there was a point a few days ago, Thursday, when everything melded into one - I had just finished work, was off to Valletta to have my first real Platonic meeting with Miriam before she set off to Isle of MTV and I to pv - when the seams disappeared and I could leave life to itself and me to me.
It still hasn't worn off, and things seem more acessible. There's no voices breathing down my neck and my mind isn't running frustratingly faster to the world. Generally, I like it. I feel less hung up and less needy to prove myself. I just hope it isn't signaling mediocrity and stagnation.
Maybe I'm just getting more sleep (in spite of the heat, surprisingly) and not drinking as much coffee. Ever since I got back from London, it seems easier, even though I was late for work once. Maybe the island does it, it's OK to do that here.
I like the fact that Malta is small, at times, though everything else about it can be rather discouraging. It is indifferent, old, petrified and silent; whereas London I noticed to be man-made, man-run with a similar life-expectancy. overall though, I think I prefer the latter - I'd rather feel present - the mortality is more accessible, you can do more things while you're there, while Malta's infinitude isn't meant to be touched by humans.
There's very little going on most of the time, though I'm watching Shakespeare tonight if comps get through. At this stage I'd rather stay in and read Lodge (Therapy) but I'm sure I'll be OK once I get out.
a wave to anyone who reads, hope you're enjoying your summer.

Feeling a bit sad and insecure. I keep thinking that I'm a bore, that I'm inept and not enough of a fighter (considering what I want to do/achieve in life, that I'm feeble, hapless, easy to manipulate, with no voice of my own. I'm finding self expression increasingly tough. Whenever I speak it's like I'm not clear enough, so people chat amongst themselves and I have to raise my voice to be heard. I always seem to go for the wrong words and can barely shape out basic sentences without sounding awkward or a bit off. True, I probably pay more attention to these things because I want my language use to be special, but that makes it even worse: if I can't even experess the most fundamental things...
I don't know. It's like I labour things too much, like I can't do anything in a breezy, relaxed way. I feel like I'm doomed to being ponderous: a stiff, dull bore.
I was a host yesterday night: had a sleepover at my place, attended by Pete, Dav, Sylvie and Ellen. It seemed like I had to take each protest, each sign of irritation or boredom from any of the guests personally, and it was an icky feeling indeed. It was fun of course, apart from the unsurprising discomfort of 3 people sleeping in a stuffy room at the onset of summer (and I can now, amusingly, say without technically lying that I was in bed with 2 girls. But it brought all the above out, social events and people whose intelligence I trust are rarely a pleasant mix for me.
What's also very annoying is how I tend not to assertively squash out a lot of these internal squabbles and inadequacies when I know that I can. I just tell them to other people, and when they point out the steps I should take, which more often than not I already know, only then do I act on them. I suppose this journal would be a great distillation of this idea. Urgh.

At crap computer lab at crap university after eating crap canteen food after crap lecture (massa). yesterday night, I snuggled up next to Tia and she told me that a friend of a friend died in a horrible accident, he was playing with his brother, playing with fuel, and a lighted match fell into the concoction. She told me she remembers Yasmin, her best friend, using her mobile to phone him, she had a big crush on him. "Why do these things happen to some people and not to others, it's not fair! His father and his other brother also died, it's like they have some kind of curse." She couldn't sleep, was feeling really afraid all night. I'm glad for our dynamic, though - it's like she depends on me for some kind of calm head-talk, like I'm her intellectual vent, hehe. At least I'd like to think so :p
Thinking about death, the furthest I remember is when I was still living in Serbia. In Baba Tonka's (paternal grandmum's) flat, there was a televised funeral. I remember feeling really angry at the idea of death seeping in, like it was a very rude intruder. I didn't want that feeling and I expected it to know that I didn't want it, so I found it very bold and irritating that it still decided to invade me..the weather was cloudy and I remember this huge rock and somebody holding a big red sash...
iPod is still charging since yesterday, wonder if I should be worried about it. I'm really sensitive to the weather and it seems my moods are just as fickle because of it - I felt silly for carrying my coat around today but after Post-Colonial Novel it started raining so I was vindicated. Woke up feeling like crap, even though I woke up late. My muscles feel athrophied and it's like there's this soft, spongy barrier between me and anything else. I made a solemn vow not to try cheer up cos of the weather this time around, because that just puts more pressure on it. Besides, with my moods being so erratic it would be pointless anyway, even if I go with the flow it'll all be ever-changing...
Got some good comics from the shop last Saturday. Among them were two issues of this indie, 'Vagabonds' - the 2nd one had these really good vignettes and even though a lot of them are political/social they are good, enjoyable and quirky in their own right. I'm mulling over my views on the engaged vs. art-for-art's sake thing. I still dislike anybody who vehemently advocates that art should be 'of some use' and politically engaged all the time, but if you manage to weave it in, well an good. Just read a bit of today's 'Bad Signal' (warren ellis' e-mail blog-thing):

"President Bush's friend Pastor
Ted Haggard fucks men while taking
crystal meth. Isn't that perfect?" - I can so imagine that being a Transmetropolitan episode for example, a fucked-up, stimulating tale of political cover-ups and an examination of social mores/taboos...
Lecture soon. Philosophical anthropology. Not sure why I'm going, I tell myself it's because I need at least a buoy, I need to at least have a vague idea about what's going on, becaue I'm lost otherwise. Enjoyed getting into Yeats with Dav yesterday though, finally felt like I'm touching on to something academic. Hopefully I'll finish Joyce during reading week, and I'll be set and voraciously finish the rest. It's like I need that appetite back, something I love and pride myserlf with having, but it's being squashed with work, with the weather and with illness.

More to come.

Just got back from one of my walks. Don't know why I keep walking, it never really makes me feel better, even though it does make good headspace at times. Without the mp3 player, I thought it would have been much more boring and depressing, knowing the dangerous tangents my mind can fly to - but it was pretty much the same, really.
There was a passage, actually it was a major feature of the narrator, in the first book of Auster's New York Trilogy that talked about walking as a means to stay hollow, or something like that. Maybe there's something I can associate with it there, but maybe it's just some sick form of wishful thinking: wanting to identify with a renowned US writer. Then again, it's nice when literature (art in general) makes you feel a sense of human companionship and camaraderie, so maybe I'm not so sick for thinking so.
Thought about my predilection for cultish stuff as well, and how that too, carries a sense of camaradierie at the best of times, because the fans and the people involved are underdogs. But it's too simplistic a division and I don't want to base my life around it. It's about 'us or them' and life is not that simple. I guess, like a lot of people, I bought into it for so long because it was the closest thing at hand and because it was a very easy way to look at the world. But life isn't that simple, clear-cut or easy. It's a lot more challenging, and subsequently scarier, to dig into something that's meant for humanity in general, or for those who would understand it. It makes me feel naked and vulnerable, my faults will be revealed, but that's the transitional process, to something more enriching I suppose. Read and interesting article on www.jivemagazine.com that's related to what I'm talking about.

"The ideals the counter culture were based on, once upon a time, are close to my heart: self-expression, freedom, an element of egalitarianism, and most importantly, compassion"

It's called 'Wake Up, Neo - There's no counter-culture, you twit' and it goes on to discuss how being militant about counter-culture is flawed, name-dropping a great Tool song, 'Hooker With a Penis', which I think is one of the most lucid arguments against the 'sell-out' issue: "All you know about me is what I sold you/I sold out long before you ever even heard my name". Anyway check out the whole thing at http://www.jivemagazine.com/column.php?pid=5325

I guess I want to grow while retaining certain parts of myself, I'm becoming very proud of my 'cocoon'. The only problem is, I'm not entirely sure what I want to keep and what I want to grow out of. Maybe it's not for me to decide, maybe I should let things run their course? I've got a pretty good faith in my instincts when it comes to what I feel is relevant to me, but I'm not so confident when it comes to ACTING on changing it or doing anything about it. Meh. Thought about one of my schtiks (sp?) from the last two years. I kept posturing, saying how I'm a 'postmodern mess' because I feel that there's little to me as a person and that I'm just defined by what I like and dislike - be it books, films, music, whatever. Not sure what to make of that really, save that deep down (hopefully!) I knew that it wasn't true, that deep down (not a pleasant fact to admit) I was just doing it for the 'po-mo chic' factor and that it was a natural aspect of feeling nihilistic for so long. Because I really didn't know how to describe my attributes: I knew I was kind, accomodating, intelligent. But the first two, I feel they're fuelled way too much by my passivity, by the way I just threw myself onto people after letting go of my extreme introversion - as an easy fix for loneliness, as a way to discract myself from responsibilities. I don't want to go back to the way I was before, I'm glad I made connections and friends for life, albeit after a good deal of filtering.
I guess I know I want to grow up. I don't feel good being passive about it anymore - hanging out with pretty much anyone I can chat to about a hobby we have in common, and overlooking their faults and magnifying our connection. This is a holistic thing, the same thing applies to being healithier (physically), to taking a better interest in my grooming, to being better organised with both Uni and journalism work...
I'd like to believe that the nihilistic thing isn't true. I like to think that there is something unique behind it all, no matter how small. It's like Valerie's speech in V for Vendetta. The inch that nobody can take away from you. There was a 'This Much I Know' with Ronnie Corbett on today's Observer Mag, and he mentions something similar: "When you're at your lowest, and someone is really shitty to you, there should be a little kernel of your soul, your very interior, where your fundamental principles and scruples lie, that should remain inviolate"

See? getting it all from outside sources again :P

Got the latest Empire issue from the Newskiosk as I was walking. it's a superhero special, it felt so easy just slipping into the geekiness. Though I had no idea they were making an adaptation of Stardust, with Robert De Niro and Clare Danes. See, that would never have happened during my all-out geek days.

Just had a nap. 6-6:30ish. Dreamt that Pete, Sylv and somebody else were making fun of me - in a lighthearted manner that suggested undertones of bitterness. There was also an older woman, who seemed to be on my side. We are standing in front of an unstable, sandy hill. It seems to be made up mostly of sand, actually - it shouldnt be standing. I get the idea to climb it, the others scoff and call me crazy. I start climbing and the little rocks that seem to have been keeping the hill standing start falling off. The whole thing looks like a lot of brown sugar in front of me, with chunks of rock...As I'm falling, I physically feel it (my 'real self', I mean). Think there's an element of lucid dreaming there..think I willed it to happen, the falling. Anyway, in the dream I close my eyes, the others are climbing behind me now, for some reason, and blaming me for putting them thru it. I don't know what happens when I collapse on them. It all ended on a note of 'do we die?' Stone Sour's 'Inhale' was playing all the way through.

Been feeling a sense of dread recently. Part of it is probably 'cos of my situation with the Linguistics resit, and the fact that it might affect the compensated pass I'll definitely need for MOI. The procedure just makes me kinda queasy. Also dawned on me that Phonetics/Linguistics will be dragging me down throughout the entire course, the entire three years - which means I probably won't get a real chance to excel...which may seem kinda shallow, but the reason I went to Uni was to immerse myself in the subject, to know more and more about less and less. Which is an excellent segue to my other dilemma. Knowing English, I won't be of that much use to anyone, really. Apart from becoming a teacher, or a full-blown academic, neither of which seem to be too appealing to me at this moment in time. Then there's the artist thing, which I'm clinging onto, but sometimes it just seems such a thin vision. Most people I know that are into doing anything creative have something to back them up - I have never had even a part-time job, unless you count the theatre work and what I've done for my dad....

I dunno. All of this sounds terribly affected, and not something I would think for most of the time. Maybe its just the fatigue caused by the bulk of exams that just passed, maybe its the utter boredom of having to study for Phonetics/Phonology, which is on Wed. But even though my abilities seem to be getting me somewhere (the articles I've written, the new monthly cartoon, the possibility of an exhibition soon) - my self-image keeps reverting to that of the skinny, flaky, gawky and weak guy who can't do anything practical and is a social invalid who's crap with girls. Everything seems wobbly and uncertain, and the very fact that even my English course - which is something I should be eating up - is uncertain makes me feel even more crap/useless. If I don't excel at something I enjoy: what is the point of it all?

This could be all springing from the fear that the summer will be ruined by the threat of resits. And from the looks of it, it'll be a crucial one, otherwise: working at the Media Today offices (actual work experience, money and a SKILL), the exhibition...and Pete being here till September. Oh, and tons of reading I want to do hehe.

The worst part is that the fear makes me ashamed. If I'm getting worked up over measly exams, how the hell am I going to manage facing much more difficult things in the future?

I know I'll get over most of this, I know that I'll also stop caring about being directly 'useful' to society. But, like I always said..it's my journal and I'll whine if I want to.

T.

Saturday, probably the funnest gig I've ever been to. The ISkandal CD has been on repeat. great people - denise, NicoTina, steve et al...bounced a lot, hair looks greasy on naasha pics, because it was. positive vibes, such a difference from the lugubrious metal scene. ate twistees, two packs. beer aplenty. Tuesday I bumped into an aquaintance before MOI. His scraggly beard, shamanic image, he assumed a lotus position clutching a cup of coffee. 2nd year, talked about how much he had hated Chircop. 'Umbat spiccajt gejt l-ewwel fis-statistics'. irony. Max had accused me of writing about school too much. so yeah.
I went to buy colour drawing inks afterwards, bought cobalt blue, vermillion, burnt siena and something else. bumped into Joe, he bought something for his friend (ryan)'s Bday. It involves paper and helmets. also bought some books before my novel lecture that morning. Carver's Elephant, Amis' Einstein's Monsters (both short story collections). Dipped in, both depressing on opposite polarities.
Not much happened on Wed, in fact I don't remember it at all. Blood pressure had been low, probably due to the weather. Everything seems softened, unattainable. Three coffees in a row, don't help. Although.
Thursday. Glorianne gave me a cure, butter, toast, salt. worked like a charm. Saw her when I went to pick up her sis' notes, by her house. she came out in an XL Kurt Cobain shirt, the sun is bringing out her olive Mediterranean tan, which contrast so nicely with her blue eyes. That's 'cos she's my little Cinderella Moses and I will love her forever and ever. Statistics was meh, kinda came in/out/in/out/out. Poetry was such a relief tho - after my butter-salt boost i slipped into it like a lubricated glove. I have a system for studying literature, one which i can pretty much summon subconsciously. I don't have one for statistics. That day, before Glorianne's house, I also saw a cat carrying a lizard in its mouth.
Then, by Matilda's, a cat that seemed to be sitting upright. ninety degrees, I swear. I thought it was dead and disfigured, but it was breathing. All it needed is beer.
I'm going to watch The Big Lebowski now, yet again. With beer. And a person.

HA! Thought I'd never be back, did you? I've been tagged by Davinia for a letter thing, mine is U. Phonetics and Phonology has been moved up to the 13/14...not important, point is I have 2 more weeks to study, I have hope.
I just might pass from MOI too, maybe. Yes. Letter. U.

Universe : I've never been one to think of the universe, but I'm sure there's a lot that could be extracted from it, under pressure, like. I know I'm somehow in there, and I'm not Lovecraftian/paranoid about it. Not that scientific either, so I dunno. It's like Eddie Izzard said, when talking about Mars getting closer to us. "it's interesting in that: 'oh, fuck off' type-way". not too concerned about catastrophe/apocalypse either, but maybe cos there's nothing to be done about it.

Uvula: Speaking of phonetics. it blocks one of the passages (for nasals? remind me dav). Too fleshy for my taste. always thought it looked icky and like a little penis in the back of your mouth. Or Valletta. it's like reading those parts of Watchmen, the ones with all the rape, fluids and nakedness, in a text that's about the world (universe?) cold war, science and superpowers ostensibly. Maybe I just can't stand to be humbled by our icky base nature, seeing the uvula. It's too shiny too. No, not for me.

UnDifferentiated Tissue: "Did I ever tell you the story of the man who taught his asshole to talk?" One of my fav. parts of Naked Lunch, It's so cool that Cronenberg used the entire thing in his adaptation. Undifferentiated Tissue is what starts appearing on the guy's body after the asshole takes over, if I recall correctly: a liquid-y substance that ends up sealing his eyes and mouth. I see it as both a gruesomely funny little story embedded into the whole collage, as well as another representation of Burrghous' addiction motif.

Undergraduate: So OK, I'm still in my 'Thank God They Postponed Phonetics, I'm so grateful' daze, and it doesn't seem so bad, but undergraduate studying is something I'd rather get over and done with soon. I mean I don't mind the vastness of it, it's the cramming that gets to me, the idea that everything feels stripped down/generalized. Having to have two study areas also gets to me. One of the reasons I was looking forward to University was the idea that I won't have several scattered little subjects to study by rote. Ah well, hope all this will change when (if) I get to do my MA.

Unrepeatable: The earliest Eddie Izzard show available on video/DVD. The cat parts are surreal genius, and I think he tackles the transvestism best here. "I bet you SHAG the crisps!" Hilarious.

Urine: I drink copious amounts of coffee/water everyday, so I get to see it quite often. It's yellow. Plus beer on weekends. Boo-yah.

Underwear: Never got the idea of boxers: it gets too hot in Malta, don't want MORE cloth on me, and at the same time, it's too breezy. Worst of both worlds. So I'm a briefs man myself, even tho that seems to be frowned upon, for some reason or other...

What I need is a good defense. Didn't do much today, didn't even complete Phase III of Operation Spring-Clean. Tried to draw but paper and pencils weren't good. Yes, I'm blaming the tools. Had a minor panic-fit (wouldn't go so far as to call it an attack) induced by too much coffee, boredom and my comp. fucking up again. Went to return DVDs, which somehow took the edge off. Still didn't get much work done. Marf.
Feel energyless, dead. There's something missing. Immigration tomorrow, wondering if I should read, wondering if I can seeing as there is no structure to my day. I hate limbo. Have immigration and I have to wake up early. Wish I'd have my surgeon's appointment sooner, would make life less stressful - because there's not much around at the moment to distract me. Arf.

Both my room and my 'net presence are in a state of neglect. Need to paint the former soon, and sort stuff out, give it some character - it's just embarassing. Had another dress-up party at Naasha, too bad ppl didn't show up. Went as a pirate and, ironically, was missing an eye-patch this time. Recycling can be convenient, should remember that.
Decided to dedicate this day to 'Me-time'. Was sketching earlier, stills from 'Snatch'. Got some good faces down, tho I'm still struggling with figure and composition. Am letting things come naturally, I just wish certain things would hurry the hell up, the tendency to just focus on faces is becoming worrying. But I'm relaxed on the whole, not giving myself a hard time, setting impossible goals and whatnot. Have only one lecture at 2 tomorrow, and a public lecture at 6 which sounds interesting. Gonna study before all that, and between 3-6, too, to make up for today. The only pressing thing to do is the Callus assignment, though I want to placate exam-panic as much as possible this time, seeing as there are so many things to study this semester. So I'm being a good boy, or trying to, at least.
In yet another Icarian fit, I picked up Barthes' 'Writing Degree Zero' from the library, telling myself that it would aid me in the assignment. It might if I actually get around to reading and understanding relevant bits. Read the first chapter twice, think I'm starting to get it. I'm enjoying the challenge, though I'm not that sure if it's the healthiest thing to do. It's like when I had picked up Nietzsche and (to a lesser extent) Camus. Fine, it did aid my personal development and all that stuff, but it also caused lots of damage. Although (again, with special regard to the former) my approach was plagued with negative stuff - like pretention, awkwardness, anger and inadequacy. I suppose when doing something challenging I should have that degree of responsibility and self-respect. Not to just swallow everything blindly, without thinking, and not to blame the work if any misunderstanding causes me discomfort. All this came up 'cos picking up Barthes made me notice that I may be on my way to becoming an academic, and I'm not sure if I really want to do that. Maybe the Romanticized idea of the down-and-out, impulsive artist has somehow squirmed it's way into my brain. Again, just better be on the look out, be responsible.
I dunno, it all seems so stiff, so bleh. I want ideas to be juicy and crunchy, malleable and dynamic. From where I'm standing, all that criticism and theory looks closed and stuffy. Could be me Romanticizing again, I'm just afraid that it's gonna suck me in.

Today I woke up feeling fine, even though the weather is shitty. Still haven't eaten or showered, but I left the window open while I was asleep, air came in, and I could breathe. Feel refreshed, something I haven't felt in a while now, spent the entire week in an anemic daze, for several reasons, none of which I'm sure of. Gathered up one full-scap worth of notes for my History of the Actor assignment (doing Brecht), I think I've discovered a research method I'm happy with.
Dressed up as Elle Driver for a Naasha party last Saturday.
Was pretty much alone, maybe it was the alcohol and the costume, but I managed to just mingle. Something effortless I made complicated, same old story. Meeting my great friend Pete in a few hours, he's landed from England in the wee hours of this morning. Looking forward to seeing him. Had an urge to burn the island down on my way from Paceville, think that's when alcohol makes me aggressive. Too bad all I could manage was clenched fists and some tears - impotent hatred, as Goethe says, it's the worst. Need to get to work on Phonetics, the assignment, and the interview I conducted. Not in that order though. And should get to work on some drawings/paintings if I'm indeed going to exhibit this summer. And the story, the story, which means I have to read Dashiell Hammet, Chandler et al some more. Can't wait for my detective story credit to begin, it would take care of lots of stuff. With so many things 'pending', it's hard not to numb yourself. Thinking about making my detective story a bit of a metaphor for information overload, and confusion in general. Focus - the archery image in Nic Cage's 'The Weather Man' is starting to make more sense now, from my own persepective at least. I love digression, it makes things so cheekily natural. Watched The Constant Gardener, great example of organizing chaos, if nothing else. So real yet with such a strong artistic focus, got under my skin and did things to me, like a Mugwap.

The information age makes us all filters at best. We're bombarded with so much stuff that we're forced to either be selective about what we read/hear/see or just be apathetic. And it's so easy to slip into the latter. I want to get plugged into the zeitgeist but I never feel 'qualified' enough - strange, considering how one of the main tenents of the 'net is that everyone can speak. Maybe because it moves too fast, you get left behind, there's always something you've missed.

Chaos is what needs to be dealt with, primarily though, I think.

I mean I can tell myself it's because I live in Malta (as opposed to, say, San Fran, NY or London), because I didn't read enough Ballard or William Gibson novels, because I have no cash for gadgets, because I have a Mac. But obvious, glaring common denominator is that there seems to be nothing to latch onto. Commitment? Yes, maybe I want commitment/stability/predictability. But I dunno, I always took pride in being stateless and free, but it looks like I'm not channeling things properly.
I start drawing my strips but then get voices telling me 'pen and ink is SOOO ten years ago..'

....

When there's no backbone, the banal and superficial become your only pivots, I think that's it. When disorder is all you see, when there's no clear driving force, no 'spirit' behind all that you want to do...the mundane gazes back at you.
Or is it just nothingness playing tricks again? gazes back into you, and all that...

To use chaos or discard it completely for a 'system'? Is having a system really the best way to go, even if said system is a flexible one? But yes, I realize one thing now - I have to try. The system may become a complacent, limiting one in time, but that's when it has to be changed. The only way to remain one step ahead of the chaos is to make it think you're playing along it's rules. Then slip the rug from under it by changing your OWN rules.

I think. *shrug* Maybe it's just me yearning for some sense of camaraderie, like I had at the comic-club place, something that not only caters to your needs for company but also inspires you, creatively. Not that friends CAN'T inspired you, but when you're surrounded by the material itself, it kind of helps. Don't know how mature that is, though, think it might be healthy to stop hopping from one subculture to the next, looking for support - it seems too umbilical.

I feel like some noodles, there aren't any left at home. Have decided to not study anymore for my oral tomorrow. No intention of slaving over some of the dullest texts in my course for a ten-minute oral. Even if the question that comes up is Greek-Chinese to me, I don't care, it's just the way it goes. Otherwise I hope I'll manage to bullshit thru.
Gonna type some fiction up, to add to my deviantart account (www.caffeineisme.deviantart.com) then I'll get back to Chandler's 'The Little Sister' :) Marlowe kicks. I want to be him.

"Home is important, it's important to have a home" - in the words of George W. Bush, who was also the first to inform us that humans and fish can co-exist peacefully. But yes, home IS important, and I hope to make one here. Call it nesting instinct, call it immigrant angst, call it what you will, I'll probably out-insult myself anyway. I'm here. And that's all there is to it now.