Hangovers and Social Pornography

It's not like I'm the only person in the world who gets these but today id have prefered vicious Goat rape in my left ear, which by all accounts is my less favourite ear however i do not wish rape upon it, but instead of beastiality of the ear im stuck with the usual paranoia and the fact I've got more left over make-up on me than middle age hookers who have seen better days. The reason for that last one, was that it was my housemates birthday party last night where the theme for dressing up was things begining with G. A few rejected ideas before I carry on included Genocide, Gestapo, Git and various other implausble and frankly offensive ideas, but then I do associate primarily with some pretty warped people in the humour stakes. Finally after no effort whatsoever I went as the Goth prostitute who'd got into the cosmetics counter in Selfridges, fashionable yet slaggy.

And thou shalt definatley not watch programmes such as Skins, as it makes this lifestyle seem humourous and oh so cool with a bizzare sense of being punched in the face for an hour of pretentious pretty kids, whos lives resemble what a 30 year old screen writers imagination of a students life is. Looking like a dishevelled Amy Winehouse, bumming cigarettes and waking up find you've eaten moudly bread and all you can manage to do is think about water or poorly played out sexual scenarios which you can't hold in your head anyway. When this is shown on tv it appears fancy and something which can be shown on a poster that makes people slow their car and have a butchers and think ooh that looks realistic. I'm thinking of sending these people who pitch these programmes a picture of me with my underwear on backwards trying to find my glasses stepping over a horse mask and smacking my head off a desk, hopefully they shall pick it up and I shall become a one tv show wonder who loses his youth soon enough and falls back into the life of "that bloke who was on tv once". They get in early and they get out even earlier. I'm waiting for ex-teen star suicides on channel 4 handled in a sad documentary style where your meant to feel sorry for these icons of showy perversion whos life can be summed up in a song by John Cooper Clarke song "Twat".

Suicide notes from the rich and famous: presented by Derek Acorah

I like the sound of that actually. So why is being a discraceful mess such a good life to aspire to? night outs judged on how terrible its been. "I literally fell down and smashed my teeth off a kerb, I was so wasted it was like soooooo funny", a sotry non too disimilar you'll hear every monday morning in coffee shops, student unions and bus stops and wherever wankers inhabit. Any story starting "and i was so drunk..." should end with the story teller being destroyed in an "accidental" stabbing. I'm not sure even being a youth why it's good to be youthful, I think it lies in the fact that at least your not a pensioner yet.
And now im off to be ever so cool and nurse my headache like the narcasist with god complex that I am.

Tracksuits and Casuality

Chris

Chicken soup for a sole

Disregarding my previous statement, here is an old writing i did about relationships. I reckon it still holds up now nearly as much as it did when I wrote it, except for time changes of course. So enjoy one of my only myspace writings worth transferring, laugh and cry in equal measure remember.





First things first here I've changed the time on this so that it has the post time in the good ol u.s of k (good ol u of k doesn't work so bite it before you complain, tongue bites!!)

But yes it's been a while since i did this of an evening, but when the sun is out (lies) and the stereo is playing songs about hand sweat on the wheel (?), it seems like the time to write one.

Also thanks to working in a monotonous job were i serve food to ungrateful people, who don't even appreciate funny hat day, i haven't had a lot to focus on except myself.

So here goes an indepth analysis of what i have noticed about myself and my changes over the past year or so (ooh he's talking in retrospect, retro is so kewl!). But I believe it takes yourself to notice something before you can change it, until you believe something yourself its not a problem.. like gambling I suppose.

But over the past year i have gone through a metamorphosis of sorts, from the out of place geeky person with big hair, a killer pair of glasses and an ass you could bounce a dime off* (not that you would). To the self obsessed evryman who's ambition lies in obtaining material goods and having more front than a wheelbarrow.

But whoa on the gas maisy! i fort dis kid was lyk all pro-capitalist. Well yes I am still in a way (more to piss off the self righteous anti-capitalists, who are worse in my experience than any right wing multinational owner.. of which i know none, sucks to you on bashing my comparisons) but I've come to realise that clothes don't make the man.

In my head my thoughts I genuinely believe fly round to moog music based on characters in old snes games. This is not to say im one of these new "geeks" who dress with glasses they don't need (i destroyed my vision by playing computer kid! how hardcore are you now) and tops with wonderfully ironic pictures of old computer games that the wearer never even played. Cardigans do also not make the man, they merely enhance.

So dear reader i hear you asking why am i reading this for so long when you've come to quite an obvious conclusion?

Fuck you!!

Don't be so impaitent you whooping fool.

There is a point, I for one am sick of hearing people complain about relationships. It has to be the number one gripe in the world (if myspace is anything to go by) and I don't know why people feel they need to be honest and open about them. I don't care about so and so "like oh my gosh I've gone down a space on a friends list, SHHIIITTTTTTT!!!" so keep that to yourself,. Geniune eloquent conversations about relationships i may listen to.

But maybe the problem is like me your lying to yourself, being something your not exactly, I am not someone who was built to follow fashion. This I have decided has led to my recent relationship dry spell (ooooh the nitty gritty right here). I meet people who like my dress sense but they have nothing in common with me personality wise, but people who like me personality wise don't seem to agree with my self-centered fashionita ways of late.

So basically Im saying (fucking finally) that maybe being yourself however hard to do is the only way to find someone you actually like.


And the only reason I'm writing this is so peeps will be quiet about how heartbreaking their latest 2 month life-changing love was.

It's your fault all the time, to fit you must aquit.


or something like that

piece

Christoph


*That's not true about my ass

Ruby, Ruby, Ruby, Ruby- A Cornish Film Festival Retrospective

Well Cinephiles, thats the another fine mess we've finished with.

Must say this was the first film festival id ever actually been to, and to be writing about the thing it makes me think of being thrown to the lions. But in place of lions we have a strange, squat man with an unfeasibly high waist-band, while a woman decked head to toe in brown hippy clothing, speaking the wonderfully growing (and possibly pointless) language of Cornish. Frankly I'm thinking Leo would be a piece of piss after having to sit through that, but then maybe im being retrospectively bastardish... which in all fairness is quite probable.

Gotta say the festival felt a bit "Cornish or GTFO", but then i suppose they are their own country (why?) with their own language (double why?). So yeah, I can hear all of you out there going "oh but Chris what was the standard of production at the festival?", well young children and people who have the minds of small children (maybe in jars) it wasn't a bad spread. To be fair though whatever person thought showing the contents of a portaloo and poorly conveyed sexual congress combined with a girl I wanted to smack two lines in, should be forcibly removed from the profession of director.

Honorable film mentions must go to two films, the Cornish production of devil in your kitchen thanks the face of Philip Schofield, and the film with the best introduction of the whole festival- Diary of a Bad Lad, but thae stories related to that are not of this blog, maybe later once ive finished working on it.

Finally thankyou to the providers of free wine throughout the festival, you saved me large amounts of money and gave me a rekindled love of Tortilla chips, banging!. But seriously the most pissed person at the party and who do they choose to interview? I imagine my thoughts were far from sensible. Probably along the lines of "If Cornwall wants to be its own free state why doesnt it just raise a rabid monkey army and invade Devon?", not ideal when asked about Uni policy but fuck that for a game of bollocks (thanks Neil Morrisey for that one).

And for anyone keeping track thats a lot of thankyous, my inspiration goes firmly to the clap heavy (ooer missus) final celebrations, ill always try to forget you *salutes*

For now im off to collect my thoughts and eat fishfingers

Grims and Fairys

Chris

The old Arctic Monkeys album is better than the newer one

Its true that right there, fella

Good afternoon fair maiden of the spit, and any one else whos reading I suppose, discrimination is a very ugly thing. I actually had a look and thought about transferring old writings into this new Blogspot, but after reading I actually came to the conclusion that my earlier writings are non-too disimilar to the writings of illegitimate chimps who quite stranegly have confidence and character issues. Exactly what confidence issues an ape would be dealing with I don't think im the one to say, probably more in the field of Dian Fossey.

So yes this will be the new home to outpourings of the mind of Chris and his mechanical monkey which turns the cogs in his head. I wish such a thing existed, and that it could be sold on for profit.