Not taking this lark seriously enough, taking the library even less seriously though to be fair. Im tired, my feet are wet and the days dont end, just start again. I put a sticky label with the word death written on it for a revision aid, I guess its apt I basically study death under the guise of the past.
Im so bored of this, of you of her of everything, im no longer feeling sorry for myself Im just pretty livid. The coffee was good, I like the bitterness, hasnt woken me up yet, immune to caffiene apparently- thats mothers fault easily.
Securitising is apparently a speech act, you say it and you make it so, I wish this was a speech act, I wish I had that much control.
Wednesday, 13 May 2009
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
My body is a cage.
In actual fact its not, my mind is. Neurotic I have always been, but the recent actions caused by said neurosis are ridiculous.
I have lost the ability to form the word hello, not just vocally but the muscles in my face wont even tense into a half smile. Logically this is flawed, so flawed in fact its wrecking something that i think could be pretty fucking amazing if only I let go.
This isnt the first time either, and thats the problem, my constantly overworked mind, lack of self worth and little social understanding results in awkwardness few could possibly comprehend, I thought this time I could get over it do whats best for my state of mind, but I think its gone too far now, rectifying this situation would take alot of guts I clearly dont possess, so this will pass me by, and at 20 if these metaphorical ships keep sailing away as I enter further and further into adulthood and deeper into a unstable psychological state of mind im really beginning to doubt I will ever be aboard one, and if so not for very long.
My father has deep lines on his face, he frowns all the time, even at the happiest moments in his life his brow is embedded with marks of stress and anger, and im going exactly the same way, lucky for him someone understood, understood so much they vowed to stay by him till the day the day, I however probably wont be so lucky.
If any of my friends tell me to grow a pair a may actually try just to fuck them off.
But for now I will just let oppurtunity pass me by, and listen to arcade fire for the rest of this dismal afternoon.
I have lost the ability to form the word hello, not just vocally but the muscles in my face wont even tense into a half smile. Logically this is flawed, so flawed in fact its wrecking something that i think could be pretty fucking amazing if only I let go.
This isnt the first time either, and thats the problem, my constantly overworked mind, lack of self worth and little social understanding results in awkwardness few could possibly comprehend, I thought this time I could get over it do whats best for my state of mind, but I think its gone too far now, rectifying this situation would take alot of guts I clearly dont possess, so this will pass me by, and at 20 if these metaphorical ships keep sailing away as I enter further and further into adulthood and deeper into a unstable psychological state of mind im really beginning to doubt I will ever be aboard one, and if so not for very long.
My father has deep lines on his face, he frowns all the time, even at the happiest moments in his life his brow is embedded with marks of stress and anger, and im going exactly the same way, lucky for him someone understood, understood so much they vowed to stay by him till the day the day, I however probably wont be so lucky.
If any of my friends tell me to grow a pair a may actually try just to fuck them off.
But for now I will just let oppurtunity pass me by, and listen to arcade fire for the rest of this dismal afternoon.
Friday, 8 May 2009
Thursday, 30 April 2009
this is not a poem.
The floral jacket hanging there, one month, two seperate white gloss doors.
He wont sing to me anymore, recorded.
Cutting my hair, breaking my ankle.
She has cold hands, old face.
He wont sing to me anymore, recorded.
Cutting my hair, breaking my ankle.
She has cold hands, old face.
Wednesday, 25 March 2009
Testing.
Water wasn't really making me mental in the way I had hoped, there was little inspiration for a novel or really any conversation, so I have decided to really fuck with my body and only drink liquid in hope that some of my teenage angst and emotion will return as being an adult is really fuckin dull.
Monday, 23 March 2009
Inspiration.
'History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it. ' Churchill.
As I walked into the 12 storey towerblock situated on the outskirts of town I had nothing, I took the stairs to the second floor shaking, I sat in a room of 100 teenagers, we waited and waited for over an hour, till we were rounded up like cattle, moved from room to room, lost and intimitated I clutched my GCSE results tightly in my clammy palms, they took my photo, and hurried me out, I was to start on monday.
It was still hot, mid september hot, when you are left unprepared in a thick cardigan. Drama, 7 of us, a mini test, they were all good friends, they didn't bring pens.
I quickly changed, and tuesday was now history, a tall man stopped me in the corridoor, moving slowly with the time to stop, but with a sense of urgency in his stance. 'A bonified history student he called me', 'a week late', and thrust a booklet with a shoddily photocopied image of Lloyd George on the front. He came down with an illness and was away for a week, a northern girl sat next to me, and mumbled constantly about grades about university, I wanted out, I didn't care, foreign policy could never solve my problems everything was in ruins as i sat amongst 9 other students waiting for his return.
He came back loud, harsh, cold and yet dynamic, another test, back the next day, red scrawl covering the page with a circle at the bottom '23'.
I was failing, I knew nobody, my grades were weak, and three times a week I had to suffer 2 hours with a man who made me shake when I attempted to dictate his unorthodox approach to the 1930's.
'Bulwark' I said, the first time I had spoken, yes he said, and it was then, that moment when we had been moved to the computer room, and there was to be a fire, and a girl was to lose her weave, it was that moment on that thursday that I realised I could do this, and I could like this.
My attendance improved, I bought paper and pens, caught the earlier bus so as never to be locked out on a friday, and when January came the A5 paper printed success.
For the first time I wanted something, I forgot how my education had been in tatters three months before, how I had lost everyone I knew, how I feared each day.
No longer did he look at me with the memory that I was late and disorganised, I kept reading and writing, UCAS came and offers arrived, the fascination began.
As I walked into the 12 storey towerblock situated on the outskirts of town I had nothing, I took the stairs to the second floor shaking, I sat in a room of 100 teenagers, we waited and waited for over an hour, till we were rounded up like cattle, moved from room to room, lost and intimitated I clutched my GCSE results tightly in my clammy palms, they took my photo, and hurried me out, I was to start on monday.
It was still hot, mid september hot, when you are left unprepared in a thick cardigan. Drama, 7 of us, a mini test, they were all good friends, they didn't bring pens.
I quickly changed, and tuesday was now history, a tall man stopped me in the corridoor, moving slowly with the time to stop, but with a sense of urgency in his stance. 'A bonified history student he called me', 'a week late', and thrust a booklet with a shoddily photocopied image of Lloyd George on the front. He came down with an illness and was away for a week, a northern girl sat next to me, and mumbled constantly about grades about university, I wanted out, I didn't care, foreign policy could never solve my problems everything was in ruins as i sat amongst 9 other students waiting for his return.
He came back loud, harsh, cold and yet dynamic, another test, back the next day, red scrawl covering the page with a circle at the bottom '23'.
I was failing, I knew nobody, my grades were weak, and three times a week I had to suffer 2 hours with a man who made me shake when I attempted to dictate his unorthodox approach to the 1930's.
'Bulwark' I said, the first time I had spoken, yes he said, and it was then, that moment when we had been moved to the computer room, and there was to be a fire, and a girl was to lose her weave, it was that moment on that thursday that I realised I could do this, and I could like this.
My attendance improved, I bought paper and pens, caught the earlier bus so as never to be locked out on a friday, and when January came the A5 paper printed success.
For the first time I wanted something, I forgot how my education had been in tatters three months before, how I had lost everyone I knew, how I feared each day.
No longer did he look at me with the memory that I was late and disorganised, I kept reading and writing, UCAS came and offers arrived, the fascination began.
The academic truth.
Within my group of friends im the smart one, the clever one, the one with the academic future, im the one who will read over their essays, the one they talk to when their course gets hard, the one who studies on a saturday and the one who tests them the night before the exam. I am not the pretty one, I am not the fashionable one, I am not the funny one, the cool one or the exciting one, Im the who they come looking for in the library. Its always been this way, my love of books (of the nonfiction variety), essays, and first class marks has branded me. But as my academic career comes to an end I really wonder if I can keep this up?
If I dont get the grades, if my graduation doesn't have a first printed on it, who will I be? I will be your average graduate with a 2:1 imprinted on my CV, dont get me wrong this is a perfectly acceptable way to leave education, but after the social and personal sacrifices I have made during my 16 years of education, I need more, I cant fall of the top spot now.
And even if am successful, when leaving the epicentre of learning what will I have left?
Maybe I should have taken dance classes, singing lessons, spent more time with boys, so that when the real world opens its doors I will have something to talk about. What really becomes of the A grade student after university?
Most would wonder why this plagues me at 00.33 on a tuesday morning, but if all my studies can offer me is a job, surely everyone else in whatever career path I take will have the same academic CV, and nothing will single me out, I will just fall into the pool of 20 something graduates who took nothing from university bar their reading lists.
Should I have joined more societies? Tried out for team sports? If I was the captain of the netball team that would quash my fears surely? I've never taken extra curricular activities seriously, for me the D of E was for those who couldnt get straight grades, I seen past that section of my personal statement, secure in my academic abilities leading me to success. Even now I own no stash, who needs a printed jumper when they can right an essay?
Has this egocentric side got the better of me? I justify my pretentious approach with the phrase ' my intelligence is all I have', allowing my friends to pity me, conjouring the image of me alone surrounded by books, and even though this isn't far from the truth, why have I let this be all I have? What is so wrong with playing water polo twice a week? Blindsighted by the benefits of education, I dont quite know how to get out.
In these three years I am supposed to find myself, but all I seem to have found is debt and social insecurity, I am less prepared for the adult realm than I was at 17.
My friends would tell me not to worry, my grades will get me through, but my knowledge of the third reich and my deep understanding of the british political system wont find me a husband, wont teach me how to look after my children, and wont protect me from the next recession.
The bar is higher now than I ever thought it could be, I aim high, I always have, but this aim was academic, but as I watch my relationships crumble due to my one track mind, I worry that when the grades dont matter, I will once again be the 11 year old reading in the playground whilst everyone else plays kiss chase...
If I dont get the grades, if my graduation doesn't have a first printed on it, who will I be? I will be your average graduate with a 2:1 imprinted on my CV, dont get me wrong this is a perfectly acceptable way to leave education, but after the social and personal sacrifices I have made during my 16 years of education, I need more, I cant fall of the top spot now.
And even if am successful, when leaving the epicentre of learning what will I have left?
Maybe I should have taken dance classes, singing lessons, spent more time with boys, so that when the real world opens its doors I will have something to talk about. What really becomes of the A grade student after university?
Most would wonder why this plagues me at 00.33 on a tuesday morning, but if all my studies can offer me is a job, surely everyone else in whatever career path I take will have the same academic CV, and nothing will single me out, I will just fall into the pool of 20 something graduates who took nothing from university bar their reading lists.
Should I have joined more societies? Tried out for team sports? If I was the captain of the netball team that would quash my fears surely? I've never taken extra curricular activities seriously, for me the D of E was for those who couldnt get straight grades, I seen past that section of my personal statement, secure in my academic abilities leading me to success. Even now I own no stash, who needs a printed jumper when they can right an essay?
Has this egocentric side got the better of me? I justify my pretentious approach with the phrase ' my intelligence is all I have', allowing my friends to pity me, conjouring the image of me alone surrounded by books, and even though this isn't far from the truth, why have I let this be all I have? What is so wrong with playing water polo twice a week? Blindsighted by the benefits of education, I dont quite know how to get out.
In these three years I am supposed to find myself, but all I seem to have found is debt and social insecurity, I am less prepared for the adult realm than I was at 17.
My friends would tell me not to worry, my grades will get me through, but my knowledge of the third reich and my deep understanding of the british political system wont find me a husband, wont teach me how to look after my children, and wont protect me from the next recession.
The bar is higher now than I ever thought it could be, I aim high, I always have, but this aim was academic, but as I watch my relationships crumble due to my one track mind, I worry that when the grades dont matter, I will once again be the 11 year old reading in the playground whilst everyone else plays kiss chase...
Sunday, 22 March 2009
Clarify.
I still dont have a headache, and things taste nicer so this is working.
I also have lovely friends at cambridge who are not below.
I also have lovely friends at cambridge who are not below.
Politiquette.
Breakfast and lunch- dull, whats a sunday without a coffee?
Politics, politics, Politiks, POLITICS.
Im made up of politics, we are all bound together and broke apart through politics, from a small age my school uniform spoke for me, then I let my hair style and my clothes, and now at twenty I try to use my voice to speak my politics, but thats alot harder than it sounds.
From council estates to the IRA, selling CD's to buy dinner, my political conscience was born through experience, from my father being followed in shopping malls because of his aesthetic choice, from having stones thrown at me on the way to school because I pronounced all my letters, from wanting change, from needing hope, and now the conservative future flyer my letter box, I exchange words with the son of the UKIP leader, political activism shut down with expressions 'we think we've missed the boat on this one.' But none of this matters, as this isn't politics,university is not real life and this, this is the real problem, students finding their political stance at university is common, but its important that this stance is built on real foundations, not just frustration otherwise eventually these beliefs will be forgotten, and their political identity destroyed.
Up and down the country university students hold placards and protest, and I am one of them, but this is dangerous, it creates a person, a righteous self involved fascist (and the hilarity being this breed normally stems from the socialist side of the spectrum.) They become so consumed in politics it is all they can talk about (forgetting that everything we talk about is political) isolating others from their clique, making those who haven't chained themselves to a railing in the past four days feel unworthy of their left wing stance.
As I stood in a room of soon to be cambridge graduates, and listened as they talked about workers liberty, and political activism I felt sick, where was I at climate camp? Oh I was actually working for living, can I make the Demo in Birmingham? no sorry I cant afford it.
They sneer if your in anyway associated with the mainstream, this collective are so anti anything they in fact represent nothing, destroying any links with anyone they may have initially desired to represent.
This new socialist movement seems to have got very lost along the way, I never plan to stand in the way of change, but as I stand there and listen to them, joking, drinking and smoking, I know that tomorrow they could give this up, tomorrow they could put on a suit and walk into an office and they would be ok, but I, I wouldnt.
Im fighting for change because if I dont then I have nothing, my younger siblings will have nothing, and those I grew up around would never get out, never get better.
Maybe I am wrong, maybe they are not all this way, but after standing there, being made to feel stupid, uninvolved and weak, selling out for working in high street store, for not buying fairtrade products, for not staging an occupation for fear of being removed from university as my education is all I have, I feel im justified in this outburst, and not self involved, and hope that one day theis collective will step down and look around and see that they are not the only ones fighting, we are all here fighting from the inside.
Politics, politics, Politiks, POLITICS.
Im made up of politics, we are all bound together and broke apart through politics, from a small age my school uniform spoke for me, then I let my hair style and my clothes, and now at twenty I try to use my voice to speak my politics, but thats alot harder than it sounds.
From council estates to the IRA, selling CD's to buy dinner, my political conscience was born through experience, from my father being followed in shopping malls because of his aesthetic choice, from having stones thrown at me on the way to school because I pronounced all my letters, from wanting change, from needing hope, and now the conservative future flyer my letter box, I exchange words with the son of the UKIP leader, political activism shut down with expressions 'we think we've missed the boat on this one.' But none of this matters, as this isn't politics,university is not real life and this, this is the real problem, students finding their political stance at university is common, but its important that this stance is built on real foundations, not just frustration otherwise eventually these beliefs will be forgotten, and their political identity destroyed.
Up and down the country university students hold placards and protest, and I am one of them, but this is dangerous, it creates a person, a righteous self involved fascist (and the hilarity being this breed normally stems from the socialist side of the spectrum.) They become so consumed in politics it is all they can talk about (forgetting that everything we talk about is political) isolating others from their clique, making those who haven't chained themselves to a railing in the past four days feel unworthy of their left wing stance.
As I stood in a room of soon to be cambridge graduates, and listened as they talked about workers liberty, and political activism I felt sick, where was I at climate camp? Oh I was actually working for living, can I make the Demo in Birmingham? no sorry I cant afford it.
They sneer if your in anyway associated with the mainstream, this collective are so anti anything they in fact represent nothing, destroying any links with anyone they may have initially desired to represent.
This new socialist movement seems to have got very lost along the way, I never plan to stand in the way of change, but as I stand there and listen to them, joking, drinking and smoking, I know that tomorrow they could give this up, tomorrow they could put on a suit and walk into an office and they would be ok, but I, I wouldnt.
Im fighting for change because if I dont then I have nothing, my younger siblings will have nothing, and those I grew up around would never get out, never get better.
Maybe I am wrong, maybe they are not all this way, but after standing there, being made to feel stupid, uninvolved and weak, selling out for working in high street store, for not buying fairtrade products, for not staging an occupation for fear of being removed from university as my education is all I have, I feel im justified in this outburst, and not self involved, and hope that one day theis collective will step down and look around and see that they are not the only ones fighting, we are all here fighting from the inside.
Saturday, 21 March 2009
What you get from your mind.
In a slightly selfish, Antony Minghella inspired haze I have decided to give up drinking any liquid other than water for 5 weeks, I plan to gain nothing from this experience, not to say being slightly thinner, having better skin, and being healthy aren't exciting benefits, I am only doing this purely to see if I can.
A friend of mine pointed out as I lit up my 7th camel light of the evening that I had picked the wrong vices to rid myself of, but this is no attempt to live longer, rather something to fill conversations with and write about on the internet, as I have been wanting to for a while now, but never found a just cause...
University is getting terribly serious, every other week careers talks are held in an effort to inspire graduates, but my personal experience has been less than fruitful (unless you count this blog, and my soon to be activated Twitter account), I recently attended a talk with an editor from the Times, rather than inspiring me into a prosperous career in journalism, he stated (and clearly, crystal) that newspapers were dying and the only journalists with hope were the ones 'twitting about' , so in order to prevent a name badge with Cait spelt incorrectly ever being manufactured, I've set this up; and now I can enjoy hours of self indulgent online writing when I would have been having a coffee.
So no im not climbing Mount Kilimanjaro for breast Cancer im blogging in a bridget jones esque style about my lack of caffiene (and all other flavoured liquids) in search of some understanding, and possibly a career... c.s
A friend of mine pointed out as I lit up my 7th camel light of the evening that I had picked the wrong vices to rid myself of, but this is no attempt to live longer, rather something to fill conversations with and write about on the internet, as I have been wanting to for a while now, but never found a just cause...
University is getting terribly serious, every other week careers talks are held in an effort to inspire graduates, but my personal experience has been less than fruitful (unless you count this blog, and my soon to be activated Twitter account), I recently attended a talk with an editor from the Times, rather than inspiring me into a prosperous career in journalism, he stated (and clearly, crystal) that newspapers were dying and the only journalists with hope were the ones 'twitting about' , so in order to prevent a name badge with Cait spelt incorrectly ever being manufactured, I've set this up; and now I can enjoy hours of self indulgent online writing when I would have been having a coffee.
So no im not climbing Mount Kilimanjaro for breast Cancer im blogging in a bridget jones esque style about my lack of caffiene (and all other flavoured liquids) in search of some understanding, and possibly a career... c.s
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