Aural Invasion: Accompaniment to City Life

The development of mobile telephones as multimedia devices is a mini revolution. You can send email, browse the web, capture those precious moments where you find yourself without your camera, cam-corder (to experience fireworks through the screen of your phone is second to none, except maybe actually watching them) or dictaphone, listen to music and share it with those around you!
In the supermarket, on the bus, in the pub (though this will likely have you asked to present some form of identification, confirming that you are under-age, and that you are the cause of my eternal frown) walking down the street, or even just sat on a wall, having a smoke, outside my flat.
I'd like to believe that were these tinny-music dependent teens trailing around with a 10lb ghetto blaster skilfully balanced on their skinny shoulders, I'd be more appreciative of their somewhat random taste in music, but better speakers does not better music make. To have bland noise branded on the sensitive ear-drum of a connoisseur such as I (and most of the other people my age around here)would be infinitely more damaging than a moment of sound grazing ones earlobe.

The most public transport fun to be had this festive season, is to sing along to other peoples mp3 players, that have headphones plugged in. Either we're going deaf or headphones are growing more leaky as they shrink (though still not small enough to stay in my ears) But no-one will give you a look quite like the person sat opposite you, quietly listening to Christina Aguilera, as you look out the window and sing along.

EXPERIENCE

The notorious blagger isn't too sure that they will be able to take on the opportunity that will be presented in January without fucking it up. A lot. It's strange how something a person does with great regularity can still scare them. A lot.
Maybe should stop trying to be and get used to existing.

Darn You With a Needle

"The things I put online are almost certainly not the whole story of me. We all have things we wouldn't want our neighbors, families, or bosses to know. I'll bet that you behave different around you're grandmother than you do your drinking buddies. Which one is the real you? We all have facets to our persona's. The one I share online is only part of me."


I tend to agree with this.

I'm generally quite adept at comparing myself with others;
i.e. judging who I am on an equal footing with, and those
that I can consider inferior or superior to me.
Sometimes good or bad experiences and memories can colour
our opinion of another.
Sometimes one can find that one is regarded higher in
comparison to another, higher than one would regard oneself.
I'm pretty good at blagging, but I don't enjoy feeling like
a con.
I don't like being 'placed above my station'
I don't like unrealistic expectation.
I don't like not being believed when I correct a
misconception about me.
I don't like being put on a pedestal.

WELL...

There's a spot that has begun a pilgrimage across my face, so am doing my utmost to support it in it's quest, especially considering the harsh weather conditions it will be facing, what with the predicted 100mph winds and blizzards of such force unseen in living memory.
Other than that I've got some work experience, some work, and some general confusion, and to keep it all stuck together, a squidgy lil tummy ache. AWW.

I've Run Out of Things to Think About

I don't know what to do.

Below, I have copy/pasted 3 sections from an application form I'm attempting to fill in. With these 3 sections, I know not what to do:

Chart

Please draw a chart showing your position in your present or most recent organisation

Interests

What general interests to you have outside your work?

Experience

Please use this space to give further details of your training, experience and other skills in support of your application (additional sheets may be attached as necessary).

It would appear that one is descending into the banal, since one cannot locate ones rant mechanism in order to write something displaying a personality, passion or potential.
And one is incapable of gainfully employing ones enthusiasm and turning it to a new venture.

I regret to say, it would appear, one has regressed, and become an Emo, or a Bored, possibly a Discontent, or even an Overly Content (since one strives for nothing more).

It's vicious, and not even a real problem, which I suppose makes it all the more crippling.

Ach

Fuck it.

I don't like being wrong

I wanted to be right, so everything could be nice.
But its not.
Sorry.

ARGH

How emo?! was that. Or was it, I'm not sure. Seems one has hit the default cold-hearted (that is inability to connect) phase in goddamnedness of confusion that is....... stuff. Bloody stuff, it's all over the place, maybe I should tidy it safely into a little box and forget it under the bed.

Jenni Hurts: Faith Without Finity

Ouch. Again.
I have an infuriatingly infinite capacity for faith in people who appear to have, or are believed to have little or no potential.
I'll believe in you always.

People lie. And bend truths. And avoid truths. And turn things around because of unwanted feelings of guilt. And don't accept responsibility. And give up too quickly. And give in too easily. Do people really want the things they believe they want anymore?

Dead

'What will your obituary say?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Oops!

There goes my cool, up over my head. Oh My!

Well, dignity is diminished along with my BMI, what with sweating a fair bit in this heat.

Nearly got sacked on Thursday, but managed to hang on to my 5 month temporary contract, so shall continue to be non-plussed by the bossman.

In other news... *giggle*

Put the Prozac DOWN... and the Seroxat...

According to the Daily Mail (oracle of all that is good and just and generally untrue), we're not depressed, but simply stressed!...which will sometimes lead to one becoming depressed.
It's all too easy nowadays, our lives have little meaning, surviving isn't so hard (comparitively, I'll let you offer up your own comparisons), and our ambitions seem rather silly when held next to those of our Grandparents/elders/forebearers/whatever. [insert details of the difficulties of living in war-torn/post-war ravaged europe here]
But essentially it seems fairly true; when we lack something of substance to complain about or to point the finger at for the reason why we feel less than the greatness we're told we should always feel, since we've never had it so good, we delve into the minutiae of our psyche, analysing and dismantling ourselves til we have a suitable facade with which we may convincingly dissemble our supposedly lack-lustre appearance with.
So like your Grandmother might say, shut up and get on with it. Life sucks (there are some sparkly moments throughout the experience) The ethereal happy contented part comes when you're dead.

Short Men

Should be avoided, since the affliction which is their diminuative stature makes it easier for them to attempt to actively finger a passing (taller) female, rather than the standard bum-brush/grab/spank.
Obviously, they're not used to being confronted, as most people would be risking spinal injury to look down at them. But occasionally one will take this risk, only to have something along the lines of "You can't afford me anyway" squeaked at them from somewhere near the floor.
Surely simple manners would get such a boy further than an inferiority complex? Or did I miss something.

8.07 Boston Express

I listen to

Warm rivers trickle through tin

As I feel

Warm rivers move beneath my skin

During this moment of broken sleep

Waiting to fall listlessly

Back onto the heap

Of dreams that await me

I'm Bleeding

Alone

Thrust waking into a morning that did not expect me

Jill

He Wishes For Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

W B Yeats

Cunting Inept Car Thieves

My daddy drops by to see me in London between business thingy-ma-bobs. Yay! I have a visitor!
But the first thing he says when he calls to say he's here, is that my car window appears to be open.
So off I skip down the road towards the lil car, cheesy wotsits in one hand, car keys on my finger... and what is this that I spy?
A coat, very similar to my sleeping bag coat (what I love) reclining awkardly on the wall near by, and scattered around the passenger door, there appears to be glass sequins, sparkling prettily in the afternoon sun.
Oh no, that would be my window, shattered all over the interior and pavement. Sexy.
And whats this in the foot well? Ooo, that would be all the tapes which are a bit precious, which never get stolen each time the car gets smashed.
And the radio is fine... because it's worthless unless you like old mix tapes.
But lo! What's this I spy? The steering column prised open, wires looking to make their escape, and the bonnet lever wrenched to buggery, so the bonnet doesnt open. Hot.

Driving it to the parents in the evening proves to be enjoyable, with one headlight cover smashed, one indicator, and a rear light that goes out everytime I brake.

Maybe the car was a circus clown once. Anyone missing a circus car?