Amsterdam

The streets smell of sex,
The windows dance.
There is sex on my mind and sex on my skin.
She has a sweet face;
"50 euros" it says,
"And you'll be on top for that?"
"Of course."
Four doors down, a stockinged knee touches a pamphlet titled 'Jesus',
A thigh laughs at the voice saying "he loves you".
Walk past the next and I'm staring at myself.
We are sandwiched between sadness
And no one cares.
I am so high the red lights move me;
There is meaning in this debauchery,
There is prose in their pain.
Am I so cold?
No, I too am in pain,
It will hurt tomorrow.
Tomorrow I will be sad.
Does my sadness compare?
We are all lost, broken, wronged, searching...
Some a little bit more,
Some a little bit less -
No stop, don't quantify.

Pope of Mope

I know I go on about the Smiths a bit too much...but I just had a smithtastic weekend in Manchester visiting the Salford Lads Club and seeing Morrissey.

Morrissey...ah. Seeing him in the flesh was truly awesome (and not in the Americanised sense of the word). I don't know what it is about live music but there's just nothing like it. I probably sound like a sad loser...but I am! I am a sad loser who lives vicariously through music.
Following a band around like Kate Hudson in Almost Famous is my dream...

Not really.

Listen to Babooshka by Kate Bush, it's amazing. She sounds like how wine smelt when you were a kid (an excellent comment I found on youtube).

Gold Guns Girls

All the gold and all the guns in the world couldn't get you off.

So I'm moving into a new house soon and I have to start paying rent. Once I'm done paying the first installment I'll have roughly 350 pounds to live on until I find another job. My family isn't going through the best time right now. If you know them then you'll know why.

I spoke to my mum today. She said it wasn't fair.
It isn't.
They never did anything to deserve that. They've never been anything but honest people. I get that bad things aren't particularly discriminating; they happen to everyone, regardless of how 'good' they are.

Perhaps considering the economic 'hard times' I should be more careful with my money anyway. Or maybe I should realise that all the alcohol, drugs, dresses and cigarettes in the world won't get anyone off.

There are other ways to be happy, and we will be.

I'm A Hustler, Baby

I'M GOING TO SEE SIMIAN MOBILE DISCO TONIGHT.

(If you haven't heard them, click here.)

I'm so excited.



We don't have the drugs, but we got the buzz.

D-D-Drunk

I got a job as a bartender recently, and wow, it's been a pretty enlightening and interesting experience. There's nothing like being sober in a room full of drunk people to make you fully realise the adverse effects of extreme drunkenness, ie. idiocy and shame.
I see people who appear perfectly normal at the beginning of the evening turn into something completely different over the course of the night; women with fat bellies rolling their shirts up and dancing with ugly men, guys sexily slurring their way through winning chat up lines, girls shaking it like they're the shiz (when they're not)...
There was even this one girl who came in wearing her PJs, and then proceeded to flirt shamelessly with one of the guy bartenders and a guy who decided it would be a good idea to plop his phone into a pint of beer...and then gave us a £50 tip (I'm not complaining).
But yeah. Weird. Makes me never, ever want to act like that in front of people. Ever.


Although we do get free drinks.
And I make a nice mojito.

Snow

I don't have anything cool, funny or interesting to say about the snow except that it was beautiful and snowball fights are fun up until the point where you can no longer feel your hands.

And I throw like a girl.

Starbucks Mornings & Smiths Nights

I seem to have settled into a rather pleasant routine with Charlotte. After a night out we crawl out of bed around noon the next day and go to Starbucks or some cafe for brunch and overpriced coffee. We talk about lots of things, but mostly about how we haven't met any decent guys. It's our standard complaint. No boys no boys no boys, no nice boys.
If only we had real problems to whine about. But we don't.

We listen to the Smiths. Who articulate our woes a little bit perfectly:

There's a club if you'd like to go
you could meet somebody who really loves you
so you go, and you stand on your own
and you leave on your own
and you go home, and you cry
and you want to die

I prefer listening to the Smiths than cramming into a club with bad music.

Sheila take a, sheila take a bow
Boot the grime of this world in the crotch, dear
And dont go home tonight
Come out and find the one that you love and who loves you
The one that you love and who loves you

And thanks to my musical influence Char, we're going to see Morrissey in May!!

In my life
Why do I smile
At people who I'd much rather kick in the eye ?
I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour
But heaven knows I'm miserable now


I think I love her just a little bit

Waste of Paint

So I finally went to a protest.

I went to a protest. I didn't protest. I stood beside Charlotte on the fountain at Trafalgar Square sort of awkwardly, just watching.
It was against Israel, and to be honest, I don't know an awful lot about the whole Israel Palestine situation. I mean, I know roughly what's going on...and I do care. But I still didn't care with the burning passion of the people around me. I felt that same wave of sadness you feel when you hear about any atrocity, but nothing more or less, nothing that really hit home. Because of course what would hit home would be, well, home.

And home's what I'd love to protest about, actually do something about.

I just realised that I've gone past that age where the "oh well I'm too young to do anything" excuse can be used - if it's ever even an excuse.
I don't know what I can do, but I think it's time to start caring more actively.

When I lived in Colombo I was in a bit of a bubble. Some of the time I didn't want to know what was going on because it was too sad, and at times it was bomb goes off, first thought, oh shit does that mean we can't go out tonight? And that's beyond being in a bubble or being too scared to want to know, that's just being selfish and cold. I guess that's what I was, what I probably still am.
It's time to change that, and I'm not saying I'm going to become an activist or protester overnight.
I think it's time to be less of a waste.

You've Put On Weigh, Ah!

Nothing makes you want to lose weight like a holiday to C-town after a short spell abroad.

When I got back I wasn't greeted with "Oh how lovely to see you" or "How's England?". Instead I got "Ah you've put on weight no", "Your shoulders seem broader", "I think you've enlarged a bit" and many other comments along that very flattering vein...

Unfortunately the thought of having 'put on weight' actually makes me want to lose some. As blasé as I'd like to be about the whole thing...I actually do care. Just a little bit.
I've always lived in fear of growing fat, and like I said, there's nothing like a trip back home to reawaken any dormant weight-related paranoia you might have.
That and an uncle who insists on singing "Ohhh oh light on the bum, but heavy on tum...la la...".
Charming.

Well on the plus(?) side, I was told that I had become 'fairer' as well. (Seriously, how do people notice these things?)
I hate how in SL the criteria for being beautiful is to be skinny and 'fair', fullstop. Because god forbid an asian to actually be dark. How unnatural.

My aunt was telling me about how someone, when offering her a nanny for her son, went, "Only thing, she's very dark. Might scare the child no?".
I think we're one of those very special few races who are actually prejudiced against themselves.

Skinny, fat, light, dark, whatever. I think we should all just get over it.

Including myself.

Protest For Protest's Sake

I've been at university for almost 3 months now, and I still haven't chained myself to a tree, burned my bras or stampeded around town carrying angry signage.
I feel I ought to be protesting about something, but I don't really know what...

The 'Miss UCL' competition is around the corner, so I'm considering allying myself with the lesbians feminists and acting completely outraged.
To be honest, I don't really care, but I feel I should convince myself that it's absolutely ridiculous for a university to have a beauty pageant: We are a centre of academic learning and intelligence, and we should know better than to objectify women...blah blah blah...
..and I've already lost interest in my own argument.

Oh screw it, I'm just jealous.

Shakespeare on Facebook

This is pretty damn funny...more so if you've read/know the story of Hamlet.

Click to enlarge, and have a great Monday!

What Doesn't Kill You

I wouldn't usually think to quote Christina Aguilera, but I've had a few friends going through some hard times lately...and her words seem alot better than anything I've been able to say.

I hope that when the sadder, darker chapters of their lives draw to an end, they'll come out singing this:

After all you put me through
You'd think I'd despise you
But in the end, I want to thank you
'Cause you made me that much stronger

After all of the stealing and cheating
You probably think that I hold resentment for you
But, oh no, you're wrong
'Cause if it wasn't for all that you tried to do
I wouldn't know, just how capable
I am to pull through
So I want to say thank you

'Cause it
Makes me that much stronger
Makes me work a little bit harder
Makes me that much wiser
So thanks for making me a fighter;
Made me learn a little bit faster
Made my skin a little bit thicker
Makes me that much smarter

So thanks for making me a fighter

True though isn't it?
It seems to be alot of the bad things that happen to people which help shape the good things in them...

I Never...And I Have

I doubt anyone cares, but RTV and JS tagged me...and I'm kinda happy to do this since I'm procrastinating as usual. Here goes:

I've never...

1) Watched The Matrix

2) Had a myspace profile

3) Finished homework comfortably before a deadline

4) Been committed to a sport

5) Been to Amsterdam (yet)

6) Had my heart broken

7) Cried in front of friends (Even my best friend hasn't seen me cry - ever)

8) Properly yelled/confronted/physically attacked someone

9) Had someone I love die

10) Eaten anything that would belong on the second challenge of Fear Factor


But I have...

1) Bungee Jumped

2) Been on a helicopter

3) Fallen flat on my face in front of someone I was attracted to (oh, the shame)

4) Been proposed to

5) Been interviewed on BBCworld

6) Made friends with old people in the supermarket or on the bus

7) Stayed up all night just talking on the phone

8) Sat in the middle of a road late at night, usually eating.

9) Done things I'm not going to tell anyone about

10) Been taken to hospital by water ambulance in Venice

11) Worn suspenders and lacy hold ups - only once though!

Liberty

Give me your slurred, your spent, your lonely masses yearning to breathe free.

Give me your speed, your crack, your mary j.

Give me your soul.

And we'll be the generation they wept for.

Obama: The Facebook Fashion

I had decided I wasn't going to contribute to the numerous posts about Barack Obama, but I can no longer hold my peace.

I'm tired of seeing his name on almost every facebook status update:


So while I of course agree that it's interesting (not to mention pivotal and of symbolical significance) for America to have a black (well, half black) president, I find it just a bit weird how excited a bunch of non (and even anti) americans are getting over it!

If you think his policies are great and you care about the world, or you simply admire him, then yeah, I see how you could be excited, that's cool.
But there are people - mainly us silly kids - who seem to get caught up in all the hype without even knowing what it's really about. Which is irritating.
I don't want to come across as being self righteous or anything, but surely it's a bit ridic to be jumping up and down screaming 'Obama Obama' when you don't even know what he really stands for or what he actually plans to do for America (I know the majority of you haven't checked out his policy or even listened to his speeches!) - and in fact, most of you don't even care about America! All you know is that he's black - which must mean he represents every single minority group, so whoohoo, go us. Oh and a bunch of celebrities seem to like him.

Since when did politics become quite so fashionable?

I'm just saying, like him for the right reasons, that's all. Not because he makes a supposedly cool, intelligent sounding facebook status.

But hey, who am I to preach?
After all, I, too, have my very own supposedly cool, intelligent sounding status:

My Saucy Romance Fiction

Why is that inspiration only seems to come when you have a million other things to do?

Instead of writing an essay on Alexander Pope, I'm writing a Mills&Boonesque romance novella.

And I'm loving it.

This is the most fun I've had since I figured out how to melt chocolate.

It all came about after watching a rather wonderful drama on BBC about romance novels (here's a bit more if you're interested)...and now I'm writing my own.
Not seriously, of course, but just for the sheer fun of it. Because it really is a good laugh.

I'm getting quite caught up in the fictional life of my prim heroine Alexandra and the torment of her secret love for the carefree, spirited David (perhaps we need a slightly more romantic name?). It's liberating to write something silly and stupid - to not care about the language I use or the style I adopt. It's fun, it's great escapism, and it goes something like this:

"...Alexandra was reading quietly on the bench, a slender porcelain leg crossed neatly over the other, her pencil skirt carefully tugged at the hem to cover any offensive overexposure of knees. She appeared cool and unconcerned, but the close observer would notice the care with which she turned her pages, the tilt of her chin, the upright poise of her shoulders, the deft flicker of eyes above the brim of her book; her acute self awareness.
Indeed, Alexandra was feeling incredibly self-conscious. She was not actually reading, but feigning interest in her book simply in attempt to mask her discomfort. She disliked waiting intensely. But actually, she mused to herself, it wasn’t waiting she disliked, it was waiting for him.

‘Still reading your little poems, Lexi?’

Alexandra turned around startled, annoyed at the slow flush that was creeping up her cheeks. Behind her stood David, one hand in his pocket, the other carelessly playing with an apple, which she presumed was soon to be his breakfast.

‘They’re not my 'little' poems, David’, she retorted crossly, racking her brains for a more scathing retort. She hated how he could make her lose her composure with a mere sentence.

‘I’m only teasing, let’s have a look,’ he said playfully, sitting beside her and reaching for the book.

‘No’, she said, snapping the book shut and swiftly tucking it into her handbag.
‘I’ve got things to do, so let’s get this over with..."
(If you'd like to know what happens next, do ask)

It's not good quality, and it sure as hell isn't of any literary value.

But boy, is it fun.

Halloween Hoes

It's been a long time since I've been in London for halloween, and in Colombo we've never really done anything particularly special for it.

So this year I finally get to dress up...and I must admit I'm rather excited.

But as I mentally flick through costumes, this line from Mean Girls keeps playing in my head: "Halloween is the one night a year when girls can dress like a total slut and none of the other girls can say anything about it."

Hmm.

I'm torn between wanting to wear something a little bit sexy and wanting to wear something just silly and fun.

Of course, I don't intend on dressing like a 'total slut'...but I'm still contemplating whether to go for the sexy look or the scary look.

Argh. I still haven't decided...and I'm off to Camden right now.
We shall soon see.

I'll put pictures up.

The University Diaries Pt 2: Lessons With Moses

Picture Santa Claus.
Picture Moses.
Now put them together and you'll get a fairly accurate image of my professor. I call him SantaMose (Sorry about the unfortunate connotations this has for you, Jade)

Anyway, I've had two lectures and one seminar with him so far...and I'll let you judge how they went.

He teaches The Bible.

Lecture 1; he shuffles papers around, mutters a million unrelated things and chuckles to himself under his breath in a strangely endearing way. I am sitting at the back. I try to listen, I strain to understand, and then I give up. I write notes to the people sitting next to me. I giggle at the large "WTF?" the girl sitting 2 rows in front of me scribbled on her note pad.

Lecture 2; he shuffles papers around, continues muttering and chuckling (not so endearing anymore). I sit near the front this time. I try to listen, I strain to understand, and then I give up. I pull out my laptop to do something more productive with my time; I browse through kottu.

Seminar 1; this should be better I think. Smaller group so perhaps it'll be easier since we can actually interact. But I again find myself engaged in the battles of Listening and Understanding. Despite my valiant attempts, I lose. Again.
I scribble the word 'Help' on my coffee cup and flash it around to the rest of the class, all of whom smile back sympathetically.
I notice that he uses the phrase "really basically" a bit too frequently. I begin a mental "really basically" counter in my head. I soon lose count.
I start writing down everything he says, just to see if it makes more sense on paper.
It doesn't:

"You have to satisfy the female predicament, really basically"

"Are there any Jews here? Oh I see the only one we did have isn't present because of Yom Kippur. Might have been helpful to have a Jew...for contextual insight and all that".

"I just don't know what to do with The Bible!"

"He becomes existentialist - or something peculiar. Cheap existentialist really basically!"

"...hideous regiment of females (then giggles to himself)"

"I've cocked this up really - rather badly"

"...and actually really basically, actually..."

So none of us really learnt much, really basically.

Pot. Crack.

It's not about marijuana or cocaine.

It's about a story I heard in church today which had quite a nice message. I found a copy online:

Once upon a time there was a man whose job was to bring water from the stream to his Master's house. The man carried the water from the stream in two clay pots. He hung the pots on each end of a pole, which he carried across his shoulders, to and from the stream many times a day.

One of the clay pots was perfect in every way for its purpose. The other pot was exactly like the first one, but it had a crack in it and it leaked. When the water bearer reached his Master's house, the perfect pot was always full, and the cracked pot was always half full.

The perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, and it boasted loudly. It criticized the cracked pot for its failures, and reminded it that despite his efforts, the water bearer could only deliver half a pot of water due to his cracks. The poor cracked pot was ashamed of its imperfections, and was miserable that it could only accomplish half of what it was supposed to do.

One day the cracked pot spoke to the water bearer. "I want to apologize to you. Because of my cracked side I've only been able to deliver half of the water to your Master's home, and you don't get the full value from your efforts."

The water bearer smiled on the cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, "As we return to the Master's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path."

Indeed as they climbed the path from the river to the Master's mansion the cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful flowers along one side of the path, and it felt somewhat brighter. But when they reached their destination and the water in the half-empty pot was poured out, his sadness returned. "Thank you for trying to cheer me up with the beautiful flowers, water bearer," The pot spoke. " But I still must apologize for my failure."

The water bearer said, "Dear pot, you haven't understood what I was trying to show you. Did you notice that the flowers only grew on your side of the path? That's because of your crack. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and everyday as we walked from the stream the water that leaks from your pot has watered them. I could have got a new pot, but I preferred to gather the flowers, and with them to bless many tables."

Okay, so the general wording isn't great, and the whole "Dear pot" thing sounds a bit sad, BUT it's the moral that's nice.

Do you ever feel like you're not good enough for someone to love? Or that you're too broken, too frayed, too messed up? Do you feel endlessly guilty?
That's why I like this story. Whenever I start counting my imperfections or feeling worthless I'm going to try and remember it.
And maybe I'll believe that sometimes our flaws can become our strengths...

And that it's okay to be a little bit broken...

And that you're worth something after all.

I Love You, But I've Chosen Darkness

If I said 'Satan', what would be the first thing that comes to mind?

Do the words 'Evil' and 'Sin' spring up instantly?

If someone asked me this about a week ago, I would have said something along those lines as well.
It's simple isn't it; whether you're religious or not, you always see Satan as being coupled with evil. End of story.

Or is it?

I've been reading Milton's Paradise Lost, and it presents Satan in this whole new light.
Milton doesn't portray Satan as the monolithic embodiment of evil we perceive him to be; he humanizes him. And in doing so, makes him easier to understand and relate to...Take the following extract, for example, which shows Satan's contemplation of repentance and why he feels he can't repent:

Nay cursed be thou; since against his thy will
Chose freely what it now so justly rues...
O then at last relent: is there no place
Left for repentence, none for pardon left?
None left but by sumbission; and that word
Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame
Among the Spirits beneath, whom I seduced
With other promises and other vaunts
Than to submit, boasting I could subdue
Th'Omnipotent. Ay me, they little know
How dearly I abide that boast so vain...
But say I could repent and could obtain
By act of grace my former state; how soon
Would heighth recall high thoughts, how soon unsay
What feigned submission swore: ease would recant
Vows made in pain, as violent and void.
For never can true reconcilement grow
Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep:
Which would lead me to a worse relapse
And heavier fall: so should I purchase dear
Short intermission bought with double smart...
Farewell remorse.

I love this, because I think alot of people - including myself - feel we can't repent or change our 'ways' for the same reason; we fear relapse and the "heavier fall" - or we're just too proud. It shows Satan being committed to evil not because this evil is inherent in him, but because his pride makes him choose to remain that way, and doing so allows the evil to fester and ultimately possess him.
Likewise with us...we're don't do bad things because we are bad people, simply because we can make bad choices. I think it's good to be reminded of that. I don't know about you, but sometimes I feel I'm just plain bad, and when you believe you're bad you find it harder to try and be good because you think what's the point...but if you realise it's your choices and not just you, then it's easier to change things.

I'm not saying we're all like Satan! I'm just saying that if you can look at Satan in this humanistic form, it makes it easier to understand your own sin. If the guy who brought sin into the world himself acknowledges that this was a combination of choice and reluctance to repent...then it quite neatly points us away from what we shouldn't be doing!

Sounds simple doesn't it? But of course it isn't. I sin, you sin, everybody sins. And we will keep doing it.
The further along you go, the harder it is to turn back.
It's the choices we make that can save us.