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Thursday 27th February, 2003 - http://turkeyphant.livejournal.com/
and soon enough soon enough this will be just a memory and soon enough soon enough this will fade li
the picture is burned at the edge and you're looking away looking for what's next
and strange how through time we look the same
your eyes and mine looking away
too scared to see...


~

Things I've been thinking about? Not much at all to be honest. I've just been allowing myself to become integrated into the machine, gaily watching my soul drift away with the monotony of each day. I convince myself I'm cooler than everyone else because I still have done no work at all this term and I stay up till two every night achieving nothing. My days are spent sleeping through lessons and my nights wasted getting tired. I keep catching myself, half-awake, seeing visions of people in front of me or tapping my shoulder to wake me. I increasingly find that, in my fragments of free time, I'm just too exhausted for even a semblance of semi-rationality.

The thing is, I can't even remember any longer whether or not I was always like this. Have I been so tired all my life? Did I ever expect things to go this way?

~

I read Eric Arthur Blair's essay Politics and the English Language. I thought it was quite good, even though it made me remember what hypocrites we all are and how maybe, one day, I should try not to flagrantly go against everything he finds so abhorrent. But bah; I enjoy being pseudo-wordy.

~

Anything else? I guess this is worth making a note of even if nobody cares, including myself. I hacked into (well, chanced upon) some jpgs Miss Asten had taken during a physics practical. They were hidden away somewhere on one of the network's shared drives. And of course, there in his resplendent beauty, was a perfectly sharp image of Charlemagne poring over his scratchy table of results. And, luck would have it, in the very same folder was an elegant shot of this really ugly, fucking annoying Christian fanatic chick (Rachel) to whom we always include sexual references when taking the piss out of Charles. And so, as Theodore watched on in amazement, I quickly photoshopped a pic of her receiving head from a French King. I even put in comedy speech bubbles(!) Then, we sprinted downstairs, printed a couple of copies off and then pasted it onto his Physics folder for Rachel to see while he was still at games. We stuck it down with multiple layers of adhesive and plastic coverings, and I was most satisfied with my work.

~

Also that week, I found myself having numerous enjoyable conversations with beautiful Sophie and that strange girl who loves buttons. Or something. And what purpose did this serve? Well, Sophie spoke to me which was nice (especially as I could converse with a female uncorrupted by this school for once) and Annie served to remind me how little a life I have (and have had). But still, I learned all sorts of wonderful things about wonderful bands around Bury St. Edmunds and ANNIE GOT NICK FROM BLUE GANDHI TO DRAW ME SOME SUPERB BLACKCURRANT COWS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111oneoneone.

~

Another evening, I was forced to go to this stupid Oxbridge talk and some other shit afterward. I slept through the entire speakage and then afterwards, apprehensively went along to the "headmaster's dinner" I'd been invited to. I was so close to jocking it, before I realised all the other shit I'd missed and the embarrassing empty space at the table. Thankfully, I had smelly Ping to go with so I wouldn't look so stupid and have to talk to myself.

This part of the day was unbearable. About ten pupils had been invited to this event and they were all standing round picking at plates of food and chatting amicably with all the odious staff that attend this place. After Ping and I had obtained our nourishment (slightly less malodorous than the usual dining hall nosh), we located a corner for ourselves and tried desperate to blend into the walls. Our efforts weren't aided when I dropped a large lump of ragou into the headman's plush carpet.

And so, we wiled away an utterly joyless hour fending away teacher's approaches and restraining ourselves from murdering all the other children as they bunched round the speaker and completely surrounded him with a wall of blind alacrity. From across the room, I could hear them all jostle for the best position and, with beaming smiles, politely interrupt so they could field their clever quip and get a good word in with this Oxbridge admissions guy. Like the UCAS-obsessed gimps at RGS, these guys have all researched their courses and colleges, read and re-read their Daily Mail guides to bribing their private-school asses into posh universities and had booked up the open days so they could be sure to get into the same cushy City job as daddy. If it weren't for my own uncomfortable position, I would have broken down in despair.

~

Dickolas refuses to speak to me any longer and maybe it's not his fault?

    mood: tired tired
    choon: Tom McRae - Human Remains