%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
Young man's struggle with money, women and literature. |
| This blog will help serve as motivation for me to record my successes and failures as a final year student of English Literature. Two years of partying and failure to produce any work that truly reflected my ability, I am using this blog initially as a means of documenting my day-to-day achievements in working towards a final year grade that can really show what I can achieve in academia. This blog will also run parallel with my issues regarding my obsession with money and social pressures. |
| I have real issues with books. Now that I have got my money situation somewhat under control (or as much as it can be for a student) I found myself wandering around town today aimlessly trying to spend my money on a winter coat, then a book (I wanted 'Of Grammatology' by Derrida), then I wanted a coffee, notepad and pen to sit with in Starbucks. I have never felt so pointless. It seemed I was in a lonesome and disgraceful state of idleness. My issue with books is that, although I have wanted to be a 'noble' academic young man, capable of intellectual discussions about my course material and more, I have always lacked the motivation and ability to simply sit down and read a book. I go into book shops or walk through the library in awe of all the possibilities that a book can offer and all the thoughts of writers and the theory of writing and criticism and journeys that they offer - yet, I do not read them. It is the most frustrating situation. Throughout the last two and a bit years here at university, with unlimited access to this massive library and all its knowledge within, I have failed time and time again to grasp the opportunity and actually read and learn something. I say I am determined to not fall into the footsteps of my father (now a retired labourer) or those of my contemporaries from high school and college; the common types you will find here in England: the latest ‘peacock’ style hair cut, cheap suits, horrific cars and an enlarged ego, with little to no concept of what life is beyond going to work and getting boozed up at the weekend. - It is a life that I wish to avoid at all costs. - Right now, I am headed in that direction. It is extremely frustrating. As I walk through town and observe life as it is happening, I wonder how people manage to drag themselves out of bed every morning, eat, read and prepare their public demeanour and put up with all the little stresses and annoyances that go along with mornings and find their way to work. Cope with the annoying colleague, daze away and do their job with real hate. Recently, here in the UK, a television show has just started called ‘PhoneShop’. It is made up of characters that you are likely to find in your local phone shop: savvy, aggressive with making sales, extremely confident and at a peak of self-marketability. The shop itself really propagates the British way of living for the young male and young woman: get the latest phone so that you can text your drunk insignificant other in the back alley or smoking area of some club on a Saturday night, pleading for forgiveness or yelling at them over some trivial matter. On the odd occasion that I make it to a seminar, I feel my observant scope of life widened dramatically. It feels as if I can take in, during a single breath, the history of our nation or that of America and see it as a whole burning entity with no consistent temperature, revealing to me that we as humans really are just one whole big emotional mess. Easily manipulated and easily led, corrupted by power and continually seeking the preservation of oneself. This is such a one-way view however. I can say this with a frown, the hotness of this student infested library computer room making me speak with a bitterness, but then I look outside. The autumn leaves on the upper brows of tress and the distant silhouette of my old on-campus accommodation and my tone and heart rises to a hopeful degree. This is the inconsistency of man and proof that we will never ever make it to the end and find answers. There is no real ‘one whole answer’ to what we need to do or how things are meant to be. An absolute disgrace. |
| The void in my life is feeling quite considerable after having my Macbook Pro stolen from me. I feel so far behind, losing all my notes, not having any films or new episodes of Dexter to watch when I get home. Not having a mobile phone either, it seems like this act of theft has almost completely cut me off from the world. I have, however, starting writing more on paper. It really feels like an obsolete art now, unfortunately. It feels as if everything I read is so invisible, as everything travels electronically, perhaps rightly so. Think of the trees it saves! I am still in a state of shock after this ordeal, but due to the fact that my father paid for half of the machine and insisted I got insurance on it (and didn't), I have omitted to telling him and will do my best to purchase another one, as soon as I can, no matter how bad my financial status is. Don't mistake me for someone who is part of the 'Apple Cult', but I am a literature student and the ease of use and aesthetics of the machine really are important! Somehow. The point is, is that it looks like I won't be getting money for a while, or enough to buy a new Macbook. Until then, I am going to be stuck in my room (that literally feels like it has NO use whatsoever, its so empty without it). All my notes are lost and I think I am going to have to handwrite everything, unless I really want to fight for a computer on campus. Truth is, I hate Windows, I hate that the " sign is in the @ position. Apple just made everything easy and workable, the interface is so much smoother and nicer to look at. These clonky keyboards and a browser with no spell check (damn IE) are extremely annoying. I don't want to start the old debate of Mac vs. Windows, I am just being bitter right now! I am trying to see this as a test. After getting such a promising headstart on this year of my degree, I have been brought back to square one so quickly and harshly. I really need to fight through this mess. First I need to sleep. |
| During a typical stay in the library, I left my Macbook Pro (just one year old without a scratch on it) in my area on the third floor to go and take out Leo Bersani's 'Future for Astyanax: character and desire in literature' from the first floor. This very narrow time frame of about two hundred seconds was apparently enough for someone to steal my computer, along with my new headphones and escape from the area unnoticed by the surrounding academics that were also studying there. This has me in an indescribable state. Perhaps this is what shock feels like. It was worth over nine-hundred sterling pounds, with many important documents, images and videos that were very personal and important to me. There has always been, I thought, a mutual respect towards each others personal belongings in the library. Everyone leaves their personal items out on display, leaving to go and get a coffee or visit the rest room, with no-one ever going near them. I have left it alone for longer stays than two minutes and returned to find everything as it was. I cannot believe it. Everything gone. Did I really deserve this? Was it my fault? I looked after that machine more than anything else in the world, and after getting thoroughly pissed off with Windows, I was happy to be a Macbook guy for life. All I want to do is buy another one. No insurance and no hope. I hate to break the usual poetic/formal voice of this blog, but I don't think I have wanted to use the following phrase more than I do now: 'fuck my life'. This truly sucks ass. Being a clueless male, I am forced to think of this event as a kind of sign, that I must not be so attached to the material, that this is a test of character and that it is a lesson I must learn. Perhaps I must savour and explore the feeling of writing on paper once again. Before this horrific incident, the visual of a clean and crisp Macbook on my desk was a romantic image, a portal of pure and naked writing opportunity; now the more classic and possibly even obsolete (is it?) image of a pad and pen will reside. Poor handwriting has always prevented me from writing my thoughts down on paper, perhaps in this frustrating time, I have to. I don't know what else to say. Bad day, bad day. |
| Whatever glamour there is that lies in the life of a PhD lecturer of literature, I have always longed to experience it. Without any real prominent father figure in my life, I have always inadvertently developed covert relationships (of the fatherly kind) with male tutors or lecturers, figures that feel out of reach, people who I feel hold answers for me, if only I could have a more intimate relationship with them. Nothing sexual, of course, just a forum where I would constitute the sole weight of the audience. These academic fathers provided a sense of security and knowledge that resulted in me placing them on some pedestal. In my first year of being an undergraduate, I drunkenly stumbled to the room where I had my first ever seminar, and fell into some twisted love or higher respect with my seminar leader; he gave me that sense of 'this is who I needed in my life as a young boy, someone to guide me'. I tried my best to kick down the glass panel of the door to the room, just to get inside. I am not sure why. I was never caught and along with two break-ins in to the School of English, in that first year also, it was a stunning display of how bad the security here at university really is. I have a tendency to prolong my walk home when intoxicated. This description of my relationship with male figures in my life could be easily related to some kind of textbook Freudian theory. The need for me to fill that masculine voice I lacked in my childhood, projected on to the next available figure that could fulfil the role. I revert to my opening statement; the life of a lecturer has always held tremendous value to me. In my constant search for a career (which is still at an all time low in terms of intensity), becoming an academic of literature has always intrigued. It would definitely remove all the crushing guilt I have had in regards to my total lack of motivation in my education so far and it would fill me with a more 'noble' or sense of self respect that what I was doing had some meaning and that I could always find infinity, passion and some kind of financial success in reading and writing. In lectures, we are usually introduced to a writer and their works by being told about how they grew up, what they did, where they were from, and what was going on in the world around them. Looking at their letters, their critics, their friends' opinions of them, and so on. I sometimes wonder what would be written about me, if I suddenly dropped this inability to create and managed to become some kind of prize-winning poet or screenplay writer. The issues of self-perception will ultimately conjure some degrading and flat description of how I was never an academic of any kind, a failed musician, and despite a surprisingly creative and passionate journal in my college years (nearly four birthdays ago now), I never touched another human being in any way, or created something I could be proud of or call a creative work. I could count how many novels I have read with both hands and still have enough fingers left to squeeze my temples and restrain rage. The career of a lecturer has a feeling of safety attached to it. I respect lecturers and am constantly amazed at their intellectual prowess and how a lecture can make my mind 'zoom out' from the insignificant diversions of life and see the vast picture of what we are living in. There is a respectability and constantly unlocked view that one could hold as an academic. I can feel the safety of seeing the past so broadly and seeing the effects of what writing can do to the world around us, it is inspiring. Looking at certain character types, it seems that spending all your time in a library to achieve the switch in your title from an 'M' to a 'D' to make it 'Dr.' instead of 'Mr.' can, or could, have an effect on you as a person and cut you off from the realities of life that aren't presented to you through a page. I must apologise to the reader, as I am excruciatingly tired at the moment and my hopes of staying up tonight to prepare for my 11am seminar is not going well. At this rate, it looks like I may even oversleep. I detest writing under the influence of sleep deprivation, coherence and flow are effected quite dramatically! I need to stop leaving this to the last minute, and I need to get back in the library. The last five days have included two nights out, one night of working until 3:30am and two late nights as the result of the parties and working! It has been an unproductive and expensive few days. I must study later, I must sleep now. |
| Its been a massively unproductive few days. I decided to blow off some steam by attending a nearby house party, followed by a whole day of training and then work in the evening again. My inability to keep a consistent level of focus on more than one facet of my life is showing, as I performed badly at training - almost a definite sign that my mind has been taken up by studies more than sport, so there is some good to come out of this. Unfortunately the balance can only meet in the middle of generic mediocrity. I enjoy putting in a new monthly pair of contact lenses, walks become much more stimulating. Contact lenses degrade in visual quality over time, especially if you sleep in them and do everything I do in them. So when it comes to putting in a new pair, the natural landscape around me is presented in such a crisp 'High Definition' fashion, which makes the intricacies of woven tree branches and the texture of winged birds mesmerising. It brings a smile to my face. I am so lucky to be at a university overlooking an archaic city, still merging elements of the modern. This motivation to study is paying tribute to this place, the expectations of family. I have not done it justice in the last two years and now is my only chance to make it up to myself and everyone else in some way. Investing in a good dictionary could go a long way for me. After a massive hiatus of not really reading anything, my ability to speak and convey what I want to say through words has suffered dramatically. I have lengthy sub-discussions through the various chat messengers I use online, simply because people don't know what I am trying to say, or mis-read or misinterpret something. It is extremely frustrating. I have a reputation for being extremely sarcastic and even my long time friends have trouble trying to differentiate my serious statements from my sarcastic ones. I am a big believer that the wider your knowledge of vocabulary, the easier it is to pin down your feelings and ideas and broadcast them. I have more to say on this, but for now, I am just too tired and want the weekend to be over with. 19th century literature lecture tomorrow morning, I shall not oversleep this time! 'Effective reading' workshop in the afternoon, but I may skip that to go to a careers presentation instead. Hitting the library hard at some point whatever happens, will try to take it easy for my housemates birthday party, which will include at least one nightclub and probably vicious amounts of alcohol. |
| Working in a nightclub offers a rather depressing and sober insight into the desperate spirit of what I referred to in my opening post as a 'chaotic breeding ground'. Seeing the student populous intoxicated and trying to accept and deny advances in a dark and claustrophobic environment, sometimes aggressively, places me in a profoundly inspired state; one where the music, the high street fragrances of the slurring customer and the inaudible conversations merge into a primitive and naked scene, worthy of airtime on the Discovery Channel. The narrator taking the form of a constantly chest rattling beat, orchestrating the movements of females, drawing the swayed'n'delayed reactions of males. There's no doubting the destructive power of sexual frustration at this age, as you see germs in the mens room punching the walls before them and the slight glances into the ladies room as the door swings open, revealing a mirrored line-up of frantic make-up checks and dress straightening - not too much, not too little. Apologies to the reader, this cold open does not hold an amusing or positive energy to it, although my opening post should have successfully broadcasted the purpose of this blog. Speaking of which, I must report my academic endeavours in between this post and the last. Tackling the 'Woman Question' in Victorian literature and possibly prolonging the self-inflicted wound in my own foot by refusing to use any 'quick answer' guides online as to the plot lines of my primary sources - I must read the novels myself! I find myself more inclined to read secondary or critical material, rather than the novel or poems set. This natural enthusiasm for literary theory has sparked a possible look at pursuing my academic work (I sound like I know what I am doing!) in the form of a Masters degree in Critical Theory, however it is still early days and funding is most definitely an issue. The problem I have had with reading for a long time is the sense of time it takes to consume a novel, however my recent attempts at 'just getting on with it', has revealed a great sense of control over the book I have in front of me. Being outflanked by pages and pages of words, waiting and praying for a chapter break is no longer as daunting as it once was. They literally used to feel like mountains to climb. Issues with reading comprehension are still very much apparent; I have a great ability of reading the words and thinking about the undetected social inadequacies I managed to achieve earlier in the day - my attention span is horrendously bad at the moment. I will persist, however. Motivation has brought me into the library yet again after a somehow tiring day and money is making snacks-while-studying a very helpful tool. New headphones has allowed musical appreciation back in to my life. I am drowned out at home by my housemates and no working headphones for a couple of weeks has cut off personal time with music; journeys have been annoyingly silent, bar the squeaking of my bag, straining under the weight of all the books I am taking out of the library (yet to be read in depth). In the spirit of positive steps in my life, I am looking in to taking up a language too, one that could cost me quite a lot of money, so perhaps a taster session is in order to see how it is and what I should learn. Spanish, italian, mandarin, japanese? These are the ones I have narrowed it down to. Mandarin is apparently the most difficult, but a career-based opportunity may come out of its arduousness. Spanish would be a fun language to learn, it sounds like it tastes good to speak, its in the top three most used languages in the world and I have family in Spain. Generic memories of comedy sketches has made italian always sound funny to me, so I must consider that too. My frustrating career search has calmed dramatically in the last 48 hours. For some reason I got an intuitive feeling as to the nature of a rich persons life and through educated speculation, I conjured the feeling of how empty it could feel. A survey that I recently caught sight of revealed that happiness comes from money up until a certain point. Beyond that certain point (salaries around $75,000/£80,000), stress and lack of time tread on the happiness that money can create. Well, the jokes on them, because I'll never be happy! Perhaps this means money (a word which we should maybe treat with the same meaning as 'opportunity' from now on) is in my future. This 'intuition' I alluded to came in the form of a sudden glance at the bigger picture of my life and the amount of time I have left. I was placing unrealistic time boundaries on myself which carried the mission statement of 'leave university, be a millionaire'. This is quite ridiculous and doesn't serve me any good and causes unnecessary fluster. I find abrupt endings rude, but it really is time to get back to work now. |
| Welcome to my first attempt at writing anything in a few years. I am a 21 year old male, living in England studying English Literature and after a rampant ghost train of distressing thoughts and ideas hurtling through my mind, screaming about my life and how far I have not come as a human being, I have decided to put my foot down and regain some control over what I am doing with myself. This blog is in part to help with my issues with reading comprehension and trying to revive the once very live spark of creative flair within my blood, that has since been extinguished (worryingly) upon arrival at University. My writing may not come across as particularly coherent, well punctuated or grammatically correct to begin with, I hope to break through the rust and rectify this as quickly as possible! An explanation of the title of this blog is perhaps in order. As I sit here rather sleep deprived in this large and heaving library, it suddenly hit me that I really don't know how to learn. After five years in secondary school education, two years in college and now in my third and final year at University, you would have thought that learning had become a pretty simple endeavour, alas, this is not so. I actually found myself walking to the first floor of the library, as if that represents some kind of digression from my cosy position on the third, to pick out a book entitled 'The Study Skills Handbook'. Honesty prevents me from describing this book to you as an intellectual hybrid of ideas regarding how one learns on the subtle psychological levels, underlining the processes that happen when we comprehend these black marks on a white background - it is literally a book on how one can organise themselves in learning at University in its most basic and condescending form. The evidence for my intellectual regression is fairly obvious. I have failed to achieve a 70% + in any of my essays here at University and have subjected my brain cells to a pretty consistent barrage of alcohol and other substances usually floating around any university campus. My social endeavours have not only cost me valuable brain cells, but has also lead to a rather devastating dent in my wallet, resulting in many financial issues and making the indulgence in whipped cream far from my reach. Countless meals with no taste have rendered me in a state of perpetual fear of leaving this academic forum with no means of supporting myself financially and, such is the nature of our society, removed from the chaotic breeding grounds of the modern day. So, how does this relate to cream? To be honest, this blog was the result of a spontaneous overflow of feelings1 and a title that came to mind that both represented my issues with learning and with money were expandable in the above acronym: Creative, Reflective, Effective, Active, Motivated (a helpful little tool from my new found Study Skills Handbook). On the opposite side of the literary spectrum, a jolt of inspiration from the Wu-Tang Clan called for a fitting double entendre of 'Cash Rules Everything Around Me' (the lyrics of the chorus go on to say: 'Cream! Get the money, dollar-dollar bill y'aaallll). This double meaning to the title of this blog does hold significance which I think is important in explaining, to let whatever potential readers know what they are getting themselves in to, as well as reminding the author of its purpose. The 'creative, reflective, effective, active, motivated' jingle is really an important message to me, as this is a year I truly wish to achieve academic success of some kind. Every time I left an essay to the last minute, I was in a cold-sweat state of panic about how much I had to get done in such little time. I still wish to feel that, but I wish it to be in the situation of finding myself teetering on the edge of finally making it perfect - not finally hitting the required word count. This blog aims to call into question my daily activities and see what it is I have done to work towards that goal. Along with this academic purpose, the rather odd mention of the Wu-Tang Clan and their lyrics about money strikes a chord with me in a big way. I have had moral and ethical differences with the way this world is run. The way that the 'common man' is exploited for money in all sorts of different ways and how there are pressures on us to succeed or literally be no-one. Of course, this is an extrinsic influence that has corrupted my young mind, but I have reached a stage where I am tired of being a discardable life in this world. I consider the lives of the rich and how many doors are open to them. I think, ultimately, I would like to see the world, crawl up onto some ledge in the Kaatskill mountains and write my feelings about life, void of any direct human intervention. Put my head back and breath in the cool, damp air. Feel the hot, heavy ground of busy streets in eastern Asia - this is not open to me in my situation. And so, my obsession and now unconfined approach to chasing a career and chasing a means of making money is very much in my mind. I wish to enjoy the finer things in life, even with the underlying belief that it may not be as good as I think it will be, that a simpler life may be more important and that my motivations now are the result of subtle conditioning as opposed to fear and anger about my life so far. I hope this to be the first of many posts about my days here in and out of the library. I hope to achieve something and I hope this is the beginning of a beautiful journey that I can document and look back on. Footnotes |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
