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apollaHey there all! I'd love to say that I've been really busy but I really haven't. My brother Mikey seems intent on hogging the computer when I most want it.
Also, I'm meant to be trying to find purpose, meaning and direction for my life. In short: I'm meant to be finding a job. This is not made easy by articles like the one in the Times three days ago 'Graduating to a Dead End Job' which emphasised the difficulty graduates are having finding anything good to work at. This is not made easier by my persistent laziness (which is not helped by a week full of awful headaches- am going to the doc tomorrow) and my still-insistent desire to be something more- someone making motion pictures.
I might go off and do a Masters in Journalism but I really don't want to write about the news, I want to make it. Send in your 'you're totally deluded' comments now.
Anyway, other than that.... not much. Louise came round yesterday and also moaned about how hard it is finding a job. Her dad doesn't think anything below twenty grand a year is even worth bothering with so it's hard for her, especially with her degree in Arabic or something. It's made worse by the fact that practically everyone has a first degree now, even if it is in Golf Studies or Knitting. I only made up one of those- you guess which.
Having weird dreams again of me on a train with friends from school. Pissed me off, I can tell you.
But now, unveiled for your delectation...... It's original! It's by me! It's short! It's..... probably not worth the paper it's scrawled on...
He is young. He is handsome, lithe and charismatic. He commands the attention of twenty thousand people at a time without even breaking a sweat. He is so very handsome, his long hair curling to frame a face fit to break a million hearts. He is the embodiment of sex- the peacock above all other peacocks. Something even more indefinable than pheremones draw peahens to him.
Couplets trips off his tongue as if her were William Shakespeare. Mythology and legend are his friends and the guitar riff is his partner-in-crime. Darkness is his inspiration and his enemy. He battles his own darkness daily- and one day he suspects he'll lose the war. One day, he thinks, his demons will finally break down his defences and takeover. He thinks that day is coming- he even thinks it might be soon.
There are always two possible endings to tales like these.
Ending the First:
He is dead. His face is no longer handsome but swollen and sallow. He is not lithe but bloated and heavy. His charisma manages to hold out to the last but people are now watching the soap opera instead of the man. Hell, they've probably always been watching the soap opera. Now the soap opera comes to and end. He'll probably live forever on the walls of students everywhere but for now the soap opera is over and the jokes begin.
Ending the Second:
He is old. He is still handsome but damaged. His face is deeply lined and he has aged rather prematurely. His once-bright eyes are dimmed by things he's seen and haunted by surviving. He's not so lithe anymore but he can still charm the birds from the trees, even if peahens don't flock much anymore. He still inspires respect but his career is ever-dented by the 1980s. He remembers the days, long ago, when he and his friends stood on a staged and changed the life of forty thousand people a time. Golden gods.
Rock and roll always had a high mortality rate.
The End
Questions? Comments? You wanna guess who I'm talking about (hint: more than one person and it's not necessarily as obvious as you think)?
Also, I'm meant to be trying to find purpose, meaning and direction for my life. In short: I'm meant to be finding a job. This is not made easy by articles like the one in the Times three days ago 'Graduating to a Dead End Job' which emphasised the difficulty graduates are having finding anything good to work at. This is not made easier by my persistent laziness (which is not helped by a week full of awful headaches- am going to the doc tomorrow) and my still-insistent desire to be something more- someone making motion pictures.
I might go off and do a Masters in Journalism but I really don't want to write about the news, I want to make it. Send in your 'you're totally deluded' comments now.
Anyway, other than that.... not much. Louise came round yesterday and also moaned about how hard it is finding a job. Her dad doesn't think anything below twenty grand a year is even worth bothering with so it's hard for her, especially with her degree in Arabic or something. It's made worse by the fact that practically everyone has a first degree now, even if it is in Golf Studies or Knitting. I only made up one of those- you guess which.
Having weird dreams again of me on a train with friends from school. Pissed me off, I can tell you.
But now, unveiled for your delectation...... It's original! It's by me! It's short! It's..... probably not worth the paper it's scrawled on...
He is young. He is handsome, lithe and charismatic. He commands the attention of twenty thousand people at a time without even breaking a sweat. He is so very handsome, his long hair curling to frame a face fit to break a million hearts. He is the embodiment of sex- the peacock above all other peacocks. Something even more indefinable than pheremones draw peahens to him.
Couplets trips off his tongue as if her were William Shakespeare. Mythology and legend are his friends and the guitar riff is his partner-in-crime. Darkness is his inspiration and his enemy. He battles his own darkness daily- and one day he suspects he'll lose the war. One day, he thinks, his demons will finally break down his defences and takeover. He thinks that day is coming- he even thinks it might be soon.
There are always two possible endings to tales like these.
Ending the First:
He is dead. His face is no longer handsome but swollen and sallow. He is not lithe but bloated and heavy. His charisma manages to hold out to the last but people are now watching the soap opera instead of the man. Hell, they've probably always been watching the soap opera. Now the soap opera comes to and end. He'll probably live forever on the walls of students everywhere but for now the soap opera is over and the jokes begin.
Ending the Second:
He is old. He is still handsome but damaged. His face is deeply lined and he has aged rather prematurely. His once-bright eyes are dimmed by things he's seen and haunted by surviving. He's not so lithe anymore but he can still charm the birds from the trees, even if peahens don't flock much anymore. He still inspires respect but his career is ever-dented by the 1980s. He remembers the days, long ago, when he and his friends stood on a staged and changed the life of forty thousand people a time. Golden gods.
Rock and roll always had a high mortality rate.
The End
Questions? Comments? You wanna guess who I'm talking about (hint: more than one person and it's not necessarily as obvious as you think)?
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Hmmmm....
Date: 2003-07-23 18:08 (UTC)