SHE CAN ALWAYS BE REPLACED, SHE CAN ALWAYS BE REPLACED

I remember how much I love writing now that I'm doing it again. I'm going to crack out some words this afternoon. Bleeding hearts, you've got competition because I'm on the poetry stroll. I suppose I've been feeling a bit lost recently. If lost = terrified.

I graduate in less than a year's time.

And I need to find a job/something to do/something that will mean I don't have to come back to somerset to live and walk and while away time and money

and I need money. I took out my first ever credit card the other day just so I can pay for the rent of a house that I'm not even staying in yet. I'm proud that I'm finally doing what everyone else my age was doing a couple of years ago. I think I'm proud. I'm more proud that I've managed to resist it up until now without a job/regard for what I'm spending.

so I'm going to have to get a part time job, which will be glorious. I've always wanted to be a waiter/barkeep/I've already worked in a shop but heck, shops are fun.

but THE FUTURE. I didn't realize how expensive it was to get a Masters. I've been toying with the idea of going for one ever since all of my friends who have graduated have been complaining all over facebook about being unemployed and depressed and poor. But I think that taking a masters would leave me more depressed, more unemployed and more poor than if I just went out, rented a shitty apartment in London and worked in KFC for my whole life. 'Writing on the side', of course. And when one of my poems is published, we'll see who's laughing then! That's right! You.

I've always said 'I'M MOVING TO NEW YORK', but realistically New York's not going to want a recently graduated delusional with no idea what he's going to do, just that he wants to be able to write and watch crap reality tv and be a hermit while contributing anything to THE CITY.

besides, a masters degree in New York would cost me over £50,000. I don't have £50,000. If I went on Total Wipeout, 101 Ways To Leave a Gameshow and Deal or No Deal, I might be able to scratch together £50,000. Furthermore, I don't really want to pay someone £50,000 to tell me how to write. I'm far too obstinate for that.

so, well. if someone out there is reading this and wants to give a hardworking, keen, spirited, intelligent boy a job anytime soon...let me know! I will be ever so grateful.

well. It's worth a shot...

PAP SMEAR

And excuses for my awful record of blogging lately.

Number one. It’s summer, and I like to go outside and play with all of the other pasty big kids.

Number two. It’s summer, and ice cream.

Number three. I’ve been operating a laptop without the ‘h’, ‘y’, ‘?’, ‘6’ and shift keys until today when I ventured into PC World and purchased a keyboard so I can type everything and anything that I can ever want to.

Like... Who’s 6th? Why, you ought not to worry about such silly things.

Spectacular.

And I’m going to look silly in the library with my laptop and keyboard, but I find that most people in libraries aren’t really people who are familiar with the freezing heights of Cool Mountain so I won’t really worry.

Shit, and I said that I would do a glastonbury review.

Um.

OK.

Here: it was good. I enjoyed myself.

WHAT FOLLOWS IS PRETTY INCOHERENT. IT’S HERE BECAUSE IT CAN BE AND IT’S GOOD TO RECALL THINGS SOMETIMES. I HAVE A DIARY WITH NOTHING IN IT.

OOPS.

More specifically, I got there on the Friday and missed Tegan and Sarah. Apparently they were average. I arrived just in time to see Vampire Weekend be all amazing and Summery and I wanted to drink some Horchanta and I want to see them again right now. As in now now. Then Dizzee Rascal, and I danced with friends. Most of my friends danced, with the notable exception of Ben who refused to dance/stay awake/not wander off taking photos of lights and grass for the entirety of the weekend. And then I missed Radiohead but I don’t really mind because, well....

OVERRATED.

and I’ve said it. Radiohead.are.not.Gods.

Broken Bells...good but not as good as I wanted them to be. To be fair, I couldn’t really see anything because I had horrific hay fever and I was blindblindblind to everything. Many people asked me if I was alright. Many people assumed that Thom Yorke made me cry. Not so. Because, well....

OVERRATED.

and it’s true, if it’s said enough times.

And no XX because of eye-death but that’s alright because they’re kind of overrated too.

(SIDENOTE: THE XX SHOULD NOT WIN THE MERCURY AWARD. WILD BEASTS DESERVE IT. I BET TWO POUNDS ON WILL HILL THAT THEY WOULD WIN AND I NEED THE MONEY RIGHT NOW. I’M TAKING OUT A CREDIT CARD WHEN I GET OFF THIS TRAIN AND I NEED RENT AND A PLACE TO STAY. SHIT. I SPENT £35 ON A KEYBOARD. SHIT.)

and wake up. notable on Saturday...um. Memory. Is. Not. Working. Because.

I didn’t take any drugs.

I barely drank.

From what I can remember, here’s a list

GOOD

THE NATIONAL

TUNNG

MUSE

SCISSOR SISTERS

Pizza was tasty...um.

RAY DAVIES

BAD

EMPIRE OF THE SUN

I DON’T LIKE KATE NASH

I THINK THAT JACK JOHNSON IS A TWAT.

besides, all of this is irrelevant.

my half-remembered observations mean nothing

if you went and enjoyed it, great.

if you didn’t, sorry. That’s not my fault.

And sorry for this post.

Expect better.

HALF AWAKE IN A FAKE EMPIRE

it's july and I just-shit no posts in july- so here I am,

tail between my legs

there's not really been any reason for me to be quiet apart from being ridiculously busy most days. glastonbury, moving+cleaning to make the landlord have a money orgasm of my deposit money, spending a few days in Taunton without the internet and today

which I have spent sleeping, largely. Apart from the ten minutes which I took out to watch Maury

I usually love Maury. He's never judgmental of the twats who are NOT the father of whatever illigetimate child popped out of the dirty prostitute spreading her crabs on his chairs

but that's kind of the problem. Maury is a breedingplace for misogyny. FEMINIST ALL OVER YOUR FACE because it's depressing how I can watch a tv show and just accept that every woman on there is a Whore or a Slut and, you know, those sort of labels are a bad thing. and the dad is almost always a bumhole. everyone's usually from the ghetto or the huge plains of America where condoms don't exist

and I can imagine the swathes of unemployed people judging everyone on their tv, worms wriggling around their cellulite as they don't realise that even though there are people more fucked up than them on tv

you know, sort your life out. pow.

today's Maury was a jolly holiday special. The audience had to guess whether the woman strutting around his stage are 'real' women or transgender. Or, as Maury kept asking-

WHAT IS IT?!?!?!?!

which is kind of insensitive, kind of anti-queer, kind of misogynistic, kind of simplistic, kind of disturbing, kind of zoo-like

all kinds of wrong, basically.

and it really doesn't warrant a whole hour long program

about people who want to be freaks

and want to be vilified

and torn to shreds

and objects.

I couldn't watch all of it. STILL. I was curious to see whether IT was a MAN OR A WOMAN?!?!?!?!?! so I Sky+ed it and I will watch it later

because I'm a huge hypocrite

because I am a bad person?

or, because I'm trying to care about something that I know I should care about but, shit, it's hard to care about this stuff sometimes

when it's thursday, and I'm sat on my ass doing nothing

you know, you know, you know,

I should be doing shit. not being slightly outraged by maury.

game of 40/40 in anyone?

WHERE DO PEOPLE LIKE US FLOAT

And I wasn't going to do another blog post today but I'm thinking about Glastonbury now. I've been to every festival since 2004. And every year apart from last I've had to miss some part of it. 2004, SCHOOL was more important than seeing muse apparently. They're back this year though, so it's OK. I can make up for it.

Also back but not back back at Glastonbury, The Libertines. I need to see them. Need need need. They were there at the 2004 festival as well.

I WISH

I had good enough taste to see them then.

I was too scared, I was sticking with my friends and getting a little bit overawed when Nelly Furtado sang 'I'm like a Bird'. And I remember, with my friend's little brother on his shoulders saying 'this is a big act for so early in the day, it's going to be amazing, it's going to be amazing'

and some time spent in the circus tent. that was 2004. 2005...er. what

wait a second. just found my thingamabob from TWOTHOUSANDANDFOUR so I can actually try to remember who I saw. shite, Bright Eyes were there and I missed them

funny though, because another year they were there and I had a bit of a moment with Conor Oberst. We had a shout conversation from the stage

enough of remembering who, because I need to tell you my Glastonbury stories. That was the whole point of this post. In 2005 I made my way into NME, Q Magazine, onto the front cover of the Q Glastonbury Daily, The Observer and the BBC Website. I was a celebrity and all because I was wearing huge glasses. I have had several interactions with the stars. I have motorboated Beth Ditto. I have grabbed Quentin Defalon from The Teenager's crotch. I shook hands with Seasick Steve (it's all good, apparently) and hugged Alice Glass. Last year I made it onto the Pyramid Stage. N*E*R*D were playing and they needed some dudes who could mosh. I was a dude. I got flung onto the stage and

all the people, it was special

I saw some people who I knew in the front row and it was satisfying. I'll pop the video at the end. I stayed on for a couple of songs. I was exhausted. I couldn't hear any music, just the crowd. No beat, so I jumped everywhere just jumped and jumped and thought

fuck

I'm in front of quite a lot of people here. I left my bag (passport money some clothes) under the railings, had to fight to get it back for about an hour,

managed to make it to Friendly Fires and Lady GaGa in time.

and then I thought I saw someone who I knew, so I texted him. Later that evening we met up. Later that weekend we got married. Later, later. A few months later and we were properly together.

Pharell William's is my homeboy. I should join his posse, again.

but THIS YEAR will be great too. I'll try to get my own gig on the pyramid stage.

And now a list of bands I'm planning on seeing. I might do a little review thing after the event. I probably will.

LIST ...considering I'm not going to get there until late on Friday: Vampire Weekend, Phoenix, The XX, Broken Bells, Simian Mobile Disco, Get Cape..., Carl Barat solo set (could This be a Libertines reunion? :O...the plot thickens), Jakwob, Chiddybang, Kelis, Laura Marling, Midlake, Wild Beasts, Marina and the Diamonds, Delphic, The National, Scissor Sisters, Muse, MGMT, The Temper Trap, These New Puritans, Everything Everything, Tunng, Loudon Wainwright III, Crystal Castles, Primary 1...er yeah. Except I'll probably see other people and it'll be completely different

on the other hand

AH I'M EXCITED!

(try to spot me. it's not hard):

YOU'RE SO WORTH IT YOU ARE

but I wish I could-

it's sunday. this time last week I was pre-celebrating my birthday. It's been a weird week, again. I could do with another roast dinner. Perhaps tonight.

this time last week, I had television producers on the phone begging me not to quit on them. Running away from running away, I keep telling myself that I made the right decision

not locking myself away for 13 weeks.

but I can't stay in Somerset all summer. I'm going to try to get a job. I saw an article on how elitist American Apparel employers are, so I'll apply there. Or at a milkshake shop. If I get money, I can disappear for a couple of weeks

besides. I talk too much about shit like this

LET'S TALK ABOUT HAPPY STUFF BECAUSE BELIEVE IT OR NOT I'M ACTUALLY A VERY HAPPY PERSON MOST OF THE TIME

AND I KIND OF GET ANNOYED WITH PEOPLE WHO ARE TOO INDULGENT

so, sorry

BECAUSE I'M TRYING NOT TO BE SELFISH I'M TRYING NOT TO DOMINATE

I'M TRYING TO

ok, right now. I have never posted a kitten video on this website. Therefore, it is not a proper website.

that's right bitch. that's a kitten getting confused with its own reflection. POWebsite. Hello there.

I always thought that dogs couldn't see their own reflections. Cats are not dogs. I suppose.

Also, GOOD NEWS. er er er er

that's it

Glastonbury Festival in a couple of weeks. I've bought a journal.

= it's on.

I WON'T RUN AWAY FROM A LIFE WORTH LIVING

er, so I might as well promote something else that I wrote on here:

http://theboar.org/tv/2010/jun/10/who-wants-live-forever/

it's one of many TV articles I've written for the university newspaper. thrills and roses.

it's so beautiful outside today. I'm going to get the hammock out and read something about Victorian attitudes towards (subject matter undecided) and try to do well in the exams

just thinking about graduating next year makes me smile

because I'm definitely definitely definitely never going to come back to somerset. The DREAM is New York and I will live in New York, in a scramble tiny flat with murders on the doorstep. Or London, where I will live in a less tiny flat with rape on the doorstep.

so long as there's at least a chance that I can be one of those tragic cases of people killed 'meters from their doorstep' that I read about in The Metro I'll be a happy bunny. Because then I can either be a survivor

or just totally tragic

or, die a 'new york death'. rotting in my flat for weeks before anyone notices.

and I'm pretty certain that Victorian (subject matter undecided) will have little to no bearing on my actual life. although sounding like a twat at mish mash dinner parties could be a bit of a larf, it's not really my bowl of soup and all of this information that I don't want to learn will become nothing as I learn more about how Kerry Katona's gained/lost weight and given up/gone back on drugs.

but, this is what I'm doing. and somehow I know that it's the right thing for me to do. just don't ask me why. just don't ask me where I'm going,

I just close my eyes, new york.