Chasing Amy? Chasing Any, more like.

Holden McNeil. He does something which no man, either in film or real life really does. He has feelings for an open woman. I mean, come on! Yes, he still shows love for a gay woman in a way, but that's not the point. He does this in such a god damn boring way, as in he pours his bleeding cliched heart and actual metaphorical soul out to Joey Lauren Adams's character in true horrendous style, sitting moping and sighing away inside the shell of a dilapidated car, whilst it pours down with tepid rain.

His speech, although a brilliant Kevin Smith monologue, still makes any member of an audience feel cringe-worthy. In essence, the message is one that rings true. The angst of any true man is to never display his emotions in any ways shape or form to a woman, especially one which he is head over heels in love with. God, that word, love, makes most people I know laugh at. The man I met today waiting for a kebab made the word look as disgusting as an enema when his lashed compatriot got in with a girl the size of a truck outside Ali's.

Anywho, the main point of the story is unrequited versions of this so called existence of a thing called love. I'm almost sure it exists. I'm sure I've got plenty of time to find out about it. But, I'm stuck in a rut. I cant express myself ever fully to any girl around here because I know I'm repulsive to most women I've even managed to chat with. Not the face, but the personality is about as charming as a toxic fallout. For the past three months or years I've not held a successful relationship due to either reality or naivety.

Feeling more than stupid, I decide to do the same old thing. Play the shy guy. I should be that dickhead rude boy that so many people love to hate, yet can't keep themselves away from. I fall for the worst people, or the people that in retrospect would be better than myself. The self deprecating ways in which I portray myself, well it gives people the opportunity to utilize their inadequacies and attack me.

In fact, all I do is whine. Why the fuck can't I just be happy?! God; for once in my life, I just need someone important, say like Mr.T to just come into my room and utter "Shut up fool! All I hear is whining, stop with the miming, man up! Get some nuts!". Yet honestly, I can't think of a man who wouldn't want a Mr.T moment once in their own life.

I guess I'm still waiting for my Holden McNeil moment.

Just a feeling

What a day. All I've done is write. Not just on paper, on a computer, on a phone, but I've just been writing constantly. Conversations, phone calls and skype chats. I've been on an overload of noise, and today I've decided to take it easy. The luxuries of a bed are the best, bar none. So, here I am, watching the Fifth Element, and ignoring pointless people.

I'm coming up with ideas for the portfolios due in, and also my reviews. I'm also thinking about what Alison said, about muses. For the better part of three months, there's been several muses calling to me. Not just the muse of tragedy, and not just the muse of music, but yeah the muse of history, also the muse of comedy.

It's been a term now, but they have spoken, and somehow I've managed to carry on writing. Inspiration is everywhere and somewhere here. I do believe that once in a while I'll meet a couple more along the way.

Sometimes

Sometimes I regret saying the things I said, sometimes I regret sleeping in this bed, sometimes I forget how lucky I had it, sometimes I lie to hide my own personal shit, sometimes I wonder if there's still that thought of me, sometimes I know we're never meant to be, sometimes a text can mean much more, sometimes you try to ignore, sometimes you make mistakes, sometimes you want to break, sometimes you live and you learn, sometimes you'll crash and burn, but sometimes you can actually remember, sometimes you learn to love in December.

Maybe vampires is a bit strong...

Considering the whole picture, and giving it some time to think about what's actually happened, I'm happy with the situations I face currently. Seeing my past be happy, and myself actually happy is a good sign. I've managed to show maturity and also less foolishness which many would have seen or had been part of two months ago.

Its only been what, 8 or 9 weeks since I arrived, but that amount of time at uni can change any person for either the better or most likely, the worse. Take my drinking for example. I used to hit like the vodka a lot with compadres, too much I think. But now, I only go out once in the weekend, and maybe once in the week.

To be honest, it's not the end of the world if I develop an addiction, most likely to Snickers Ice Cream bars. Still, the one thing I'm most worried about is my lack of production. Unusual that I'd be so caring over a subject, but it's the next three years of my life we're talking about. It's quite substantial.

Anyways enough ranting. Back to the matter at hand. What the hell is going on with my taste? Musically, I seem to have jumped off a ledge into the great unknown, emerging with dubstep, drum and bass, hip hop, metal and a mix of indie and alternative. I need to broaden all possible horizons. Not saying I'm sick and tired of hearing the same old sick and tiring songs, but yeah, maybe a little choice apart from club music'll be a godsend.

A whole term has been and gone, and what can I say? it's always been seen as a barrage of cliches, a mixture of euphoria and trauma, of joy and rage, of sad and moments of lust, a commotion of emotion. As many a generic face or person would state, "I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world."

I wanted to destroy something beautiful.

Luscious, inebriated we stumble across words inside.. Unbelievable, a stir of our drunken hearts here, and now we portray our motions. The heart doesn't make sense, it makes a pulse. We derive move from basic instinct. A sense of well-being. something unheard of, becomes second nature now. I save myself from utter and total embrarrassment, the throw of disappointment from my peers is a piercing cacophony. "Fuck you" is now a general consensus. Left with dispersing groups, I latch and bid a goodnight to side to side. Good nights indeed, I land hard on cushion and sleep will follow

Last night, she said..

So many questions filled up inside my drunken head.

Did I leave the building? Did I walk up the stairs? Did I get a kebab? Was there a Jeremy? Did I press all the elevator buttons 20 times? Was 4-11 a smoking bazaar? None of this matters. I had an awesome night.

Right...

Tired. It's three in the morning, I can't sleep. She's left this void of a space inside my head. Time seems to have multiplied since I last spoke to her, and she doesn't know what she's done. I need to be able to be creative. All that I'm left with is a head full of meaningless moments and shitty mundane motions. I know nothing at the moment matters, the conversations really are inconsequential and the way people act is small talk. The pointless text with one word sticks out like a thorn on a dying rose. The delayed silence uttered through waiting for response signify her feelings. I sit endless, uncomfortable for ever opening my eyes. God damn this generation, for independent ours has become on labelling relationships via Facebook and love becoming a word unused and enter new terms of friends with benefits. My own kind has lost its way along the second or third bottle of Smirnoff vodka. I would cry but I'll throw up instead at the disgust we portray.