.

I think he’s got you on your knees

By his door, under his mantle

Piss poor thoughts

Fucked relief

Love is love’s reprieve

Winter is coming and you’re stuck

Stuck with the temporary blues

Struck high

Now they’re here to stay

Love is love’s loss

Taking places with you now

Hoping to learn and forget

You had nothing

Because nothing looks like him

Love is love’s mystery

He’s drinking now

Taking in everything you hate

Who will love that

What’s love when you’ve hurt

You’re wondering who will

Love is love’s defeat

Taking places with you now

Hoping to learn and forget

You had nothing

Because nothing looks like him.

Love is love’s critique

Sowing Season

I love this song. And in some creepy/fucked up way it makes me feel good when I'm one of my stupid 'i-hate-the-whole-entire-fucking-universe-full-of-people-who-won't-do-anything-and-who-care-about-nothing'

Take all that you have

and turn it into something you would miss if

Somebody threw that brick

And shattered all your plans

Troubled Genius

Watching the BBC documentary on Mark Everett's father and their relationship. I watched it twice through last night. It just fascinated me. How can one man, Mark, be so full of sadness and still function?


His life has been so riddled with loss and surrounded by depression, not just from him, but from those around him. His father rarely conversed with the family; a troubled genius himself, whose attempts to make a difference in the world of quantum mechanics left him disappointed and disillusioned with the world. His sister, Elizabeth, committed suicide in 1996 after living a manic depressant for the majority of her life. Two years later, his mother died of cancer. His cousin was a flight attendant on a 9/11 flight.


His music is amazing and if something so accomplished can come out of such a troubled, sad life, then surely its truly possible to create something beautiful out of something truly dark. And that it's possible for anybody to tackle their deamons and rise above depression, doubt, loss and anything else the world can throw at them. If you lose something - create something new out of it.

Michael Rosen's Sad Book

This is me being sad.

Maybe you think I'm being happy in this picture.

Really I'm being sad but pretending I'm being happy.

I'm doing that because I think people won't like me if I look sad.

Somewhere sad is very big.

It's everywhere. All over me. 

What makes me most sad is when I think about my son, Eddie.

He died.

I loved him but he died anyway.

Sometimes this makes me really angry.

I say to myself, "How dare you go and die like that? How dare he make me sad?"

He doesn't say anything, 

Because he's not here anymore. 

Sometimes I don't want to talk about it. 

Not to anyone. No one. No one at all.

I just want to think about it on my own.

Because it's mine. And no one else's. 

Sometimes I do crazy things - like crying in the shower, or shouting..

Or making noises like whooph, booph, whooph. 

Sometimes I'm sad and I don't know why.

It's just  a cloud that comes along and covers me up.

It's not because Eddie's gone.

It's just because. 

Maybe it's because things aren't like they were a few years ago.

Like my family. It's not the same as it was a few years ago. 

So there's a sad place inside me. 

I've been trying to figure out ways of being sad that don't hurt so much. Here are some of them:

I tell myself that everybody has sad stuff.

I'm not the only one. Maybe you have some too. 

Every day I try and do one thing I can be proud of. 

Then I go to bed and think very very hard about this one thing.

I tell myself that being sad isn't the same as being horrible.

I'm sad, not bad. 

Sometimes I write about sad: 

Sad is a place 

That is deep and dark

like the space

under the bed

Sad is a place

that is high and light

like the sky 

above my head

When it's deep and dark

I don't dare go there

When it's high and light 

I want to be thin air

(The last bit means that I don't want to be here.

I just want to disappear). 

Sometimes I find myself looking at things:

people in a window...

a crane and a train of people going past ...

I remember things like Eddie walking along the street

laughing, laughing and laughing. 

Us playing football saves on the sofa.

And birthdays ... I love birthdays. 

And candles... 

There must be candles... 

Goodbye David

A waistcoat pocketed, walking mackerel friend of mine. 

David was a lovely, lovely man. He was his own person. The dad to my lovely big brother, Roth, and the first love of my mum. He was incredibly special to me, too, and I am so glad that he was a part of my life. We have his painting hanging in our kitchen and I am so glad I have it to look upon each day as a reminder of another true, artistic soul who gave sunshine to people on this earth. 

Gingers/read-haired people are lovely. Fact. 

☼☀☼☀☼☀

On a happier note

This is my happy hat. Recently I have been sleeping wearing this bad boy. Sadness averted.

Depressing Song

This is a little song I wrote when i was incredibly low about two months ago. I don't feel like this anymore but it was interesting to come across.

Cut out
She could cut you right out,
But if she can’t
She’s left feeling
A foreigner to this waking world

Her fists, her legs, her skull
And soul
Are left empty
For you,
A stencil to shade.

And dreaming like a girl
In the dark, with her world blown out.
Waking and with nothing
But her love to hide.

And when sunlight finds her wrists red
Painted with the pain she felt
The stars pray for their return,
The shadow of her heart to light

And twilight’s half way there.
You have a stencil life
And in your eyes it will grow.

Tommy Reilly

Even though Tommy Reilly is an act who was manufactured for and by Orange's unsigned act, there is still so much truth and naivety in his performance. His songs hold a childish charm to them which is offset by his 'soulful' writing. He's like Paolo Nutini in the sense that he appears so much older when he sings... but he can sing just juvenile things as 'I thought she was my friend but now I love her'. I just love him. I adore him.

His new album may make me want to cry for the entirety of every song but I embrace that and it takes a lot these days for that to happen.

This is his winning cover of Mr Brightside. And yes, it may just be a cover but I thin it adds an entirely different element to the song and turns it away from its club reputation and changes it into a heartfelt, believable anthem.

hats off to you, sir.



Oh, and if you can make Mr Alex James, king of Blur and owner of a cheese farm, you have my vote!

Will be seeing Tommy again this Summer.

.

Just Lovely

I'd like to be

Braver

.☁

.☁

I understand that death  a part of being alive, and that bereavement serves a way to push  one's understanding of people and emotions. But this is taking the piss.

It's horrible, to have come home only for a childhood friend to be killed the same night. The day after - being told that David, my brother's dad, has weeks to live. Both of these people were massive parts of my childhood and it honestly feels like I've completely lost what I had until i finished primary school. My brother, my friends, Heather (my mother figure) and now David - the only person who believed in my art and understood the things I wanted to communicate or do for the world. When I was younger I truly believed that art was the only way in which people can confirm their true existence (art being a blanket term for any form of expression), and the creativity is such a raw, honest conveying of being. David thought this, too, and together we used to talk about Jim Morrison who, to this day, I still believe is the most beautiful example of artistic autonomy. That part of my life will from now on be repressed memories or exist only in the mourning of people I have lost.

Talkin' to the walls, just me again.

It's a motherfucker.

And..

This Blog

This blog is entitled 'Fight or Flight' to stand as either my escape or as my fight against my own daemons, of which there are many.

I feel like battling against any form of prejudice that existed against me (past friends, guidance teachers) and getting into St Andrews has put me in good stead, but at the same time... I don't know what is wrong with my life. I am constantly fiighting some battle.Whether it's to do with how I'm living or whether its pushed upon me by extraneous circumstances does not matter; I just hope that this blog manages to communicate how I feel at this time and how my thoughts progress towards what I hope is a clearer, happier me. 

There will be art. There will be music. There will be words.

And here we go...