Weird dreams. Weird dreams. Very cinematic ones as well. One was sort of an alternate Matrix story kind of thing (which concluded with two Agent Smiths kicking each other about in the lane opposite my house) and the other mainly consisted of me beating the hell out of Elijah Wood. Let me tell you, waking up with the feeling of hitting a hobbit isn't the greatest fresh start to a day.
I went out to the local club last night and got extremely bored. Apart from the start of the night it's the same old songs and the same old shallow people night after night. Conversation revolving around how drunk they are, how drunk they've been and how drunk they're going to get. Unless it turns around to me of course, in which case it's pure and utter confusion as to WHY I don't drink. Because, y'know, what's the point in living if you can't escape from reality into a semi-coma every weekend? Fuck. Watching my friends trying to pull random people they bump into (and succeeding most of the time) while I patiently attempt to meet someone interesting and promising. I do quite a lot, and they always have something to hold me back. Sample from last night, after meeting a lovely girl called Charlotte and talking to her for about an hour:
ME: You should come along to my birthday party on the 19th.
HER: Oh I'd love to but I'm packing that day.
ME: Where you going?
HER: I'm moving to Florida.
Gah.
I hate Blackpool, I really do.
I feel like writing a poem, so here you are. Enjoy.
My hands bled last night, and the night before.
This town makes me bleed.
Threescore deep in families of polluted sand,
Running through the streets as from a broken hourglass
Spilling onto the beach and choking the sea with shit.
The palace grows like a fungus,
Infecting my wounds with the growth of years.
My hands will bleed tonight.
I went out to the local club last night and got extremely bored. Apart from the start of the night it's the same old songs and the same old shallow people night after night. Conversation revolving around how drunk they are, how drunk they've been and how drunk they're going to get. Unless it turns around to me of course, in which case it's pure and utter confusion as to WHY I don't drink. Because, y'know, what's the point in living if you can't escape from reality into a semi-coma every weekend? Fuck. Watching my friends trying to pull random people they bump into (and succeeding most of the time) while I patiently attempt to meet someone interesting and promising. I do quite a lot, and they always have something to hold me back. Sample from last night, after meeting a lovely girl called Charlotte and talking to her for about an hour:
ME: You should come along to my birthday party on the 19th.
HER: Oh I'd love to but I'm packing that day.
ME: Where you going?
HER: I'm moving to Florida.
Gah.
I hate Blackpool, I really do.
I feel like writing a poem, so here you are. Enjoy.
My hands bled last night, and the night before.
This town makes me bleed.
Threescore deep in families of polluted sand,
Running through the streets as from a broken hourglass
Spilling onto the beach and choking the sea with shit.
The palace grows like a fungus,
Infecting my wounds with the growth of years.
My hands will bleed tonight.
VIEW 13 of 13 COMMENTS
one time i met a girl after a gig. well, she pretty much threw herself at me, the mad thing. anyways, we went to a bar, had a few drinks, she's all over me, tells me i'm going home with her. wahey! so, before we head off to her place, i head to the toilet. upon exiting the lav, the bouncer decides to throw me out because i haven't got a drink in my hand. wah!!!
shit like that happens to me all the time, mate. we should form an elite group of losers.
wtf are you talking about? lmfao