Timey Times

Me and Yinka were talking the other about going backwards in time.  I think we agreed that you could go forwards in time, and perhaps adjust the speed at which you do so (I think that travelling faster through distance is also travelling slower through time, becuase it's like the line of the distance/time graph would get steeper, but you can't really say what has increased.)  I think Einstein already cracked this one.  Anyways, you can't cover infinite distance in no time, because you just can't.  It's like this - completely unfathomable.

I've been ill today.  I had to miss church, and I ate three bowls of rice krispies, but I only really ate one of them, if you catch my drift.  I think this could have been caused by David G's reheated bacon cheese and potato peng pie, which was peng, but somewhat suspicious.  His reheated more than mine, so he's probably alright.

I saw 'The Eagle' yesterday.  A lot of people talked without dying or killing anyone, and the whole film was like 'who's really the good guy?', which meant that people only really died at the beginning and end.  It's weird how things that are cool in movies are lame in real life, like people dying and people smoking.

Well, it's been a rather short post today, because nobody really wants to know all the gristly detail of my shortlived suffering. Good eve. 

Selflection

You dig the blending.  I just wrote this out of boredom.  It's not really hugely worth reading, but now I'm only appealing to your curiosity.  This isn't really thought out or double checked, it's just typed out as I think it.  It's mostly the opposite of a philosophy essay.  The more I think about this, the more I realise it's not that good at all.  It shall be reserved for the most hardcore of fans, those people that are wonderful enough to use direct URLs or be subcribed to yonder blog.  It will also help me get into the habit of using the blog to post things other than just stuff.  Anyone else like this song?  (plus hernia-inducing original)I find myself liking the old Crosby, Stills and Nash triple.

*****   <-- I like those

“The unexamined life is not worth living.” - Socrates




I am not doing any work, because I am writing a write about being elsewhere. A guy on youtube is playing me this song he wrote. It has no words. It is full of guitar and makes you think about things. It loops this same little riff for the most part, and is befitting of this mood of being tired of work.

I sometimes get this thing where I realise I’ve been doing the same thing for days. Everyday I wake up, go to school, spend seven hours ticking a box on an adult literacy demographic and go home. Then I play games on the computer or do whatever evening activity is scheduled, toil at work because seven hours isn’t enough and sleep. Then I wake up and wait for the weekend, all the while carrying out the same five day routine. At the weekend I do something generic, sometimes not actually leaving the house, spend Sunday wishing for more weekend and then spend Monday doing Monday.

I’m not a pessimistic person, I quite like school. The work can be interesting, and I have some cool friends and witty teachers, but it’s always the same. I’d miss it if I left, and I enjoy coming back after the holidays, but I look forward to the holidays during school.

We look forward to whatever isn’t, we chase whatever we don’t have. We love newness, we love nostalgia but we tire of anything in between. I want to pick up this plate and throw it on the ground. It’s the plate of containment. It’s the everyday, eaten off for the last 10 or so years plate that represents how I will spend the first 20 years of my life becoming employable and the next 40 or so becoming and remaining employed. Then I will have a long holiday, then an everlasting one, and that will be it.
I know it’s not all that bleak – there will be adventure, action, romance and at least one near death experience. There will be new friends and old ones, love, loss and stuff. But when I’m sitting in philosophy period five on a Thursday afternoon, and looking forward to the reassuring toll of the klaxon that herds us out of the establishment, I’m not really looking forward to the end of the day. I’m not even looking forward to the weekend, or the holidays. I’m looking forward to something that will never be. I’m looking forward to being elsewhere. I’m looking forward to dancing with docile bears in Northern Alaska, to skanking round a fire with cliché natives and doing something I will never forget. But we live in a system that pumps them out, one after the other, to their respective roles of degree holder or ASBO wielder, to chase money obsessively, be it out of need or genuine desperation, and to live and then die.
Now I have the privilege of seeing the gain that is in death, and I am well assured that it will be worth every meaningless pain and pleasure on this planet. But when I do slip from this pleasant dream into that ineffable reality, I know I won’t spare even a split second of my precious, fading time thinking about my education, my occupation, salary or pension. I’ll be looking around me, smiling at the people around me and thinking about what we did. I’ll be recalling that great time me and this other guy danced for those bears back in ‘38 on the Alaska trip, and reflecting on all those fantastic moments that happened and would still have happened regardless of any qualification I may or may not have had. They might have happened because I learned to work hard or to make friends or something in school, but my long term education itself will be pretty irrelevant, and yet here I am being bound by law in such a way that all I’ve ever really known is to pursue the furthering of my own future in some of the least relevant ways imaginable.

I suppose, then, that awesome things are inescapable, and that whilst education is a fantastic thing, it’s not necessary at all to have a stupendously worthwhile and fulfilling life, let alone necessary to compare to some measure regarding the degree to which you have obtained it. With this in mind, I shall continue to live in the secure knowledge that everything is always awesome, and have used philosophy (of sorts) to not do a philosophy essay.

Liquid honey gold magic.

That's what sunshine is.  It's like everyone's just getting by, doing work and being average, then our part of the planet gets exposed to a little extra electromagnetic radiation and everyone just trips out.  I've been doing some topless galavanting (I love not wearing a shirt) and distracting all the ladies from their study and stuff, then walking to pearls lane to buy peach slices in syrup (Joel Kass kept telling me it was really unhealthy to drink syrup, turns out his Yorkie Bar had like double the calories) and just being happy all the time.  I was sitting in the car listening to some of my dad's weird music today and just thinking about how great everything would always be because there would always be summer and you don't need anything to be happy and shirtless.  If any of you ever feel suicidal in the winter, wait till summer, buy an icecream on a really hot day and try to feel suicidal whilst eating it.  I don't think it's possible. 

CU's mission fortnight is kicking off next week, and that's at least several on the rickter scale of awesome.  Still awesome but on a much more minor scale is that I've recovered my Minecraft save.  Now you can all sleep sound at night in the knowledge that chickens are once again paddling.

I keep thinking that I'll write things, then not writing them.  Sometimes I sit down and try to start writing things, but that's hard so I just keep typing something and undoing it.  That's the sort of thing creative guys do in movies, and they always pull chicks and then write a best selling novel or something, usually because said chick inspires them so much.

I've made a shoddy replica of the Minecraft chicken out of lego, but I think it's rather lovely.  I've been getting more into my creative stuff lately.  In physics I've started making things out of crocodile clips.  I made a statue of Anubis that everyone thought was pretty awesome, and I'm sticking at my fruitless attempts to write some write.  I'm glad I have my blog to write on, the best thing about English at the moment is that it teaches me big words, makes me feel all clever and forces me to read books that I really should be bothered to read because they are awesome.  And also Mr.Evans, who is covering for Miss Davis' lessons as well since she may be off until the end of term.  This, of course, is tragic and makes my every day but a 15 hour period of wallowing in my own grief.   (<-- Sarcasm, bathos, hyperbole, figurative imagery)  I leart this great thing.  If I say: 'That blogger is blogging', then 'blogger' is an agent, 'That blogger' is the subject and 'is blogging' is the predicator.  Also, if the blogger is blogging, then blogging is a verb, but the blogging in itself is a gerrund.

This is being a lot of words.  Chrissy Lamont's blog seems to have died, but who knows, it might come back.  Ruth Lovell is still making lovely post with affectionate titles such as 'everyone was sad', but are awesome to read.  I think my blog, in terms of updates, is like this awesome plant I have.  It's called a ressurection fern, and it can go for like 20 years without water in a psuedo-deceased state of stasis, much like Gordon Freeman, then just wake up whenever you choose to water it.  It's great becuase I don't have to take any kind of responsability for its wellfare and can forget to water it for ages, as I have done for the last few months.  People are like 'what is this dead plant?' and 'That's lame', but I think it's awesome.  I'm going to go and water it now.

*****
Haven't found plant yet.  Evidently I'm worse at plant care than I thought.  I did find the pot the plant used to be in, but now there's just loads of money in it, which is still pretty sweet.

Throwing Stuff at Kittens

That title, coincidentally enough, is also my new hobby.  Admittedly I've done that sly thing where people just hyperbolise their titles in order to draw in an audience, but I have been doing the following lately:
-Throw something small over Cid.  He stops moving.
- Throw something bigger to entirely cover him.
- Continue to throw ever heavier textiles onto the growing pile of stuff.
- Lift up the pile where you approximate his head to be
- Look at two large, round innocent eyes regarding you in kittenish blend of confusion and apathy.

That would suffice as an explanation for the pile on my floor to the -

Cid just ran into the house from the garden 'screaming' as Claire put it, so I ran out across the mud in my bare feet, hissed loudly at the sinister darkness and proceeded to pick up a sizeable piece of tree and strike it reapeatedly on the big pile of logs on the patio at the end of the garden.  I feel pretty manly now, and I suspect that whatever it was that scared Cid so much won't be coming back in a hurry.

anyways, that would suffice as an explanation for the (now kitten-less) heap on my floor consisting of a T-shirt, a school shirt, a dressing down, a blanket and a duvet.

I had a dissapointing sandwich yesterday.  I love my mum, but I also love strong cheddar and apricot stilton.  My loving mother, having had enough to make a sandwich out of each, discerned that the best course of action would be to mix the two cheeses evenly between each sandwich.  I was quite dissapointed.  Still, I ought to be careful what I say, or I might have to start making my own sandwiches like all those competent people.  Then again that might not be a terrible thing.  It would mean the end of butter and honey, or just cold butter in thick slabs dotted around the slice, sometime thicker than the actual filling.

I considered getting twitter this week.  I actuall already had it, but only becuase somebody said I should get it, I made one post and realised it was crap.  It's like a blog for people who can't think of more than one thing to write about at once.  Essentially, it's because if everyone had a blog, nobody would read them.

Speaking of other people and their having blogs, Yasmin subscribed to my blog.  As a tactician, I'm not really sure what to do about this.  I've previously thought that subscribing to hers would be a sign of defeat, and whilst reading it, have never made my readership official.  It's a bit like when Marlowe says witty things to people he doesn't like, and they both dance around the actual subject of the disscusion with clever euphemisms and quick retaliations.  I'm reading some Marlowe.  He's awesome. 

I think I will subscribe to DoaTN (sounds like doting, a word I love despite not being 100% on what it means.  It just reminds me of Shakespeare and being a don for some reason.)  Anyways, she's stopped facebooking her posts over lent, so she could use the views.  (That's not meant to be backhanded at all)

In closing, I was on the bus today, and I smelt a certain aroma.  Let's just say it was a tad 'herbal'.  I realised the source of said smell was quite close to me and began, without really realising, to browse the bus for any likely perpetrators.  I noticed somebody who look pretty eligible - they were glassy eyed, slack jawed and looked a little gaumless.  Then I realised that this was how they looked all the time and that I really had no idea.  I thought that was funny.

Another funny story about drugs - my uncle David was in London with is daughter when a drug dealer started whispering drug names to him (apparently that's what they do).  Being as innocent as he was, he had no idea what the man was doing and was like 'sorry, I can't here you.' Good times.  My dad once thought that my friends had invited me to go to Camden because they were all going to buy drugs, on the grounds that there was nothing else to buy in Camden.  I mean, who wouldn't bring me along on a buying drugs trip?

Kore wa nan desu ka?
Sore wa blog desu.

Watachi wa Dave desu, O yasumi na sai.

Hmmmph

I couldn't think of a funny title because I just found out there's been a massive earthquake in Japan that's caused a massive Tsunami that could sweep over some islands in the Pacific. 

Finding out about natural disasters that have happened never seems that tragic, but because this is happening pretty much now, this morning, in my free, I feel so immersed in the situation that I am experiencing what I can only describe as grief, really.  Not like 'my mum has died' grief, but just a heavy hearted compassion combined with a nauseating feeling of powerlessness. 

From both a scientific and relgious perspective I wonder if there has been a surge in the number of natural disasters in the last few decades, or whether it's just wider media coverage and greater concern that has made it seem like there has.  I mean, it could be down to global warming, but that would still be more natural disasters, which, is attributed scripturally to the second coming.  I mean, I'm not some kind of doomsday prophet, and there's loads of other stuff (red moon, dark sun, that mark thingie, 10 king kingdom thingie from Daniel) that hasn't been fullfilled even a little bit yet. 

Tell you what I love - Compassion.  Both the concept and the charity of the same name, who my youth sponsor three children through.  What I  love about them is their attitude towards giving and charity, as reflected in their adverts.  It's like there's those terrible, macabre adverts that zoom in on a child and tell you their going to die, then (if you're lucky) show you them getting saved by the charity.  Essentially, they're guilt trips, and people hate being guilt tripped.  It also creates this impression of giving as something you're forced to do against your will.  Compassion adverts take a really excited, passionate perspective, look at people who's lives have been changed hugely, and celebrate the impact giving can have on other people's lives, so that you're just left thinking: 'That's awesome, I should give.' 

I am uber looking forward to XL toe naight.

Peace out.

And again!

I'm back on this ting.  2 blog posts in a month is a lot more frequent than we've been seeing in a long while, so I guess the place is back to life official like.

Today is pancake day, which everybody knows is the greatest day in the world ever bar a few.  Despite this, Facebook has provided me with a bounty of haters who, as haters do, are hatin' on pancake day.  Things  like 'Pancakes are crap', 'I hate pancake day' and other silliness is being spilled over the once relatively clean pages of my big old wall thingie, and it made me think:

"Shut up, haters!"

This looks cool.  I've started writing a small (/however big I feel like) stor-ai aboot some badman vigilantes.  It's yet to be fully pimpin, but it has major potential in terms of pimp per second.  Actually, now that I think about it, it could be that only I think it's awesome, but that's ideal in some ways, becuause it theoretically gets me loads of indie cred.  Like liking half-life 2, but with books. 

I lost all my Minecraft save.  Well, it might be recoverable, I'm not sure with this crazy new system.  I'm not as devastated as you might think.  There are more awesome things than M.C. (But perhaps not than chickens paddling).

I feel like I'm making a lot of mistakes.  When I get tired, I make typos and sometimes spelling mistakes, but I more often type malproprisms and homophones, sometimes writing entirely different words that sound similar to the one I had in mind.  Interesting insight into how my mind prossesses(sp?) information when I type.

I have had my pancakes now.  They were as epic as they were crude and tasteless, a beatiful mashup of synthetic syrups with some icecream and stuff, as well as one traditional lemon and sugar one. 

If I were to, hypothetically speaking, have had a callous / blister/ generic lump on my foot that was annoying, would it (again, in the most hypothetical sense)  have been mostly:
-manly
-stupid
-gross
to cut it off with a knife? 
Feel free to answer on that thing people answer on.

Shirtless Scandal!

Yeah, I was trying to think of some kind of alluring and dangerous title, the kind of thing people would click on, and I began to realise that I'd actually been topless quite a lot lately, mostly whilst dancing and mostly in the presence of David Glover.  Me and Dave had a very interesting episode lately which is not really great to put on a blog on the grounds of it being truly badass.  It involved the library, and having to be calmed down whilst I gathered things up frantically and said things like: 'Dave, we have to go, we have to leave now.'  This will probably be one of the funniest things of my year.
Anyway, enough self incrimination for now.  I'd like to bring the issue of consistency to the table.  There is none.  Here at Dave central, we pride ourselves on inconsitency which is inconsistent within itself, much like the mathematical 'd2y by dx squared' thingy, where the exponentiality is like infinite, and you can never find the dy type thing because we're so darn inconsistent.  That's why we're inconsitent over the period of a month, then some months, we don't even bother with that and we upload daily or just not at all.  Last week was one of those months, and blog views hit an all time low.  Still, we're not concerned about views.  Not at all. 

In fact (this is like two days after the above text) if we were concerned about views, we would have given up by now, because there are none.  But now there are views, so you may rejoice!  Today I have time to do this becuase I'm not at the Bridge Church's 'Hot House' as I set my alarm to late.  I'm a bad Christian, but all Christians are so it's pretty neat we have Jesus and all. 

Tell you something awesome.  Paddling pools.  Tell you something better: Paddling pools that are full of happy chickens.  I have constructed such a mechanism on Minecraft, the place where the happiest of dreams become a reality.  And then get blown up by creepers. (The chickens, bless them, are yet to fall prey to such ghastly phenomena)

We had XLerate last weekend.  I don't know if you've heard of Paul Reid, but imagine him and Stuart Elman for 48 and a bit hours.  Essentially, you are imagining one of the most happy, uplifiting and empowering two and then some days in the history of ever.  There was some heavy doctrine, there was some crazy moving, and there was an abundance of Mafia, in which me and Dave took it upon ourselves to kill Izzie Keane whenever there was even the remotest reason to. 

It feels good to be back to blogging it out on the bloggiest of blogs.  Fortunately for us, Lamont (pronounced læmɒnt /Lah-mont, regardless of any claims she makes to the contrary) has also eased up on her blogging.  Yasmin hasn't, but I don't really mind.  Anyways, this blog is clearly the best, and the people that read it are definitely the coolest, so don't stop with your reading and stuff.