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Sunday 23rd February, 2003 - http://turkeyphant.livejournal.com/
why do we rejoice in pointless suffering?

Been thinking about you, your records are here,
your eyes are on my wall, your teeth are over there.
But I'm still no-one, and you're now a star,
what do you care?

Been thinking about you, and there's no rest,
shit I still love you, still see you in bed.
But I'm playing with myself, and what do you care
when the other men are far, far better.

All the things you've got,
all the things you need,
who bought you cigarettes,
Who bribed the company to come and see you honey?

I've been thinking about you, so how can you sleep?
These people aren't your friends, they're paid to kiss your feet.
They don't know what I know and why should you care
when I'm not there.

Been thinking about you, and there's no rest,
should I still love you, still see you in bed.
But I'm playing with myself, what do you care,
when I'm not there.

All the things you've got,
she'll never need,
all the things you've got.
I've bled and I bleed to please you.

Been thinking about you.


On Friday I went back to school again. I met up with David, but we couldn't find anyone, so ventured into town and then to the college. I met Kapmandu and Daws, then was thrown out by some caretaker dude just as I spotted the mother of Sammie Wammie. I need to work on my bluffing and social engineering skills.

David had purchased a copy of the humorous college magazine he proofreads and contributes articles to. It was a humongous mockworthy pile of wank, replete with errors and malapropisms. We went to the pub where David was given Linux magazines and Kapmandu conversed with proles from the college (I'm not just saying that for effect; they mostly seemed quintessential rütters). The most shocking moment was realising that they were actually asking for IDs, meaning only about two people could get served. And so I had only one lunchtime pint before dragging David back to school.

There we met hundreds more people, boned little girls and laughed when Mr. Mansfield failed to exert any pressure on us at all. Oh yeah, we also stole a thousand books from the English department: Flowers For Algernon to bring a tear back to David's eye and some Steinbeck, a selection of Orwell's essays and Dr. Faustus for me. I think this was when we arranged to meet Abu and accompanying scoundrels in the pub later on.

That, in fact, we didn't do, as nobody turned up when we checked in the trusty old Prince Of Wales. Instead Sam came over, and together we sat in David's kitchen as he became ever-more abusive - full of glee, he uproariously sought out excessive trivial mistakes in the college magazine. By now, I was yearning for twd juice and managed to persuade the lads to tag along on a jaunt to the offie. In the first one we attempted, Sam and I were referred to the manager who swiftly dismissed my colour-printer FID. And so, we walked all the way over to another place... Here I successfully purchased the alcohol having been asked no questions at all, but then embarrassingly fumbled around for ages trying to find some money to pay with as the queue behind me grew. Eventually, I grasped a crumpled tenner from the deepest depths of my jeans and the bloke didn't even care that I was blatantly about twelve years old. So much for just being confident.

We reluctantly followed Sam as he wanted a stupid kebab and, as luck would have it, met The Happy-Gay One in the shop. He left RGS a couple of years ago and I remember little of him except us, cocky and obnoxious as we were, gratuitously insulting him like imbeciles every single day. After that we passed the pub where everyone had since congregated and joined them for a couple of pints and a few surreptitious under-the-table glasses of Bailey's (Sam's choice). After that, all that was left to do was head back to David's house, try and bone wonderful Catriona once again, and then catch my train home. I think I enjoyed myself.


Anything else?

Yes; I had very nearly forgotten I am a complete asshole by nature. Unfortunately, I'm not quite that lucky...

Also: I've just realised that I fret so much and waste so much energy trying to accurately chronicle my actions and deeds without devoting anything to recording what matters - my daily thought processes. What's the remedy?

Furthermore, I haven't been properly totally wankered dude for absolutely ages. God, the last time I went out and had fun would have been the Wank Party, six months ago. Is it only me?

And still, I sit here and waste all my good thoughts on girls who I'll never know and who don't care, my emotions diluted through the proxy.

Yes, I do think tulips are pretty.

    mood: contemplative contemplative
    choon: Radiohead - Thinking About You