remarkable gallery unmolested.

can't remember if i previously mentioned it but my mother declared with great joy a few days ago that i had to find myself somewhere to live as they're moving house and i, obviously am such a terrible pain.

i couldn't give a crap about it all. i'm feeling so shite that it is just one more thing to stick on my back, i've had a cursory glance around about renting a flat or a room in a houseshare. very expensive. very very expensive. it's crazy. when the day comes i will literally have nothing left over after paying the rent each month.

kind thoughts from the folks, nice to know that they still don't give a shit for me, it's been the best part of 15 years now.

i've also started looking at getting a proper job in politics abroad. seen a vacancy at greenpeace that i really like the look of but i'd say i'm probably 6 months shy of experience at this stage to be applying for it. an internship would be good but sadly i'm not one of the lucky rich kids who can afford it.

as long as i have a few hundred quid to spare for a holiday that will keep me on the line for the time being but it is a struggle.

i've come close to losing it in a multitude of different ways this last week.

it's strange, nobody seems to notice quite what is going on right now, though the hare krishnas that stalk the streets of london at the weekend seem to pick me out a mile off. must be the 100 yard stare that shows my absolute discontent that is only recognisable to the most trained eyes of those that actually give a shit, or maybe they just want to sell me more of their books.

sebastapol adrianapolis

the human voice. splendid.

today my book ran out on me. i finished a glorious read in the morning, whilst halfway to work. i was left alone, stranded in this sea of commuting hell with just my headphones to protect me.

so i listened to the album that i, in my several months old tradition, had thrown together late on a sunday night shortly before going to sleep. this cd was rather messy, computer problems had only half-filled it and the albums i chose were rather messy, a mixture of new and untested old random albums.

one of them though is the latest offering from the delightful bjork. one of my most favourite of favourites. a voice that makes me shiver with excitement. her latest album is called medulla and it is delightful. i have been listening to it all week long and i always liked it a lot, a number of the tracks especially though.

it has a collection of different guests on it including various icelandic and english choirs as well as a real world throat singer. it has rahzel, it has mike patton and most wonderfully delightfully specially of all....

it has robert wyatt!

and despite this long list of guests that have one glaring thing in common it took me until today to realise...

this album is a celebration of the voice. each guest a different example of it's beauty. and i didn't realise for several days. and then it all hit me like a train, i realised, i knew. and then but 5 minutes ago i read my first review of the album and they point our cheerfully that "this is a celebration of the human voice". well i know that! you don't need to tell me so, i worked it out for myself you fucker! aha.

it's lovely!

sebastapol adrianapolis

what do you want?

what one thing do you feel that you require, desire and above all need? try asking that question and if you can come up with an answer easily you are on your way there.

i ask myself all the time and i know the answer, the answer is perhaps many different things at different times but they all equate to the same solitary requirement.

aside from that though, lower, far lower. i want a new years party that is actually good. i know it is only the end of august but i do, i really do want a new years party.

it makes sense to me.

having a "traditional" new years party in the new year is both a ridiculous anticlimax and an arrogant and dangerous precedent to set.

have your new years party when the year has turned the corner, when there is some time left but you know it has run it's course. now is my new year, not january. january treats me badly every year without fail, firstly because that is when the new year lies - i already stated the reasons for that one.

secondly that is the month of my birth - when it all started to go wrong.

but seriously, you must realise what i'm saying is the truth! how will i ever come to lead the religious cult that i have always promised myself if i cannot even convince my schizophrenic self that the new year is all wrong?

at work today an email was sent round all the staff in my office. a member of staff was outside a local shop last night and she got punched in the face and robbed. sadly an all too common occurence these days and even more so in the part of town i work in. my sympathies go to the poor lady who had such a nasty experience. the problem comes with the email. i discovered the actual story of the attack when i scrolled down the page, it had been forwarded about 20 times before reaching a rather senior management figure who then saw fit to send it to everyone in the building, however many hundreds that is.

sympathy for the involved party? no. notification that security has been stepped up by the company? no. what else? what else could you possibly want to hear? "be careful." that was all. nothing else, no personal touch, no hints, tips, suggestions or any sign of emotion or care. be careful. probably ranks up there with the most sickening and mindless of platitudes that could possibly have been uttered in this or any other situation.

why not just call the woman in question a reckless and naive cow who had it coming to her and be done with it instead of pussyfooting around with faux sympathies. bollocks to the lot of them.

sebastapol adrianapolis

sweet dreams are made of these, who am i to disagree?

i am the fucking truth, that's who i am. trying to keep my head held up and to keep moving on.

annie lennox - a dylan thomas for the post-punk generation.

maybe not, but i have to say that i am finding a bit of joy in the writings of dylan thomas these days. joy being possibly too strong a word to describe exactly what i am trying to say but, well.... do not go gentle into that good night anyway.

work is just about working, would be nice to be tested a little, i could do that shit standing on my head to be honest. that's what the future is for though.

homelife goes from worse to crazily terrible. and i don't mean the new album by the delectable ninja tune group homelife either. i mean home life. the life one lives at home.

must be talking to an angel...

at least i have some nice memories, walking along in my usual cloud of disappointment as i head back to my abode i am occasionally cheered by a nice thought. sometimes.

found a tape of me and my brother chatting nonsense, singing and bickering that was recorded when i would have been about 3 or 4 and my brother 2 years older. haven't heard it for a while.

my very first memory is within that tape you know. time flies though and i think i will soon.

going to take off soon.

"i wish that i knew what i know now when i was younger" so says the song i am currently listening to. god i fucking hate rod stewart. the faces had their marginally tolerable moments but really, that parrot-faced berk?

a couple of choice quotes from my current reading, i won't say who wrote them for fear of appearing to be an absurdly pretentious fool:

"...my tired eyes refused to sleep and in them a pair of green spots swirled representing the world i had left for dead behind me and mocking the so-called liberation i sought. they harnessed their image to my extraordinary flight across the lands and seas of the world."

"...their stares are tame, almost fearful, and completely indifferent to the outside world. some give the impression they only go on living because it's a habit they cannot shake...."

who knows where the time goes...

sebastapol adrianapolis

as ever this weekend began with good intentions. i intended to go home after work and to spend the weekend indulging in all things cerebral.

things didn't go according to plan.

to say things went badly is true, i feel i have wasted the weekend, but good things have happened.

i went to meet a friend after work on friday to chill and hang out for an hour or two, had a really got laugh and a chat and i found out that there was a birthday party deep in the heart of the trendiest district, so i got lured away from my plans.

the evening was ok, i saw a whole lot of friends for the first time since coming back though i didn't have time to talk to all of the people i wanted to during the course of the evening. a friend who i have barely seen since i was 18 was there and he is good these days.

he's been somewhat of an enigma, having some personal problems and all that jazz so the word was. he seemed great though and it was a pleasure to see the dude again, here's hoping it won't be another 6 years until we next cross paths, a saner person would have swapped contact details but fuck it, i'm clearly not the sanest person you could ever run into.

saturday gave me some valuable time to relax in the afternoon and then the evening was consumed with movies. a wonderfully entertaining, shocking and downright upsetting documentary called "outfoxed" about the appalling nonsense that passes for journalism on the fox network. i also watched "super size me" which was entertaining and quite thought provoking too.

the evening was rounded off with, and please don't laugh too hard, a steven seagal movie that was on tv. hardly my cup of tea i'm sure you will realise but it was fun. let me explain, the film wasn't fun, the film was complete excrement. what was fun was the usual routine of sitting about and tearing it to shreds. i was sat about with a mate, him without money and me without the will to smile. we sat there and in something akin to olympic superstars we tore the film apart and rearranged it into something painfully and inexplicably hilarious. i love doing that silly stuff.

strange stuff on friday while i come to think of it, a friend of a friend works in tv, not quite sure what she does but she was going on at me about moving into the production side, suggesting that i should spare some thought to applying to work in the company they work at in the "ideas" department.

who! me? doing something like that? wouldn't know how. don't think i have what it takes to do something so regimented, besides i don't think anything i say or think of has much of an appeal outside a very limited circle.

still, it got me thinking a bit and that's never a bad thing. i'm quite interested as you may tell from the fact i've bothered mentioning it at all, guess i'll see if anything further is said or if the ball so much as rolls at all.

sebastapol adrianapolis

"it's root root root for the home team
shout like your dad at the tv screen
tie a dollar bill around a circus flea
the fee to flee what you can't see

you put your life in the hands of the highway designers,
your stride an unforseen side effect
of the urban planner's realized blueprint dream"

london smells.

no big revelation there. everyone says so. it is a commonly accepted fact. but what does it smell of? the underground this afternoon stank of imminent death. sad but true.

death smells of recently eaten hamburger breath.

stuck cheek-to-cheek on the victoria line with tourists with all i could do to prevent myself from vomiting and crying like a lamb. they smelled of hamburger and hotdog and all that is bad about humanity

not that i am being a touch melodramatic there of course!

the smell was nauseous. the journey is always bad enough without having to put up with other people's poor lifestyle choices. they were americans though and they probably didn't realise. but their foul odour was so crude. a smelly smelly smell. good use of adjectives i know.

no, i'm not kidding at all, they were pungent, repugnant and decidedly indecent.

a new mantra: thoroughly thought through.

possibly the most magnificent example of the english language i have stumbled across on my travels so far. it looks so basic but it means so much.

sebastapol adrianapolis

i've been putting off my next entry for days. i've had lots of interesting and unusual thoughts and ideas for things to say over the last week but i have had the constant nagging belief that it is all a bit pointless.

my week, since that last post has been filled to the brim with thoughts of time.

time spent, time wasted, time remaining. time well spent, the time of my life, the worst time i could ever imagine.

i think that all my problems come down to time or more precisely my misuse of it. when i've had it and had it good i haven't realised to appreciate it. at all other times i sit around with regrets of time wasted. when i'm feeling happy it is because of thoughts of time to come.

i see people every day of my life who have constantly wasted their time and have achieved nothing with themselves and i see others who know exactly what they want and utilise their time to try and fulfil their desires.

i know where i want to be, that was the point of my little 'experiment' but is it just a sad excuse to go on with this sham of wasting time?

the clock is ticking, i am working hard on my aims and ambitions but i'm not going anywhere, i'm not achieving anything. maybe it all needs a shot int he arm. maybe a jolt will kick things along.

but then i tried that once before and it did me no favours.

maybe if i was to run away i might make things better for myself. maybe i need to be more selfish. maybe i am too selfish and that is why things are so shit right now.

one thing i do know is that i can't breathe right now. it has been many months since i last felt that i could breathe and it is getting worse.

sebastapol adrianapolis

my gran's brother died today. he had a heart attack yesterday and another one today whilst in hospital and he passed away earlier this evening.

my brother was going to take my gran up to see him on wednesday for the first time in a while. my great-uncle had been planning to move to france to be closer to his daughter who moved there with her family a few years ago.

it's massively upsetting. i can't believe that this has happened just 2 days before my gran was going to see him. i don't know what to say or do.

i'm feeling quite pathetic, confused, sad, everything really.

i had a long chat with my brother this afternoon about everything. i am going to take a day off next week so that we can take her out for the day and spend some time with her. i think we are going to drive up to her hometown, the place where we spent so many delightful long summers at my gran's house.

sebastapol adrianapolis

another weekend has drawn to a close.

friday was dreadful. i went to a friends place of work and sat around in a nice little garden with a whole bunch of random peeps having a little sing song and generally relaxing in the 35 degree heat.

i then made the cardinal error of being dragged along to the barfly. i despise that place. one of the worst clubs i have ever been to, full of the worst kind of pretentious indie snobs. crap music, crap prices and drunk english people.

i'm sick of drunk english people.

saturday i had a quiet one, went over to a friends house and sat around having a laugh and generally talking shit as i tend to do. we then watched the shawshank redemption. my mate was the last person on this planet to see the film. he had always held some sort of perverse pride in having never seen it.

much as i do in never having watched a bill & ted film or a fricking jim carrey film.

had a giggle anyhow, though didn't feel at all at ease. it's the way of this land, i feel a yard off the pace all the time.

this evening i've cracked on with my self-enforced learning program. i'm a good few hours into the course now and am rather satisfied with the results so far.

if i get the chance to have a practice some time as i desire and intend i may find that i have no confidence outside of my room to do so but time will tell if it will happen.

i've been slack for a bit, feeling down about everything but most of all myself. i'm going to throw myself further into this learning business with every spare moment. i'll probably go over to my brother's house this week to watch the football. i should treat him and vic to a meal as they have done for me a few times already since i've been back.

got to remember to get that recipe from my italian mate so i can then potentially destroy it by removing the meat and trying to make it in a veggie style. either way it'll probably be better than most of the shite i have been putting up with of late!

other than that of course, i intend for these next few weeks to continue at a desperately depressing monks pace. it's a tough and solitary existence...

sebastapol adrianapolis

show me the way to amarillo. lovely song.

as i write general tommy franks yaps in my ear. what a prick, straight-talking right wing wanker. grrrrrr.

today i laughed at the misfortune of a stranger. a fool. the suited fool tried to run and get on to a tube train that was just closing it's doors. as he stepped on board the train and slowed down the doors smacked him on the shoulder dislodging a cup of piping hot coffee all over his suit. some splashes went up on his face too, obviously not too hot though as he wasn't hurt or anything.

he just looked a fool. and i laughed at the impatient fool.

sebastapol adrianapolis

elvis was a hero to most
but he never meant shit to me you see
straight up racist that sucker was
simple and plain
mother fuck him and john wayne
cause i'm black and i'm proud
i'm ready and hyped plus i'm amped
most of my heroes don't appear on no stamps
sample a look back you look and find
nothing but rednecks for 400 years if you check
don't worry be happy
was a number one jam
damn if i say it you can slap me right here
(get it) lets get this party started right
right on, c'mon
what we got to say
power to the people no delay
to make everybody see
in order to fight the powers that be

sebastapol adrianapolis

i have a good few hours every day where i can shut everything out and think. i say that but during that time i am amongst the herds hurtling headlong for the oasis like cash-hungry wildebeest. i hate the circumstances with a passion. i can keep going with that though, the books i read and the music i listen to facilitate my journey.

there's something fascinating about such splendind isolation when you are standing in the armpit of a pinstripe business type. reading something absurd, shocking, hilarious, filthy, whatever. listening to sounds they could never in a million years expect.

that is unless you are one of the middle aged types who gets my train first thing in the morning and for the first few stops before it becomes intolerably packed can hear every treble-filled snare hit as if you were in the recording studio yourself. i can never quite tell how loud my music is to the outside world.

but who cares? the peasants should listen in. they should lap it up. marie antoinette said "let them eat cake" in fact she didn't. rousseau claimed that she said "let them eat brioche" which isn't quite the same but i digress...

we all know what happened after she said (or didn't say) those fateful words. that's right my little puppies, the french revolution. and what has this to do with me on the 8.15?

if people choose to complain about the volume of my rebel-rouser music such as bleubird played loud and proud at that sort of time then i will say "let them hear m�m/adem/sigur ros" or even !DA DAA DAAAAA! "john cale".

if i could cause a small commuter train based revolution my work would be done, i could put my my worldly possesions in a bag, tie it to a stick and walk away whistling like the artful dodger, off to pick a pocket or two. off to barcelona to paint and smoke opium.

the life of a monk is a testing life. on saturday i got chatting to a buddhist monk for what seemed like (and actually was) ages and i shudder to say it but my recent experiences and all the factors i haven't done a good deal on discussing with anyone left me tempted. shocking i know. a sad indictment of the times i'm living in that i can get so low i consider organised religion. but i snapped to my senses double-quick. or did i?

i have the short hair, the highly developed aversion to the thing that passes for "fun" in this tawdry nation. but does orange suit me? i haven't smiled an honest smile in such a while i feel i'd be found out for the charlatan everyone else knows me as if i for one minute gave that way a try.

sebastapol adrianapolis

holidays, something to look forward to. life here reached boiling point a while ago and i am losing it more and more as time goes by. work isn't so bad but life in general and the people are fucking me up.

the journey home from work each night is troubling to say the least. i try to relax and to switch off like i do in work but the prospect of coming home each night is sometimes too much to bear. i've had a few nights recently where i've gone astray on the way home without even thinking about it.

did the same on saturday morning. after a big row that wasn't instigated by me but aimed at telling me what to do. i was told that i'm not allowed to do what i had no intention of doing. strange really. a simple conversation would have avoided the misunderstanding but they came wading in like disgruntled springer guests.

it's all feeling a lot like a pointless struggle that i don't need or have the strength to go through. the light is burning dimmer by the day but i'm going to have a holiday. at the very least i'm getting away for a few days or weeks to clear my mind or possibly fuck things up even more than i already have.

the grin and bear it attitude of this country is defeating me.

the only solace i have right now is as usual in my music. it's not much and it's not enough.

sebastapol adrianapolis

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.

All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.

And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace.

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

sebastapol adrianapolis

so the trains are fucking me around still. with every day that passes i come to realise the sad truth of it all.

today i was walking along the platform at kings cross to catch a train and i realised everyone was walking the other way. absolutely everyone was going in the other direction to me. i checked behind and there was nobody going the same way as me, they were all ploughing off into the distance.

unsettling, sure. upsetting in all truth. it fucked with my head. i didn't like it. and i tried to relax and it all seemed to be a little bit better. my music of choice brought me a touch of calm. just a little.

the moment was saved.

but everyone kept walking in the other direction to me and i didn't turn round.

how strange.

sebastapol adrianapolis

this last week has really pissed me off. amongst other things which i have no doubt mentioned all too frequently, i have had to deal with that whore of babylon known as the victoria line on the underground.

it is downtight upsetting. the regularity with which this line spits at me and slaps me in the face with its ever-dependable unreliability. twice in a week having that line shut down is soul-destroying.

the sad problem being that the point i board and alight from this line is also the place i hate the very most in this world.

and so i have to walk amongst the human detritus that congregates around this shit-swamp to get to somewhere no better at all.

of course the place i hate so much is oxford circus and more specifically the length of oxford street running east from the station. it smells of sick in the summer and the doddering tourists are downright infuriating as they gather outside cromwell's "cunting" madhouse looking at discount le shyark tracksuits and knocking people into the path of oncoming double decker buses with their garish backpacks.

and i have to walk from there to kings cross. kings fucking cross. a shithole. a unique area populated by crack-whores and sweating businessmen.

sebastapol adrianapolis

how can one image make you simultaneously overjoyed and sad beyond belief?

it just isn't right.

sebastapol adrianapolis

since the first of june,
lost my job and lost my room.
i pretend to try.
even if i try alone.

same old story. i come home and take both barrels. it really is fucking pathetic. not for much longer though.

plans a brewing. secret little plans. i am costructing a master plan. i am reigning in all the useful elements i will require and then i will disappear into the ether.

like a puff of smoke.

never to be seen again.

sebastapol adrianapolis

"you should of seen me in my prime i was such a prick, the person i used to be makes me sick, so i'm throwing it all way.... welcome to the crybaby crunk, crunk, crunk, crunk....welcome to the crybaby crunk, crunk, crunk, crunk....welcome to the crybaby crunk, crunk, crunk...."

totally wickedy wickedy wack. hairbrush hiphop, that's what they should call it, makes me want to rippity rap along to it in superspeed, though the above is just shy of my limited abilities. proud nonetheless.

i had lesson two in my learning drive, got to step it all up a bit now, going to do 2 a day until it starts to get challenging as i know it all so far only too well, it's just a case of easing in and then building up some momentum before i totally hit it wildstyle.

classes will begin in september which i have made a number of enquireies about, will give the teacher a call sometime when i have a few spare minutes at work (!!!) to arrange an assessment so that we can meet up and she can raise her hands to salute the gods and eclaim "i'm giving it all up! there's nothing to be taught here, instead the tables shall turn and i will become a follower." a follower of the cult that is me.

ha. the word cult. such a backhanded compliment. so similar to cunt as well.

oh well, i now have a dvd of the john cale performing the actual set in brussels that was captured for posterity and released as fragments of a rainy season. it is without a doubt the greatest live album i have ever heard, probably pushing close to being the best album i have ever heard as well.

i fucking love it. i love it, i love it, i l-o-v-e it. i hope he comes over some time to play though i very much doubt it. i'm still sad to have missed him playing in sweden in december.

regrets, i have a lot, but then again, too many to mention. without boring the crap out of you that is.

ah well...

sebastapol adrianapolis

not much going on, surprise.

my brother and his girlfriend have bought one of the rather gorgeous brand new mini's and we went for a drive in it last night, ended up going to wagamama for a wicked little japanese meal.

never been before but was utterly impressed. i sadly struggled to eat my chosen dish of noodles in soup as my chopstick skills were shown to be lacking severely. and there was me thinking i wasn't too bad.

the vietnamese people who moved into the flat in lund had remarked that i wasn't bad and i had proven reasonably competent eating with them. last night i failed! the trouble being that i failed to meet my desired standards. the menu proudly proclaimed that the noodles are supposed to be slurped loudly as in japan. i didn't like to though.

in wagamama the seating is all on big communal benches so you end up, more often than not sitting next to complete strangers and because of this i was rather nervous about spraying the lady sat next to me with soup spray. so i ate what i could and had to give up with some left. shame.

it was good though, will have to again another time and try some more of the lovely dishes on offer.

as highlights go though, this isn't particularly high, more a pleasant distraction amongst the general flow of tedium and unpleasantness that masquerades as being my life right now.

i think i will bide my time by checking out prices of flights. i am going to italy next month to visit a mate and try to clear my head for a few days but i am also looking to have a proper holiday somewhere before christmas, a proper fortnight break somewhere nice, the likes of which i haven't actually had since i was about 13 years old. the unlucky age. maybe that is why...

sebastapol adrianapolis

i'm sorry i haven't been updating every day. i've tried but i can't keep saying the same thing over and over again.

i'm fucked off with most things right now, i've lost my faith in almost everything i know or have known and i just want out but my path is well and truly blocked.

hopefully there are some more good times to come.

sebastapol adrianapolis

being treated like this makes me feel like complete fucking shit. it also strengthens my resolve to put a stop to it all, i really can't take it. i am being shat on and nothing i do or say stops it.

it's really fucking eye-opening having every fucking problem of somebody-else taken out on you by what effectively is a fucking bully. what makes it so hard is when that person is your parent.

when you come home from a long day at work feeling ill, to then be verbally and emotionally abused for being so inconsiderate, well. you can guess. right now i could walk out the door, walk out the fucking country, hell i could quite remorselessly throw myself under a fucking train.

and the trouble is i still let it get to me. if i was carefree and not sensitive to it i'd be quite happy and she might realise the problem is with her and sort herself the fuck out, but i don't which only serves to make me feel even more a cripple than i already am.

i'm going to fucking do it now. there's NOTHING for me here anymore and my efforts at convincing myelf in the last few weeks that things can be okay, well they are quite frankly bollocks.

i'm going to be the monk. i'm going to do whatever it takes to be out of here, if anything stands in my way i will fucking tear it down. i will escape one way or the other, be it through fair means or foul. if i have to take a hit of smack to release me then that's what i have to do, there's a fair few other options that i can go for before that of course, but what i mean to say is that IT is on now.

no more of this fucking around with thoughts of appeasement. it's time to be selfish. i just wish i could leave this second as i would gladly ditch it all and never return.

in the words of some trashy t-shirt i remember seeing in a documentary "fuck everything". nihilism could be the path as long as it leads in the opposite direction.

sebastapol adrianapolis

this was written on tuesday evening whilst sat exhausted in the london hilton.

my room, slightly misshapen with two beds and a bathroom resplendent with a utilitarian low-standing lavatory, grand bathtub and a shower is quite acceptable.

as i said the room has a narrow and uninspiring shape with a charming view over the swimming pool. around the roof of the swimming pool is a rather disappointing array of carrier bags and other assorted debris. very disappointing!

i arrived two hours ago and headed straight for my bathroom, for the three s's that make life worthy living (answers on a postcard).

had a beer down in the posh bar and have just come back upstairs to my room to order some hypo-allergenic pillows. such is life!

i also felt the urge to write. there's nothing more inspirational than hotel television. it bores beyond belief. thank christ for my books and cd player. i don't, i'm a non-believer.

thanks to the magnificent stephen fry, the finest living englishman.

sat in the bar and as i do, i got to thinking: "isn't yellow a funny word" why 'yellow'? it is rather an ugly word to describe the most vibrant of joyous of colours. the french got it so much better. jaune. it conjours images of the sun, for me anyhow.

and why do i say this? fucking cnbc. that's who. on the tv in the plust bar where they played nice relaxing jazzy music. honestly!

apparently the share price for les pages jaunes had a good day.

at least somebody did.

sebastapol adrianapolis

worked today. well, i went to my place of work. offered to go in to make up for my day off on wednesday courtesy of the striking tube drivers. turned up and hour late, did an hours work, had a 2 hour lunchbreak and then went home. how silly.

got to thinking as i usually do. about headphones. about music. why do i like music so much? why do i listen to it through headphones so much.

firstly, to block out the sounds made by the hordes of marauding morons in this vile and contemptible country.

secondly, to block out the thoughts in my head. that continual nagging voice that tells me that i am wasting my time.

it's nice to be valued. i don't feel like i am valued here though.

sebastapol adrianapolis

this entry comes by way of a summary of a load of different entries as every time i tried to write one i was prevented by a busy bastard server on this site.

i couldn't be pissed to carry on writing them offline as previously i had been because frankly i wasn't in the mood at all.

work is..... work. nothing more nothing less. i have had a wealth of stunningly bad jobs in my past and this one is akin to being an f1 driver right now as i can spend my time laughing at the crap that people write who want to be 'famous'.

every day, after an early rise, an exceptionally nasty journey there and back and a bunch of work sandwiched in between, i return to this fucking place that is making me so unhappy. torrents of abuse and weird weird shit, i'd write it here but it's all too strange to put into words like this.

needless to say that things could be described as turbulent at best. escape...

sebastapol adrianapolis

they've been testing me. testing my patience. doing more of the same. making me sit. sit and sit and sit. sit there watching some dude sending emails to his friend.

if it didn't make me laugh so much that i am sat there doing such absurd things i would probably burst into tears and jump off the roof of the building, i really would.

things picked up towards the end of the day as i received the most scant mental stimulation. something though. something to keep me going a little longer.

i left early again today - underground strike you see. tomorrow off too as i won't be able to get there without going on the delightfully non air conditioned underground. shame shame.

what am i doing right now though? i have to ask this question about 150 times every single day. no answer still. nothing comes to mind, i know what i want to be doing but i'm not sure if i am doing anything right at the moment.

going to crank up the pressure now. really feel the need to. something inspired me at the weekend, something small. something also upset me too.

i took a photo of my gran sitting in the garden which i thought was really nice but she hated it. she said that she didn't like it. didn't want to look at it. she has her own picture in her head of when she was 19 years old.

made me feel like shit. still do. probably will do at the end of the week too.

sebastapol adrianapolis

what a dull and disappointing anti-climax. good to be out the house. worse to be stuck doing a day's 'work' like this. you see it wasn't work per se. it actually wasn't work. it can only be described as enforced sitting. regulated observation. i said i'd start as soon as i possibly could.

they didn't meet me halfway though, they didn't fucking show up at all. the bastards. i sat there like a confused infant on his first day out of nappies wondering where he was supposed to be crapping. they fucking sat me there watching somebody do absolutely nothing. they took the nappy away and they forgot to put any replacement pants on when they gave me some smart new trousers.

i don't shit myself though - don't get that idea.

i was just confused. confused and bored and very very disappointed with such an underwhelming beginning. it's early, things will get better but jesus another day like that and i will have to ram a jar of tipp-ex up my nose to self medicate. i'll be sat there whilst some bored person goes about there business with me sat there to 'watch and learn'. they'll then realise that i'm playing with the plug socket. sat with my feet in a bucket of water shoving wire coathangers into a plug socket. whilst swallowing whole packets of aspirin. whole packets you hear! not the poxy tablets alone, whole packets.

chuck e. weiss is the kind of guy who'd steal his own car. so says tom waits. i wish i was too.

tuesday

right, they're testing me. testing my patience.

sebastapol adrianapolis

back in time for my gran's birthday celebrations. her birthday is tomorrow but we celebrate today. why? because it is the sensible option. best for everyone. it is now is what i mean. originally one nameless individual disagreed with the idea of mine and my brother's that it would be an altogether less hurried and a more relaxed affair to have it today for gran.

self-interest as ever comes to the fore. i don't like it one bit. what is 'it' you may ask. draw your own conclusions on that one. if you're a thicky then you'll clearly see, if you can't work it out then you are very disappointing.

last night was great. i went out with one of my closest friends and met up with a bunch of other friends who i have variously not seen for anything up to 3 years. it's good to talk. it's also good to work - tell that to bob hoskins though as it would seem that he is doing little else these days than stuffing himself retarded on pasties and lying in bed all day watching reruns of brideshead revisited.

really, i don't know where that came from.

actually i do. from this awful place. this godforsaken place i have to endure. thanks to all those faceless people out there who have provided me with all these albums. this vast collection of albums which keeps this car driving along knight-rider style on two wheels. there is a certain balance but the instability of my driving is alarming. gonna trade it in for a bus pass. a bus pass on a nice slow bus that takes a simple route. no opportunities to get lost.

no dangerously low bridges under which double deckers can't pass. this bus is single decked and is a park and ride. any idea? do you want a fight? piss off then.

sebastapol adrianapolis

lost out in the machine oh babe
lifeless, slow, and cold

alone at home
alone too long
walk around the complex
no visitors
no oxygen
just me
no regret

please let that be you
knocking on my door so loud
just like you do-oo
bringing a message or two
you know you are my fate and i love you

empty everything's techinical
sterile and endless
inside a malfunction
observe and obsess

please let that be you
ringing my phone right now like i wish you would do
coming with some good news
you know you are my fate and i love you

you are my fate and i love you
stand by my side always be true
you are my fate and i love you
raise my right hand and swear it's true
you are my fate
you are my fate
you are my fate...

please let that be you
singing my song so nice sounding like you doo-oo
just hum it along to your tune
you know you are my fate and i love you

sebastapol adrianapolis