Here it goes again…

a girl sitting beside me with dark glasses and long, elaborately pulled up, straight hair. She is wearing a grey cardigan with a deep blue shirt under it. I cannot see her legs, they are under the desk, but I can catch a glimpse of her shiny silver bag.

She knows I’m writing about her, and she’s sneakily watching while trying to look interested in her social networking site.

I’m listening to At the Drive-in. They are giving me a headache, but I still really like them. They’ve got a strange lyrical genious.

I think I know the girl sitting beside me. She may be from a long ago class or chance meeting. Who knows these days?

Oh! And I just found a bottle of coke in my bag. Score.

and analysis I have found that;

Approximately 65% of people prefer my hair wild and curly.

30% prefer it straight.

5% are neutral.

(it should be noted here that this experiment consists of 10 people, but Charlotte holds an extra 5% sway of the vote, and the 5% neutral - i.e. half a person - can be explained that they were neutral/didn’t give a damn)

For the majority of voters, I have only this statement to clarify why people prefer my hair when it’s curly compared to straight:

“… ’cause you’re always gigglier whenever I’ve seen you with it. You’re like some sort of curly giggly thing.”

However, this statement was received by someone who was very tired and almost blind in one eye, so I cannot hold this as irrefutable evidence that curls=giggles ergo a more cheery, approachable character. Further evidence needs to be collected.

Though, all subjectiveness aside, I’d prefer not to be considered a giggly wistful person (though I have been known to sit on a summers day and smile at the sky), so my dictatorial reign over my hair shall remain the same; straight straight straight.

Unless, of course, it rains. I may be a totalitarianist leader of my features, but even I cannot defy nature.

where not being able to sleep becomes less of a bother and more of a problem.

Yesterday, as mentioned, was my final day of relaxation before plunging headfirst into slides and notes of a class that I probably should’ve really turned up to. But ah well.

I had made it my goal of today to have as much fun as possible. This included lying on the grass and reading a good book or listening to good music, chilling out with friends and baking slowly in the sun. However, as the fates conspire against me, it rained and was cloudy and boohoo. However, I decided that should no put a dampener on my day and set out with overly curly hair and a pocket full of wonderful wonderful money. Met everyone in the bar in the cinema and started off with a kick of good old fashioned alcohol to set me up for the suffering of the really really shit film we watched. It was so shit that it was funny and good, but then it turned shit again.

Afterwards, in the toilet, I was flanked on both sides of the urinal by elderly, obese men. They both unzipped at the same time, and they both shook their farewells at the same time, so, to be honest, I had no idea which one of them stank of sex. There was this waft of it constantly bombarding me, and for a moment I thought it was me smelling of sex, but then I realised that I haven’t had any for about a week now so that was totally out of the question. So it must’ve been one of them.

Headed to a bar afterwards and got fairly away with it. Decided to stop over at Pizza Hut for food and ended up on the receiving end of more than a few looks after our loud discussion of giving handjobs to old, blind men.

We (all eight of my followers) were knocked back from another bar for being too drunk so we migrated to Jame’s flat where we watched soft porn and laughed ourselves breathless as I tried to dissuade everyone not to continue my new nickname of “Mini Mercer”.

And now I’m home, staying up because I can’t sleep and wondering to myself what I find more fun; lying in the sun with a book, chilling out with friends in a bar, or wandering the night-lit streets of my city with a flask of whiskey and a carton of cigarettes. They’re all fun, but different kinds. I realise suddenly that I experience these separate events with very different people. Or maybe that’s not right. They’re the same people, but different circumstances. No, that doesn’t make sense.

I get in these moods. I have these feelings. Sometimes I want to write and write these feelings away, but at the same time I just want to live them. There’s so many beautiful moments out there, you know? I feel as though I’m missing them.

Isn’t it strange when I switch styles mid blog?

Oh, and I smoked twenty cigarettes today. Go me.

One beer: No change.

Two beers: Lightheadedness.

Three beers: Woozy.

Four beers: Even woozier, and a little sad for drinking four beers by yourself.

Five beers: Drunk. And no longer caring about drinking alone.

Call me a lightweight if you will, but I’d rather think of myself as a cheap date.

and oh dear god titles look ugly.

What pisses me off more than anything else is that despite all my plans and epiphanies and promises to myself, I’m still sitting here doing nothing. No. Less than nothing. I’m fucking blogging.

But this post is probably going to be overshadowed by OH MY GOD TITLE.

I ran into myself at a bar last night. It was an unsettling experience to say the least.

“Hello!” he said, quite cheerfully.

“Hello,” I replied, trying to look busy with my phone, “how’s it going?”

“Pretty good actually!” he said, annoyingly cheerily. “I’m just having a few drinks. Care to join me?”

I tried to shuffle away but he wrapped a strong, snake-like arm round my shoulders and guided me to a table. We sat across from each other and he slid a beer towards me, which I sipped grudgingly. A group of girls walked past and he eyed them up with a lofty little smile on his face. One of them glanced at him and he raised his glass in a toast, to which she giggled and returned to her friends.

“You have a girlfriend,” I reminded him.

“I know, but there’s no harm in being friendly,” he laughed.

This was getting on my nerves now. I was ready to stand up from the table and just leave right then but… well, he was irresistibly handsome. I couldn’t do anything but stay.

“So what’s up? You seem a bit weird lately. Not bad weird, just weird weird.”

I sipped on my beer while contemplating the answer. “True. I’m just a bit disillusion at the moment. Don’t worry, give it a month or two and I’ll be normal.”

“Why’re you disillusioned? Watched the back of a magic show again?”

“Smart arse. Remember that party?”

“Oh God yeah. What an awesome night. And morning. Not the best afternoon though.”

“That’s not the point. That walk-”

“-and that epiphany.”

“Yeah, I tried to recreate it.”

He paused in mid sip of his drink. A smile spread across his face.

“You cock. You know how it works. A moment’s all you can ever expect from perfection. Anything else is greedy.”

“Yeah, I know it was stupid. But the feeling’s gone now. I just wanted it back.”

“It’ll come. You know it will.”

“Yeah, I know. Like I said, I’d be better eventually.”

We clinked bottles and finished them off. At that moment a girl wearing a short, thin white skirt came over to our table and flashed a pearly smile at us. Her fingernails were tinted pink and a waft of flowers emanated from her soft blonde hair.

“Excuse me,” she asked, “do you have a cigarette?”

In less than an instant we had both produced cigarettes for her.

“I only need one.” She smiled.

“Yeah,” I said, “but you might need one later.”

“Oh, it’s not for me. It’s for my friend over there.”

“Oh,” my counterpart commented, “take two anyway. As a gift.”

“Thank you!” she giggled. She walked away a few steps before turning on her heel and coming back. “So, tell me, why did you start smoking in the first place?”

There was a pause as I looked at myself, and then, almost synchronised, we both chorused “He has a girlfriend.”

“Oh, ok,” she blushed, “have a good night then.”

And she left.

“My round?” I asked, and left the table to buy more drinks. When I returned he was gone.

“So, what would you consider yourselves?” and the room fills with quiet. Everyone’s always buzzing and moaning in a lecture until the precise moment that the lecturer turns on her pretty little high heeled shoes and looks directly at us with that usually monotonous mouth forming a wide spectrum question. The room falls silent and I noisily wriggle in my chair as the desperate searching of the lecturer sweeps over me. It was in vain. No one is perking up with a response as their own attentions are fixed irrefutably and unendingly on their navels.

I wriggle again and my chair creeks; the twig snap in a forest of leaves. Hungry eyes bore down on me and my mouth opens and shuts like I’m taking in air through my gills. I provide a half hearted shrug and the eyes look away in disappointment. She begins to pack away her things and the rest of us shuffle hopefully at the chance of leaving the room a full fifteen minutes early. It’s only when she is about to tell us to go away before I realise that I actually have something to say.

“I’m a public sociologist,” enunciating my words so every shoelace analyser would hear and know that I am delaying them from the extra fifteen minutes of freedom. The lecturers eyes are like Christmas morning and her smile spreads ear to ear. “How so?” she asks quickly and with too much eagerness dancing on her lips. I pause, for effect, and answer.

“I was thinking about what you said when it came to sociologists and power. Through study and analysis we basically know what will work and what will not work, and we also know what makes sense for the well being of the population without any bias agenda running behind it. Now, you mentioned that sociologists can only speak out against the government so much before the government gets pissed off and shuts us down, so that’s why we have professional sociologists to sit and debate and pass on knowledge to political parties who use it at their own discretion. Well, to me that seems wrong. As we all know; knowledge is power, and we have more knowledge than the government do. We know what’s right and what’s wrong,” another pause for effect as I drink in the admiration that fills up her big, watery eyes, “so we have a responsibility to see that it’s adhered to. It’s like having a firebomb of knowledge that’s made dangerous by setting it alight with statistics. We can’t just hold it smugly while people screw themselves over. We have to lob it at someone. Take aim and fire what we know and change the world.”

And that’s it. Two birds with one stone. Not only has a debate sprung up between even the most passionate of notebook doodlers and the lecturers face filled with more joy than I’d ever seen her, but I also came figured out, in the exact moment of that speech, what the story line for my third novel would be.

Hot damn that made it a good day.

So the figure sits peering behind glass that clears the world of a never-realised clouded vision. Rims shine in soft glares of streetlights that slink out from shadows. The clouds were hardly noticed until now, until the needle clarity showed them in all their incapacitating glory. Signs glow with unearthly certainty, their messages blatantly obvious when before they were shrouded in velvet smooth thickness. Previously imperceptible details cascade amongst what was once mundane and beauty is found where ugliness resided. Though opposites rule some as sweet perfumes are turned to hideous odours that permeate the base elements with irreversible consequences. Shadows lurk more prominent now where before they stood solitary in their mystery. Death is visible in every fold, in every vector, in every pixel of the human soul. The diamond cut clearness stabs at soft, round pupils and the first battle of a war is fought on hemispheres of thought. Dizziness infects travel and vanity is affected by shards of acuity that would otherwise sleep quietly in the recesses of the mind. So the epiphany of vision is removed and it is hidden, and the clouded world resumes its rightful stature. But too much has been seen, too much has been envisioned. And now it’ll never be the same again.

And that’s the story of how I found my glasses.

Inspiration running riot but no-

materialstimethought

The need to do something anything now then later now is overpowering and debilitating. So research investigations study seek new and exciting ways to haga lo que usted desea hacer, para llenar el vacío que se está ampliando con maldad inmensurable. And it is found. It is found but it’s-

unaccessiblehardtoohardgoddamntoohard

But the want to do it is too much, the need is too much, so fantasies form behind misty eyes and thoughts latch on to inspiration and stomachs rush with oh god yes yes it will be EL SORPRENDER but no wait maybe no no no what a shame.

You’ve given up.

Hot damn.