The rants of a constantly ticking mind, combined with a mess of reviews and obscure titling methods.

Monday, March 22, 2004

You are not really there

Words are playing on my mind again.
Long words, short words, dark words.
The tiredness is setting in, but I don't want to sleep, not yet.
I didn't get my fill of the day, stuff to be done. Well, stuff SHOULD be done.
Sometimes, I wish I was a good designer. A designer of brilliant things.
Wonderful things. Worldwidely fantastic things.
But something tries to hold me back,
my imagination is being prevented from spilling out onto the page by not filling my potential time. Instead, I sit and download crap. Sometimes not even good crap.
Actually, I lie. Sometimes it's very good crap. Quality sh*t.
I should unplug it. Disconnect myself from this... fantasy isn't the word.... imaginary tether that stops me from being creative myself.

Maybe I should write something.
But write what?
A speech. To whom?
A play, maybe. Nah, I don't want thespians debating over who is the better actor who played the part of 'Ben The helpful shovel seller'.
A book. Maybe a book. Books are like magic dust to some people, myself included.
Trouble is, writing a book usually means that it gets shovelled to the back behind the videos. Nobody wants to read anymore. As Tom once said, 'reading is for stupid people'.
Of course, he was merely referring to the context that people who are dyslexic usually have higher IQs, and so technically reading is indeed for stupid people. Einstein was dyslexic.
However, I think that's the only person I know who came to some genius and was well known for his ailment.
Anyway, all that ends up to good books (not to say *my* book would be a good book) is that they get picked apart by Literature students, like... not eagles... erm.... think of other birds of prey... erm... pigeons?
No, that's not right. Erm... seagulls... damn brain!
It'll come back to me. Hawks. That'll do, like hawks feasting on the bloody carcass of some dead animal, picking it apart with their sharp claws and beady eyes and highlighters and pencils.

Maybe not a book then. One day, maybe a book, but not now.
Maybe a film script. I'm pretty certain that's been kicking around up there in my brain for eons. I never got past the intro. I should have thought more about it. Someday I'll have a good script idea, probably a comedy. But never mind. Tomorrow is another day. Well, actually, in 6 hours time it'll be another day. Another day where I go to lectures, do my work, come back here and think of a great idea.
Then go on B3ta and forget it all.

Maybe drawing is the key. But no scanner and no tablet means that it doesn't go much further than scribblings on a page, which then get lost in the great heap of stuff overshadowing my desk. My brain has stopped talking. Instead, it's listening to the incessant hum of the fans and the rumble coming from my cupboard. I have no idea what the rumble is. I think I will investigate it now.

I don't have the right screwdriver. Oh well.
My previous creative efforts are lying crumpled on the floor, nestling between the clothes lieing therein.

My chair no longer fits by my desk until I remove the clothes that occupy the space where it once was. My brain is too tired now. My body is getting too hot to think. Many of these things are trying to prevent me from typing. My bloated, overweight stomach moans at me to go to bed. Just sleep. You'll feel bright and perky come 8am, where you'll get up, get dressed, go fix the incredibly unstable server in the Babbage Building, go to lectures, eat, go swimming, take some pictures of the tumble-down shopping centre which is being destroyed by the hungry, obsessive diggers and their power-crazy drivers.

You need to shut off the internet. Use it only when required. Don't go on sites for no purpose.

From now on, only go on:

Your mail.
Oobtube (you don't want to drop out of the scene).
Any sites you require for information.

DO NOT go on eBay, stupidvideos, and the like.

You are permitted to go on B3ta once daily. No re-checking and F5ing.

Today, as in later, you need to wash your clothes, tidy, do some work on stuff you need to be doing.

Go to sleep, little one.
Go to sleep.


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