bleak

I’m on a train, extremely hungry. Actually I’ll moderate that down to slightly hungry. I just read a very brutal and very truthful article in the New Internationalist about a women’s shelter in Afghanistan. Perspective.

This was being written on a laptop grabbing impulse, as I realised I can write whatever the fook I fancy about all the people in this carriage without any of them ever finding out. I think I actually startled the girl next to me (her felt coat looks like a blanket I would be suspicious of in an ancient relative’s house HAHA she has no idea I think that) with my fervour, but now I’m experiencing an anticlimax crisis, because I’ve realised it’s perhaps not that fruitful to be systematically mean to everyone in Coach C, even if they are all a bunch of fucktards, which they are not even. It’s just a carriage full of human beings. What was I so excited about. Sigh. Life is just a series of desaturations.

 I can smell cucumber and appel strudel.

I should never have started writing this.

ABANDONED DRAFT #1

Why is my chocolate cute? Why do Lindt think I'm going to want to eat it more if it looks like a happy chicken? Personally, I would prefer it if the chocolate came wrapped as a microbe, as knife crime or as deforestation, because then at least I could justify my gluttony. When it's so adorable, though, I feel repulsed at my own enjoyment as I crunch through its skull, collecting the fragments in its empty body.

ABANDONED DRAFT #2 (please forgive apparent existential woe)

So that was long.

Just don't mention it. 

Today finds me in London, in my house, feet resting on an empty clothes drier, surrounded by artefactual blips of otherwise standard human existence.

BACK IT COMETH

It’s 9am, I finished the 1^st year of my MA yesterday and I almost certainly should not be writing a blog entry. Surely, SURELY, I have better ‘initial freedom things’ to be doing (e.g. eggy brekkie, Runescape, prolonged bath etc), but the only thing my brain can process is more writing. Writing everywhere, here, there, hanging out on the stair(s). And surely, SURELY, you have better things to be reading (the news, that unfinished book, informative back of cereal box etc), yet for some reason you are here, following these verrrrrry words with your crusty little eyeballs. I only assume they are crusty because it’s relatively early on in the day and you might not have rubbed away 100% of residual sleep.

Due to the facts that a) I have eaten almost exclusively dry sandwiches for the past week, and b) no one did it anyway, I’m not going to give you any lists of three or any food/book/song recommendations - instead I’m just going to warble on about unrelated pap and try my absolute hardest not to ask the crisis question why do you think anyone would want to read this because sanity is important at this stage.

So the most interesting thing I can think of is that I kicked an eel the other day. I went for a swim at Southend and everyone insists it was just seaweed but for all of you doubters, read the below:

·      seaweed is soft

·      eels are hard

·      I’ve kicked fish before and am familiar with their firmness

·      it was definitely an eel

The second most interesting thing I can think of is that there is complicated controversy / confusion surrounding the resale of plots of land purchased by Greenpeace to prevent the expansion of Heathrow. The ultimate conclusion: bad.

I need to stop doing this now because I am vegetating. In my pants. Sitting on top of my bag full of clothes that I need to finish packing for my impending summer of exolondon existence. zoooooooooooooom off I go