Sunday, 21 July 2013
Monday, 8 July 2013
"You and I are two of the most morally corrupt people out there."
In two weeks I graduate from University. I will have, under my belt, a First Honors Degree in English. So, what now? I'm lucky, I'm about to go and do my Masters in Creative Writing at the University of Warwick but what happens then? What happens after? When I have to go out and find a job and actually...work. I've had a part-time job since I was sixteen and only since September have I felt the weight of a full time job on my shoulders, being that robot that gets up at 9 in the morning to stay until 5. Standing in a shop and looking forward to lunch or being invested in a business.
The other day I was thinking about how easy it would be to simply drop everything and get a full time job in something I had little interest in - a shop, a business, a place where money comes at you the same time every month with the same amount and, within two years, my debt would be gone. I would get a flat, have my job and simply exist. My name would not be known for what I want it to be known as. I would be just a person.
I want to be a writer -in case you didn't know - and, in the past couple of months I've had my work published in a few places: my personal essay (http://issuu.com/themetric/docs/metricissue04), my poems soon to be in Agenda Broadsheet, my short story and poems (http://www.thecadaverine.com/?cat=9). That's what I want and I think that's what we go into University with the want of doing - we want to spend three years being poor, drinking too much and studying a subject that we love so that, when we finish, we go out and get a job doing what we love. But we come out of University with that horrible, aching feeling of debt of sponging off our parents. So we turn to jobs that we have very little interest in simply to get out of that, to live a life that we deem much more comfortable.
At University we live our dream or the vision of our dream and then, when its over, and the world throws us different choices some of us allow our dreams to crumble. What we must remember is to not let our dream vanish. Don't let the world get you down.
Friday, 5 July 2013
My manager, Sam Howe, spends a lot of time pressuring me to write about her - in my journal, in my stories, poems, all of it. So, one day, while at work, I scribbled down this title with the image of a young girl - much like Mary from 'The Secret Garden' - sitting on the back of a tarantula with her nose curled up to the sky thinking about thinking. This is what became of that:
It began, as most things do, with an idea
and transported onto paper – through paper and ink –
the idea – however small – was created.
She sat on the back of a tarantula
head pointed to the sky
thinking about jam.
Jam on toast
jam on scones
jam on pickles and sausages
in mornings and nights.
Ponder, ponder, that’s what she did
perhaps too much
– but definitely not too less –
thinking, at first about jam
and maybe all the things in-between.
It started with an idea
it was created
she sat on the back of a tarantula thinking about jam.
My computer's ability to post Youtube videos on my blog was momentarily stopped. Now it's back, I feel like I must share things that inspire and enthrall me. I have spent most of today sitting at this dining table, surrounded by bits of books I have been reading and papers to try and sort out boring financials. I ran out to town and bought two cooking books for ten pounds. And now, here I sit, listening to this song thinking about a fantastic stop-motion film about two lost souls in the woods. Call it cliche if you want. But cliches come from somewhere.
I read somewhere once once "an English Lit student will say 'the writer chose the curtains to blue to imply melancholy' when in fact the writer would say 'I chose the curtains to be blue just because I wanted them to be blue'." Ian McEwan, continue speaking.
This song will always remind me of living. I first heard it in 'Grey's Anatomy' when Cristina goes to her husband, Owen, and kissed him. They have sex. She does this a few weeks after he confesses that he has cheated on her and their relationship is in ruins. Later, as they lay there naked, he smiles and say that he's happy. As she lays on his chest she says "I'm leaving."
I'm sitting in my dining room trying to write an article about a kind of music I have never heard about - avant-garde music in which there exists a festival of such music. I'm listening to the strawing sounds and the grave voices, occasionally changing to lighter music that I enjoy - Mumford & Sons ready for when I see them live tomorrow. Upon my research I staggered across this...
...and I say this - how fucking terrifying is that. I recently had a discussion with someone I work with about fear - what do we, as individuals fear and one of mine is the fear of somebody standing behind me. I'm petrified of the idea of being in my kitchen and somebody standing outside, looking through my window at me or sleeping and somebody steps into the room without my knowledge. And, after seeing this photo I think: how fucking terrifying would it be if they wore that bloody mask.