I have not much to say, tomorrow is the day I begin working with a musical friend on a new endevour. I'm always anxious when teaming with people creatively as there's always room for critique, although I welcome that. Displaying private writing for the first time to somebody is bound to be unpleasant. I hope it goes well and I can spit and slice...
I want to be infamous.
Saturday, 19 July 2008
Sunday, 6 July 2008
Incorporeal I'd like to be
{En route to San Francisco. Taken on my phone.}
I can't describe what I feel, can't put my finger on it. Clouds are intangible.
I could freefall from the plane to burst into a billion molecules
A rhythm,
a wave
The void of space,
the hum of the universe.
Thursday, 3 July 2008
TWO
This lazy, hazy hangover will most likely subside next Tuesday. After all, my weekends are longer than most people's and I consume an unfathomable amount of alcohol each and every day. The sun is bursting through my blinds and swelling my bedroom with light but it is most welcolme. I'm not really one to lay in bed all day, it's good to get up and out there. We don't have enough days like this on our wet little island, and when it DOES come we are embittered by the sweat and the sticky and the overpriced water in bottles.
My most favourite view is above the clouds out a plane window. Too bad the dreams in which I fly can't ever be true, perhaps I'll skydive one day. However knowing my luck I'd land with a splat and that'd be the end of me. Actually it wouldn't, I'd suffer endless injuries but bloody live on. I'm getting a really good list of scars from stupid accidents.
I am quite afraid of falling to my death. I also have a considerable fear of glass and one day I am convinced I will trip in the street and poke an eye out on one for those godawful spikes they put along the fencing in Camden. I always walk next to the road to avoid them which also is senseless because I'm fairly certain I will be run over. Hopefully by a bus and it'd be quick, but I'd probably get a moped sever or break a limb and carry on to live another day as a sort of frankenstein doll.
Now this is really no way for a rational mind to be thinking on a beautiful day but such is me. I know it's not normal but I do see trouble wherever I look.
Last night I bumped into the one they call Princess Julia and discussed possibly moving in to her Old Street flat. I'd like to move to East London, the atmosphere is vibrant and there's always new people to befriend or irritate. I'm nervous that it's almost too 'cool' for me. I'm usually on the cusp of cool but never quite there, thankfully because I know I couldn't handle being considered cool. I'd fall over or say the wrong thing and be old hat before I knew it. So much for being a Camden crusty.
Anyway, time to view a flat.
My most favourite view is above the clouds out a plane window. Too bad the dreams in which I fly can't ever be true, perhaps I'll skydive one day. However knowing my luck I'd land with a splat and that'd be the end of me. Actually it wouldn't, I'd suffer endless injuries but bloody live on. I'm getting a really good list of scars from stupid accidents.
I am quite afraid of falling to my death. I also have a considerable fear of glass and one day I am convinced I will trip in the street and poke an eye out on one for those godawful spikes they put along the fencing in Camden. I always walk next to the road to avoid them which also is senseless because I'm fairly certain I will be run over. Hopefully by a bus and it'd be quick, but I'd probably get a moped sever or break a limb and carry on to live another day as a sort of frankenstein doll.
Now this is really no way for a rational mind to be thinking on a beautiful day but such is me. I know it's not normal but I do see trouble wherever I look.
Last night I bumped into the one they call Princess Julia and discussed possibly moving in to her Old Street flat. I'd like to move to East London, the atmosphere is vibrant and there's always new people to befriend or irritate. I'm nervous that it's almost too 'cool' for me. I'm usually on the cusp of cool but never quite there, thankfully because I know I couldn't handle being considered cool. I'd fall over or say the wrong thing and be old hat before I knew it. So much for being a Camden crusty.
Anyway, time to view a flat.
Saturday, 28 June 2008
ONE
I moved to the great city of London nearly two years ago now and it really doesn't feel that long. Life is fast here and everything is attainable at every hour; drink, drugs, clubs and pubs. Hundreds and thousands of people. Tubes, trains and bendy buses.
The city is dazzling and always stole my heart on my weekends up here as a teenager. Canary Wharf looming over the docks with windows shining brighter than the stars of it's black backdrop. The beautiful Thames viewed from any bridge, the streets with pavement I could kiss and say "I'm Home".
The city injected life into otherwise relatively normal suburban living which I being bred of Essex had sorely needed for some time. 21 going on 16 really, discounting the tail-end of my education as any sort of time well spent. The opposite really is true but I can't hold regrets.
These days I look at it differently. I still cherish everything and I love my Camden house. I believe the bustle is a danger, a swamp. A monster if you will. What can give life can also take it away and I have sometimes had the feeling that the streets will swallow me whole. I also believe that I will be an institution, a fixture of this place for years to come and probably until I die.
There's the birdsound man selling cheap tricks on weekends, the angry beardo who shouts at the air, bald baglady with a toothless smile selling books. There's the punks who are probably the same punks from thirty years ago who most likely will be on the bridge forever. There's the guts of the Hawley Arms, my most beloved of all pubs firstly for it's proximity to my bedroom and secondly for the men in either Fred Perry or leather jackets or any number of rocknroll clothing which I would gladly rip off right then and there at the bar.
But I digress. Days and nights mix into a blur and before you know it you are blurred too. Has it really been two years? What have I achieved? What have I seen, felt, heard?
This is the reason for this very blog. I have not written for so long that even the last few paragraphs have switched something in my mind back on...'that's better'. I want to be able to look back on this so that my last memory is not another bloody hangover.
By now I should really introduce myself. My name is Mika. Mika Doll to many, Michael to one [my grandmother]. One of my best friends in the world put the notion of writing in my head and is likely the first person reading this and I should therefore thank him.
In this blog you will see, as Malcolm put it, my "snapshots and rantings, writings and musings". I am a jack of all trades I suppose but a master in none.
One last thing ; this will be worth your while. That's a fact I state without arrogance but more acceptance because I have come to realise my life is as extreme as my emotions.
Good day.
The city is dazzling and always stole my heart on my weekends up here as a teenager. Canary Wharf looming over the docks with windows shining brighter than the stars of it's black backdrop. The beautiful Thames viewed from any bridge, the streets with pavement I could kiss and say "I'm Home".
The city injected life into otherwise relatively normal suburban living which I being bred of Essex had sorely needed for some time. 21 going on 16 really, discounting the tail-end of my education as any sort of time well spent. The opposite really is true but I can't hold regrets.
These days I look at it differently. I still cherish everything and I love my Camden house. I believe the bustle is a danger, a swamp. A monster if you will. What can give life can also take it away and I have sometimes had the feeling that the streets will swallow me whole. I also believe that I will be an institution, a fixture of this place for years to come and probably until I die.
There's the birdsound man selling cheap tricks on weekends, the angry beardo who shouts at the air, bald baglady with a toothless smile selling books. There's the punks who are probably the same punks from thirty years ago who most likely will be on the bridge forever. There's the guts of the Hawley Arms, my most beloved of all pubs firstly for it's proximity to my bedroom and secondly for the men in either Fred Perry or leather jackets or any number of rocknroll clothing which I would gladly rip off right then and there at the bar.
But I digress. Days and nights mix into a blur and before you know it you are blurred too. Has it really been two years? What have I achieved? What have I seen, felt, heard?
This is the reason for this very blog. I have not written for so long that even the last few paragraphs have switched something in my mind back on...'that's better'. I want to be able to look back on this so that my last memory is not another bloody hangover.
By now I should really introduce myself. My name is Mika. Mika Doll to many, Michael to one [my grandmother]. One of my best friends in the world put the notion of writing in my head and is likely the first person reading this and I should therefore thank him.
In this blog you will see, as Malcolm put it, my "snapshots and rantings, writings and musings". I am a jack of all trades I suppose but a master in none.
One last thing ; this will be worth your while. That's a fact I state without arrogance but more acceptance because I have come to realise my life is as extreme as my emotions.
Good day.
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