Thoughts of an Anarchist

Would anyone be horribly, overly scarred if I deleted this blog and moved on to another, equally neglected one?

You have a chance to speak if you wish… I’m just aware I’ve been neglecting it, rarely have the time for blogging anymore, and, quite frankly, have very little worth saying at the moment. All I seem to post is occasional noise, and it seems to me that I’ve had this long enough…

Anyway.

SO VERY TIRED

BUT SO VERY DESPERATE TO WATCH ELECTIONS

I DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW ANYONE CAN SLEEP
HOW PEOPLE CAN SAY ‘IT’S NOT MY COUNTRY’

YES IT FUCKING IS, LIKE IT OR NOT, IT IS. IT’S YOUR WORLD THEY RUN.

175 to 76. COME ON OBAMA. COME ON.

When you see this, post a quote from Douglas Adams on your blog.

“I refuse to prove that I exist,” says God, “for proof denies faith, and without faith I am nothing.”

“But,” says Man, “the Babel fish is a dead giveaway isn’t it? It could not have evolved by chance. It proves that You exist, and so therefore, by Your own arguments, You don’t. QED.”

“Oh dear,” says God, “I hadn’t thought of that,” and promptly vanishes in a puff of logic.

“Oh, that was easy,” says Man, and for an encore goes on to prove that black is white and gets himself killed on the next zebra crossing.

ANGST ANGST ANGST.

Rufus Wainwright: The perfect soundtrack to those days when you just hate everything.

MEMERY RELATED TO MR WAINWRIGHT INSIDE THIS CUT.

1. Choose ONE band or artist and answer ONLY in titles of THEIR songs: Rufus Wainwright

2. Are you male or female: Damned Ladies

3. Describe yourself: Matinee Idol

4. How do some people feel about you: Foolish Love / Evil Angel

5. How do you feel about yourself: I Don’t Know What It Is

6. Describe your ex boyfriend/girlfriend: I’m Not Ready To Love

7. Describe current boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse: Beautiful Child

8. Describe how you live: Waiting For A Dream

9. Describe how you love: As In Happy / Foolish Love

10. What would you ask for if you had just one wish?:  Between My Legs / In My Arms

11. Share a few words of wisdom: Nobody’s Off The Hook / Low Grade Happiness

12. Describe how you are feeling right now: Do I Disappoint You

13. Now say goodbye: Release The Stars

I think number 12 pretty much sums up how I feel right now.

Dr Horrible’s Sing Along Blog! 43 minutes of hilarity, drama and genius, on the internet, FOR FREE.

Watch it. Watch it or I will not speak to you.

George Carlin is dead.

Well, shit.
His soul has been flung to the rooftops ala Frisbeetarianism, and now he’s with Joe Pesci.

What a most excellent dude that Rufus was. I’m going to have a wee cry now.

Abs x

Tis David Tennant’s birthday! For a whole one more minute! The wee skinny lad is 37.

Bless, hooray and hurrah! Brilliant, fantastic, and super!

I feel this calls for a celebration with my favourite picture:

Yeah, so maybe he’s sat in a wardrobe sipping tea.

But that’s why he’s lovely and suited to being the Doctor. Because he’s a complete dork.

May he live long and prosper. *

Yours fangirlishly,
Abs x

*I switched shows. So sue me.

This requires, I feel, a national period of mourning.

Those of us who are avid readers of his blog have been missing him, but he frankly deserves the break.

Not the break in his arm, I mean the break from writing.

Oh, sssh, Abbi. Stop fangirling.

Which reminds me, I must review ‘Moab is my Washpot’ at some point, which the excellent Fish bought me for Christmas, and I adored.

I don’t have to justify being an atheist.

But here’s me doing it anyway.

Colourblind (And Proud)

Sometimes, there are paper colours

                        that the clever ones can’t see.

It’s not that they don’t want to;

(lord knows I’ve tried)

 

But every time we try

       they blow away, hide,

       dance in the sky

no more than a metaphor

 

for all I peer through their rose tinted eyes.

 

And so I don’t believe.

 

Those who can –

those lucky few –

speak in rapture of colour and hue

 

of golden glows and silver touch

But I see no silver, just shades of grey,

and isn’t that beautiful enough?

 

These colour catchers want to tame the stars, to see in black and white,

I feel no need to. (I’ve seen the light.)

 

And so I don’t believe.

 

These children, chasing a rainbow’s end

                                                a mythical pot of gold

say if I don’t believe I’ll go to darkness

and then there’ll be

 no colour

            at all.

 

Can’t you see?

 

Maybe it’s me whose eyes are blind.

Maybe I can’t see.

 

But show me the colours I see

            in my lover

                        in your god.

 

and then I WILL BELIEVE.

 

But not ’til then.

In my mind, drama = me. It has done since I was four years old, it’s what I’ve always wanted to do, and it’s what I will do. If I didn’t do drama I would simply cease to exist as the person I am now.

So when on Thursday we recieved the kick up the bum that we might fail drama AS, despite putting everything into it - that we might get a D - I was slightly shellshocked.

Since then I’ve pretty much been working whenever I can, because I cannot fail.

Because if I don’t equal drama, than what’s left for me to equal?