The Art Of Getting Nowhere

So I'm reading a lot of books at the moment. And that's a good thing, but I've found myself reading a lot of kids books. Books that I read as a kid and books I never read as a kid and I thought to myself 'I really should read that.' So I trawled through the depths of Amazon the other day and sought after children's books that I fancied reading, and trawled through my bookshelves and sought out books that I'd read before. I read The Little Prince, Charlotte's Web, Whinnie The Pooh, The Graveyard Book, and I loved them. Because just because they're 'designated' for children, doesn't mean an adult can't ever touch them. Especially books like The Little Prince, in which I found myself almost tearing up at this beautifully crafted piece of literature about a man yearning for a sense of childlike wonder and imagination.

I think it's because I realised I'm boring. I've literally only turned 18 about a month ago, and I've already knighted myself with the title 'boring adult'. Because most adults are, whether they like it or not or however hard they try to strain from the fact, boring. But I don't want to be that. Just because I don't like going out and getting pissed out of my mind doesn't mean I'm dull. But even saying the phrase 'you don't need alcohol to have fun', makes me sound utterly, skull-cappingly boring. (I'm struggling to find any other words for boring other than 'dull.') And I do drink, but even me saying that sounds like I'm trying to prove something. Like, please don't leave me, I'm still cool. Watch me down these shots!

But anyway, back to the point in hand. I'm very much a nostalgic person, anyway. But maybe that's just because the present-day is pretty shit and I just want to make a den out of towels whilst eating Butterkist and watching Mary Poppins. I mean, is that too much to ask? I don't want to grow up. Even though, I suppose, is too late to say that now, seen as puberty already came and went like the fucking Blitz and I have an outstanding total of 0 milk teeth left. But the point isn't completely redundant, I guess. I want to go places. And not just to get pissed and to forget going, or as I like to call it, the most expensive hangover there is. I want to go places and actually remember stuff. I want to go to Amsterdam because it's pretty, I want to go to Berlin because the food is good. I want to go to New York and Paris and shit. You know, the stereotypical 'tumblr adventure.' 

I want to read children's books, make dens and play with Lego. I love Lego. Who doesn't love Lego? Whoever says they don't is lying to you. I want to put a tent up in the back garden and have 'camp-outs' with my friends like we did when we were 10. And even though the fairy lights and 90's electric heaters were a massive fire hazard and we were literally risking our lives whilst playing M.A.S.H. - it was fine because we were having fun. And as the plastic dripped and melted and became part of my anatomy, I'd be at peace. Because my last thought would be 'Well, at least I'm living in a mansion with Tom Hardy, our 3 kids and our Bugatti Veyron.'

So I guess what I'm trying to say is, do whatever the fuck you want. But, for the love of God, don't ever mutate into a boring adult called Geoffery who never found love because he was too busy creating stock graphs for the private sector of his very inportant company on Microsoft Excel. Get out. Buy some Lego. Read books. Make a den. Go camping. (Safely, might I add, whilst lacking a dead and dying electric heater that should've been thrown away in '96.)

But apart from that, go nuts.

R.

99% Water, 1% Crazy

I ramble. A lot. I ramble about what's happened to me in the past, and what is happening to me right now. I ramble and like to predict what will happen to me in the future. But these 'predictions' aren't really that, it's me overthinking and worrying when I don't have to, about things I don't have to. Part of this is down to my 'mental condition' (which makes me sound like an absolute raving loon) but then the majority of it is just down to my character. I've always been an over-thinker, I get it from my mum, and she gets it from hers. But then sometimes I don't overthink at all, in fact, I do the exact opposite. Sometimes my brain abandons what I like to call its 'filter' and I say and do stuff without thinking. Literally the majority of my life consists of those moments where you can hear and feel yourself doing something that is so obviously going to embarrass you and scar others. And you're brain's screaming at you 'SHUT THE FUCK UP' but you're still doing it and, oh god, they're looking at you like you've just screamed 'Heil Hitler!' and made a really inappropriate joke about the holocaust. But, wait, you did just scream 'Heil Hitler!' and make an innapropriate joke about the holocaust.

The only way I can describe it is that my brain is like a Pink Floyd record. There's a lot of random thoughts and noises, clocks and shit, and somewhere in the middle there's a middle-aged man having his mid-life mental breakdown and

screaming off into the distance. My brain's just constantly working and buzzing and ticking over. And that's fine, at least Derren Brown can never hypnotise me. I'd just laugh in his face like, 'Derren, mate, my brain's too fucked up for this bullshit.' But I guess that's the curse of not being good at anything but using my imagination. Literally the only talent I have is being able to write stories and poems and shit. That's the only thing that's ever come naturally. That, and my hand-eye co-ordination is pretty baller.

Or it might be because I'm not 'right'. Because a couple of years ago, now I was 'sad'. And I still get 'sad' just not as 'bad' anymore. I should stop with the apostrophes. But I don't suppose it matters really, does it? I'm fine, I'm a perfectly functioning human being. I mean, I don't eat my 5-a-day or do any real exercise, but apart from that, I'm great. What I'm trying to say is that this whole post was just a ramble, an excuse to keep up-to-date with my own personal deadlines for posting at least once a week. Because these little spurts of wanting or needing to write shit down just comes out of nowhere. I came up with 'I ramble. A lot.' when I was halfway through my gammon and chips about half an hour ago. Because I gues im trying to say that, yes, my brain keeps me up at night, it makes me want to scream and cry and throw up, it sends panic attacks hurtling relentlessly towards me like Bullet Bills in Super Mario. But it makes me be able to do the only thing that I'm good at. It got into university, started this blog. It's writing a book.

So I couldn't be happier with where I am right now. I'm the perfect balance of unhappy and happy, of insane and sane. Which makes what I just said a lie, I could be happier, but I don't want to be. Happy people are the sort of people who write tumblr poems that make them sound deep and depressed, but they just spend too much time watching bad 80's movies. They're the sort of people who run 'pale' aesthetic Instagram accounts and refuse to put a case on their gold iPhone 6's. And there's two reasons why I'm not like them; 1.) I have a Windows phone and 2.) They're boring as fuck.

Gotham: Rise of the Villains - Series Two Review So Far

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS DON'T HANG ME PLEZ SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

I think that's a big enough of a warning because, if I was any less of a nice person I would've used the picture of Jerome on the stretcher as the header. But I'm not, so I didn't. Anyway, we're only four episodes into the second series (and in my opinion, the best series) of Gotham, and already I'm blown away by the dark, creepy and oddly satisfying gore and action and plot and characters and holy shit this show is good.

I mean, after becoming strangely attached to the character of Jerome as soon as we saw him in that oddly food-free lunch hall in Arkham, I couldn't stop watching. (I think it was a lunch hall, it might have just been a common room, who knows. I'm sure that part of the show was really something the producers intended to be a topic of discussion but hey.) So you can imagine my dismay when the poor ginger bugger gone gotten deaded at the end of episode three. EPISODE FUCKING THREE. He was gem in the whole program, so I, along with, I suspect, many other people, are expecting 'the Joker's' resurrection any time soon. And while the pallid death face with the blood leakage resulting in a Joker-esque look kind-of made my little geek heart jump around in its hollow cage for a fleeting moment, I was still cursing at the TV gods and refraining from Googling the words 'gotham jerome back from dead'.

So I'm skipping over the hole in my heart and moving straight onto the other great development in the Gotham world - the Nygma/Kringle scenario. Now, I know how that one's going to end. not only because I know he's a crazy son-of-a-bitch, but also because some kind tumblr-folk also spoiled that one for me. But, violent deaths aside *cough*, I ship those two so hard. And I'm not one for internet-speak, so you know the characters are worth it if I'm risking losing my dignity. But I love the way Nygma's developed, and the use of the two-sides and the schizophrenic tick. But I'm sure my little geek heart won't be fully satisfied until I see that skinny bastard in a green suit and a bowler hat with some little purple question marks flying about somewhere.

But I'm already bored of bloody Barbara and her 'sexy', 'Ooh, am I gonna punch you in the face? Or am I gonna make out with you?' little pouty-face. Fuck you, Barbara. I mean, just die already. Although, I know you're not going to, because I'm aware of your comic history/future or whatever you want to call it. But, she should've been the one to get got in the neck, just saying.


So, who else is worth mentioning? Bruce is a'ight, loving the whole 'Secret Cave/ backroom' thing and his relationship with Alfred is pretty well-developed know so I'm interested to see where his story line is going. More Selina please. Selina is goals. (Apart from the living on the street part, that ain't goals.) But the parkour is, buzzing to see Bruce do some parkour, that'll make my week. That guy whose name I can't remember, the 'I'm the hero Gotham needs' evil dude that's running for Mayor, he's annoying as fuck. But he's doing a good job at being annoying as fuck so, I suppose, well done that man. Penguin is amazing, as always. I'm glad Harvey's back, Harvey is like the better, beardy version of Jim. I just find myself constantly feeling sorry for him, like, for fucks sake, Jimmy, stop getting into shit. OF COURSE, they were going to be at the charity ball you idiot, listen to your bird. Just grow the goddamn moustache and we can all get on with our lives. I miss Fish. I can't even remember what happened to her, but I miss her.

R.