Tungsten Orange / Anemia Red / Prison White
In my dream I am held in a room. It is adjecent to a bar, which has people in it, they are unresponsive. I realise that in my sleep I have been exposed to horrible things, and this is how they retain power over me. I associate pain with certain sounds. When I hear them, I might feel, for example, an intense stabbing pain in my side. I realise that I have been awake for at most a third of the time; I have been sleeping an unreasonable amount. During sleep I am vunerable. The room is grey/beige, and without windows. The people in the other room don't feel particularly inclined to interact with me.
It's the sterile, uncaring world that Kafka described. It is a world that I don't understand, but I am aware that there are people (authority figures) behind it, that control it.
And chavs, fucking chavs! Skangers/ the great unwashed.Clad in Burberry check, and Nike runners. The chavs from Maynooth are a cut above the rest, though. They're probably thinking deep thoughts as they sit by the side of the canal, fishing and drinking cider, and swearing at their mates. Jaaaysus!
Adrian:
Advanced Global Personality Test Results | Extraversion | | 33% | | Stability | | 13% | | Orderliness | | 53% | | Empathy | | 30% | | Interdependence | | 70% | | Intellectual | | 30% | | Mystical | | 36% | | Artistic | | 56% | | Religious | | 36% | | Hedonism | | 30% | | Materialism | | 23% | | Narcissism | | 10% | | Adventurousness | | 23% | | Work ethic | | 36% | | Self absorbed | | 76% | | Conflict seeking | | 50% | | Need to dominate | | 83% |
| | Romantic | | 63% | | Avoidant | | 56% | | Anti-authority | | 63% | | Wealth | | 16% | | Dependency | | 90% | | Change averse | | 90% | | Cautiousness | | 90% | | Individuality | | 50% | | Sexuality | | 56% | | Peter pan complex | | 90% | | Physical security | | 76% | | Food indulgent | | 30% | | Histrionic | | 43% | | Paranoia | | 76% | | Vanity | | 56% | | Hypersensitivity | | 90% | | Female cliche | | 56% |
|
|
Take'>http://similarminds.com/global-adv.html">Take Free Advanced Global Personality Test
personality'>http://similarminds.com">personality tests by similarminds.com
Michael Jackson Is A Figment Of Our Collective Imagination
I never used to consider having a cold, as being sick. My experience this week, however, has changed my mind. My head is filled with used porno magazines and the contents of ashtrays from a million council estate houses. And probably some Bernard Manning jokes too. Various business models, graphs, etc. Also, the plot lines for a year's worth of Emmerdale (formerly Emmerdale Farm). The point being: bad stuff. Stuffed up with the mucus that my body foolishly produces. I can't breath, I get headaches. I'm drip fed Lemsip. My beautiful nose is red. When I dance (i.e. sneeze) I raise the dead.
'Adrian, what did you do to deserve this?', you may ask. And also, another visit to the orthodontist today. There were various tools, the uses for which I couldn't possibly comprehend. Something that shines an intense blue light into my mouth. There is an accompanying orange screen for my eyes, as well as the yellow goggles. Essentially the closest one can get to an alien abduction without the anal probing. Also, I noticed that my orthodontist was chewing gum. I found this unsettling. Like Bob Geldof plucking food from the mouth of a starving Ethiopian child, or Paul Merton saying something genuinely intelligent and humorous, or Justin Hawkins wearing tasteful clothes. You remember Justin Hawkins, right? He was the singer in Def Zepplin. He's dead now.
As for the Michael Jackson thing, THINK about it, you over-literal goons. Oh wait, sorry, I came over all Ddmmyy. for a second, what with the berating celebrities and what not.
Normal service will, etc.
Mon Ami, Pierrot
Over the last few days I've been experiencing a great deal of rage for no apparent reason. I've been trying to set people on fire with my mind. It's warm and dusty today. It's frustrating to feel that my brain is 'going off', like a yoghurt that's been left in the sun. A pile of useless mush that's really of no use to anyone. My mental powers don't seem to work on small cats either. There is a silence that is soft and grey, and gentle and soothing.
I've left the previous post up, despite my better judgement, as proof of my mental degradation. Words come bad. Despite Catherine Murphy's objections, I actually like the idea of Maynooth being a dormitory town. I remember being small. And leaning how to sing O Clair de la lune. Or the whole 'Slumberland' idea from the Simpsons. Maynooth is where people come to rest. Like those drifting beacons. We've got neatly ordered suburban gardens, soft breezes, dust and streetlights.
I've never listened to lyrics. I remember 'Penny Lane' being the first pop song that I can remember hearing. It was on the kitchen radio, and I asked my mother what the words: 'Penny Lane is in my eyes and in my ears' actually mean. She told me the song didn't mean anything. I've never felt the need to decipher songs since. It's perfectly acceptable to me that songs and poems can mean absolutely nothing, which is probably why I was never any good at English in school. I got a D in Jr. Cert. English, y'see.
Some Useful Phrases:
I have failed to, etc.
I cannot/could never, etc.
I apologise for, etc.
I'm sorry to ask, etc.
I don't know.
NAPALM JESUS!
jesus had short hair and a cropped beard and a rounded jewish skull. he is the hero. the woodchopping father figure. willing to let his blood flow for our sins. tthe holy grail, etc. although I've read neither the Bible nor the Da Vinici code and so, in my ignorance of both I am uniquely qualified to give an impartial opinion. I'm not biased by having read one of them before the other: It's all true! Even the stuff that contradicts the other stuff! We're supposed to love each other, but it's okay to pluck out each other's eyeballs and stuff. The Lawd loves all of his children, but condones genocide. How are we supposed to make sense of the world when we're fed this contradictory nonsense as children?
Ah, the tiny and utterly confused person that I once was. Oh lordy! Adrian: now in stereo. The question I always ask: what are they trying to sell me? Whoever wrote the Bible was obviously trying to sell something. People have been emptying their pockets ever since. I'd hate for anyone to think that I was being dismissive or condescending. But, well, perhaps I am.
Adrian Vs. The Chiropractor
On Tuesday morning I visited the Maynooth Chiropractic Clinic for the first time. Over concerns with my back, obviously, but these concerns coincided with a flyer that had come through my door advertising for one of the doctors. I had some understandable concerns about this type of treatment, which some consider to of dubious merit. Upon entering the softly lit office, I found a woman with her daughter in the waiting area. The office had new agey, Native American music, and around the walls were posters with slogans such as 'Five Dangerous Words: Maybe It Will Go Away', and 'Keep Your Appointments: Each One Builds On The Previous Ones', needless to say, such heavy-handedness did not help to alleviate my concerns.
After this brief wait, I was sent in to see my first real-live chiropractor. He introduced himself as Patrick, and shook my hand. He was a youthful American with blond hair and a surprisingly clear complexion, etc. He spent a few minutes listening to my concerns before he began to inspect and adjust my back and neck. I was laid on a table, and he told me exactly what to do, and what he was doing all the while. Being adjusted was a surreal experience, imagine someone tipping you on your side and pulling your leg, or twisting you neck, or snapping you back. I can't deny that I felt immediately better for having had it done, though, despite feeling a bit light-headed and headachey for the rest of the day. Come on, even Arnie loves dat!
Monochrome
I am constantly tired and unmotivated. Also: I am a hideous stereotype of the worst kind, a hypocrite who tries to convince himself that he's an individual but who is really just your average whining, pretentious student with absolutely nothing of value to contribute to the greyscale, overcast world that I inhabit. My words are getting away from me, but that's the least of my worries. 256 shades of grey. I keep forgetting important things, currently the awkward elastic for my braces, an evening meal, and in the past I would regularly forget to take that pesky Cipramil stuff. I've still got a box of that in the drawer beside my bed. I may get really down someday and swallow the whole box. *JOKE*
I may not have emphasised this enough in my Sunday-related post, but I just can't seem to feel any kind of connection with the world around me. It's a sad and confusing world. Maynooth is beautiful. I would love it so much if not for the people here: the chavs, with their tracksuits, souped-up cars and thumping white label dance music, the self righteous, middle aged Catholics with their disapproving glances, obnoxious students, culchies and girls plastered in make-up, with short skirts. They all wander around, without any fondness for each other or themselves. What have I learnt to aspire to, I sometimes ask? The answer is: NOTHING. I'm afraid of people in general. People froth with glee when I fall, glad that it's not them on the ground and eager to make me feel like a fool. My inner child still cowers in fear.
Oh, cheer up. I'm just venting!
Half Empty
SU elections in NUI Maynooth, today. Essentially it's an excuse to waste a whole lot of paper. Also, I saw a girl with Collagen in her lips in the canteen. Somehow it seemed much more real to see an actual human being (as opposed to a celebrity) that had undergone ridiculously unnecessary cosmetic surgery. Not that I mean to sound compassionate or anything. I'm plainly not.
Also, the spell checker on blogger doesn't recognise the word 'blog'. I suppose that's ironic or something.
