Right,no more of that stupid rhyming nonsense.
I'd make a terrible lyric writer or poet etc. as I'd end up thinking what I'd written was good, only to return about 20mins to a day later, re-read it, cryscreamshoutCRINGE,realise it was the worst crap ever given form and destroy every trace of it.
Which would mean if I was in a band I'd have to don a black ninja outfit, break into any fans houses, snap their CD's, scalpel blade out any lyrics in the CD sleeve and leave an black ninja apology cake in their place.
And I don't have that many cakes.
Right. Er.
Moving on...
Went to Bell X1 last night in Dolans, which was...interesting.
They were an utter blast, better than I've ever seen them. One tight band.
I was, however, stood up by (count em) 3 people.
One best friend, one aquaintance and one girl. So I was inside the gig, waiting. On my own. Standing there like the odd one out. (Im too tall to be inconspicious).
So after uttering some aincent celtic curses against these people I retreated to a darkened corner up in the balcony to watch the band.
Seemed to work, wasn't easily noticed, the proof of which was a young couple deciding to retreat in my direction, widly groping each other and attempting to fit the others face in their mouth.
As they bumped into me they realised I was infact standing there....the girl gave me a look like I was some sort of pervert..which was hilarious (mainly as I'm sure I am some sort of pervet
) and they decided to venture into the disabled toilet instead.
Classy.
I digress. Wait....no I don't. I should.
Ever notice how you never see baby pigeons?
Right, less digressing...
So I managed to survive the rest of the gig unencumbered by amourous couples and I had realised I'd been up for in the region of 32 hours...so I was oddly happy there was no-one to hang around with and I could go home to my bed.
Strangely I couldn't actually sleep for a while, drifted in and out. Eventually managed to venture into, what I would now like to call, a coma. (I became puncuation?)
No..not a comma, a coma.
And I had those stupid coma dreams that you see on soap operas. Over dramatic, hideously messed up reality dreams. Multiple people in my family dying, strange interactions with people I know, love stories that make no sence but have contrived passion. (although I didn't even manage to get some in my coma dream either
)
I was going to slap my subconcious silly for being such a drama queen.
When I woke up I thought, so my new career in soap-writing awaits! All I have to do is perpetually keep myself awake and then sleep for...16 hours...
Shall not be doing that again if I can help it!
Or else I might turn into 'Trent Steel' a hard nosed buisnessman with a love life in turmoil, but with a strange attraction to the femme fetal 'Roxy St.Croix' who's last 3 husbands have all come to a mysterious yet unsolved death.
Not that I wouldn't mind some excitement, but it would mean I'd have to grow a chin and walk around with no shirt on alot, for no apparent reason.
Not my cup of tea.
Ooo tea...that's a good idea.
Tea owns me. It really does. Damn thing.
Back to playing the gee-tar for a while and working out if I want to join a band or not. (as in if I can ever get over my fear and do it).
>----=
I'd make a terrible lyric writer or poet etc. as I'd end up thinking what I'd written was good, only to return about 20mins to a day later, re-read it, cryscreamshoutCRINGE,realise it was the worst crap ever given form and destroy every trace of it.
Which would mean if I was in a band I'd have to don a black ninja outfit, break into any fans houses, snap their CD's, scalpel blade out any lyrics in the CD sleeve and leave an black ninja apology cake in their place.
And I don't have that many cakes.
Right. Er.
Moving on...
Went to Bell X1 last night in Dolans, which was...interesting.
They were an utter blast, better than I've ever seen them. One tight band.
I was, however, stood up by (count em) 3 people.
One best friend, one aquaintance and one girl. So I was inside the gig, waiting. On my own. Standing there like the odd one out. (Im too tall to be inconspicious).
So after uttering some aincent celtic curses against these people I retreated to a darkened corner up in the balcony to watch the band.
Seemed to work, wasn't easily noticed, the proof of which was a young couple deciding to retreat in my direction, widly groping each other and attempting to fit the others face in their mouth.
As they bumped into me they realised I was infact standing there....the girl gave me a look like I was some sort of pervert..which was hilarious (mainly as I'm sure I am some sort of pervet
) and they decided to venture into the disabled toilet instead.
Classy.
I digress. Wait....no I don't. I should.
Ever notice how you never see baby pigeons?
Right, less digressing...
So I managed to survive the rest of the gig unencumbered by amourous couples and I had realised I'd been up for in the region of 32 hours...so I was oddly happy there was no-one to hang around with and I could go home to my bed.
Strangely I couldn't actually sleep for a while, drifted in and out. Eventually managed to venture into, what I would now like to call, a coma. (I became puncuation?)
No..not a comma, a coma.
And I had those stupid coma dreams that you see on soap operas. Over dramatic, hideously messed up reality dreams. Multiple people in my family dying, strange interactions with people I know, love stories that make no sence but have contrived passion. (although I didn't even manage to get some in my coma dream either
)
I was going to slap my subconcious silly for being such a drama queen.
When I woke up I thought, so my new career in soap-writing awaits! All I have to do is perpetually keep myself awake and then sleep for...16 hours...
Shall not be doing that again if I can help it!
Or else I might turn into 'Trent Steel' a hard nosed buisnessman with a love life in turmoil, but with a strange attraction to the femme fetal 'Roxy St.Croix' who's last 3 husbands have all come to a mysterious yet unsolved death.
Not that I wouldn't mind some excitement, but it would mean I'd have to grow a chin and walk around with no shirt on alot, for no apparent reason.
Not my cup of tea.
Ooo tea...that's a good idea.
Tea owns me. It really does. Damn thing.
Back to playing the gee-tar for a while and working out if I want to join a band or not. (as in if I can ever get over my fear and do it).
>----=
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
i would like to be able to make more rhymes, they can be fun and clever.
i reckon all the massive gangster-like pigeons
eat all the lil ones2prove their pigeon gangsta powers
hehe sorry i havent replied2ur email yet ive been super busy gota say it did make me smile dude thanks