Attention kiddies: ball versus wide-games argument is nonproductive. Stop having it, particularly as it seems to just be a stage for Daws and Steve to get at each other. Wide games were most certainly fun (although more because of the people and atmosphere than the games), and I'm certain the ball had its good points too. The only difference is some people like me have bizarre moral values that they feel inclined to uphold at every opportunity as loudly as possible. Besides, if you'd been staring at ghostlight's STD-afflicted penis for the past two days, you would have ceased to care also.

Whoa.

Gack. I am not intelligent. This year I shall fail my A levels. I have done no work. All I really want to do is go to university, not work and think about abstract concepts all day. I am a useless man! Accept it!

This sounds like an uber-whine, but I'm sick of people telling me "David, you're so intelligent!!!" I've only managed to skate through the education system because I can write well and am not bad at thinking. Unfortunately, my brain is the opposite of adapted to education systems. Now its incapacities are being laid bare, and I'll be lucky to make my offer this year.

Post script: That's not to say I'm not great. It's the rest of the world that's bad. But that's a bit of a useless fact.

Yesterday was a fun day. The plan was only to go and see Incidental Myth/Broken Infinity/Infabi/State Of Mind at the Greyhound, from which I am now unbarred because of the recent departure of the legendary Barwench. The Greyhound was ventured to at a time, after admiring turkeyphant's shiny headphones and marvelling at the "sound depth" and playing the good old "identify the song based on headphone output from a metre away" game. Fodder was picked up along the way from CapitalistKing.

Myth were on first, and as far as I could see they rocked, much more than I remember them doing. Jammy pumped out some kickass atmospherics on his bad keyboard. The joint wasn't really jumpin' yet, so they were slightly impaired, and I spent the time talking to oceanicdragon and grahamsjourneys. I was also worrying about lazy_stevi, since he was not there and was due on soon. turkeyphant commented on the Diomedes poster, saying he'd seen them supporting MBA, which was news to me. They played the Greyhound before and I thought they were nice, tight, and just a little emo. Sam signed me up for their mailing list like a bastard and now I don't have the courage to unsubscribe because they might be offended. That conversation had to be stopped, though, because Broken Infinity were on!

He was rather flustered already, being undrunk, spewing the rather old-school catchphrase "gabba gabba hey" like a true fanboy and for no good reason. The sound struck me as disgusting, but it was great fun anyway, for Heysteve can truly put on a show. Wholesome Rock & Roll it was, dancing was performed (particularly to old classics Dammit and God Save The Queen), and respect was given. The fat riff on False Hope is for Winners never fails to astonish me. Also, some god furnished me with a mighty samizdat publication called The Voice, which I shall certainly be looking out for from now on. It had a beautiful piece of writing in it that I can't trace to anywhere.

Myself, turkeyphant, and zeocrash were tired, and we decided to go to King Rooster, our usual feast-venue (well, Kappo's at least). On the way, I declared that fags were for fags, but smoked one nonetheless, the nicotine going straight to my head like a n00b. (Couldn't even finish it. How embarassing.) That's always a bad idea, because I get cravings for about a week afterwards usually. We arrived at the Rooster, only to find that I had acquired a maggot hostage on my clothing somehow. I conscientiously dumped it onto the King Rooster counter and left it ("Just give me something crawling with parasites!"). I then went out and talked to a random homeless guy who Kappo's first bone (he's right, she doesn't look fourteen) was talking to. The others followed, and we had quite a fun conversation with him (the cigarettes and alcohol thing made it more amusing I suspect). He declared Kappo's first bone a "diamond girl" and had an amusing dog to which he denied food. Anyway, eventually my bourgeois face felt that it had done its bit for the peasants, and we had to go.

On to just outside the Greyhound, now, and an amusing conversation with oceanicdragon about the fag lifestyle was had. Also, I kept getting curry cravings from the local house which was within smelling distance. We ventured on down to the dubious side alley where Grant's car was parked, getting a lift to Saudi's house where partying would be occuring. Bad choice. We were sidled up to by three dubious fellows in sports-branded light hooded tops. This was not a pleasing sight. They probably asked for a fag or something. I have a tendency to walk past these people. Unfortunately, Carlos engaged them and they rounded on us. It's usually a bad idea to try and get in the car at this point because one of the group gets separated or they vandalize it or something, so we didn't. We hung around and laughed/shat our pants (depending on disposition; I am firmly the latter) at their freestyle patter. At least one of them had a knife; it's not a good idea to take fools on, even when you outnumber them five to three (to be honest, I'm not sure I count). After about ten minutes of this wankery, they randomly gave up, said "We're not gonna jack you" ("jack" henceforth became my favourite verb) and walked away. We hastily bundled into the car and sped off, though not before a beercan could be tossed at the rear of it. Analyzing this strange behaviour in the vehicle led to the conclusion that they were only looking for a fight, and not the fifteen pounds they claimed.

Arrival at Saudi's was amusing, and the house was bare, although a "wild party" had been meant to be occuring since 19:00. Myself, Carlos and Turkers flopped out on the sofa and I questioned Carlos drunkenly about his sexuality. (I swear he's asexual, although he claims not. He doesn't help by not revealing his beaus ever.) Then Steve arrived and we sang nine Blink songs. The fools were watching some Britney Spears video in the other room; we hax0red Saudi's computer and read LiveJournal, posting some amusing trolls which I shall not name. XP is a disgraceful operating system. Me, Natalie, Ross and others danced to Now something, which had all the great pop hits of yesteryear (Aqua! Bus Stop! Grease Megamix! Bran Van 3000! Steps! You get the idea...) Then Ross started listening to Venom and I got tired and went to bed. Also, before that, I watched television and listened to Saudi's "36-hour long" rip of Everything, Everything on the most disgraceful speakers known to man ("Sub-10kHz frequencies? Naaaaah...") and complained a lot to Natalie.

I slept in Saudi's parents bed! I'm a bad boy. The morning was vaguely painful. We played Pokémon Stadium (one, of course; only sellouts like Graham play anything post-BRYan.) I also semi-kicked ass at Snowboard Kids (well, actually I came last and kept complaining about the "unrealistic physics" of the game). I was amused by the P-P-P-Powerbook. I wanted to go home, and I did.

Just to finish off the day proper: Chinese Fooooood was had at China House, with Graham, Catriona, Richard, Chris, Andy, Ross, and Natalie. We saw TD and Jules there as well, eating with some Grammarian fags, and we made a point of embarassing him. Also, I convinced a large portion of the table to write subversive messages on their paper money before paying for the meal. I filled up on prawn crackers, but it was nice. Then I went home and slept for a long time.

Prediction for Big Brother: Radical feminist forms alliance with enigmatic gay who looks like Kung Lao and verbally assaults camp gay until he is forced to buckle under the weight of his own identity definition by capitalism.

Sloganeering, me?

My body aches all over, I can barely keep my eyes open, my head is spinning even without drugs, I'm having cravings for amphetamines and hallucinogens, I haven't tasted a vitamin for god knows how long, my voice is slurred, I have erectile dysfunction.

This has been some party.

News just in: Catriona likes disgracefully bad music!

Here's what I want from all you fags come 2004-06-09:

• turkeyphant: any good book or CD.
• dawsmonkee: "Nanami Nanase, the Complete Works"
• andycallander: Company Flow Is Dead, data MP3 or Shorten format plz!
• ghostlight: A book of aphorisms, written and bound by the former.
• lazy_stevi: Any feminist text.
• nantypoo: A thong, not necessarily the former's.
• iam_whatiamnot: The former's Understated Guide to Sex with Females.
• alainvey: A Roland MC303 groovebox.
• futhman: An autographed collection of the former's favourite poems.
• stucklikeglue: Dusky glamour photography of the former.
• alamory: A hug.
• hannastar: A copy of the Great American (English) Novel.
• jetblackvalias: A certificate recognizing that the former is utterly fagalicious.
• bone_man: Assistance in assembling my new box.
• akkinateos: Any of the former's posts, handwritten and framed.
• guntrip: A ticket entitling me to mud-wrestle the former.
• cest_chic: An evening listening to the former bitch about things.
• chriswetton213: A post, goddammit.
• creamwithhot: A quick reference card covering all of Maths AS/A2.
• djinny: A waaaaambulance.
• dr_furious_uk: Led Zeppelin box set. ROCK!
• grahamsjourneys: For the former to realize that Feeling is the path to Knowledge.
• ickleblondme: Breast scan.
• lordgulash: "Polmatt's Hentai (Radio Edit)", filling a data DVD.
• massy: Rolling lessons.
• me_and_jd: All the various knives the former possesses.
• plug_in_phil: "Phil's Guide to Looking Like Him".
• saudi: For the former to get with a hott chick.
• sofamafia: To be tied to a bed (and later untied) by the former.
• zeocrash: "George W. Bush's Pearls of Wisdom For Our Age".
• fyjordicus: Do I even have to say?

And don't forget the Crushinator, starting tomorrow. Should sort the men from the boys.

How many times have you debated sub-euthanasia tablets for breakfast snacks
When restlessness attacks seemingly at random
With an emptiness inside that's hard to identify, maybe
Pursuing obvious like pill-popping and constant overeating
Chances are you've been abandoned

Daddy had a nametag that said "busy working"
Mommy had a milk carton that said "missing person"
John had a new baseball glove with nobody to learn with
That's oil and water tryin' to mix on the same surface

Just because I'm bad at teh sex0r, doesn't mean I'm a bad lover!

The last few days have been particularly great. I'm sure it's the lack of drugs, or the sun, or the combination of the two. Or perhaps it's the way fyjordicus's natural beauty seems to have shimmered up beneath my blindness. Or perhaps it's the way I'm feeling every beat in my bones. Or perhaps it's the way I love all my friends so much. I don't know, but everything's cool and even though I have exams I don't really mind. I can't wait for the summer, nor for my new box, nor for my parental units to go away.

I've been yearning to have a doped-out-with-tiredness in-bed slurring faux-deep telephone conversation with fyjordicus, but she never answers me. I'm such a sweet guy.

Whine, whine, whine. My mother won't let me have a party. Well, she won't let me have one on the same day as the Leavers' Ball. When I concocted this plan at college, my mind frothed at the genius of it: a way to flip the finger to the tux-wearing cool kids of the world and have a kickass party at the same time. The fact that it would force people to choose between some crappy formality which required money to enter and something good just sweetened the deal. This finally gave partying a point. Indeed, before although I was being offered partying ability, I didn't particularly want it. Catriona wanted a "marquee", and all sorts of expensive crap that required setting up. That's not my thing. But once I could morally justify it to myself by giving the emo kids of the world a place to hang out for an evening, it was fine.

I'm sad now, because when I proposed this plan to my mother, she scoffed at it. She claimed that no one would come and that I was applying "David logic". She said that I should move it back a week so that it doesn't clash. I think she missed the point. I pointed out that if no one came it would not affect her; she said that on the contrary, Catriona's demands meant financial investment for her (that would somehow be wasted if none of my friends came). I offered to pay for everything if no one came. Still no reaction forthcoming. I don't know what to do. This is the last way I can possibly pull a vaguely absurdist event while at college, and it's being denied? I cannot even withdraw from the party at all, because bastardly social incest means Catriona can invite all my friends and they will virtually all come, even if I tell them not to. (Reverse our roles in this situation and you will see how infuriating it is.) I would have to find somewhere else to stay the night to satisfy my principles, and then everyone would think I was a twat anyway. So I'm screwed.

I know that Jon and Sam will just agree with whatever Catriona thinks anyway, so, ironically, comments from "my friends" will probably be useless. No one understands. Waaaah.

While you plan death is what happens
I found the passion for aerosol cans and hands clapping

Nice day!

Hey, losers. This week I have mostly been tedious. I have several observations. The first: chocolate is disgusting. Why do people eat it? It leaves a nasty taste in your mouth for so long afterwards, unless you drink something, and even then you'll probably drink Coke which leaves an even worse taste (although it at least tastes nice while you drink it). The second: ReplayGain is god, and I have acquired the theoretical knowledge to write an implementation of it. My DSP theory is coming up to scratch, now knowing how to amplify and attenuate signals based on decibels and how to generate sine and square waves.

I have been out every night this week. Well, I personally count staying in with friends as going out, but make of that what you will. I feel so non-rejected. On the other hand, my parental units disagree, wishing upon the the plague of revision instead. When will they realize it makes no difference to success? (Side note: reason boys are better than girls #4567: Girls revise.) I have, however, attended revision classes at college to my dismay. Computing, which was so easy it was almost not tedious, and History, which was so dull and complex it made the history of tax law look intriguing.

Seeing as everyone's talking about The Passion of the Christ, I have a comment: read the book! Hahaha, you're some kind of comic genius, David. Just like the joke about "why is your teeshirt on backwards?" I forgot to make to glassarmy. This entry is woefully incoherent, and Sam's MP3 player is a bucket of scheisse. I still love fyjordicus, and seem to have succumbed to the pine disease where I don't want in her pants anymore, instead settling for some quick mother-comfort during lonely times. Everyone should come to Jon's tomorrow to escape from aforementioned lonely times. I will be finding out if I still have my job during the day. Last night I dreamt I still had it, but I woke up and it wasn't true. Doing it makes me feel like shit (it sounds unbelievably pretentious, but I actually do have ethical qualms about working for corporations, much to my horror; not on principle, but just general dismay at the idea of "marketing"), but I really do need money. I still have plenty left, but I need a new box, preferably before my DJ set at the Reading (soft "ea") festival. Shaun of the Dead is a great film, mainly due to the fat dude, whose wealth of brilliant lines includes "Call them shells". I accidentally insulted fyjordicus and then had to be "obsequious" to her all day. She truly is a beautiful person. And it's her birthday today, so bow.

Away snowboarding for a week. Have fun, coffin-stuffers!

You come out of a woman and you spend the rest of your life trying to get back inside.

Actually, I'm not sad at all. Life is superb at the moment. The sun is out, and I can frolic freely with my collegiate compatriots in the sunshine. What fun it is being a bourgeois kid who whines about never boning nine people, when I am free to insert pound coins into people's navels, watch Heysteve exert himself playing football, and buying PeeJays while moaning vaguely about fyjordicus's supposed "fashion sense". I sense a lack of A-level failure is waiting in the wings, and some Reading-goingness is too. I am certainly preparing for a fun week of bracing myself against a mountain until I get worn out; and I don't really even care that I'll probably get fired from work.

Then, the week after, a thousand parties beckon, a rather sad but bearable amount of revision (and none of it requiring "motivation", thank you college revision sessions!), and hopefully much huggling with fyjordicus. You absolutely have to love it; I certes do. Of course, down will come the veil of winter again soon, probably, and my spirit shall be crushed, but until then, I find it difficult to be saddened. I even barely cared when Lizzy effectively said "YOU'RE WORTHLESS AND NO ONE WILL EVER LOVE YOU" today (although she does need to learn that hurting people is not nice). fyjordicus's stupid slogan teeshirt hardly annoyed me at all! ("We can control that with medication...")

Embarassing things happen on a daily basis. Unfortunately, they are not always embarassing only to myself. Sometimes I am compelled to feel embarassed on behalf of other people. For instance, whilst loudly declaiming the über-bad film How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days (really, you can just feel its badness from the Americo-slang of the title), fyjordicus proclaims not only that she "loves" this film, but that she in fact own it! And while cussing the unequivocally bad Pocahontas (the worst Disney film ever, and the one that made me swear never to watch another), she adds her support to that atrocity also. How can I live in such circumstances? Whilst trying to quietly discuss the bands observed on a day, I commented that one of them created "danceable music". This elicited the equally painful response that fyjordicus "hates dance music, except Justin, Christina, and Beyoncé" (no lie). I went on to discover that she dislikes funk, and also that she considers the Black Eyed Peas to qualify as such. To paraphrase Atomic Kitten, sometimes love can hurt.

Also, Sarah (yes, you) seeing Basement Jaxx and Zero 7 makes her almost cooler than me. Almost.

I'm a caveman
Your modern ways frighten and confuse me
I watch the blinking spirit box and think
"Are those little people trapped in that box?"

Sex and the City continues to symbolize everything I hate about life. Fjordy carved "JC" into Seedy Dave's arm (it's like I tell myself I'm above it, but actually I know that she could do the same thing to me and I would not protest). The constant deception required to organize my party is putting a vague strain on me, but not that much.

My Karma is giving me hassle. The other day the hard drive died and nothing would make it boot. I eventually fixed it, based on the advice of the forums, by hitting it very hard with my fist. A terrifying electronic whine emerged, then I rebooted it, and it worked fine. Terrifying. I was thinking of recording the hard drive access failure ("whir-whir-whir-whir-BEEP") and making a pretentious electronic piece called "Bad Karma" from it, but I decided not to. Today the DC adapter has died on me. Nothing to do with the Karma (it was third party), but fucking annoying nonetheless.

Me and Polish Matthew went to a church meeting thing called "Food4Thought" (hahaha) and owned everyone there. I became a failing emo-boy when we were discussing whether life has meaning and the story of "Callum", who committed suicide at a train station with "BORED" graffitied on the wall, was related. Nobody there listened to one another at all, which was why it was fun. Some God-botherer attempted to give me a cassette named Spreading the Word, which I, of course, initially took but returned the next day out of guilt.

Little else, save that Catriona is annoying the hell out of me with her constant singing of No Doubt's worst songs (she got a copy of their "Greatest Hits" off a friend), and her constant praise of Sex and the City, and her stupidly upbeat mood. Who can blame me for randomly lashing out at strangers when this wank is what I have to put up with? (plz note: irony) Also, Karen is hott, but she's undoubtedly boning an equally hott fellow (Adam) and is undoubtedly too cool to come on Saturday.

I bought a rare German-release Underworld EP from Ebay. I'm cooler than the rest of you because I'm at a less advanced stage!

Happiness. The clouds are finally lifting. The dark shadow of a nine-month coursework project that would have thwarted my university plans if I had failed it is moving gradually away. Today I did the first part of the examination-conditions writeup, and it went incredibly well. My brain must have been synthesizing information for months without my knowledge, because it just came out. I wrote more than anyone. Sure, it requires editing, and a careful analytical eye, but I can do it. And I'm not going to fail! Despite having spent all of a day on a coursework project meant to have been done over nine months. In your face, world. Only one more fucking coursework to do and then clouds and fun and easy exams and happiness all day. Hooray.

And I'm having a fairly fuck-off big party this Saturday - and, by pure coincidence, it will function doubly as a celebration. I don't even care if I don't get any sex0r (which is lucky, because chances are close to nil). With any luck, it's gonna be, as Tim Westwood would no doubt say, "nothin' but big things". Be there or be square.

Love, David

Edit: It's all gone now. Now I just want to get drunk off my fucking face and throw away the whole weekend.

The real problem I have with Michael Moore is his facetiousness. He will make wild assertions and comparisons in the hope of striking a chord with readers, some of which are so ridiculous you cannot believe he is serious. But he gives away no clue as to whether he actually is or not. A chapter I find particularly offensive in Stupid White Men is called The End of Men, as those who know me can probably imagine. In it, Moore breathlessly praises women in ways that contradict both reason and each other. None have any relevance to his argument: the entire chapter comes across as a big suck-up to his female readership. It is written from a very male standpoint: after a long tract on the apparently "undisputed" beauty of the female form, he claims that "God used up all his tricks inventing women".

The gaffes in this particular chapter are numerous and egregious. Mike, while undoubtedly publicly concurring with feminist theory, tacitly supports the dieting trend: in a section detailing tips men should take from women, he observes "When's the last time you saw a women pig out like it was her last meal?" (Oh, many a time, Mike; clearly I don't know as many anorexics as you.) He arbitrarily claims that women "couldn't care less about [on-road annoyances]" - this is contrary to the experience of myself and most people I know; anyone who's been on a long car journey with my mother can tell you otherwise. He then launches a diatribe against male bad habits, making the hilarious argument against them that "x was not intended for y", where x is a tool and y a supposed misapplication of that tool. Unfortunately, since all instances of x are bodily appendages, his claim is absurd, since for one it presupposes a Creator, and for two it could be claimed for every modern task Moore does not take issue with. It also makes the tacit assumption that women have no bad habits, which can be disproved by talking to anyone in life. It also accepts random societal norms as objective virtue: anyone who doesn't bathe daily is labelled as "insane", despite the actual lack of necessity of such actions (hey, what's good enough for a five-year-old is good enough for me ^*).

And to add to the embarassment, he makes the very dubious assertion that a man cannot be a feminist: "You don't qualify; you play for the other team. It's like a Klansman chanting 'KEEP HOPE ALIVE!'" Note the use of a spectacularly bad and factually incorrect simile to illustrate this non-point. Hilariously, while condemning male masturbation previously, listing it as a "bad habit", he is positively fanatical about female masturbation, going so far as to list American vibrator retailers. Ooh, and as a final quickie, he assumes that better performance on standardized tests is objective proof that women are "smarter" than men.

But the saddest thing is his continued painful anti-science routine. Running rife through the book is his startlingly counter-intuitive attack on the white male, based on the fact that he invented the atom bomb and plastic. Certainly, the atomic bomb has been used atrociously; however, it is mere technology. And plastic - well, I don't need to tell you how many non-destructive uses that material has. He finds new examples all the time, but they basically boil down to the same thing. His defence states that had women or blacks been "running the world" (they've actually had much more influence than Moore acknowledges), they would not have developed such things. First, his argument is clearly false. Tendencies do not differ so much between men and women, and certainly not between blacks and whites: to suggest so is bordering on sexism and racism. Second, even if his argument was true, it is insulting: in such a society, there would be no progress, and thus he demonstrates himself horribly confused.

I actually agree with most of his political vitriol, and his standpoint. I just think he has an astoundingly warped way of expressing it, riddled with intellectual dishonesty. Certainly, the treatment of ethnic minorities and women throughout history has been appalling. But the way to correct this is not by self-hatred, or by portraying the respective communities as saintly. It is through statements of self-evident fact. But this probably wouldn't sell nearly as much, so I guess I can see where Moore's coming from.

Sadly, I am not cool enough to go a day without showering, purely because I like water too much. But a stronger me would resist the Demon Clean.

MY NAME IS MC MENSES, AND MY FLOW BE FRESH!

It's time for yet another boring update from your local city poet. I am on course to fail my Computing and History courseworks, although the former, at least, looks like being a well-crafted software jewel (at least, as close as you can get in the accursed language named Visual Basic). The latter is undone. And the spacebar on this keyboard is sticky as hell. I forget all mathematics I know every single day. And I debugged the new pronbot code last night to the extent that it is actually functional now. I might even release it, although it remains unlikely. Certainly not until I get my new box.

The climax of the day came, however, in the middle: I was idly talking to Fjordy and rocking to Fantastic Damage simultaneously, when Sam and myself discovered that making the Zoidberg scuttle noise irritated her incredibly, to the extent of her injuring us physically. Spurred on by this, we created an incredible array of noises, veering from sweep-puck Rhapsody, Beethoven symphonies, and Deathmatch (nuff said), all within that Jewish lobster doctor's inimitable style. And, as cries of "wob-wob-wob" filled the air, the only sound that could be heard above it was our crania contacting painfully. Speaking of the one I love, I gossipped about her with Hollie in English, but the proceedings are unprintable here to protect the innocent.

I need to buy lots of records, particularly Aesop Rock's Labor Days, Company Flow's Funcrusher Plus, Non-Phixion's The Future Is Now and LFO's Sheath. I really ought to pick up Pablo Honey again as well. My ex-History teacher enjoys Boards Of Canada and GYBE!. I sold Speakerboxxx/The Love Below to Cridford-Baggers today, since I could not bear it befouling my record collection.

Get on your stomach and I'll plug you in all your entrances
And one exit
Whispering quotes from The Tempest
Dr. Hellno (oh yes I did)
With a surgical scrub on a baby arm inserted from fist to elbow
I drank her bath water in a shotglass
Then ran my tongue up the crack of her ass
Til' our future children hatched
The mushrooms had me seeing some sort of deep organic math
On some primal altered state sex, I felt connected to the past
Collapse, nasty, wet, wept into her neck
Sucking on her swollen nipples
Then I drifted into REM
Where I dreamt of little bouncing cherubs
With clit rings and sexy woodnips
And crotchless liederhosen begging to get bent