Jack Fabian: Silent Pretences.

Like violence you kiss me,
so harshly on my split lips,
whispering gently in my ear that,
blood shall be spilt all over this marital bed.

Scraps of dignity lay on the ground,
like shrapnel after the war has been

I do not recognise you,
and you still do not know me,
a truce has been met,
the treaty signed.

Silent enemies we shall remain,
pretence of non-existence.
Yet your silent voice echoes inside my head,
screaming the loudest of all.

Music makes my world go ’round.

I have just discovered the Spotify app for the iPad. Perfect!

It is fucking brilliant. I am discovering so many new bands and artists. I am also able to listen to some old songs that I had forgotten about. Finding a song that you are able to connect with or even just a song that you love for the beat, is a beautiful thing.

Listening to good music makes me feel like I am the happiest person alive.

Jack Fabian: Extreme Escapism.

A young girl, around 18, stands in the middle of a muddy, puddle-sodden, rabbit-holed field. Her long black hair whips against the wind, slashing her pale-white face.
Waves crash onto sharp, craggy rocks behind her, beneath a deep-cut cliff edge.
The girl’s head is bowed, peering down into a muddy pool of rainwater which has clogged a rabbit den. The sharp black pupils of her eyes, contrasting the pure whites, squint, fighting against the cold cutting wind. A straight white dress flaps against her bare fragile knees. In her left hand she rotates a small silver blade, twirling it around and around in fluent circular motions. Her mouth wrinkles, creasing her smooth cheeks, cutting lines into her burnished skin. Her toes curl into the mud.
She brings her left arm up. Her fingers lay still, keeping the blade steady.
Droplets of the deepest scarlet run down the inside of her arm. Splashing to the ground, filling the muddy pool a violent crimson, clouding the puddle with dusty tendrils. Like an oil spill polluting an ocean, spreading its filthy fingers outward, reaching across the edges of a once pure body of water.
Ripple after ripple, crashes down into the sodden earth sending shattering drops of water mixed with blood and blood mixed with water onto her toes.
She curls her toes again, squelching the wet land beneath her feet. She scrapes her left foot forward, shuffling it into the now fully red pool. Immersing it deeper and deeper, until it is completely invisible from the ankle down. Now the right. Both feet fully immersed, she drops the blade beside her. It bounces on the dense turf, then rests. Laying beside her, the distant clouds high above reflect into it between tracts of skin and rusty red residue of extreme escapism.

I have just finished my Psychology essay. I think.

It was unbearable trying to complete it. When I receive a new assignment brief I actually get excited because I love writing them. Then, I leave it untouched in my folder for three weeks. Having only a week left to do it, I stress constantly, swear at my boyfriend for moving my phone and throw things around the room. By the end of the week I scrape out some references from a low-rate website and hand it in ready to be graded at yet another Merit.

My problem is three-fold.

1. I need to stop being a lazy bastard and actually begin the assignment as soon as I receive it.

2. I must find a way to become more interested in the writing and researching of it.

3. I do not know anybody willing to do my work for me, for free, at Distinction level.

Moving on up!

Things are looking up for myself and Kieren. We were both a little worried about finding a place to live when we move out and go to university in September. However, last night Kieren emailed somebody, linked with the university’s property website and just a few emails later, we have a date to view the place!
We are both incredibly excited to take a look at it. The woman Kieren is speaking to seems lovely and we’ve viewed the house on Google Maps and it actually looks rather nice.

You can either be the artist or the audience.

There is a quote I heard John Lennon say during a television interview once and it has always stuck with me.
“You can either be the artist or the audience.”

I think this quote sums up the main division of our species rather succinctly. You could either be the artist who creates something, be it via the form of writing, singing, acting, dancing. Or, you could be the audience and sit avidly in your seat, pouring popcorn down your gullet, wishing you were on that hypothetical stage, doing something with your life.

Celebrity reality TV shows are helping destroy the minds of young people and leaving them unmotivated to become the artist.¬†Although I do, on the whole, despise the idea of this new ‘living like an open wound’ genre of television, I have and still do enjoy watching them every now and then. Who can resist leering at how the other half live? We love to see what we could have, what other people have and more importantly what we will never ever have in our own lives.

Keeping Up with the Kardashians is a prime example. At the risk of sounding like an old man, ‘the youth of today’ are no longer interested in making a name for themselves with the intention of creating a credible cache of work, which they will be proud of in years to come, they are instead interested only in becoming the next Kim Kardashian or Paris Hilton. When I ask young family members who Oscar Wilde or George Orwell are, they have no idea yet ask them to list the entire cast of The Only Way is Essex and they could do it without a moments hesitation. It is this very reason why the youth are unmotivated. The idols which are presented to them through television screens are of wholly materialistic value. They have no intrinsic moral, academic or cultural worth. Children are being bombarded by these artificial edifices on a daily basis and are suckered in, believing these to be the only role models by which to base their existence upon.

It is up to society as a whole to prevent this dumbing down of children by first, realising that their own interests need lie in higher cultural capital than Joey Essex, Kim Kardashian and Paris Hilton.

Bring back Shakespeare and Orwell as the 21st century poster boys, I say!

The ‘F’ word.

I was walking through Walsall today, during a break from much hard work in college, when I encountered a rather unsavoury character. He would most definitely be classed as a chav, dressed in their general attire of trackies and ridiculous hat; emblazoned with a generic four-letter word. I have no qualms about these people anymore. My opinion of them is that they do not deserve the privilege of that all-important chemical symbol O2. However, please do not misconstrue my disliking of them to be an excuse to make a general swipe at them on here. On the contrary, in general I actually do not mind them and I am no longer offended by their banal leg-limping ways. I have learned to rise above them and simply walk past them in the street without even acknowledging their existence nowadays.

This particular chav in question, however, riled me to no end. I was walking past a well known greasy foods outlet, commonly known as Gregg’s, with my boyfriend, Kieren and this little vagabond decided to split from his friends and walk around both me and Kieren. When I almost bumped into him he pulled his arm away in disgust and told me to ‘fuck off, faggot!’ I am assuming that he was not using the punctuation within his verbal abuse because let’s face it, he was most definitely an uneducated little gerbil. That aside, it did annoy me greatly that he thought the use of the word ‘faggot’ was okay. Now, I often call Kieren a ‘faggot’, as he does me, purely because it is ironic and, in essence, changes the entire meaning of the hate slur for our own personal gain. It makes it something that it is not and recreates it from being what it is – a hate slur – and transforming it into a pithy counter curse. (A technique used within black theatre groups did the very same thing, in fact.)

In general, the word is mostly used for hate. It is usually found on social media sites by the kind of cretins of whom I had the displeasure of meeting today. It got me incredibly angry that he was allowed to use that word without any social backlash from others who were walking by at the time. The use of the ‘N’ word, (I’m sure you know which one I mean), is frequently used by the black community and, just like the ‘F’ word, has been recreated by their respective community to become known as a word of endearment in most cases. Yet, it is still used offensively and as such, upon usage of it in this way, is attached to a social stigma which would meet an outcry from both bystanders and police. The ‘F’ word, on the other hand, is not taken into consideration one iota. It is classed as a disrespectful slur yet not enforced with as much gusto as the ‘N’ word. I feel both safe and confident in saying that the LGBT community is met with a more widespread revilement than the black community in Britain today. I would even go so far as saying that the LGBT community is one of the remaining groups of people who are still oppressed by society as a whole – not excluding the black community. Obviously, I have concerns about this. I am trying to fight this in every way I can by joining different groups and societies to perpetuate the importance of equality. However, although the laws set in place by the British government condemn the usage of such harmful slurs, much like ‘faggot’, there is not enough stigma attached to them as others, which also target minorities. There needs to be a crackdown on the way which words like ‘faggot’ are viewed by the community as a whole.

Hate words are hate words are hate words.