1. December 10th: 2 Essays due.
   6 Days
2. December 11th: Start packing.
   7 Days
3. December 16th: Fly to California.
   12 days

January
From the 12th: Returning to London

1. January 13th: Move into new house.
   1 day
2. January 15th: 1 essay due.
   3 days
3. January 16th: Death from liver failiure.
   4 days

For the most part, my area of London is uneventful and boring and I always resent coming back here because of it. Having whiny and bitchy parents around, having none of the wacky characters and independence makes me feel pretty grateful for living in Brighton, which I always neglect until I come back to this shithole. I’ve come back to blitz these essays and get away from couchsurfing for a while so when I come back to my new home, I’ll be loving it. Also, there’s the free food being put on the table all the time, which is a plus.

Other than proper food, a bed and heating, there’s one thing I’ve missed the hell out of since I left my first term at University in June: music. MUSSSIIIIICCC! Aarrrgghh! Everyday, the first thing I would do is jump out of bed and flip on my harddrive, select my favourite tunes on my laptop and out of my speakers, feeling the base through the floor and forcing my feet to move as I brushed my teeth. MUSIC!! Before I came to University my playlist consisted of about 15 songs from the 80’s, but after moving in with a DJ and making friends with a fiend for Funk music, I bought a harddrive which now has over 1GB of music, which for the less geeky means over 100 days of song and sound. I discovered a whole new world of rhytm and beat, artists and genre that in my past life of being acoustically retarded would never have been able to comprehend. It was like some kind of drug, giving me a tremendously scary amount of energy and drive, from when my eyes fluttered open to the sunrise, bouncing through the day and getting down at sunset.

When I packed up my stuff at the end of term, my laptop, harddrive and speakers went with all of it. Staying on campus was amazing and although I could dig Suria and Robin’s leftover tracks which we played on the sound system we found in the trash and set up in our kitchen, it was missed greatly when Robin moved out. Now on my own, I spent a lot of time going down to the computer rooms late at night, which was empty apart from a handful of mature students emailing whoever and doing whatever. I would plug in my earphones, get on Youtube and browse for some of my favourite songs, obviously in the mainstream as the more obscure songs I liked were nowhere to be found.

I remember my friend from Mexico, Juan, inviting me to a bar to listen to his singer and songwriter friend, also from Mexico. The language barrier prevented me from understanding the stories his soft and soothing voice told the audience, but it didn’t matter. Like a starving dog, I sat tapping the floor with my feet, the table with my hand and my head nodding in sync with his guitar. Deprived of music for so long, I had fallen completely under his spell. I recall having so little money that I couldn’t really afford to eat properly, yet I was so happy to hear good music after so long that I shelled out around £20 for a foursome of his CDs.

On the occasion that I went to a club during this time I went mad, my favourite place being the basement of Jazz club Casablanca with their live bands. Karaoke nights in the campus bar were infectious; I a drunken haze I swayed side to side, miming along with the squealing of intoxicated students screaming down a microphone.

I left Brighton’s endless buffet of clubs, bars and music whenever I needed it and I ended up in India, where good music was literally a million miles away. My time was spent in a house where electricity went out for hours at a time, in a developing city where there was no sign of the sound I wanted to seduce my senses and ease my eardrums from the constant onslaught of car horns. The five star resaraunt we frequented quite often for good food and beer didn’t rescue me; they usually had only one song on a constant and eternal loop, including strange variations of Christmas songs (in INDIA… during AUGUST) which coupled with the gale force air conditioning, made you think you were in some kind of fucked up version of the North Pole.
Taxi drivers most often played Indian songs which featured the most disgustingly high pitched singing in the world and I struggled to understand how anyone could take it seriously. Sometimes they had songs of prayer (also disgustingly high pitched) which were completely montonous and lasted for 15 minutes, making it sound like the CD kept skipping. The latest Bollywood film, ‘Singh is Kinng’ featured a ridiculous cameo at the end from Snoop Dogg who struggled to rap for an Indian audience. Despite this, kids would often walk around with their phones out, blasting out the song and trying to look ‘gangsta’ because for the first time in their life, they were listening to music by a black guy. More often than not, men and teenage boys were trying to win a trophy in being the most annoying prick in the world by playing the music on their phones as loud as they could on bus journeys which lasted over 5 hours for everyone to hear. Surprisingly, nobody minded but I found it amusing how they thought it was cool and hip to be listening to the Backstreet Boys and Britney Spears.

Then I got back to Brighton and found I forgot to bring my cable for my harddrive and so, deprived once again of my precious playlists. Clubs once again put blood in my empty veins, as did trawling through the computers of my friends and listening to their music. Now back in London, I found the cable and hooked myself back up to my harddrive…

YES! It was well worth the wait! MUSAKKK! This music, this feeling, it’s been way too long!! When I hit ‘play’ I was hit with a hurricane of ecstacy which takes me back in time to over half a year ago, back to my room. I can actually feel myself sitting in that chair, leaning back, chilling and relaxing. It’s Summer at last, there’s no pressure, no stress… the time is around 4PM, the sun is slowly climbing across the sky to the east, slowly setting and hiding behind the trees in the far off distance. It’s not as hot as earlier on in the day, but there’s a pleasent, warm breeze winding through my open windows and into my room. Outside, people are sitting on their roof, their balconies, on the hill and chatting away, laughing and taking in the atmosphere. Music plays loudly from the bar and people are sipping on their beers and Pimms. Today was good, tonight looks great and tomorrow holds a lot of promise. Life is good. I got music, I got sun, I got everything and it all. This is living!

I might seem a tad overexcited and extreme, but this feeling is amazing! Makes me realise how good my first year at University is and how good my second should be… and will be, henceforth!

When I look back at all this, the simple thing to do would be getting an MP3 player, I guess. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about never having my music collection more than a button push away at any time. But I’ve been quite against the idea of buying an MP3 player for a long time.

It just seems to impair my sense of hearing and focus, which I love. It’s not just that I would prefer to hear a car coming at me in the middle of the road or a knife wielding maniac coming at me from down the street. I just love being aware of everything. I just recently ordered an MP3 player because it was cheap, but instantly felt guilty as if I had paid a £2 whore for sex. I didn’t understand why I did it, so I asked all my friends why and where they listen to their MP3 players:

“When I’m on the bus/train.”
“When I’m walking to stuff.”
“When I’m in bed.”

I still couldn’t understand. When you’re on the bus or train there’s plenty to see or think about, that’s especially true when you’re walking to stuff. And when I’m in bed, I’m usually there for a reason: to SLEEP. I don’t know, maybe I’m just so in love and into the world around me that I want to take it all in. When I was India there was so much to see and do that I would have hated to have Kanye West telling me his lifestory as I walked the streets aimlessly. More often than not I’m with friends, who I love to talk to… and I have to admit, I get royally pissed off when one of my friends refuses to participate in conversation and instead opt to listen to their frigging MP3 player. I might be arrogant enough to say I prefer listening to my own thoughts, trying to make sense of the world during the day instead of listening to music.

I also like the concept of deprivation. Too much of a good thing is bad for you, as they say. Today - right now - is the first time I’ve heard this music in a hell of a long time and it’s amazing. I’m not sure if I’d get the same kick out of it or the build up if I had it with me at all times. I enjoy relaying the rhythym and lyrics inside my head, humming it and looking forward to getting home, laying back and listening to the music. Perhaps I’m being a little overambitious in thinking even in everyday life, there’s too much to see, to hear and discover to be rendered semi-deaf because of an MP3 player. I can’t imagine in the next few days being able to listen to music what with all the work I have to do, all the people I need to catch up with… on the plane journey to California I’ll probably be too excited/nervous and excited to be on my way to the States. I want to take in everything, remember it all.

But the MP3 player is on its way to me as I type this. I’m not sure if I’ll risk having this effect the music has taken on me being worn off by having all the music in the world at my fingertips of continue my old fashioned ways.

MUSSAKKKKKK

A day after the end of term, a few of the people not going back home yet went out bowling. I was amongst this group and I put on my oldest, most fucked up kicks. They were purple and blue Nike Shox which were bought for a ridiculous £120 back in the ice age when wearing Nike shoes was still cool. I had gone through a good portion of secondary school with the things and they were the source of the only compliments girls would give me. They’d look at me, frown, look down and say,
“Nice shoes, though.”
When I did free running, these shoes helped me run on walls, jump across rooftops and land safely from large heights. I got a stupid amount of street cred with the shoes as I was so OCD about keeping them nice and clean. For years they served me well, all shiny, all sparkly. These were the shoes that would get you laid by the best looking woman in the world, and get you as far away as possible when her pimp comes after you when you refuse to pay for it.

But that was the day they were going out of retirement. Sad to say, but something else had caught my mind for a while now.

Bowling shoes.

I had gone bowling a few times now and I was infinitely impressed with how awesome the velcro ones were. Stupid words to define something cool like “swish” or “money” come to mind when I was wearing them. The retro look was amazing to me and I was counting on the velcro strap to have women think I’m cute as I didn’t know how to tie my shoe laces yet. Or they would think I was retarded for wearing bowling shoes, I don’t know and I didn’t care. Today, they would be mine.

And so, after paying for my game I was asked what size shoe I wear. I told him 10 and he placed my new prize before me on the counter, waiting for something that I guess should have been of higher or at least equal value. My Shox were, in sentimental terms. Apart from that, I would now describe them as battered, worn out SHIT.
I reluctantly took them off and put them on the counter, next to the shiny, white bowling shoes. The guy looked from me, to the shoes and then back again. I saw his eyebrow twitch, and if I had the ability to read people’s minds, I’m sure he would have been asking “Really? REALLY?“

But he took the bait and I reeled in the fish, throwing them on my feet and sliding my way down to the lanes. I felt invincible in the shoes, which is quite superficial as they’re incredibly dangerous to wear due to being so slippery. If anything, these shoes are a complete deathtrap, you’re more likely to fall over and crack open your head than get anywhere. But it didn’t matter, they were awesome and after a great game of bowling (where I came second, dammit), it was go time. As everyone either went to collect their own shoes, I went to steal mine and did a runner out of the bowling alley. As I awaited the others, I also expected some pissed off worker to come running out of the place, demanding I give their shoes back. Luckily, that didn’t happen and I went home with a new pair of shoes. We stopped off at an empty salsa club on the way back home and my shoes had me slipping and sliding my way all over the dance floor. Suddenly, the place quickly filled up. No doubt because of my new shoes.

I’d be lying if I said I’m not sad to lose my old ones. Contained within the soles of those trainers were many memories, or maybe it was the bacteria that made them smell that way. But I was sure I would have a few more stories to tell under my feet with the new ones, and I was not wrong.

(more…)

Well no longer, as once again I have shed myself of any kind of social life, interaction or activity.

Not that I have much choice at the moment; I find myself in my second year of University and life in general right now is a far cry from the exciting escapades that I embarked on in the first year up until around October 30th. There was the first exciting term of University, getting to know new people and getting used to (and loving) life away from ‘home’ and building a new one. During the Easter holidays, campus cleared out but I had an even better time with the small and concentrated amount of people left behind who have now become some of my best friends. I also got arrested for stealing bottled water whilst drunk and wearing bowling shoes which is one of the most stupid things I’ve ever done… and I loved it.
Summer came about and Uni ended, but the lifestyle didn’t. No, it only increased tenfold with around 500 more exciting people moving on to campus to meet Johannes, Robin, Suria and I. Good times were had as I met more new great people in our house and then those three left for Spain but I stood strong and despite what my last entry said, I stuck it out… and had one hell of a time.

After retreating to London and realising how boring it is, I returned to Brighton. With little to no food, drink or friends left I had to be more resourceful than ever before and had one of the best times of my life doing so. Now on my own, at every turn I was presented with opporunities which soon became nessescity in itself to make the most out of my time and meet as many people as I could. Work became even easier and enjoyable and everything seemed amazing! The people, my job, the weather. I found myself pretty sad to leave Brighton behind in August to go to India.

India; I have mixed feelings about it, but for the most part I loved it and miss it like hell. When I got there, I found it a bit of an anticlimax after leaving the good life behind in Brighton. I soon got used to it though and learnt to love it and as I sat on the plane jetting back off to England, I wondered why I didn’t just stay.
I returned to grey, cloudy London and soon after, back to Brighton. The magic seemed to have left the place, but that might have been due to the decision for me to move out of my place before I even moved in! Shit hit the fan, to say the least and for the past 8 weeks of University, rather than finding myself doing any kind of schoolwork or drinking myself into a coma (which is what being a student is really about), I’ve been couch surfing, looking for a new place to live. EXCITING TIMES!

So now I face an onslaught of 8 weeks worth of work to do within the next 2 weeks before the term ends and I set off on a month visit to California which I can’t afford and will have to give up luxuries such as food, clothes and breathing to fund. I cannot wait, but until then the next fortnight will actually be academic hell for me with various all nighters which will make blinking feel like I’m rubbing velcro across my eyes.
I am hoping documenting the last year will keep me sane in between then.

I watched in the morning as everyone left the good life behind for the comfort of their homes, from London to Mexico, Spain to Germany. Being the stubborn bastard I am though and becoming far too attached to campus for my own good, I wasn’t ready to leave yet. After a day of wandering around campus with no house, friends or room to go back to, I managed to pick myself up a job cleaning student rooms and a place to stay with my good friends Johannes and Robin. Cleaning after students wasn’t exactly my thing (especially if they were as lazy and messy as me) and sleeping on the floor in a room with two guys… well, if there was a place for such things, Brighton is it.

Staying on an empty campus proved to be totally worth it in the end as I’ve had as good a time as when people were still around, and most of it being sober times. Inspired by Suria’s approach to life, we’ve been attempting to spend as little money as possible on anything and everything and so far, so good. We accumulated ridiculous amounts of free food by breaking into abandoned accommodation and raiding the fridges, yielding fancy chocolate fudge cakes, gourmet bacon and sausages, pastas, poultry, burgers, chips, sauces… you name it, we found it and consumed it.

Work proved to be easy as hell as all I really had to do was pretend to work or sleep on the job as there was rarely anything to do as everything was already clean and once more I found more food submitted by students in a rush to leave. Life only got easier and sweeter later in the day when we found that life was once again returning to the veins of our dear campus in the form of international students arriving for summer school, the majority being American. In order to welcome them to our University, a big tent was put up outside the library offering free food and booze… our favorite price! We ate lots, drunk more and for good measure filled up a backpack with all that we could carry and returned to the bar to meet our new American friends.

It was a crazy weekend and start to our story which appear to be coming to an end now. Robin left for Madrid not too long ago to teach children English and early today those crazy kids Suria and Johannes took off on their bikes for an insane trip from Brighton to Barcelona. As this adventure comes to an end, those three are off on more crazy escapades for sure. I’m the last man standing at the moment, still in Brighton, still on campus and running out of the free food we stole, running low on money, possibly out of the job that was supporting me and with no place to stay or sleep… but that’s all part of the fun.

That’s ‘Summer Camp’ in a nutshell, I hope to go into more detail about it soon. I’m sure things will only get more crazy next week for me having been stripped of my three companions and everything else, maybe at last being forced to depart from campus and return to London once more? It’s been a great ride and stuff is set to get a bit more hectic for me as in just a month I’ll be jetting off to India to do… well, I haven’t really figured it out yet.

But it’ll be awesome, no doubt.

Peace X

I am failing in terms of academics and also in terms of liver. Amnesia is a friend I know too well now, who waltzed her way into my network through my other dear friend, Vodka. Things are quite complicated between the two of us, we have a love/hate thing going on. I mean, sure she doesn’t smell great, she’s really transparent and she makes me feel sick sometimes, but I love her. People keep telling me she’s no good for me and that she’ll “ruin my life” but she makes me feel invincible… although she is the only most expensive thing in my life at the moment, it’s cool. Sometimes I miss actually eating lunch and dinner as opposed to having to drink it, and having my sense of sight back would be kind of nice too, but I think I’ve made the right decision.

Anyways, I think I shall make more of an effort to post here as it appears all this drinking, partying, spending and starvation has made me devoid of all wit and intelligence that I may have once upon a time possessed when I used to post here. As I’m doing an English degree now, I may be able to pass this off as some kind of academic work of sorts.

That’s me doing that ‘wishful thinking’ shit, because I would like to think I will pass my course. It’s quite a hilarious prospect.

But yes, I sense many adventures I’ve had to be logged here and many more in the near future to be had and immortalised upon mine blog… or at least until the Internet stops working and a good portion of my life is taken away with it… or perhaps, restored?
My ever so critical eye for the world around me shall once again open. And of course, intoxicated postings will always be a good time (and there will be many)

I hope you missed me blog, because I am back with brain damage avengeance.

Yeah, that’s right; homeless people.
Why are so few of them women? And why are the female ones so unappealing to the eye? Instead of spending the money they ‘earn’ on stupid things like booze, drugs, clothes or food, why don’t they invest in something of real importance such as makeup or a set of hair straighteners? I might sound a little, tiny bit shallow, but let’s face it; it is a lot easier to give money to someone good looking than someone who looks- well, homeless. If they looked really good, you would want to give them more than just money.

Oh, wait- I just realised there are such things as these women but they’re called prostitutes. My bad.
I also think I not only just wrote the interlecktual post ever on my site, but the intelligent post on any site ever in the history of the internet.

But since Google bought out Youtube I’ve thought it deserves some kind of respect. So today I logged onto Youtube to find some softcore Japanese porn and had a look at my profile to find Youtube directing hurtful (and true) abuse in my direction!

Well fuck you too, Youtube.

So this got me thinking for the first time in months and I came to a realisation and discovered the true reason why war exists; not because of greed, not because of religious clashes, not because of anger. War exists because if everyone got along nobody would ever get laid.

“War, what is it good for? Absolutely nothin’!”

I beg to differ. It gives us an excuse to do each other’s sisters. And I mean “do” in the best way possible, such as showering them with gifts and attention, tell them how amazing they look, take them out to an expensive restaraunt to wine and dine them and show them the time of their life. Then get up early in the morning whilst their still asleep, leave and never call them again. And maybe take their kidney and sell it on the black market if you’re really romantic.

My friends also think I’m gay because I’m always having sex with men. I also wear women’s clothes, but that’s not really as gay as they make it out to be.
I don’t have many friends, for some strange reason. I’m a really neat guy!

Lately I’ve been getting a bit worried; I don’t think I’m turning gay because I spend the same amount of time writing love letters to Carmen Electra (18 hours) and the same amount of time writing the hate mail and death threats because she never replies (6 hours). But gay people probably love Carmen Electra too. They’d have to be SUPER GAY to resist her sexiness.

No, what worries me is that I’m turning into a WOMAN. Because I’ve been obsessing over these shoes.
They’re sold out, but I SIMPLY MUST HAVE THEM! I obsessively check everyday to see if they’re back in stock and ring every week to double check… I scour the internet and trawl through the highstreet searching for an alternative shoe to fill this void in my soul and heart so I can be complete and content with my new, fabulous shoes.
But alas, none other can contend with this pair. I am but a mere empty shell without these shoes!!!

…. I think my sex change is almost complete.