I’m intrigued by this. Tell me honestly what you think of me. If you do one, do the other.

Negative traits.

Positive traits.

Otherwise, I have bought other things from a Car Boot sale, including a boxset of LotR and the Hobbit books. An old boxset. In mint condition. Hooray! It’s not as if I already have around 5 copies of each book! >.>

Need a life. Any suggestions? Currently I’m in favour of a quiet old lady living in the country with her cats. If you know of any, let me know so I can suck the life from her.

Hum ditty dum. Is there anything worth blogging? Um. No, except:

MY WRITER’S BLOCK IS GONE. I CAN WRITE AGAIN!!!!!1

Abs x

Whovians! Have you ever found yourself asked “Why do you like Doctor Who?” and found yourself unable to answer?

No, me neither. BUT if I was ever asked, I have found a video that I would use precisely to reply. Because it is just perfect. Kudos to the creator.

Also, if one more person makes a Doctor Who music video about Rose and the Doctor and their pure pure love 4eva zomg!!! to a James Blunt or any other such whingy music, I will have them by their pre-pubescent breasts and stick them somewhere locked in a dungeon in the TARDIS, forced to watch old Doctor Who tapes until they realise that there are other companions, and yes, there was love, and yes, there will be again. 

And that goes for RTD too. STOP SELLING ME YOUR SHIP, DAMNIT, CAUSE THE MORE YOU SELL, THE LESS I BUY.

I liked Doomsday, though.

Am I alone in the Whoniverse on this? I mean, yes, we liked Rose, some of us, and she was a good companion, and we’ll miss her, but please. Are you going to spend the whole of Season 3 weeping and saying “He’s doing the emo bit because he misses Rose and their tru luv!!!1 It has nothing to do with him losing his planet and all his people!! Just because he showed sadness at her getting stuck in an alternative universe, it means he can never move on!!! OMG he spoke to another woman!!! wtf!”

Some of them are more intelligent than that, I grant you. And there are many Rose fans who can accept that there was an ‘old school’ Doctor Who, and that he will move on.  I was choking on rage that Rusty D shoved in Catherine Tate at the end, because that just threw Rose away. She was deluded on the fact the he would settle down with her, yes, but that was her, and we liked her for it. That just makes her nothing. It makes all that character development nothing. It makes all that chemistry nothing. It makes his reaction “NO! ROSE! NO! IF IT’S MY LAST CHANCE TO SAY IT, ROSE TYLER- NO! *cry* NO! - wait, shiny lady in a dress!”

That is not the Doctor I know. But neither is the man who cries forever over his one true love, who happens to be a 19 year old from London.

I mean, if his true love is anyone, it’s Romana Fred.

So, I don’t know. I watch this show because I love the Doctor, and love his adventures, and all of that. No matter how that Doctor changes, I watch it because I love him.

When fanboys and fangirls start changing him for me, it’s a grave day indeed. 

Oookay. Breathe.

Otherwise, Jay, you are a very clever person, and I have accquired the Rocky Horror Soundtrack, the Meaning of Life, Adrian Mole books, a Bill Bailey video and a new deep friendship with the owner of my local Newsie, who, it turns out, is also a DW fan. So I’m going to get a discount on the action figures and she’s going to start saving the DWM back for me. Hooray!

Anything else? …No, not really. Talk to me, please.

Abs x

Mission semi-successful.

I’m proud.

Also, Porridge just moved to opposite me. Well, fuck.

Abs x 

And my two-pounds worth on the subject. 

So, I’m confused today. This week. These past few weeks. Had a huge conversation with Loup last night about the reason, and he’s the primary reader of the blog, so I don’t (need-feellike-thinkican-want) to go through it again. Suffice to say, I’m feeling reflective, angry, needy and distressed. Hardly pleasant characteristics. ANYWAY.

The long and the short of it is, he told me to do a nice ‘bollocking anarchy-filled blog’, and I am left with possibly not enough and possibly too much to blog about. I thought of many things. Settled on this, and you may as well too, because you’re in for a bumpy ride. However, you do have a choice.

“There is always a choice.”
“You mean I could choose certain death?”
“A choice nevertheless, or perhaps an alternative. You see, I believe in freedom. Not many people do, although they will of course protest otherwise. And no practical definition of freedom would be complete without the freedom to take the consequences. Indeed, it is the freedom upon which all the other are based.”

Freedom. It is such a terrifying word. Don’t you just quake in your boots at the prospect of being totally free, really free? There is a reason why, when you take a domesticated animal to the wild, it turns round again. Not because it knows nothing else, or wants the comforts of home. Because there’s a whole world out there, and it’s big, and it’s all open to you. 

I mean, think about it. How much have you seen? When you think about travelling a long distance, how long is long to you? (down, boy.) Wiltshire to Hastings is far too long for me, and England to Japan was hell. And what is adventure? Bungee jumping? Rollercoasters? No, adventure and freedom go hand in hand with that most delightful of experiences, TERROR.

Hang on, you say, but I’m terrified of rollercoasters. I hate heights. I’m a wimp. I’m scared. I’m a coward. I KNOW TRUE TERROR. 

Bullshit.

There are few people in this world who know true terror. With terror, you are too busy experiencing it, living it, to reflect or think or wonder about it. You feel raw emotion. True emotion. And it’s overpowering. Your brain can’t function with this emotion taking over your everything. Cowardice is just another word for some form of bravery. The bravery to admit that you’re scared.

 ”Courage isn’t just a matter of not being frightened. It’s being afraid and doing what you have to do anyway.”

Too many people go their whole lives and never feel a second of raw emotion. Too many people feel sheltered emotions, which seem real, which when they think on it is so real, so impossibly real, that how can she be saying it isn’t? But it is that moment of realisation that makes it false. Not everyone, of course. I don’t think I have, but then, how can I know? This is just a theory.

Real pain. Real hatred. Real anger. Real terror. Real happiness.

Why? Because to experience reality, we must first have the freedom to do so. And freedom requires making that choice. Whilst we have no freedom in society, those who blame society forget that they themselves are part of that society, and contribute to it:

 so·ci·e·ty 
n. pl. so·ci·e·ties

1. 1. The totality of social relationships among humans.
   2. The institutions and culture of a distinct self-perpetuating group.

Ergo, society as we percieve it could not exist without us, the humans, the people of the world encompassed in the society, to control it and create it and keep it running.

Freedom requires choice, the ability to make that choice, and choosing to make that choice. And we prefer subconciously, however much we may crave and desire ‘freedom’, to think, to have our lives planned out, to dream, to be human. Whilst we are human we can never truly be free, for we will always strive for something more. It is our nature. And freedom is that point when we need nothing more. Because we are free.

It is our blessing and our curse.

Incidentally, the one emotion I believe is felt by most people truly and really is love, and that’s because I don’t percieve love to be an emotion. But that’s a story for another time. 

For now, I want to sit and feel my false reality, and drink a mug of tea. Cause I’m not brave enough to feel real emotion yet. And I don’t think you are, either.

Thoughts?

Abs x 

When I’m stressed, I just try to remember the lyrics to American Pie in my head. How I love that song. It’s a beautiful poem. So much emotion.

Things and Such

I recieved Octavarium today from a friend in Australia. I’m in love. Also, I’m trying to tidy up a poem I did a while ago, called ‘Artist’s Epithet’. It needs a LOT of work. I wrote it after reading ‘Look Back in Anger’, which I have become ever so slightly obsessed with.

Ever so.

Slightly.

Artist’s Epithet

—

Her skin is a cacophony, a work of art;

Every colour, every bruise so delicately worked.

These aren’t fists.

They’re an artist’s hands.

SMACK.

I touch her and she trembles beneath the canvas,

A pulse, a milky dove, pigment black and blue,

Red runs down her face.

She is my masterpiece.

SMACK.

Perfection; a sculpture carved with insults,

Nails scraping, bleeding in the clay.

She shields her eyes and screams.

My Moaner Lisa.

SMACK.

Her fingers clench, fragile pleading,

Porcelain – shatters in my hands.

It’s such a shame to see her

When she

CRACKS.

But I’d hate to see this painting on display.

—

This week has been awful. It’s not likely to get much better next week. Or for a while. But to avoid this becoming another teenage angsty wanky blog, I’ll just say this:

1) I love my parents.

2) I hate my parents.

3) Without my friends, I wouldn’t be here.

… I don’t know what to say, really.

PAH! Emotions!

Abs x

terrify the shit out of me.

 
seriously.
 
But at least this month’ll be lucky now. : )
 
- Abs x 

This week, I have done something:

- amazing: I swum in the freezing cold algae-ridden lake of Lydiard Park, right next to the ‘No Swimming’ sign, in my underwear, with my friends, and took off my bra, and got seen.

- terrifying: I rescued a bat with my bare hands. After last years incident involving a bat, a bed, and my feet, that was a big step forward. Go me.

- embarassing: I made rude comments about my ex’s choice of girls and food to his face, at a party given by his best friend, and found it hilarious.

- awful: I upset one of my best friends just so I could look good in front of some others. I still haven’t apologised.

- guilt-inducing: I fantasised about a friend’s partner. Whilst I was supposed to be listening to my friend’s troubles.

- fun: I made pasta and danced round the house to ‘Devil’s Dance Floor’ with Fish.

- lazy: I spent the whole of Sunday in my dressing gown, doing nothing whatsoever at all.

- creative: I made Blandford a t-shirt for his birthday.

- satisfying: I came up with a plotline for Arrhenius, and started to map out the basic story.

- angry: I wrote a letter to Jeremy Paxman and didn’t send it.

- naughty: I ate far too much.

- organised: I tidied my bedroom, organised my memes into a folder, and wrote this list.

- illegal: I downloaded ‘Livin La Vida Loca’ via limewire.

- finishing: The End.