Heaven Smiles Above Me

Ten minutes ago, I was on Lowri's acoustic. And, for some reason, I started playing a chord, and singing the line I don't want to have a girlfriend. Don't ask why. I just did. Then started singing Anyway You Want It to a song that I wrote a while back, then came across a new thing that I shall stick in a song. And, I jsut realised this might be the longest opening paragraphs to a post in a while. Wey.

Anyways, Christmas has been. I think. To be fair it just felt like another day, really. Just another day of listening to pointless conversations (I mean, since when does saying 'I like cheese' been a conversation starter...), watching television that has the only objective to gain the most watchers, not forgetting the arguements in which makes me glad I just plod my life away in my room... Or something like that.

Yeah, happy days, eh?

To be fair, I must stop typing fiar when I try to type fair. Also, I really do want to get myself an electric drum kit. I only want an electric one because there's not a lot of room in my bedroom, and having a fuckoff acoustic kit... lets just say I'll end up sleeping on the toms, using the hihat as a pillow. I knew I wasn't going to get one for christmas - I'm not going to get my parents in debt over something I just hit - and to be fair I didn't really mind what I got, nor if I had anything for this mas of the chirst variety.

Anycahoots, I'm startinng to think that people are turning Christmas into a time where they can just brag about stuff. Bragging from what they got to how much they got and to be fair, who really cares? This year I haven't had much. I got a phone that's probably discontinued and some clothes. I'm not complaining. Neither am I going to ask anyone what they had. Not for them to say what expensive gifts they had. Grrr.

Another thing is that I really, really want to start a band. I've said it before, but it's kind of changed. I still want to be in a rock band. And the more I say rock band the more I cringe. Don't ask why. Anyways, I want to create music like what Muse, Smashing Pumpkins and Pearl Jam have created (well, not exactly like them... y'know what I mean), but now I want to start doing disco music, or disco-rock, if that's even a genre. The only problem is that I can only write either middle-of-the-road music (like the song Acoustination, in which shall stay forever as a GP5 file) or too scene. Shit, if only I knew someone who writes their own lyrics... =).

Yesterday, I went up to my sister's, to see Ricky open his presents and on the way back home, my mother put on the Amy Winehouse CD Lowri got her for Christmas, and as I listen, I thaught 'why can I imagine The Beatles sing this?'. Fuck, I need help.

Anyways, expect more posts soon. Well, since it's the school holidays and I don't go anywhere, the only contact I get with people is on the web. There might be one with a depressive tone to it round about New Year's time. And if there is I shall say sorry now. Ah well, that's it for now.

- I got a brand new pair of rollerskates, you've got a brand new FIN.

Reasons... "Why" Is The Only Word With No Vowels.

I believe it is, anyways.

Y'know, the fact that all vowels are a, e, i, o and u, so technically, y's the other thing.

Oh, this is just so I can boost the 'Reasons...' group of posts. Sorry to deprive you for time...

Anyturnip. It's a Wednesday. Coincidently, tomorrow's a Thursday, and the begining of the week countdown to the first Parti Bondio of the year. Yeah, you've guessed that I'm not going to go.

There's no point really. I don't drink. Don't dance. So, in a party situation, I'm the broken pensil of the group. This is also the time I rather dread the fact that everyone'll talk about the party (well, next Friday, after the party happened). Y'know, most of the blokes will brag about how much booze they downed in two hours and still managed to headbang to S Club 7. Many other people just repeating the same phrases for the next four weeks... oh, I was sooooo drunk that night, or I hope there's another one soon, I wanna get pissed again. Them only being two of the infinite quotes from the people who went.

Laughing. A bit like this... AHAHAHAHAHA THAT WAS AN EPIC FAIL AFTER HE DRANK THAT CIDER. Or something along those lines. I'll be just looking around at different people, with a dim smile on my face, having no real interest on the goings on of the previous night...

Yeah... such a happy aura for this post.... anyways...

I'm not saying they shouldn't orginize these things. Nor am I trying to tell people how to lead their lives. I'm just going to say this, just because you've downed a bottlesworth of vodka, or someone tipped Guinness onto your brand new top that you baught specially for that night. And for the fact that I don't drink...

Come on... it's fun when you're drunk!!

Sorry, I can't see how being so pissed that you fall down on the pavement and sleep. Well yes, that doesn't really happen in these things, well not to my knowledge anyways. I simply cannot see how a beverage that destroys so many people in this world can make a night amazing. Maybe I'm being overdramatic in this subject (well, I can't think of a better word than overdramatic), but the only thing I can do, while the matter of alcahol is on the agenda, is think of all the negative scenes that are implanted in my head...

Y'know the ones... one person making a complete arse of themselves. While others are getting it on with people they've always detested (say, as an example, someone sees the closet gay ruthlessly snogging the well known male homaphobe). Not to mention some people who take it too far, and either get sent to the cells for the night, pass out or worse. Or, what I believe what I'll be if I ever had a drink, the extremely depressing drunk who drowns his thoughts and money.

'Cause, correct me if I'm worng, alcahol has a boosting effect on the body. And I know, that naturally, I'm more on the negative side than the positive. With alcahol, that negativeness will grow with every drink I consume. Also, there's been an image stuck in my head ever since I was young.

In that image, I saw myself. I had messy, short hair, while wearing old, scruffy clothes that looked like they were found in a skip (or baught in ASDA, up to you where like). Holes in my shoes, just sitting on a wooden stool, drinking the money I managed to get somehow. Basically, a total mess. I can't avoid this thaught. The more I think about it, the more detail is there, and the more hope I have that the image of such vomit-inducing nature will never be a reality. You're probably thinking that I have an odd way at looking at life. Well yeah, I do. And I'm glad I do. So I'm in the minority (in school, anyways) that doesn't want to drink. Joy to the world in the fact that there is a minority. If that sentence even makes sense.

Anyways, in other news. Muse's new album has been leaked online a week before its official release. But then again, I don't think there's any album these days that hasn't been leaked in one way or another. Either they've placed the full album on their site, forgeting that many know how to stream and save the audio files. Or someone's managed to get a copy of the CD, and shared it with the world. How much d'you want to bet Paramore's new album's going to be leaked online...

And lo and behold. Time has become the old enemy once more, and I must leave you with a riddle. What will happen when Pinocchio says my nose will grow?

Yeah...

- Fin. Ish.

And Here I Go Again...

Yeah, if you read the last post... when I said that I had an odd feeling to write something about death... well here it is. I'm going to open up the can-o'-beans that is my head. Lucky, lucky you. Lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky, clucky, clucky, cluck, cluck... er... sorry, I just remembered that scene from Blackadder III.

Anyways. Where to start...

Well, I remember I said something about it before, though it was mostly about religion, not death itself...

Well (again), I'm seventeen, going on eighteen (...shit)... and as I approach this milestone, I'm genuinely scared of what the future has in store with me. Not only that, as I'm sitting here, typing these words that will last much longer than I will (unless BlogSpot goes under administration), I realise, maybe more than others my age, of my mortality. The fact that I, one Gareth Aled John, will die. Even as I wrote that sencetence (and as I misspelled that word again), I don't want to accept it.

I mean, other's my age are care free, probably the only bad thing they think of is if they fail they're exams or if they won't get into university (yeah, both linked to me). With me, it's the little known fact that I will cease to exist in a matter of years, weeks, or even maybe seconds. Like, it's a guess, but when you were young (say, five, six, roughtly that age), you were playing around, saying stuff like 'I wanna live forever woooo' or something like that. Me? All I remember going was 'I don't want to die!'. Me, aged six, crying into my sister's arms, repeating the same five words over and over again. All that was about was the BBC News said the Solar System would end in a small hiccup, rather than it's big bang entry.

It's the same now. I was in bed, roughly twelve-ish. I was just lying there. It hit me that I wouldn't be here forever. I just panicked. Jumping out of bed, saying 'No. NO!'. And for some reason, I broke down slightly, shedding a few tears (which, I know, sounds pathetic). I tried to return to sleep, but everytime I closed my eyes for a few mere seconds made me fall I was getting closer to my final destination. So, I ended up watching the whole first series of Little Britain. Though, my tiredness had overridden my thaughts, thus making me sleep through Jeremy Kyle and my tea froze. Also it made my next three nights be a short sleep.

I know why I'm like this. Well, I think I know... it's like when I typed 'I, Gareth Aled John, will die', I just felt like I was a number. Nobody'll take notice at the fact that I would've met my maker (as a guess, I think it's Aldi). Or if people do notice, there'd be a few tears shed for the sake of the occasion. But there's nothing that'll put me in the future's mindset.

If that doesn't make sense, I'll try to make sense of it. It's like, look at everything around you. Your computer screen. Your top, socks, trousers. Your walls, your ceiling, your floor. Anything. Everything you've looked at. All that will last longer than you will. It's true. Well, most of it. I mean that cup of tea that I wasted didn't last longer than me, it went down the toilet, but the cup might. Anyways, that cupboard that's holding most of your belongings will be there, and maybe in some fifty years, there'd be a futuristic Antiques Roadshow, and that dude'll tell the antiques dealer 'oh, not sure who was the first owner is'. See? You'll be 'the first owner'. Some guy (or girl). A pile of skin and bones, wasting away whilst the memory of you disappeared by the time your grandchildren become grandparents. Then all you'd be is someone's great-great-great-great grandad. No-one'll remember your name. And I don't know about you, but I don't want that to happen. It might sound that I'm turning into some egotistical person, but I don't want to end up dead, with nothing to show for it.

Saying that, in my head it'l like a double edged sword. I want to be remembered in years after the inevitable (spelling?), but I don't want to become famous for it. I don't want to be in the mainstream, where everything I do, everyway I turn, is in the eyes of Big Brother and his ten cats. But, as I feel the reality of is seems to show me so harshly, it seems that the only way to even think of having a memory after death is to become famous. Take Marily Monroe. Would she have a long lasting memory if she didn't do the things she done? I don't know what exactly, I think she was an actress. But the mere fact that I know what she looks like, though I've never met her... it must show something about her impact of the world (well, not impact, y'know what I mean)...

Wuthering Heights is on ITV1 at the moment. Cathy's just died. Heathcliff found out and basically broke down. At least that's what I think's going on. Just to let you know.

Anyways. Since I won't be around when I die, I don't really know why I want to be remembered so badly when I go. Maybe I want to feel like I've done something worth remembering. And what have I done so far? Created a blog with thrity-six posts and participated in three cricket matches, in which I managed only five runs while batting, and three wickets while bowling. Oh, don't forget the whole 'took art for AS level and got kicked out of it when there was a week left until the coursework was supposed to be in by' thing. Oh, it must've been hilairious for some people when I finally got the shove. Ah well, who gives a shit.

Ah well... I should leave it there before I go nuts... but before I go... I have one question... what would Jesus do?...



Sorry, I love Outnumbered... =).

- Fin.