I'm only trying to create an upwards curving crevice with your facehole.

I came up with the subtitle of this blog whilst instant messaging with a good friend and very attractive lady. It made me come to realise within that conversation that i can come across as overwhelming and slightly odd when i'm trying to be complimentary or generous/accommodating. This morning i have come to realise it may be due to wanting to make the people i like smile, and often others also. I know this can be seen as a bad thing and so maybe i need to be a little less subtle in my approach and/or offerings, and that is something i may or may not work on, but this morn i also came to realise that infact, comedy would be a great choice for me. I'm not saying i could hack stand up, and i'm not saying i have the capacity to make people laugh - like that lieutenant in Good Morning Vietnam that tried to replace Robin Williams' character - but i would love to be able to give people the gift of a smile, even laughter. I'm thinking of writing up some sort of pilot for a comedy show, or some jokes to include somewhere, etc. Maybe even draw up a comic strip to accommodate these. I shall have to see i suppose.
In other news, if there is one thing that has been accomplished with the initial posts of this blog, it is that it can be safely suggested that i need a girlfriend, some sort of partner, someone i feel some compassion for. I currently have the capacity to have a girlfriend at the moment, but no compassion, and where my compassion lies i have no capacity. The ever ending cycle of life!
My compassion lies with a recent addition to my life, and if not for her counterpart, and our possible moral clashes, i would ask her on a date, instead of pining over her harder than a scandinavian forest.
Ear hair is gross. Wake up wierd man, stop falling on me and let me off the train.

Subconsciously realistic; relationships by night.

I suffer - I say suffer, sometimes they're good - from extremely vivid dreams. Last night was no different, and given my recently slightly messed up situation monetarily, I believe it delved me into something highly masochistic subconsciously. I don't remember much from the start of the dream, vaguely running across a random city with the point of reference to run to of the oldest pub which was in the far corner of said city (this city did not extend further and neither did the world in general, of this far corner. I don't know why).
Upon arriving and standing outside, I stumbled into a small fissure in the tarmac, opening up to a train/tram type system underground, much like the tram's of Manchester running in the Parisian metro system. I could not fit through this gap though my leg was caught dangling through it, and I thought I was going to loose it, as the tram's went by.
Eventually I blurrily hop forth to be stood on a platform, with many other people, some vaguely recogniseable such as my mate's dad, an older guy that used to be on the MA course while I was studying, and a lass I had a relationship with in a dream literally years ago. Now when I say relationship, the amount of time that passed within that dream subconsciously, could have been practically infinitely longer than the actual time of (probably) 6 hours or so, and so a relationship as such could be concieved within that time, and unfortunately for me, disbanded also.
Now on one side of the tracks are me, these vaguely recogniseables' and others, and on the other side is a football team. We are all here to train, it is a space utilise for gym activities (no equipment, just classes, stretching out, yoga, that sort of stuff). Now, the lass is with her Dad, she is wonderfully gorgeous, an angle forward longer-than-bob cut of thick brunette hair, around 5'9", size 10 with size 12 hips, B cup, skinny stretchy jeans, white plain tee, deep navy blue and white striped crappy cardigan with extra long arms that she had grabbed in her hands, piercing eyes chocolate brown, with a hint of darker around the outside, fading lighter in the inside towards the pupil.
The lass is with her dad, and even though we are allowed to talk, it is obvious that it is frowned upon that we interact too closely; we're holding each other's wrists, wanting to hug and make up, even though my head is telling me of the pain we've sustained previously, and what we'll be putting ourselves through once again.
Eventually the class starts with the arrival of an instructor our side, and a coach on the football side. This is the slightly more harrowing side to it all, in that part way through stretching out, the lass spots an old acquaintance in the football side, he comes across, they eventually hit it off, and I am distraught beyond belief, I had once again put all my eggs into one basket insufferably hoping that she'd take me back. The pain shines through, her eyes show that she knows what I'm going through, but she turns away to kiss this boy. I am distraught. The class carries on, I have nowhere to stretch, so reluctantly do so next to her, hoping to catch her attention possibly. She looks my way, puzzle whilst sat stretching towards her foot, and I give her a 'there's nowhere else to go' look. Eventually there's another break, Jason walks by and I say 'we're going out tonight', and he simply sniggers and says 'ok', and that's the end.
I woke up completely nerve wracked, tired, apprehensive, and ultimately wary of everyone and everything. I wrote this the instant I woke, rather than forgetting it going to the train, so now it's time to head for it.

The, One?

It may be noted that the single most attractive thing in existence to me was, and still is, a certain female on new year's eve/day '06/07 in a gold sequin and royal blue number, with her hair dyed a deep brown in contrast to her usual bright natural blonde; I do, infact, prefer her as a blonde, but this night, this imagery, forever haunts me as the one i forced away. Such ludicrous idiocy hasn't been seen since the english elected margaret thatcher as prime minister. I will never see a smile on her face again without the sad aftertones following through her eyes, such beautiful eyes. Well god damn, I did mess that up. It was all my fault, and no one would question that, and certainly I am not dissillusioned by my inept younger douchebaggery, but I know she is all I ever want, no more, no less, just her sweet caress. Wow, what a douchebag. I mean, what is a guy to do? Even if she did look at me, at all, maybe a facebook stalk every once a month, I can't live upto her expectations. Now she is more humble and wonderful than ever, I'm more harrowed, she listens to female singer/songwriters, I listen to Every Time I Die, she looks fantastic, I look like what she wipes her feet on before stepping through a portal. I'm done for. She is beauty incarnate, a living goddess, her body is divine, her personality, sublime, I simply cannott exist near her, I don't ever deserve that nurture, anymore. Done for, I need a release, but that's what makes me look like more of a douchebag, than being at peace; the only way I might possibly come into her path, once again. I'd give up everything, alcohol, food after 9pm, any acknowledgement of tge opposite sex ever again, even meat. And I EAT THE FUCK out of meat. Aldi hoi sin duck wraps are my cardinal sin, and lipton peach ice tea washes it down nicely. I'd ditch 'em both, right now. All of it. Been this way for 5 years now, and still maintaining a high level of being a douchebag. Fuck.

PLEASE GINGERS, don't dye. I love you.

Relevance in the infiniverse

Existent, we are not. If theory suggests, then why bother? Mind plagues, forget your values, taboos, reasons and excuses, refusal plays you into the game. You are an automaton, software, possible hardware (as we know it). The multiverse is a platform, why do you make decisions? Tell me it's you, you know it to be untrue.
Every particle linked to another, infinite imaginings, same pixels, same colour. Ordered by energy, thermal is just a faster displacement, to describe you hollow would be an understatement, the shell of your vaccuumous being is irrelevant binary, coded to withstand your mental prying, pryor to this you thought you were merely dying.
Coded from the outside, holographic inside, universal distortion creating an edge for the illusion, why do we kill, why are we suicidal? No sentient being should be born capable, it's an outer probing creating your mind's capabilities, giving your binary frivolous abilities.

This is a possible song written regarding the potential of our lack of existence, and whether multiverse theory is possibly representative of an outside power controlling us as a game of sorts, holograms in our own existence, projected from the outer edge of the universe, as is the unique pattern of an exploded star engraved into the edge of its life ending energy pulse, every unique oddity of its being coded in the edge of a pulse of energy.

I don't know if anyone actually reads this blog, i suppose that's irrelevent (i've spelt that word two different ways in this blog, cover all my bases so to speak) however i do apologise to anyone that does, for my incredibly inconsistent posts, and lack of anything tangibly interesting other than my mindless drivel, but then, this blog is here for just that, so i take back my apology merely due to the principal of it all.

Copyright etc, copy my shit and prepare to get mercilessly dicked.

Heaven's rejection.

So the girl across from me is stunning. It's the usual sort, impossibly delicate, looks of such royalty and grace you expect her to come with a battalion to protect her. She even has a gold tiara-like hairband, as if to prove me right, and to the world, no less. She is a delicate flower, though the use of such an overused phrase is somewhat blasphemous. Even if I had come up with it, a flower just isn't delicate enough. Think more along the lines of an exotic butterflies wings, with which even the merest of touches, would be forever condemned to flightlessness. She reminds me of a girl I used to work with; I worked in the warehouse, and rebecca smedley worked in the restaurant. She was radiance incarnate. Buying those infamous meatballs could amount to the best minutes of my life at the time, amounting to my biggest regrets (if I favoured endeavouring in such folly). She had an ice-cool subtlety to her, like the melted residue barely comprehensible on the tip of an iceberg. Don't worry, you may see it as stupidity or false hope that I have utilised her name as the tags for this blog, but with facebook, linkedin, and rebecca sharing her name with some professional dancer, there is no way even you could find this blog through the use of her name. Nice try, though.
Everyone is falling asleep around me. It would seem that it is possible to sleep-stand. I'm having issues with conversation due to my insatiable hunger for a, the dream infront of me, and b, the mcdonalds breakfast i've not been able to convince myself away from. A double sausage and egg mcmuffin meal, a sausage an egg mcmuffin, an extra hash brown, life will be good.
If I could pluck up the ridiculous extents of courage only seen in books to ask this wonder I currently behold what her name was, the rejection would be worth it, for the pride in having spoken to her. Shame her mate resembles play-doh.
I sent a message to a person whom had placed an add on gumtree for a 21" old school style (crt) tv this morning, just before I got this train - no viewings when I looked, so i'm very hopeful. Still, this hints at a fun fact of the week; I own a limited edition blue pikachu n64, and this is what the tv is for, to be played in my room. Games are one of a few hobbies I have, and I suppose you'll find out more as this blog progresses.
Certainly this has been a tired blog, a partial test in writing extravagance, but I plan to improve with the next one. You may even say "this is bollocks, mark", and if you get the tv program reference, i would then applaud you.
Ciao kids, until next time.

Day one.

The idea behind this blog is quite simple, I, the hapless writer, will divulge a variety of topics that pop up in my mind over my 42 minute (est. time) 7am journey on the train home from work. Being that I am more likely to sway towards creating a word based Dali-esque piece of literature when sleepy from a mere couple of hours of rest, and with my brain taking a daydream-like conscious train for the general criteria of my thoughts in the first place, This I am hopeful, will bring about a blog of some mild interest.
Today is the first time I have ever taken this journey, and as I type into my touch screen I am boxing out the obesity sat next to me from splurging over onto the arm rest and essentially into my space. Don't get me wrong I'm all for human rights, but I fear that his overzealous approach to eating will end with an arm more resembling a cushion invading my personal space, whereas the other way round, my arm doesn't even breach his bulky perimeter. I believe this is a fair and just approach for all parties involved, particularly myself.
Unfortunately while I approach this blog I have been included in a socio-nasal experiment, in which I am sat across a table from two beautiful young females, boxed in my space by a pie machine and the appeal to be sat down on a busy train (which may backfire given my stop is but one before the one that the majority of standing aisle intruders will depart at), and I am sniffing back the premature ejaculate of a currently dormant nose bleed volcano.
Now, this initial geezer gush will eventually explode half of my face of and look like the aftermath of a baby push (muse reference much?) but for now it is tame, even if it does have the social equivalent of the devestation yellowstone park's majestic volcanic beast will create geographically when its 80km square miles of land is projectile vomitted into the air(or so I am lead to believe; national geographic inundates my brain with currently useless geographic knowledge)
Luckily, I say in jest of the likelihood of the event happening, I generally have a nasal cavity likened once again to a magma chamber, in that the time frame is impossible to detect as to when I'll be shouting 'tharrr she blowsss', I can merely suggest due to the relevant tendancy (discarding anomalies which I'll come back to) that I expect it to be a couple of days until I erupt.
Anomalies; a word used in this context to describe risque early bursts and anti-climaxes; one way of course more favourable than the other. Anomalies of the lesser preference can occur for a number of reasons, most of which lead back to me being hit in the face, accidentally or on purpose. I have also just realised that this year I've come across the irritation that is hayfever, and that this sneeze tickling my nose may make the pretty girls across from me - wistfully dosing as they are -  look like Josh Hartnett in 30 days of night post-chopping-a-small-child's-head-off.
Today is going to be full of surprises, but here is my stop, so I shall bid you adieu!