jayseven

Just saw Dan Dare off about... lol 30 min ago? I dunno. It's really, really weird to think that since i joined these forums (in, what, 98? Fuuuuck) I've met 35+ members, I live with two, I dated another, three have slept on my sofa aaaand I've made great friends with one of them. So fucking bizaaaaaaaaaar! Played Catan, castle crashers. Listened to Mogwai (need to listen to that properly!) and watched Gran Turismo. Looks like we're gonna have a few Clint Eastwood movie nights, now! After the failed bbq attempt it turned out to be a good day. The sun's out and... well and I'm just so much fucking happier when the sun's out! Very eager to get to a park and piss about for a few hours with a few good men. The N-E meet will hopefully see a very content j7 =) LUVUUU! P.S. Alcohol rawks. But not as much as ketamine. Which me and dan are gonna take. And make vids of. Lol. He doesn't know that. P.P.S. Massive Twilight Fan. P.P.P.S. looooooooooooooooooooool! Rip and send? I GIV U PRETZLS? Did you get high? That's pretty much all I could think of :P

RELATIONSHIPS. DATING. I am ill-experienced. My current sitch; first girlfriend = 2 years. Broke up because we're total opposites and she was crushing MY SOUL. Spent about 2 years fucking up every chance with another girl because I was still depressed and stuff. THEN the ex comes back into the picture and BLAMMO! It's been a month of "ohshitohshitohshit I'm falling for her again...", surprise visits and texts from another country. Now, not in any way trying to big myself up, but I like to think I'm actually a decent guy, a decent friend, and a decent catch if a girl is lucky to look long enough. My ex... makes me feel grown up. She makes me want to try at life. Only there are so many fucking strings and webs attached that it can never be simple. And she got a hell of a load more issues in the time we spent apart, so I'm worried that to me she's just a project, and to her I'm just a symbol of stabler times. But I dream of children. I imagine being married to her. I can see her parents' dissaproval of every major life choice I make. And most of all, it is those moments that bluey and jamba talk about -- where we just look into each others eyes and all I see is love looking back at me. You can't buy nor create that shit -- it is au naturel. A rarity. To spy upon honesty as it sneaks a peek at you and enjoy it. To have a happy silence, and be glad to just... stare at her... BUT I KNOW THIS IS ALL GOING TO GO TO SHIT AND I'M JUST GOING TO BE ALL DEPRESSED AND EMO AGAIN. I am seriously telling myself "well just make sure it lasts long enough so that you're motivated to get a job, then at least the rest of your life-problems will be easier to deal with." You are all going to die. It's RACIST is what it is. Besides I barely have a beard, and I have short hair now. AND I WEAR GLASSES. And I really am not a twat. TSTK! All i wanted to say was "damn, Jamba, I may actually dry-hump you at the meet..." JUST SMILE! And... Beard? Lol.No :P *rubs himself further into his egotistical enlightened state* EDIT Oh and Jord -- try it on and I TRY IT BACK!!

Yeah. Don't do that :P Nobody likes an immodester!

I was a big fan of Borat. While Trigger Happy quickly degenerated from an interesting observation of human nature into people taking the piss of the public, Cohen's been rather awesome with his stereotype-armed machinas.

Personally? because I still think the newspaper reports have some creedance. Also I suspect Mr-Paul for agreeing with me. Think of it what you will.

yay space zombies :P Nice one. I especially like 'street-pizza'. May I make a rubbish suggestion? Once we've made our entry, we suggest who we think should do the next bit? I suppose it would have to rely on people actually being reliable, mind you... Too drunk to reply. sry.

C_B: I actually said "'reeey!" when I saw you were the newest poster in this thread Thank you for contributing. I couldn't help but read the poem as if you had written it. I imagined that the children you described were your parents, and that you feel tehy are somehow beneath you. Going to work and laughing with friends is, obviously, school -- in the social sense this computes, but of course conflicting with 'work' suggests you find it a struggle to go to school. Your 'garden' I am not sure of. Gardens are by definition external to the home - and home is where you eat, sleep, and co-habit with parents. Gardens are an extension of this home, yet somehow tethered to the primal external world. Perhaps your garden is your room, or the internet itself, where you can freely experience a more 'natural' world. The last key line featuring 'husband', 'call' and 'died', is interesting. As a poet/author, there is a separation between yourself and your created narrator and yet there is the unavoidable conflict between creation and admission. I believe the narrator is unavoidably a party that channels your thoughts, so saying that it is a female voice, in a strictly critical viewpoint, says that you feel a lack of control in your life, in your family. Being informed via telephone about a serious interferance with your family (that you feel paternal to) suggests that bad news always comes from without... that the external world contains horrors that amount to your worst possible fears, again a lack of control. The 'death', on this purely psychoanalytical level, maybe presents fears of alienation and/or isolation, or loneliness. The recurring "I am not happy", especially bolded, makes me assume that you are not happy, and despite your put-on demeanour of platitudes and bouyancy, you are not completely satisfied with yourself, with your life. As a poem, mind you, I should perhaps not try to read into your life as much. The first line, with the sun dancing and chasing in a playful manner suggests that a new day presents mostly positive possibilities, but 'wonderful' and 'beatiful' in poetry are pretty much benign terms; their overuse in the english language has shaded their meaning with emptiness and a lack of potency. You have described these children and workmates in switchable terms that actually tells the reader nothing at all. The act of 'watching' the children suggests the narrator thinks he has played no part in the creation of the beauty (again, psychoanalytically referring to your adoption/difference with parents), yet your 'with' suggests that the workplace is an area you feel more comfortable in. Being 'surrounded' is actually a rather negative term. Think of the similar sounding word 'surrender', or even 'surrogate'. Both are words that suggest a willing self-reduction, in one form or another, and in the poem's context they suggest perhaps an inner rage that needs to be calmed daily in teh garden. The recurring 'I'm not happy', of course, lends the reader the idea that there is a secret that the narrator has that plays with their terminology, perhaps itself rendering the terms of endearment as ironic, but as a poem they are perhaps too bold, and too frequent, and are a missed opportunity to be subtle. My brain has fizzled. there are other points (agency, structure, syntax, word choice, and especially the jarring rush from tranquility to death that doesn't work and annoys the reader) that I'd usually comment on, but for now that'll do.

In all fairness, Wes, this was a thread-rip that stemmed from the whole gay rights thing in america. Or something. I don't really give a crap about any of that.

Damn, I was hoping it would be zombies, not space thingums :P

Ah! Why didn't I just post it here? BOVRIL. A recently re-discovered gem of a drink :P Drink it like a cuppasoup, with a slice of bread... mmm... ^_^ I do have a wee thing for kinder eggs, but I mostly give away the chocolate these days, so I guess it doesn't really count...

Bovril. GRAVY FLAVOURED CUPPASOUP! Win.

[when...] The air crackled with static. Fori stopped and visibly deflated. A voice whistled into life. "Er, sorry Fori! The simulation will have to end now." The darkness lifted, and the blood and bodies blew and whittled away to the walls, and EEVIL, Haggis, jayseven and R_A were no longer dead. The main lights turned on, illuminating the gridded spherical room. "We've got a shack-load of feeders way out by Brook point heading our way. Boss thinks we should take care of them -- 'cos of maintainence and all." Fori's silence drew breath, and heaved herself through the steel doors. "Get my gun."

it's a shame we have to get so meta each game :P Yeah; i think everyone wants to be featured in teh write-ups. My vote stands :P (Can I do the next mafia game? Never done it before but I think I can do a good one.)

I can't help but be reminded of something Aimless said about a year ago. People will lose interest eventually, he said. HE WAS RIGHT! *sobs* Fuck it. Vote: LazyBoy lol.

People to be fair. I'm totally up for it but it's late, blah blah blah. NNEEEEEED GARDEN. Oh,yeah, topic right. GEORGE FTWetc.

^ Man of experience and sense to contradict my mothering tendencies :P

Ok so now I feel like a tool... Nightskip = useless! We just had a day where nobody had any idea, so we're not gonna be able to lynch anyone. NICE ONE. Ok so now I feel like a tool... Nightskip = useless! We just had a day where nobody had any idea, so we're not gonna be able to lynch anyone. NICE ONE.

(it's night time :P)

I'm generally of the same opinion, but if it's been a few days then you've already seen how it's going, and it's still going, so doc-it-up just to be sure. I once had a thing in my vision, left it for a weekend to see if it would go away. It didn't, and now i'm half blind! Yay!

I think it could be awesomexellentotally radcore. Sorry.

I've just decided that I'm going to make it a tradition to have a bbq every St. George's day. Of course, I did the English thing and cancelled today's one due to weather and lazy people. Indeed.

Get yourself down to the opticians, please.

Lies. The narrator is covered in blood too.

Dan forgets to mention how he basically thrashed the three of us all by himself at Halo 3...

[At that moment], with a schk-kaah and a puff, the narrator smoked in the shadows, relentlessly intrigued and mentally, perhaps, a little molested by the goings on at Emo Palace and the surrounding Scar Gardens that night. He had blood dripping from his ungloved hands; splatter marks nearly covering the left-side of his knee-length trench coat, and masking his face. He couldn't deal with the first-person talking. Second person all the way. He skullied along the wall, watching EEVIL hack and sever the body parts, out of sight from the others, and out of his own mind.