I am getting my hair cut tomorrow.
I know, how life changing!
Yesturday I went to my local Connexions thing, which is meant to help school kids when they leave to find a career/job. And the woman who spoke to me knew so little about anything that I swaer I should work there instead of her! She couldnt work a computer, and had no idea about what kind of thing I should do get a job in journalism. I cant believe that I thought going there would help... but then again, it is run by the goverment and my local council, so god knows why I thought it might be helpful!
Still, what I learnt is that I havent got a hope in hell to do anything!
Ahh, I knew that before I went in to the sodding place.
But Im off out to Zens tonight, so s'all good.
Thursday 26 June 2008
Monday 23 June 2008
I don't know
'I don't know what to be I don't know how to change from being me I don't know what to say Maybe another day I'll stop getting lost and find my way, home'
I have had one of those days where you wake up feeling utterly lost. I have finished school forever, as in that is the end of an ear, no more, not going back. The A Levels are over, and nothing official was said to us as we headed out the gates last Friday. I cant tell that I'll ever see those girls again, and I want to, but you can already tell the conversations that we'll have. You know, the ones that go along the lines of "Ahh how are you, we should go out this weekend"... "you're busy, we'll go out in the week, I'll text you". But you wont bother to text, and nor will they. Its the thought, and the idea of keeping a great big circle of friends sitting around in a London pub laughing loudly and swishing their hair about, and talking about the antics them and their college type boyfriends get up to. Looks good, looks glamours. But you can buy glamour and looks, and friendship doesn't fit into the equation.
I need a job. I do not want to work just anywhere for the money, because in a years time I want to say I did a good positive thing. If I don't earn much money, then that's fine, but I want to have a career that I actually enjoy.
I crave success.
Like how when you see a picture of a bottle of Coke and you can taste it as soon as you see it, feel the ice melting on the tip of the tongue and the saccharine infiltrating your clean teeth. That is what I can sense most of the time. I crave something I tasted once before, when I stood on a stage and got an applause.
That's one taste you can never place in a bottle, but if you could anyone could be successful, and that brings happiness and ambition and every single thing a person could dream of.
I want to be a writer. Well, I am a writer, simply because this is what I'm doing at this moment, and its how I introduce myself at parties and pubs. It used to be actress, but I have a big nose, big ears, big boobs that look stupid because I'm not the type to flaunt my only slightly good asset. Basically I don't feel that anyone would be willing to see my face in a film because its not one you could tolerate for that long.
So I will write. Maybe I'll get to live the life of Carrie Bradshaw, with designer clothes and glossy friends holding life long magazines. Or maybe its the other way round.
If anyone wants a writer for a magazine, a fashion writer, a life writer or anything to do with acting ( I would still love to make it) then please, pay me some attention.
Tomorrow I'll start walking round with a post it note on my back, saying:
" Girl, 18, a bit naive. For sale."
There won't be any takers.
I have had one of those days where you wake up feeling utterly lost. I have finished school forever, as in that is the end of an ear, no more, not going back. The A Levels are over, and nothing official was said to us as we headed out the gates last Friday. I cant tell that I'll ever see those girls again, and I want to, but you can already tell the conversations that we'll have. You know, the ones that go along the lines of "Ahh how are you, we should go out this weekend"... "you're busy, we'll go out in the week, I'll text you". But you wont bother to text, and nor will they. Its the thought, and the idea of keeping a great big circle of friends sitting around in a London pub laughing loudly and swishing their hair about, and talking about the antics them and their college type boyfriends get up to. Looks good, looks glamours. But you can buy glamour and looks, and friendship doesn't fit into the equation.
I need a job. I do not want to work just anywhere for the money, because in a years time I want to say I did a good positive thing. If I don't earn much money, then that's fine, but I want to have a career that I actually enjoy.
I crave success.
Like how when you see a picture of a bottle of Coke and you can taste it as soon as you see it, feel the ice melting on the tip of the tongue and the saccharine infiltrating your clean teeth. That is what I can sense most of the time. I crave something I tasted once before, when I stood on a stage and got an applause.
That's one taste you can never place in a bottle, but if you could anyone could be successful, and that brings happiness and ambition and every single thing a person could dream of.
I want to be a writer. Well, I am a writer, simply because this is what I'm doing at this moment, and its how I introduce myself at parties and pubs. It used to be actress, but I have a big nose, big ears, big boobs that look stupid because I'm not the type to flaunt my only slightly good asset. Basically I don't feel that anyone would be willing to see my face in a film because its not one you could tolerate for that long.
So I will write. Maybe I'll get to live the life of Carrie Bradshaw, with designer clothes and glossy friends holding life long magazines. Or maybe its the other way round.
If anyone wants a writer for a magazine, a fashion writer, a life writer or anything to do with acting ( I would still love to make it) then please, pay me some attention.
Tomorrow I'll start walking round with a post it note on my back, saying:
" Girl, 18, a bit naive. For sale."
There won't be any takers.
Tuesday 17 June 2008
Synonym// Tell them Stories
Well, what better way to launch my journal than put up some of the scribbling the title refers to, eh? I'll write something about myself and what I get up to in between trying not to kill my drama teacher for the stress he causes me and going to the Bull n Vic each friday/saturday.
If you find me of interest, then comment or do whatever it is that people do on a blog. Im not used to this sort of thing yet, but I have the uncanny feeling that I will be talking to myself. Oh Im used to that on livejournal, why should this be any different?
But I've digressed. Here is two short interlinking stories that I am quite fond of.
Synonym
He was here on the same day, the same moment as you. His chest filled in and out as air and blood coursed through his veins and yet a hundred and fifty years are between you both. Like whispers between the wall you and he are in unison, and it makes me shake with fear to see how you’re unaware of this. Just because time has had its way doesn’t mean that the deceased remain in that manner. We all linger on, retracing the same steps, even if there’s earth over the body and the mind long decomposed. Its not magical, its terrifying and I can’t turn my back. Time has merged, and now it’s beginning again.
Tell Them Stories?
Don’t you ever find it strange to think that in this town, someone else has stood on the same spot countless times before your two little feet have arrived here?
History shows the ravages of time, allows events to be remembered and forgotten yet its still all too easy for the idea of these recorded characters with majestic deeds to their names who breathed in air, to be dismissed
You already dismiss it.
You might say that its silly to be aware of ones history and all that has come to pass, but stop. Think about it for one second, allow the moment to fill up your mind, capture at least thirty seconds of the busy life you feel you lead.
Who else has been here? Just think, the church that you attend every Sunday, out of habit more than any real belief, and to be honest it just keeps you mother happy, how many other feet have trampled over the worn slabs to the aged pews?
But perhaps this is not the best example, religion is not what rules your life, its not something close enough to bother about, much like how the idea of giving to a charity to aid those five thousand miles away doesn’t seem like such a grand gesture as it could do.
What about ghosts? Ah, here I feel we have hit upon the real core of the problem. You go to church because your family wants to, we’ve established that.
But at night, when the darkness comes and then, then you can only think of how it’s you in the house. The stairs creak; taps leak and things often go bump in the night.
But don’t worry, you think over and over, screaming it till you could plead insanity. The house is an old one.
If it’s the dark you’re afraid of then that’s the least of your worries. Living by the mantra ‘what I can’t see won’t hurt me’ is the biggest mistake you can make, for instance, what about the skin cancer of last summer still etched over your face? Time will take its toll, no matter how much of it elapses.
See, back to those ghosts. The mere idea of sharing the past space means that these people you try with all your might to squash still have room to exist. When they excavate old buildings, when the ruined and yet still beautiful houses are explored by the young and old on a summers day out, those who were there first, the real eating, drinking, faeces depositing people remain there.
I don’t want to scare you.
I don’t want you to think that I’m preaching, as that would be awful to assume the wrong once again. Take it as a warning. You live in a world that none can touch, self absorbed and so afraid of the remote possibility of sanctuary being set aflame. In your way, it’s not directly your fault that these people from the past still live. The doors won’t ever be shut and the modern age will only survive by keeping them open. Just think, they are here, sharing the space with those buried under ground hundreds of years ago.
I can’t say heaven is unreal. I’ve not had the misfortune to visit that palace of notoriety. But will you walk there, remain on this round creation, either buried by time, dirt and decay, or stay locked in a building, remembered only by the scuffing on the flagstone floor or the clang of the assistants till? People share all of earth’s space; you must not deny a now stated fact. They will remain.May god have mercy on your soul?
If you find me of interest, then comment or do whatever it is that people do on a blog. Im not used to this sort of thing yet, but I have the uncanny feeling that I will be talking to myself. Oh Im used to that on livejournal, why should this be any different?
But I've digressed. Here is two short interlinking stories that I am quite fond of.
Synonym
He was here on the same day, the same moment as you. His chest filled in and out as air and blood coursed through his veins and yet a hundred and fifty years are between you both. Like whispers between the wall you and he are in unison, and it makes me shake with fear to see how you’re unaware of this. Just because time has had its way doesn’t mean that the deceased remain in that manner. We all linger on, retracing the same steps, even if there’s earth over the body and the mind long decomposed. Its not magical, its terrifying and I can’t turn my back. Time has merged, and now it’s beginning again.
Tell Them Stories?
Don’t you ever find it strange to think that in this town, someone else has stood on the same spot countless times before your two little feet have arrived here?
History shows the ravages of time, allows events to be remembered and forgotten yet its still all too easy for the idea of these recorded characters with majestic deeds to their names who breathed in air, to be dismissed
You already dismiss it.
You might say that its silly to be aware of ones history and all that has come to pass, but stop. Think about it for one second, allow the moment to fill up your mind, capture at least thirty seconds of the busy life you feel you lead.
Who else has been here? Just think, the church that you attend every Sunday, out of habit more than any real belief, and to be honest it just keeps you mother happy, how many other feet have trampled over the worn slabs to the aged pews?
But perhaps this is not the best example, religion is not what rules your life, its not something close enough to bother about, much like how the idea of giving to a charity to aid those five thousand miles away doesn’t seem like such a grand gesture as it could do.
What about ghosts? Ah, here I feel we have hit upon the real core of the problem. You go to church because your family wants to, we’ve established that.
But at night, when the darkness comes and then, then you can only think of how it’s you in the house. The stairs creak; taps leak and things often go bump in the night.
But don’t worry, you think over and over, screaming it till you could plead insanity. The house is an old one.
If it’s the dark you’re afraid of then that’s the least of your worries. Living by the mantra ‘what I can’t see won’t hurt me’ is the biggest mistake you can make, for instance, what about the skin cancer of last summer still etched over your face? Time will take its toll, no matter how much of it elapses.
See, back to those ghosts. The mere idea of sharing the past space means that these people you try with all your might to squash still have room to exist. When they excavate old buildings, when the ruined and yet still beautiful houses are explored by the young and old on a summers day out, those who were there first, the real eating, drinking, faeces depositing people remain there.
I don’t want to scare you.
I don’t want you to think that I’m preaching, as that would be awful to assume the wrong once again. Take it as a warning. You live in a world that none can touch, self absorbed and so afraid of the remote possibility of sanctuary being set aflame. In your way, it’s not directly your fault that these people from the past still live. The doors won’t ever be shut and the modern age will only survive by keeping them open. Just think, they are here, sharing the space with those buried under ground hundreds of years ago.
I can’t say heaven is unreal. I’ve not had the misfortune to visit that palace of notoriety. But will you walk there, remain on this round creation, either buried by time, dirt and decay, or stay locked in a building, remembered only by the scuffing on the flagstone floor or the clang of the assistants till? People share all of earth’s space; you must not deny a now stated fact. They will remain.May god have mercy on your soul?
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