Last nite some mega soul clearin' mess big sound. HURRAH.

THE INTERNET AND I ARE POINTLESS

I am excited about the new Extra Life album coming out soon.

It sounds fucking wicked.

Like.... awesome.

GET I OUT OF A FUNK, LAWDY.

Bubblings

Pac Man, Vomiting.

Back to back with pac man and backpack man

Pac Man backs Backpack Man

Back to Pac Man, Pac Man packs his Backpack, man

Gives it to Backpack Man, who already has packed his backpack, man

and gives it back to Pac Man.

Who then Vomits. (I saw a picture on the front of a pizza place where Pac Man was vomiting, a pink slice of NUMBER PIZZA. I mean... if you're gonna eat somebody's phone number on a pizza, expect repercussions. He hadn't even chewed it.)

I wonder sometimes if the reason I've had so little to do is that maybe I died a few weeks ago and have since just been a very stubborn ghost, who people believe in.

I feel STRANGE.

Realising that I am "odd" in a new light.

Not something that I revel in, and only something I realise when I even think about it

Which I try not to do

because it gets to me

and I wish I was normal

but whatever that is

is some kinda ideal

and the way my BRAIN works (OR DOESN'T, THANKS HAIRCLUB FOR MEN)

would reject it

like Pac Man

and his guts.

META(L)

All the things that make me feel sick and wrong on many levels are legion.

Maybe there is some kinda progress thru it tho

Blank of muck nor any diamonds I thought of two weeks ago

Maybe I've just got used to the smell.

The "muck" is all-pervasive, tumescent cackling and preeny-weenie boys garfing up great chunks of GIRRRLLLL everywhere I looks, THE MAN WHO RUINED 90% of ALL NOTES AND CHORDS for me MUST be punished. Each yearning string section, each "striving" or "epic" crescendo, each lilting voice, each time somebody confuses "extreme" with "biased" (most metal/extreme metal) ((META-L! Hehehehehehe, I will remember that)), each time anyfucker uses the word weird in any sense, derogatory, self-righteous - WHY MUST IT BE USED WHEN TALKING ABOUT SOUND. PEOPLE CHOOSE THE SOUND. IT'S NOT WEIRD. GOD-DAMMIT. Trying too hard, NOT TRYING HARD ENOUGH, relying on the "personality", just for fuck's ETERNAL SAKE I could go on til valhalla's maidens have had their fill of cock - just 99% of it all makes me feel VIOLENTLY ILL AND SAD AND WRONG AND CONFUSED AND MAYBE I'M HARD TO PLEASE AND MAYBE I'M JUST BORED OF IT ALL OR MAYBE I'M FUCKING RIGHT ABOUT IT HUHHHHHHH AAAA(g)HHHHHHHHHHHHHH

AND WHY ISN'T IT RESPECTED ANYMORE? I knowwwww it's a funny thing to think maybe, but gosh-damn, no wonder there's a glut, it's oiled into us 24-7 and how many people can just sit in a SILENT place? I've done it thrice today for quite long periods of time, found it PRETTY GOOD ACTUMALLY, and been slightly sickened by the pervading noise blistering back into my face against my will, and found myself ENRAPTURED WITH THE JOYS when I pressed play on my cd player to get something I actually yearned to hear out of it....

It's a good thing, it's a powerful thing (I would like to see anybody try and persuade me otherwise, not to be stubborn, I'd just like to meet the kind of person who really believes that there's no whack to a big chunk of sound in any sense) and gosh-damn it's necessary to even begin functioning at a fraction of the normal rate (something I don't think I'm capable of, time will tell, but time's had 25 years to tell, that's a long time, I think I'll be kept in the dark forevum on that one)

Phew!

I need paragraphs, I'm drownin' heah!

A glut!

Fuck off!

This ain't even totally about music here either.

LIFE'S WEIRD.

I'M NOT A PSYCHOLOGIST, I DON'T KNOW HOW THE BRAIN WORKS

I'M NOT A PHILOSOPHER, I DON'T KNOW HOW THE MIND WORKS EITHER.

BYE BYE

I'M GONNA SMOKE A FAG

OUT THE BACK DOOR

LIKE A 'COOL KID'

I've been trolling online. I'm so badass. My internet fists are massive. Digital Pugilism forevah.

I hate! HAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

I don't know why. I just do. I would love everything if everything was GOOD.

I wonder if it seems like I make long posts... I don't reckon they're that long. Essays are shorter. I'm terrible at essays. I'm also pretty bad at dancing.

My brain doesn't work and I don't understand anything
I'm an IDIOTT
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEshit

That coupled with the fact that I'm so very very very very knackered and I haven't done anything. ANYTHING. AGH. ANYTHING!

All my worlds are vanilla, this font is too big.
SEE
SPOT
RUN

RUN
SPOT
RUN

etc.

That's about my level right now.
BRAIN .
BRAIN .
BRAIN .
BRAIN .
BRAIN .
BRAIN
or maybe MIND MIND MIND MIND MIND

Pfffft who the fuck knows

I WORK IN A ROOM WITH MEN WHO ARE MEAN

AND THE ROOM IS SMALL SO THEY WOULD BE ABLE TO SEE IF I FLIPPED THEM OFF.





... such is life.

actual happy though

I did actually grin like a 5 year old and I ran around and clapped my hands
and so did charlie and in fact she was so impressed with the whole thing she pulled a face that made it look like she wasn't allowed on normal buses, which was nice cause it meant she could sit next to me on the SPECIAL ONE. (for idiots. Which is a nicer way of saying retards.)

note to self

I'm sorry to myself that I only come here to spray dirgy bullshit teenages rants about how I think I suck all the time (even though if you squint, you can make out a tiny little shaft of hope weeing in your eye)

I'd love to be able to type PUPPIES AND HOT DOGS AND I BREATHED IN A GAS CLOUD THAT TASTED LIKE SENTIENT LEMONADE AND NOW WE'RE BEST FRIENDS, THE OTHER DAY WE EXHALED A PICNIC, THEN ATE IT! WHEEEEE!!!! My Ukelelele's Fair Trade, HHOW ABOUT YOURSZ?

But I just bloody well can't.
The good things in my life are a constant, and I don't need to tell myself about them here, I tell myself about them in REALITY (that thing that's about 6 inches either side of my field of view), but I do OH HO I DO wish I had something nice to say about me and my trundlesome woo-woo-land existence.

Another negative thought would be committing ear suicide. I just go deaf
It'd suck, but at least I'd be able to focus on books and shitty scribbles (shitty scribbles being something at least I KNOW I'm crap at, the verdict's still out on everything else)

Seee? Bad thoughts just seem to come thick and fast as soon as I sit down to type things like I LIKE STRAWBERRIES. Maybe it's just easier to pour bile into the internet, one more drop surely can't hurt eh.

HELLO NOBODY I AM SAYING NOTHING

BLEEEUUURRRRGGHHHHH
WOOOWOOWOO
LAAA LAAA LAAAA LAA
I just shat a bunch of dead pixels into both of your eyes. Celebrate me, for I am a geneius.
I hate artists. I loathe them. I like art, and some artists are my friends.

But I do wish artists were dead. Smug fucks.
WALALOOLARY, I MAEK THE ART, I AM IMPORTANT, LOOK AT ME I THREW A WALL AT A PEN

I hate concepts. Bunch of muck. Let art affect who it does for their own sake, not yrrrr flimsy yet persuasive rhetoric, because I AM GOING TO BUY A SWORD AND CHOP OFF YOUR HEAD

I hate playing shit shows. They make me feel lousy, and envious of anyone who can ROCK OUT. I will start a band this year, it will be my awesome, and the players MY SOLEMN BITCHES. But they will know their place.
ANYWAY
That should have been in brackets.
Another shitty gig, and another lame teenage whine. Limiters. They suck. They are unreasonable. You insist on dropping everything down to 100db then you lose the physicality of the sound. The grit, the weight and the detail...
I am of course talking about LOUD music... it should be played LOUD and listened to LOUD... quiet music the inverse...

I heard that an OBSCENE health and safety measure may be implemented where limiters are a legal requirement in all live music venues.

This means me = fucked = no more team brick gigs to do as team brick as I am now = a fuckin shame (for me, not for the countless brightstars who think I suck, they're probably right, 50 million fall fans etc), cause it felt like I was startin' to hit my stride, so to speak, feelin' the ever-lovin' thrummm of woooshy noise beguilia (that is when I'm not met by a ghastly GAGGING BOX or a SILLY MAN who is stood in a box and the man is SHOUTING AT ME TO BE QUIET and dragging his slidey-mech-slugs towards him in a bid to SHUT ME UP. Prickery. Honestly.)

This being said, I rocked glasgow last week. I need to have a trusted team of sound engineers in all corners of the globe.... and BIG FUCK OFF AMPS AS CONTINGENCY PLAN..

Shitting fuck hell arsewart captain wretch piss Gok Wan cock patrol i hate you

My failings and inadequacies (OF WHICH THEY ARE LEGION) often make me wish I slept on a bed made of guns. The pillow is made of triggers.

I only want to get things right (or when I do get things wrong, I want it to be like tripping over a rock and breaking my ankle to find a golden mushroom or something gay like that or something AWESOME like breaking my leg by pretending to play football and finding that I had a robotic leg all this time, the kind of wrong that's illuminatory and life affirming, not the kind of wrong that's just crushing defeat, sailing past, on a bus, wearing shades, texting their mates about what a prick I am, whilst tossing a can full of puddle out the window clocking me full times up my jaw as I howl "BEJOYCE, IT'S ALL CHARACTER BUELDEING! AEY AM AN ATRIST AND ITES MY CONDISCION! IEM A GENEIOUS!)

I'll reiterate, I just want to get things RIGHT, and float about in my own little autism skateboard that I can ride because it's only for US AUTISM PEOPLE and we suck at stuff so let us have our magic skateboard OK THANKS --- BUT I CAN'T

Because people get in the way
SHITTY SOUND ENGINEERS
PEOPLE WHO HATE ME
SHITTY NEIGHBOURS
LIVE MUSIC VENUES IN RESIDENTIAL AREAS WITH NO SOUNDPROOFING (what do you expeeeeeeeeeect?)


FUCK IT



I'M GOING TO GO AND SLEEP

RIGHT AFTER I BUILD AN AQUEDUCT FROM MY SOLIDYFING SHAME (THE WATER WILL BE RIVERS OF SELF HATE... AND WATER.... OF COURSE, YOU FUCKING PLEB.... god I'm thirsty now... really, I could just go for some fizzy water, you know like 1992, in the sports centre at night, buying a can of tab clear, or lucozade, or just some fizzy fucking water god that'd be great) AND I WILL SLEEP UNDER IT AND EITHER WAKE UP A SOGGY DEAD OR QUITE REFRESHED.

GOD IN HAEVN I'M TIRED AS A... NO

WAIT

I MEAN THIRSTY
I'M THIRSTY
I WISH I WAS A VENDING MACHINE
I MIGHT BE ABLE TO GET THAT RIGHT. I MEAN, IT'S EASY...

I suppose if my AS "schtick" was identifying varying carpet weaves, my life might be a damned sight easier, I'd just sit at home, scratching the specks of mud, coffee, semen and disappointment off my sick-green carpet and analysing the surviving strands.


BED TIME FOR DICK HEAD.

I'VE GOT NOTHING TO SAY AND I'M SAYING IT.

Me and charlie and I know my grammar is going woopsy dogpiles by the second here we done London and was nice and BIRDGS played guitars and we bought lots of music and I will werite more music today and all the time I wll I will I WILL GOD FORSAKE MY SHITTY GODDAMN TYPING AND whatever I Used to be ABLE to Construct a Cotent Sentence and ATE FOOD AND CHARLIE PLAYED MUSIC AND I LAUGHED AND CLAPPED AND TO BALANCE IT ALL OUT I PUNCHED THE AIR LIKE A MAN AND I WAS WEARING MY NEW SHIRT WHICH IS GREY WHICH I'M STILL WEARING NOW AND GOD HAHAHAAHAHAH WHOEVER HEARD OF QUALITY CONTROL?

I GOT BACK HOME AND THOUGHT I WANTED TO KILL 100000000000000 PEOPLE AGAIN AND WOOPSEI I DO STILL BUT I WILL SAVE A BUNCH BECAUSE THEY ARE LOVELY FOLK WHO DON'T NEED A SLAUGHTER AND MAYBE WE CAN START A NEW WORLDS WHERE PEOPLE ARE NICE


I AM LISTENING TO DONNA INVISIBLE BY ENNIO MORRICONE AND IT'S FUCKING GREAT EXCEPT MY DAD SAID IT WAS "LOVELY" WHICH I AGREE WITH BUT FUCKING GREAT IS BETTER

BYEBYE!