You Set My Soul Alight.

I've gone from quoting Smashing Pumpkins to quoting Muse in my blog titles. I suppose it's not a bad thing, eh?

Anyways, did ya miss me?






Thought not.


Well, I would've posted sooner, but I either couldn't be arsed, or - most likely - it's because the charger to my laptop's gone kaput. Thus making me use my parents computer for a few days, which is also making me void of a lot of internet time. Shame. Anyroad, I have to wait a good few days for a new charger. It's a sad day for the beating heart of my laptop, as it's only thirty four percent full.

But, on the plus side, I've been reconnected with Safari, and it's spellchecker function... someone remind me to find a good'un for FireFox, there's a good lad/lass.

So yeah. Nothing much happened this week. Though it was my eighteenth birthday on Monday. That's the only mention I'll say on it, as I can't see it as anymore than just another day. I might say more on it in the next post. Lucky you.

Besides that, nothing's really happening in school. I'm just plodding my way through Chemistry and Physics, while I feel like I'm a headless chicken in Music Tech. I've done nothing of worth in Music Tech, other than record the bass part for Adam's song and make up a bass riff that does not match the lyrics of Alone. Shite. I are fucked.

It kind of shows in what the teacher's predicting me... a C or a D. Yey, I'm not going to improve on my D for AS... apparently.

Er, oh yes. Not only that, but there's another INSET day this friday. And I must be the only person in school to appose is. We just had a week off for Jesus' sake... ah well, at least there's a possibility to see my sister in Carmarthen then.

And this, shall be goodbye... or au revoir, or whatever tickles your linguistical pickle...

- Finoshima.

Reasons - Why My Ex-Wife Left Me... Part One.

I just realised whatever font I put on as I write, it'll only get overwritten by the preset (which I believe is Tahoma?).

Oh, I'm going to be an arse to your pixel-absorbing eyes. I've thought of a series of blog postings that will end when I actually have a social life. If you haven't guessed yet, they'll be called 'Reasons'.

As you can guess, this first post will be all about the acheivements I, er.... well... achieved... in the past couple of days...

Point One - (se)X Box 360.

Yeah, it's the first point. Why, I hear your online-telepathy skills cry? Well, the first thing is that I meantioned 'achievements' in a sentence or two ago. Secondly, I've been on it much more than I have during school terms. Thridly, I've kinda gone overboard with Guitar Hero. Next point.

Point Two - Guitar Zero.

Yeah, I'm as imaginative with point names as I am with begining of sentences for the points. Anyways, today I completed Guitar Hero: Smash Hits on guitar. Yes, to add to the sadness, it was on expert. In addition, and the (sadly) high point of my day, I completed Raining Blood (by Slayer) AND Through The Fire And Flames (DragonForce-ery) on Expert. Fuck aye and a packet o' crisps. That might mean I have a good chance of doing those songs on Guitar Hero III, once I have a playable disk. But I'll be honest, the versions of Raining Blood and ...Fire And Flames are easier on GH:Smash Hits than on it's older brother. So, is that a hollow victory for me? Knowing not only that I completed them both (four and three stars to their respected songs) on Expert, but the fact that all my friends and everyone reading this will think I'm a sad child with no life?

Now, I believe you're getting why my blog post name is what it is...

Point Three - Breaking News.

If your wondering why it's called that. Let me tell you a little story. You know all about my work experience with ProMo Cymru, right? And that weekend up in Llangollen or some place like that (I'm not being funny when I say that, I just keep forgetting if it's Llangollen, Llandudno or some other place that starts with Llan)? Well, on the final night, we had a task. Y'know the one, when you have to make a parachute thing to help make an egg fall from a great height without it breaking.

All we had ('cause we were in groups, I had a good group, to be fair) was an egg (obvliously), some straws, sticky tape, newspaper, two balloons and the bag that held them all in. I had the odd thaught of sticking the egg into one of the balloons. Someone else thought about sticking the egg-balloon into another balloon. Then someone else thought about the whole interior design of the bag (it was lovely, we had a feature wall and everything). Then, before the drops, we had to think of a name. and bare in mind, during the last workshop all I did was doodle on a peice of paper and think of a shaite opening line for the 'seeking work' section for the Clic website (if you must know, it was 'The journey to your dream job begins with a failed application form'... yeah, it's shaite, I know). They boys who I was in the eggscapade (get it? Escapade? Is that even a proper word?) was thinking of some names, can't remember any really. Maybe 'Da Bomb' was one of them. I just looked at the contraption that we made, and had one thought...

'That's the reason my ex-wife left me'.

They laughed. At me, I guess. Don't blame them.

But, they went with it. And needless to say, the beast was stunned (er... got all Tenacious D on you then...) when we realised our egg was free to become my breakfast on a plate and not on the pavement (I joke, I joke. There weren't any pavements where we were really).

Point Four - On The Road Again...

The last thing to add to this 'Reasons...' post. Recently all I can think of when I try to think of an original riff on the guitar (or bass, don't forget that beast) could be classed as 'middle-of-the-road'. Y'know the type, the type of music Take That or Westlife would write...

Actually, I'll take the Westlife thing back, they don't write anything, all they do is sit on seats, singing. But, you have to give it to them, once the key change comes into play, they do make an impressive move from the seats. But forget Westlife... I wish I could...

But anyways, I just can't seem to get rid of this thing. And no, I don't mean Westlife. Actually, I do, kind of. 'Cause I want to write (good) rock songs, be that grunge, punk, bluesy, or (if it's possible) funk/soul rock. I'm not bothered writing solos, just good riffs that people might (at the least) think is 'not bad, for a beginner'. The only problem is, two or three of the riffs I have made up have this hippie-punk fusion to it, if you know what I mean. I can't write slow songs, and when I do they have a bad dose of Take That-ititus. Any blues riff I think of just sound like a pile of shaite. Er, I think I'm struggling. I may create a new MySpace to show people my 'creations', just because I want to have some feedback on what people like/dislike of my midi babies, and/or for people to hear what I've done, and write lyrics for them (I'd be so luck). I won't make a proper profile though. I'll wait until I actually start a band that'll make some music. Which will hopefully be before I leave secondary education for good. =).

Well, that shall be it for the time being. If you have been offended by anything in this post, then be offended. =). Trust me, there's worse things to bitch about than a simpleton blogging his way to certain critisism for more than his spelling mistakes.

- Fin. =).

Please Do Not Swear...

I'm a bit gutted...

Not only that this is my second post in a day...

But I had an awesome idea for a story, I just cannot exacute it.

The idea was, this girl (who I called Sandra for some reason) was a fanatic of Big Brother, and lived her life as if she was either in there, or being either Davina or the Jordie bloke who commentates. Then she gets married and all hilarity was supposed to be unleashed for your ammusement. But as many things in my life, it failed. Badly.

Ah well, I'll try to do some sort of short story soon. Hopefully. Not like you'll read it. It'll be crap like Dai Gi Bach...

Also, I would like to appologise for the recent wave of rather depressing posts. Don't know what's come over me. Hopefully that will be over soon.

This is a short one. Like me. =).

Nacht.

Dai Gi Bach.

''And now, a poem about men...''

Anticipation rained down on the audience of friends, family, the neighbors cat and a teddy called Felix. They, apart from the cat and the teddy, sat on the edge of their seats.

''BASTARDS!! BLOODY BASTARDS!!...''

Who knew she was not okay about her partner, going off with a transvestite?

Lavender, who was called 'Lavvey' by many a bully, was not the type of girl who bellowed 'bastard' every single minute of the day. Nearly seventeen, who knew her older boyfriend would ditch her in the toilet? As she ended her poem with a large scream, in which the word was a cockney slang for 'James Blunt', she ran out of the room, went upstairs and listened to the symphony of metal. This was also called Metalica by many.

''WHY DID HE BREAK MY HEART?!?! WHY!!!!??'', a scream shattered the deathly silence left by her in the front room.

'Well, it's a right shock to me, this is. Who'd've thought Lavvey had so much rage in her body?'' the grandmother thought out loud. ''I mean, it's not a type of thing not to be angry about, isn't it? I mean, if Charles here fancied the women with an extra bulge in their trousers, I'd be pretty pissed off too!!''

''Mother!''

''I'm only saying, love! Only saying! Well, Jesus Jane! You really take after my father, aye. He always talked posh like you. But me? Mother's girl, I am. Well, was. Dead now, isn't she? If only that ambulance didn't have to come out to the neighbors', to get that bugger Winston to the ol' folks home...''

''Mother! Can't you see dear Lavender is heartbroken? And all you can do is make light conversation?'' It was true, Jane was only like her mother in name alone. Though, it does get confusing when there are two people named Jane in the house.

''What do you expect me to do? Go out there, find Tim, and kick him in shitless?'' she stared at her daughter, then said, majestically ''I, am a retired woman. I deserve to be treated with respect. And that includes my opinions, right love?''

''Oh, mother!!''

''Don't you 'oh, mother' me!''

''Well'', Jane was improvising, she finally lost control of any sane conversation. ''I know! Michael! Do your speech your going to do about recycling batteries! You need the practice!'' The crowd, although not optimistic about hearing about the possibilities of batteries, preferred that to three hours of watching Gran's old videos in the butchers.

''Well, if I must...''. Michael walked to the front of the audience. He was the appendix of the family. He's there, but nobody really knows why. ''Ahem, ladies and gentlemen... and, Felix...''

Jane stumbled out of the room, rested her weary body on the chair lift, thinking on how her lovely, quirky daughter could turn out so posh.

''Did you know batteries are the servants of the technological world? They only do two things in life - they either live. OR THEY DIE...'' If anyone needed any proof on why Michael had an overactive imagination, this was it.

Jane, after thinking of what a weirdo Michael is, walked into poor Lavender's room, sat right beside the crying girl to comfort her.

''Hey, Lav. Don't cry, love. It's not that bad, this. You could've done a whole lot better than that, that Tim bloke!!''

''He said he loved me...' muttered Lavender into a shirt Tim had left one day after sleeping over there.

''Well, you can't trust men, can you? Can't trust anyone whose hair and eyebrows didn't match. You never caught a glimpse of his pubes, did you? I bet they didn't match either, that's what you get when you give your heart to a man named Tim''.

''I gave him my flower! He took my flower and shattered it to pieces!!''

''Is that what they call it these days...''

Lavender, sitting up on her bed, rested her head on her pillow as she looked, aimlessly through the window.

''Look, Lavvey. Remember the first time you went out with this Tim? I mentioned about all this shagging process, didn't I?''

Lavender chuckled. ''Mention it? I bet you made diagrams and all!''

''Well, I couldn't bring them over, couldn't I? You know what your mam's like. She thinks bondage is a way to make sure your tiles don't fall off the wall. But, let me tell you about Dai. Oh, yes. I called him Dai Gi Bach, y'know. Because his bollocks looked like two paw prints.'' Lavender's frown turned upside down, and gave a little giggle. ''Don't you laugh! Best buggering I ever had, from Dai Gi Bach! Pity he died. Would've liked to tug him off one more time before Death came, like...''

''GRAN!! How old are you??''

''Just because I'm nearly ninety eight, doesn't mean I can't suck a boy off like the rest of the slags on the street! Remember, Lav. I've been in three home-made movies, I have yes. But, oh. Dai Gi Bach was one shag to remember. Was Tim?''

''GRAN!!'' Lavender was really shocked. Whilst many grans will complain about how much bread has gone up, Jane would go on about teaching the whores in Cardiff how to give a proper one for more money. Lavender laughed at the question. ''He didn't, take my flower... he, sort of touched it...''

''Ah, a bit of fingering never hurt anyone! Well, apart from my cousin. Ah, she was a right harlot. She always did the spitroast at least twice a week. She even let my ol' boyfriend, Harry, park in her back alley! She was a right bitch...''

''What did you do, gran?'' Lavender was happier now, nobody can be upset when there's a gran like this around the place.

''Well, what can you do about it? Nothing. Apart from clamping nipple clamps onto her tits and connect them to an electricity pylon. She's a father now. Well, she was born a girl, then after the whole 'tit-to-electricity' thing, she turned into a man. Then, a year later, wanting to change back to womanhood, then another year later, she wanted to go back to a man! Typical woman!'' Lavender was in hysterics at this point. ''Oh, the real reason she had to turn back to a woman is because she got pregnant as a woman, all those spitroasts I expect. When she was giving birth, she was Steven, a bloke, like. Then, I remember being in the hospital, the doctors said to her ''the good news is, you have a healthy baby boy. The bad news is your cock has been blown off''.

Lavender, seemingly on a lifetime supply of laughing gas, composed herself, and looked into her wacky gran's eyes.

''You see, Lav. It doesn't matter what infertile thing that enters you. It's the fertile things you have to be weary of. I mean, God didn't put men on earth just to fuck constantly! Vibrators can't mow the lawn, you know. But, being serious now. Don't cry over him. It's his fault he'd rather a transvestite to a beautiful girl like you. Just be glad you don't have the cock. Must be a nightmare to run with that. I mean, if your boxers are loose, it'll be banging your legs all the time. And if that makes you have a hard one, then you'll be forever horny, wouldn't you?''

''Mother! I do not expect my daughter to hear about these things at such a young age!!'' Jane Junior eavesdropped on the conversation, thinking, but was upmost horrified at the mention of spitroasts. She was a vegan, after all. ''Lavender, come with me. Your salad's getting wet''.

''That's the only thing o'mine that WILL get wet for the moment...'' Lavender whispered to herself.

As they walked downstairs, Michael was finishing his second speech, and beginning his third.

''And that's how I will be the first person to touch MC Hammer. Next, I will give my theory on the man who invented fire...''