billythehick Vs. godzilla

i've been doing my blogging elsewhere for the last while.

the act of blogging is a bizarre practice, as the majority of those who read will have no context in which to put the text. so it is less the construction of a story, or the construction of a diary, so much as the construction of an identity.

so on other sites where i write the know me only from what i tell them, and how i tell it.

a less scrupulous writer might take advantage of this to make himself seem an avatar of humanity at its peak, telling the right sorts of stories, giving the right sorts of opinions and so on. not so with me, i give you the good, i give you the bad. i'm not entirely honest but anything i write will always be true to at least one person at the time of writing.
however, to give the grislier details, to give the coldest, most wretched parts of yourself to the text, to let every pathetic aspect of your worthlessness to the text, it has precisely the opposite effect it logically should.
if you face your flaws in the most attention-seeking way possible people mostly don't see it as pathetic, they actually see at as a sign of bravery, a sign of honour.

you may decide for yourself whether they are right. do you see honour in being openly pathetic?

back to the idea of a construction of a personality for a second. the modern age of creating an online self has led to the sale of these lives on ebay, amazon, elsewhere. i could even sell the personality i'm showing you now, how do even know that i'm writing this, and someone else hasn't found the password and is doing this in the blogger's name?

kafka-esque, non?

but what a personality it is that a draw here. the friends that know where to find it find it both fascinating and horrifying. and such is the human mind.

i've just randomly thought up a daft joke, and rather than work out a way to weave it seamlessly into the text, giving the illusion that i'm a better writer than i am, i shall simply throw it at you:

you might dislike me for my flaws, but i'm only human.
but then again, so was hitler.

ah wit.

i have no topic to discuss. as i said to my oldest friend the other day (though if you subtract all the time she's been angry with me over the years (usually entirely justly) we've probably only been friends about a week) "i'm as newsless as i am useless"

i would discuss plans, but you see i've decided that plans are meaningless if they are said aloud before they are enacted. it's become a worrying trend throughout my life that i think up a cunning plan, and then tell someone, so that they know how cunning i am, and then... nothing.
a wise fool if ever there was one.

as a matter of fact i even procrastinate in my blogging. i was in a set of nude crowd photographs a few weeks ago. i took a few notes shortly afterward so i'd have something to write about when i eventually blog it, the intention to do a proper essay-style thingamabob on it.

what kind of a story do you see emerging in the chapters to come?
say this is a book, which maybe it is, say that there is X number of pages left, what do you think's gonna happen?
so far it's certainly been an interesting chronicle of a beautiful mind (abridged) but where exactly is it all going? if i one day become someone important then that makes this an account of how i got from here to there, to see what seeds were sown which led to my eventual emergence as whatever.
but that may not happen, maybe this is it, reams of mental masturbation about actual masturbation. what the hell is that? is that a book?
cos this is essentially the same chapter written again and again, by a slightly different person.
and i'm in this endless battle to be something other than what i am, and it proves entirely fruitless.
alternatively you could say that i'm endless becoming who i am, or who i'm supposed to be.
"a certain point of view" and all that.

of all the thoughts that go through my head, most of them are things i have thought before but not said, and due to the amount of bullshit that spills out of my mouth it becomes hard to tell what's what.
and when you add all this writing to the mix, and the many different places i write, and the many different selves i write as, and the many different people that read different things here and there, i really have no idea what i've written before.

including the above sentence. i'm sure if i combed through the archives long enough i'd find myself reading something similar.
if you're a long-time reader of this (in which case i probably know you) then you may find yourself finding it all very familiar. doubly so if this is a book.

'tis an odd book, isn't it? a self aware narrator writing a book that hadn't yet become a book at time of writing.

what a strange occurence i never become anything other than the man who wrote his memoirs.
i could put some effort into being unique, and become the man who wrote his memoirs in advance, but i'd probably give up after the first chapter.
a real-time memoir is a far easier option. still not settled on an ending though.

this post was written across two different days, divided by a further two days. by this extention it was written by two different people. did you notice?
in writing this entry i was reminded a lot of what i've been told about The Portrait of Dorian Grey. never actually read it though. such is the wonder of a vague cultural awareness.

i am a scholar of the backs of books.

citizen bill

oh.
my.
god.

i saw citizen kane in the last while. way overrated, that's not the big wow. but it got me wondering what my rosebud is. is it a person, is a specific era of my youth, is it an object?

i've just re-read the posts on the front page of this blog. and now i know.
the writing here is fucking fantastic. it's hilarious, it's personal, it's utterly unique, it gets in the quirky details, it's absolutely brilliant. and i wrote it. i can't even believe i wrote it.

this is my rosebud.
billythehick is my rosebud.
i mean the writung just gets better and better the further back i go, it's astonishing.
and it's maddening, and it's heartbreaking.
i was this good.
i could just hack out whatever was on my mind and it would be this good.
in the last while i've been doing some blogging on bebo, and a few people have commented on how good it is, and how i should try getting it published.
but fucking hell, if they liked that they should try reading this. and entire year of me at my absolute peak.

jesus i feel like crying right now.
i'm looking back at who i was before, and i can see with 20:20 that i was absolutely perfect. i can never get it back! it's like a pane of glass is pushing me along and all i can do is look at where i've been, and the grass just keeps getting dryer but it's always green just beyond the glass.

being at college has only taught me that my mother has always been wrong about me from day one. i've diatribing about that for so long now that it feels like old news. and while she is finally starting to get the jist of who i am, it doesn't change how fucked up i am because of her. emotionally i'm in a sinking ship because she could never distinguish between what's best for her kids and what she wanted when she was our ages. and now my talents have passed their peak and she spent so much time pushing me in the wrong direction that i never got the chance to fulfill all the brilliance i had in my youth.

when i was twelve i started wring a filmscript. it was a vanity project, completely. it was about a boy very similar to me (but old enough that by the time i was done writing it and selling it i'd be old enough to play him) and how he never seemed to live up to the standard of the people around him, and his parents hired a therapist because they couldn't understand him, and in the end the therapist helped him tor realize that he's just fine the way he is.

i devised this when i was twelve to fourteen. it's only now i look back and realize that i had the story of my life written out perfectly before anyone had got around to telling how to write.
i had everything, i had snappy dialogue, well-drawn characters, good use of imagery, contrasting characters, it was fucking perfect.
but at the time i didn't know it was perfect.
it took being dragged through the school system, being dragged through the leaving cert, and going through first arts at college only for me to learn that i was a fucking prodigy, that without being told i had worked it all out already, all the tricks in telling a story, the ability to spin a yarn, i didn't need to be told.

and now i've attended college english and they're telling me all the tricks. and they've fixed what wasn't broke.
now i can't even imagine being as good as i was when i was twelve because all i can think of is trying to be that good.
it's like a magic spell that makes no practical sense. take The Lady from Discworld. the godess that appears when needed but never when summoned. that's what my talent is, or was, or whatever.

even blogging on bebo, i have an audience, people read it, i get feedback, that breaks it too, because i'm trying to play to the audience and censoring myself.
all these reams and reams of adventures in masturbation, they are solid gold, just cutting loose completely.

i would normally at this point give you the details of The Porn That Late I Yanked Over. but now i'd be trying to write it well on purpose. i need to just tell it like it is.

in case your interested i don't do it every night, but i do it awfully regularly. mostly to redtube. i would look at the late night tv stuff too but we've lost our satellite remote, so i flicking between the dirty channels is a long and arduous task.
last night i did it standing up with my left hand.
don't usually do that. standing is usually the right hand.
but last night it was with the left.
got cramp.
it was this that really struck me. while i could wank through it with ease it really struck me how adept my right hand must be at masturbation that trying to mimic its style with my left hand causes muscle cramp.
going to try for an all-left thing from now on. i've said this before, but i'm saying it again. i do too much with just my right hand.

last week i wanked in an empty classroom after everyone else had gone home. took longer to come than expected.

well, how about that, all gory details anyway. just like the good old days.
in my case i guess the good old days is anything before yesterday. the future always looks bleak. and maybe it will be. but it'll probably be great when i look back at it.

now that's some postmodern hope for you right there. looking forward to looking back. a sweet thought. i'm actually finding some genuine solace in that.

and now i'm thinking it through a little and realizing that i'll be looking back at all my disappointments too. just like i'm looking back at all my wasted writing talent.
ah crap.

this would make a fantastic book. i'm keeping an occasional diary now too, but i keep getting distracted from it so most of the anecdotes end halfway through. sometimes in mid sentence. and it's got absolutely no throughline. because i'm not talking to anyone, i'm just talking to myself.
and this is exactly what i said would happen! i didn't go insane from talking to myself, i just got boring. talking to yourself is the conventional way to go nuts, i need to talk to myself and broadcast to the world and be ignored, that's my kind of insanity! i'm not lost, i'm free! i'm the fucking shit! i'm more nuts than you! i'm happy and sad at the same time, i'm lonely while surrounded by friends, and the world is my oyster but i'm just too lazy to grab it!

i don't need anyone to explain anything to me, i know everything i'll ever need to know. everyone who tells me otherwise is wrong! people trying to steer me in their idea of the right direction has only ever gotten me confused and made me thing i need other people to teach me. i don't! i have the best mind in the world, i need to teach them. i have the only pair of hands that can get out what i have to say, i can;t rely on anyone to be better than me, because they can't be! i'm superman!

incidentally, i got auctioned off for charity today. i was going to shave my head too but they weren't doing guys. i was also going to get my legs waxed but they ran out of wax. even before the guy's leg lurched and knocked over the basin there wasn't enough to go around. i went for twenty euros, the least out of anyone on offer. two girls now have me on call for the next week or two. it took them ten minutes of talking to me to realize what value for money they'd got. a bunch of the other idiots had gone for twenty-five, forty, sixty. at twenty i was a steal. people are blind to whats right in front of them.

i'm going to bed. i've regained my mojo, and i'm in a good place.

oh this is a happy day. oh this has been another happy day. so far.

(it's beckett ya moron)


to tricia and vicky, i say HELLO (i just misspelled that as HELLP, which would have been apt unitl very recently) thanks for stopping by at the best blog in the world. if you're not Vicky of Tric, who the hell are you!?
crazy internets.
i'm going to draw a line under this, draw it all to a close. i'd referred to this elsewhere as a pile of bad memories. but oh no, this is not a pile of bad memories, this is a goldmine in disguise. i'd actually forgotten so much of what i wrote here.
good night, good luck, god speed, and just writing that has gotten me terrified that i'll die tonight and i'll never get to capitalize on all this.

if i ever do die (which i might) i want you to organize this, and my bebo blog, and my blog in the comments of the balconytv "maths lesson" vid on youtube, and my diary, into a book. it should be easy enough to get it all into chronological order, and i give you the job of editing it for content. don't leave out too much, but there's definitely some stuff that has to go. but the wanking stays in. in some ways it's the best part. the world needs to know who i am. once i'm dead i won't be able to tell them. then it'll be your job.

salutations and goodnight.

billythehick blogs about stuff, mostly sex

woody allen called it sex with some you deeply love.
i prefer to call it strip solitaire.
it's neither love nor sex.
it's just playing games with yourself.

the other day i had a near life experience. i kissed a girl through two layers of cloth. we were both wearing scarves and we both wrapped them around our mouths like veils. then we kissed. no tongue, obviously, and as a sensation it didn't feel anything like a kiss.
she seemed to get a lot more out of it than i did though. i had my eyes open, but she closed hers, as if it was some kind of real passionate thing.
i felt good being around this girl, sarah, mainly because she had such a lax attitude to physical contact.
ordinarily i wouldn't just grope a girl out of the blue, mainly because most of the girls i talk to are quite a bit younger than me (though i do hug people a lot) but one of her friends (also named sarah) started doing it so i just joined in.
now i don't know why but when i hugged her i started to mime humping her leg.
i don't usually do that.
but she didn't mind, and i didn't mind that she didn't mind.
lots of hugging, lots of closeness, lots of eye contact, a fair bit of flirting.
and it didn't feel awkward at all. it felt safe. it felt good, great, all manner of positivity.
mostly because there was no baggage whatsoever. we were as good as strangers, something could have happened briefly, and we could have left it at that. kinda what i've been looking for for a while, that kind of no-strings attached relationship, the sort of thing where it's two people taking advantage of each other.
a few things got in the way.
firstly she had just been smoking, so she had tobacco breath.
secondly i'd just had a sandwich, so i had onion breath.
thirdly her friend was right there, and i didn't want to just cut her off or make her feel like a third wheel.
and fourthly because she was a bit younger than me. like maybe four/five years. and the last guy she'd called her boyfriend had turned out to be a pseudo-paedophile who liked going out with girls within a certain age bracket.
but if it hadn't been for the bad breath, i don't think it would've mattered. even her friend being there, i don't think it would have mattered.
i mean i'd literally just spent five minutes groping her, the energy between us was incredible.
looking back i wish i had gone further with her.
yes, she was younger than me, but she didn't look it, and she didn't mind, and honestly i really need it, i need a girl like that in my life right now.

this has been the peak of my sexual life so far. seriously, this is the closest i have come to having sex with someone. other than myself.

i have a tendency to think girls like me. almost any girl. almost all girls if i'm being honest. i have to really squint my eyes and look closely to be sure if it's real or if i'm just imagining it.
cos i see it in a lot of girls.
the sarah i knew also has a friend called miriam, whom i've known a few years now, and while she is much too young for me, and looks it, i can never help but feel that we both lament this. like whatsisname and natalie portman in beautiful girls.
"i'd be willing to wait"
the phrase springs to mind with a lot of girls i know.
there's this other one called olivia. she's a wise girl, and a lot closer to me in terms of years than miriam, but because she's so mature, and i'm so mature occasionally, it seems we both know that nothing can/should happen.
maybe something could happen, but thing is with her it wouldn't be pure sexual energy. we're friends.
so if anything is to happen it needs to start there and build, or else it will just destroy itself.

there are other instances where it's been confirmed i'm not imagining it. not so long ago a bunch of a -girl-i-know's friends told me that she liked me, and did i like her, and would i meet her, and so on and so forth.
i declined to answer.
now one of those friends has feelings for me too. i was told this by friends of her's again, but i had already worked out from the facts that she had posted a bebo blog about being in love, and had started bebo-stalking me.
this might not have tipped me off if it had not been for the fact that not so long ago i had being doing the same thing to a girl i had been much enamored with.
not in love now, though. feeling comes and goes with different faces.

so girls do like me.
and it isn't a rare occurrence that a girl catches my eye and i'll be left wondering if i've caught her's

i am a being of love.
i have so much of it to give. and so many people to give it to.
i fall in love with every girl i see, and then all i do is wait to get over her.
thing is that each of these loves is completely unique. i feel an emotional connection to some, i feel a sexual connection to others, for some it's a mutual interest, for some it's a spiritual love, for some it's inspirational.
i feel so much love and i don't know what to do with it.
do i give it to every girl i know? to i tell them all how i feel?

i feel differently each day. maybe i could send out emotion reports to them all, as part of some free service.

each of them deserve something better than just a small share in me.
but each of them deserve better than to have someone chosen over them.

i feel so much shyer around girls my own age, i feel intimidated by them. it colours how i react to them somewhat. so maybe i could use my cute and friendly demeanor to woo them it i wasn't so freakin stupid.

i was going through a phase last week. not sure if it'll carry over to next week or not.
the phase is that i really felt girls were paying attention to me. i mean, that they were interested. even the ones who at last check had boyfriends.
that's where it all falls down really. if i'm seeing that look in their eyes its almost certain that i'm imagining it.
or am i?
are these girls perhaps getting the same "we're both pieces of meat anyway, why not treat each other that way?" vibe that i was getting off sarah?
well they weren't groping me, so perhaps not.

but they were showing independent interests. i didn't have to go looking for it, i just saw it.
ah, i'm dust in the end anyway.

and no-one's going to be reading this for many a week.

one of the main reasons i've yet to have sex is because i've nowhere to do it. i might even be able to get over myself and do it with a complete stranger. but if i bring one home then my entire family will most definitely notice.
and if i don't come home they also definitely notice.
and my mother's weird. even if she wouldn't talk to me about it she would definitely act even creepier than usual.

she wants to hug me a lot.
and she leans in really close to talk to me, whispering, like some really strange attempt at intimacy.
i really wish she'd stop trying to make me like her, i was so much happier hating her.

what i need is to come home to sex. i need space, i need time, i need privacy, i need comfort.
and i need sex.
but all i have to come home to is me and my family.
and no matter what i tell myself about being past that phase, i'm still carrying around all this loneliness. i do need someone to rely to give the one thing no-one has given me so far.

my right arm is feeling strange recently because i've been using it too much.
i'm trying to give it a rest and start doing more things with my left arm.

not much luck so far.
and i've been putting off my archaeology essay for weeks now. it was due two weeks ago, and the latest possible entry is in two days time.
i haven't read a word on it.
what the fuck is wrong with me.

and on that note...

i think cher put it best when she said "i've been up and down so many times i feel like a revolving door"

i'm going back and forth and over and under through cycles of hope, delusion and disappointment.

i'm really not sure what to write, as i've put everything so many different ways so many different times, it's hard not to repeat myself. but the point is that this is exactly what i'm doing. i'm syking myself up as the big stud on campus, then not doing anything with the energy.

lesse...
there are these two girls who are in most of my classes. one of them was out on monday, the other was out today, and i was sat near each on each day. and on both occasions i considered maybe doing something, particularly today as we were both completely alone (except for the other 200-400 students in the auditoria) i mean particularly in archaeology, where we just watched a documentary... in the dark...

but while there's nothing wrong with either them, the big question is...
why?
why either of them?
let's just take that scenario, two of us sat there in the dark, let's say in some weird bizarro world i have a spine, and i move to kiss her, let's say she responds positively.
then what? am i then to explain how i'm not after her personality, and that i'm just looking for any female companionship at all and she just happened to be in the right place at the right time?
cos, this isn't in a club, this is in archaeology class. the most unsexy of all my classes. that's right, even less sexy than computer science.

cos with all these girls i know, all these feelings i've given up trying to apply names to, am i supposed to just put their names in hat and pull one out, is that the way this works?
or am i supposed to just become the best possible friends with all of them at once, and then put half of them into a callback round?

every time i've chased a girl in the past it has amounted to nothing, and i'm just sick of it. and right now i simply don't see anyone worth chasing.
well, there's a few people i haven't seen in a while, but that's not really the issue. in fact it just makes everything seem a lot worse...

round and round we go...

i was at rehearsal for the play i'm in tonight, and there are a few girls that caught my eye there, as there always is everywhere.
this one girl was there tonight, top of the list going by flat-out prettiness, but hey, they're not pieces of meat. our eyes caught once or twice on previous days, but it's all irrelevant in the end.
in tonight's rehearsal her character had to dance with this other guy's character, and, as he enthused to us afterward, they really seemed to forge a connection. i mean he actually said to her that the quiet one's always seem to be the kinky ones, and she told him she was.

see, this never happens to me. people who know me (that'd be you, since you're reading this) i doubt would be able to imagine saying anything like that to anyone i didn't already know really well.

i actually miss the good old days when my friends didn't hate me and we could sit around playing truth or dare. at the time i was the shy one who refused to do anything too sexual (though i did mime shagging a carpet, had one of my ass cheeks licked, licked a boot, and my nuts held through my jocks. i was also flashed a few times, but i averted my eyes because i wanted it to actually mean something when i saw breasts. seen a few since. they're alright. didn't mean anything though, but nothing really does these days.

eeeeeemmmoooo....

so yeah, the gal's pretty much crossed off the list now. not least because i'd look like an absolute prick if just stole her out from under him, even if i could, because everyone knows that he likes her, because he wouldn't stop talking about it.

soo....

what the hell do i do with myself? all women are starting to merge back into one.
i have to read oedipus and/or julius caesar and write a big-ass essay about one of them in about a week.
also busy doing lot's of stuff with societies. in fact i don't go to nearly as many as i want to.
and then i'm up all night doing this shit.
and then i'm falling asleep in classes the next day.
a lot. a barely go a class without napping.
and it's fucking up my body rhythm, cos my muscles start to go into sleep-mode, and then they don't get a chance to sleep because i wake up.

i also have to read about five chapters of my archaeology book, and the same of my much-smaller philosophy book.

durr....

angrygirl15 (not her real name, but she's blocked me from her livejournal, and i'm considering not applying for a temp job in argos because i've discovered she's gonna be working there) once said that my blog gets red by "like twenty people"
who are these twenty people? i mean who?

i walk past people i know who know people who know about this blog, and i wonder "do they know?"
it's a bit of a conundrum. how far has news spread? which news has spread. and does anyone care?

it's late, i'm tired, go home.

billythehickly ballroom

First of all: from now on i'm going to avoid names at all times, and if i absolutely have to use one i'll just make one up.

events towards the end of the entry get a little bit out-of-order, but you hardly notice.

had my grads a while back.
this was a little bit of a problem with regards to finding a date. i had one gal as a back-up in case i couldn't find someone else, cos i was lookin for a gal that could maybe possibly be a date date perhaps.
this in essence was the problem, as it was then i realized that there are amazingly few girls i don't have complicated pasts with. i mean i've professed my undying love to just about every girl i know (give or take a few hundred) at least once.
i trawled through bebo looking for someone i know well enough for this not to be completely out of the blue, but not well enough that things are complicated. and also no girls that i know to be in a relationship.
this narrowed it down reeeeally far. so far in fact that it took me ages to find a match.
my mother kept suggesting people (which automatically crossed them off the list) so i had to look even harder.
eventually i found one girl who i knew peripherally, but knew to be a good person, well cultured, friendly, pretty, the whole bundle of "eligible without being intimidating". she was a bit taller than me, but i could overlook that.
well technically i couldn't...
anyhoo. i asked her on bebo, she said yes. i got her number, date set, tah-dah.
to put a cherry on it my mother had never heard of her, so when she asked me who she was i could just say "you don't know her" and leave it at that.
cos she constantly asks me who my friends are, if i mention anything at all to do with people she asks me for names, how i know them, what are their parents like, what are their religious affiliations, how many people are in their family, where do they live, the works. so i do my best to just cut most conversations short.
my dad on the other hand takes little-to no interest other than to make the occasional angry comment about what a colossal disappointment we all are. or how much he hates all our friends.
anyhoo, back to women who aren't my mother...
actually, now that i think about it she does come up again a few times in this story...
on the run-up to the big night i reserve the suit, run into a guy i haven't seen since sixth class.
not much to say about that really, just the usual banal stock phrases people usually use in small talk. we didn't see eye-to-eye six years ago, i doubt we're soulmates now. we wished each other the best of luck in our respective futures.
i got a green waistcoat. not much else to say about it...
on the day i put it on and then i'm told (guess who by) that i need to get a corsage for her, and that i have to, have to, have to buy her a drink, and that i should have reserved a shirt with a wider collar (i always leave the top button open due to an unusually large larynx)
so there's a rush to call her and ask her what colour her dress is, to co-ordinate, then to go to the outto-lunch florist in the rain, come back twenty minutes later and ask for a corsage, get told that she'll call the person who makes the corsages to come in. i come back another twenty minutes later to pick it up, get told that i didn't actually make an official reservation, reserve it, go home once again and wait another twenty minutes for them to deliver it.
it's at this point that my mother says "behave yourself, now" i say, "yeah, okay" she says "cathal, behave yourself. alright? alright? behave yourself." i say "yeah, okay" she puts her hand on my shoulder and forces me to look her in the eye as she talks "behave youself. alright? behave yourself. i mean it now, behave yourself." i say "yeah, okay" she says "cathal, i mean it, behave yourself. alright? BEHAVE YOURSELF." i say "yeah, okay." and she's still eyeing me as if i'm about to explode in an orgy of... well, orgies.
then we get into the car, and halfway through the 45-minute car journey to her house i realize i've forgotten the tickets. she says she'll go back and get them after she's dropped us off at the hotel (that last sentence would be so much happier if you change just about every circumstance to it)
we arrive at her house, her mother knows my mother from way back (everyone does, she can rarely watch a show without knowing one of the guests). we take the pictures, i give her the corsage, then my mother, like she's making a remark about the weather, says "he's been told to behave himself now, haven't you cathal? he's been told to behave himself." and this is in front of the date, the date's friends, the date's mother, and the date's little sister.
oh how one of us laughed...
we get the lift back to the hotel (if only...) and wait in the foyer while the tickets are retrieved. that gives us half an hour to nervously catch up, both of us noticing that i seem to know every guy in the building (there were two different grads on) while she seems to know every girl. we also discuss pirates and ninjas. i prefer ninjas, she prefers pirates. she tells me it's talk like a pirate day. angry at myself for forgetting it again, i go into overdrive pirate talk for about 90 seconds before it wears thin. i tell her about doctor mcninja. things start to loosen up a little bit, but we're nervous as hell, so that still leaves tension hard to walk through. we get the tickets, we're let into the big hall, i realize then that i don't have ID either, so i can't get booze. i contemplate asking for someone to go to and from home a third time for this express purpose, but i don't for an hour or two. in the intervening time a moderately good band play, we take pictures, we get our pictures taken, by friends and pros, (the pro ones look awful) we eat delicious food (though the gravy was lousy), we talk about points, about college, about what we're all wearing, about movies, we gossip about people who aren't there, the usual fun-fuel.
people start drinkin', people start dancin'. one gal in particular is eager to get me dancing, not with her, just in general, because apparently i'm a good dancer. for the time being i decline.
regarding this girlfriend-of-a-friend, i constantly get this weird feeling she's coming on to me. but lately i've getting this feeling from every girl i see, so either something's wrong with me or something's fantastically right with me.
my date keeps urging me to phone up for an id, and eventually i cave.
she's already downed a bit, so she's starting to talk a little bit more, but she's still a bit unwilling to do much more than drink and talk with the girls she knows.
the hall is starting to segue into disco, as a few start to get up and shake it.
i go downstairs and wait for the card, a crowd are smoking outside. i shuffle into the background of one or two photos. the car arrives, i take the card, say thanks, say goodbye, then walk back into the hotel before she has a chance to initiate conversation.

i head right up, show off my card in which i still have short hair, i show them weird way it was taken so that the two sides of my head look like different people due to the way the hair falls (one looks like damien, the like sid vicious).
i get a carlsberg and immediately regret it. i give sips to a few of my friends and they all agree it's disgusting. we talk about how hard it is to find beer that doens't taste like torture.
halfway through the pint i throw in the towel and get a JD'n'Coke instead. muuuch better.
after i've downed a bit i'm a bit looser, so i get up and dance a little, not so self conscious now that i've got alcohol in my system and the floors full of other people doing the same thing. quite a few girls stop and look at me dancing, at least one going on about how good i am.
i'm an erratic mover, so i go through highs and lows of dancing pretty quickly.
i sit down, take a few more sips, go looking for my girl. she's in the queue at the bar. i get the feeling i might be painting her like an alcoholic here, but honestly she was just getting boozey to try and alleviate her natural nervousness. like me, just with a higher tolerance level to get past.
i go over and talk to her in the queue, she's a bit giddy. i'm not finished by own drink yet, so i leave her be and go to talk to everyone i can find, taking shitloads of pictures as i go. i have a vague plan to try and repeat the success of my results night article, but with pictures this time, but in the end i didn't bother. this isn't really a newsworthy thing, just a little bit of public diary. the article was more an objective view of a universal experience.
i try for a few experimental angles, i try to get interesting images, i try to find the people i want to remember. they're alright on the viewscreen, but blown up a bit they ended up lookin a bit amateur. which they were...
i get another drink, drink it a little faster this time obviously. i think it was then that i started dancing a bit more. didn't seem to bad from my point of view. but as good as i may-or-may-not be on my own, i'm simply useless trying to dance with a girl. i don't know where to begin. mostly the group just forms mosh-pits. i go for a few walks around the corridors, a few trips to the bathroom. naturally the toilets and sinks got filled with paper pretty early on. no matter, alcohol doesn't really work the way of the first, and few of the guys seemed to be in much of a headspace to focus on hygiene. i splash my hands at least, i think i used soap once or twice. when you're on the kind of free-flow alcohol gives you hands aren't really that necessary anyway.
I run into a friend in the hall, who did a lot better than me in the big bad exam but is still repeating because he didn't get dentistry. i can't remember what he was talking about, but i said something about whether or not i should try to make it into a date-date, or would that just ruin it. he agrees with whatever i said, i agree with whatever he said.
while i'm on my second JDC, and quite langered, i start shooting the shit with my ladyfriend. it's a lot easier now we're both sauced, but the nervousness is still in the air. but we talk about all kinds of stuff, she tells me she has low self-esteem because her brother used to insult her a lot, i tell her i have intimacy issues because i have a ridiculously overprotective mother. not quite a postcard-perfect freeze frame, but we had fun. she asks me why i asked her to my grads when i barely know her. i don't answer because the answers long, i'm too drunk to tell it, and even if i told it right it would kill the mood like a pipe-bomb. i tell her i'm supposed to buy her a drink, as i've already told her a few times that night, but this is the first time she lets me. i go down to the bar again and get two JD'n'Cokes. i'm stood there staring blankly at them before i'm reminded i'm supposed to use the money in my hand to pay for them. someone says something funny, maybe me, maybe her, she giggles, she kisses me on the corner of my mouth. not like an impulsively romantic kiss, just a burst of random affection kiss. do to where she kissed me it felt as though she missed her mark, but i'm not sure if her mark was a bit further off the edge or a bit closer to the center. either way, i'm too drunk to be able to form a visible reaction. think i might have raised my eyebrows.
as we walk with our drinks i mention how i'm actually even drunker than i feel because it doesn't kick in until about ten-fifteen minutes after you drink it, so i'm piling up a lot more alcohol than i think. by the time i've finished the sentence (which takes a while) she's emptied her glass. i'm a little crestfallen as it sinks in just how much of a harder drinker my date is. we're chillin' on the huge stairs, back to talking about ourselves and miraculously not sounding self-important. she asks if she can have a sup off mine, i say no, but she's already taken it out of hands very slowly. my reflexes are shot. she gives it back and tells me she does that a lot. i wax on about which one of us is really the more drunk, taking into account how much we've drunk and what our tolerance to it is. she tells me me she had a shot of absinthe before a came to pick her up, so she probably wins.
we're babbling like crazies, we're giddy, we're whimsical, we go back into the hall, i start dancing a lot more. a LOT more. i fall down a bit. i start break-dancing and when i open my eyes people have formed a ring around me. i look it not in the mouth and start rocking out. people start cheering. every move i need is at my fingertips at a moments notice. i still fall down once or twice, but no-one cares. by the end of wonderwall i'm a bit wrecked. dance with my gal a bit, yak a bit, take a few more pictures, hugs all round. it's about two in the morning, we decide to call it a night. we head downstairs to the foyer. i call for a lift, she calls for a taxi. i wonder should i take the minutes that are in it and chance my arm that something might come of all this. in the i don't, as ever. i hug her goodbye, i get into the car alongside my dad and we head away home. i spend most of the journey home trying to focus enough to text her.

the madness of billythehick

vicky has been avoiding me for a while now.
we parted company hours after my last post on the best of terms, but next time i saw her after that she didn't want to talk to me. she sent me a text saying i was a creep, and that she wanted nothing to do with me.
i started to wonder what it was i'd done, as she wouldn't tell me.
i asked T, she didn't know either.
i asked her mother, she didn't know either, but she said she'd heard something about a blog.
i went back and re-read my last post, to see if i'd said something about her that could be taken the wrong way.
no dice
her mum suggested that maybe i'd said something about a friend of hers.
again, no dice.
finally, vicky posts a message about it on her blog.
it turns out my last post pulled the wool from her eyes and she saw that i have this big complex revolving around sex. she says i'm a really big pervert.
not because of who i am, or how i think, but because i talk about it so much on this blog.

i'm not sure what to make of this.
firstly i'd like to say that mad and bad do not go hand in hand. one can be both, but it's not automatic.

she's sees all this as proof that i'm a possible sex offender.
possible.

here's the thing.

i am a very malleable person. i never really recognised how malleable until i decided to really work out once and for all what sexuality i am.
i realised after much deliberation that sex of any kind is still sex. i could conceivably bring myself do anything that could be considered such.
but i simply prefer the idea of women.
(i say "the idea of" because the reality as yet eludes me)
i've also realised that all moral and ethical boundaries are within our own minds. an unwillingness to hold an earthworm in your bare hand is not instinct, it's simply squeamishness.
same applies to everything from slaughtering pigs to oral sex.
these are mental limitations which can be broken down if one is so inclined.
this stretches to a lot of areas.
i've seen shows where people masturbate pigs, eat live insects, i've seen a picture of a child living in poverty sucking shit out of a cow's ass.
there are levels of survival people can sink to. as humans we are capable of sickening feats.

vicky is now afraid of me because thinks i am capable of some of these feats.

the fact of the matter is that after much deliberation i've realised that the only thing that seperates murderers, rapists and paedophiles from "normal" people is that they have one less boundary in their minds.
whoever you are reading this, you have these boundaries for the simple reason that you choose to have them, as do i.
i am different because i am aware of the choice.
i know that if one day i decide to snap that child's neck and run, i am capable of doing it.
the capability and the capacity do not imply that they will be executed.

if you have a box of matches you can start a fire, it is up to you whether or not to do it.
we all carry this box of matches. is it wrong to acknowledge that it exists?

i digress.

vicky was angry because i talked about the dreams i had (dreams which i did not choose) and about the shocking fact that guys do themselves.

you shouldn't let realities this mundane shock you.

during coitis female mantises will eat the heads of the males, and very slowly at that, they niblle it away bit by bit. they do this because it causes a secondary brain located in his ass to activate. this brain forces the body to pump four times faster.

this is pretty common knowledge among people i know.
but how is it any less horrifying than my life?
moreover, how is it any less horrifying that you already know this about the sex lives of mantises?

when you're part of a double act as longstanding as me and vicky, people start to notice when it seems to suddenly disappear.
so when the conversation turned at one point to who i'm going to bring to my grads, naturally someone suggested vicky.
i explained that vicky has stopped being friends with me.
they asked why.
i said i didn't know.
so when ronan ran into vicky in town, he asked her, and she told him.

now THIS gets on my tits.
while i do post some details about people that maybe i shouldn't, i have never once gone directly to the immediate public and told them, and especially not to family members.
i now have the situation where i don't know precisely what she told him, because she won't tell me and i'm certainly not asking ronan.

just to put a fine point on this, she blabbed to my immediate family about my masturbatory habits the first chance she got.
now i may not be a shining example of a human being, but this is an offense beyond anything i have ever done to anyone.
i do not deserve this.

my leaving cert results are in

English HC2
Irish OB3
Maths OB1
Art HC2 (was expecting far more than that, considering getting it rechecked)
French OB2
Biology HC1
T. G. HD1

all in all i got 340 points. this is precisely enough to get arts in UCC. which suits me down to the ground. getting inundated by advice on what to do once i get there.

second i got home from my leaving cert night i started writing an essay about it on the computer.
i'm easily displatypustracted, so it took three hours. it also went on for a while about what i did once i got home.

GRIMY DETAILS ALERT
having been sober for the night i decided to try some of my dad's booze, but all he had was whisky and tequila. i tried diluting the whisky with orange juice. not very nice.
with the house quiet as a mouse i watched my dirty channels and found myself a tub of petrolium.
now here's the real grime.
i discovered that, by some effect of it being old or by something having been spilled in it at some stage, it had some weird gritty crumbs in it.
this made it an irritating affair, but i did it anyway.

on a related note, a while back i found some strange friction burn on the cusp of my you-know what.
i had no recollection of receiving it.
whenever i picked the scab there was no blood and the skin was smooth beneath it. but the scab came back a few times.
gone now, whatever it was.

GRIMY DETAILS END

next chance i got i edited the essay down by 200 words and sent it into HotPress.
got a message back a few days after telling me they were going to publish an edited version of it.

in the original version i mentioned my sexual status twice, once for the hell of it and once in context.
in the new version they referenced it in the headline, they added a third one, as well as a masturbation joke at the end. i asked them to take the last two out.

i then prayed to god that my parents wouldn't find out.
no such luck.


my parents had been on holiday in blackpool, england, for two weeks, with by brother and two of my sisters.
i stayed behind because i was in sean's new film, eimear stayed behind because she had a job to go to.
during this period i would have liked to use the big empty house for obvious ends, but could think of no girl likely to accept the invitation.
instead i rented films from moviestar (children of men ROCKS!) hung around town, occasionally busked.

i also started staying up til four most every night.
this is a terrible habit, and i'm having a job quitting it at the mo.
it wasn't just the privacy once eimear had gone to nod, it was also the fact that most of the best shows and films come on that time, for some ungodly reason.

i also started going on the internet for my masculine needs a bit more.
it reminded me of cramming for an exam in school. having become so accustomed to the sight of gratuitous sexuality on my computer screen i find it harder to get excited by any of them in particular. so unconsciously i started opening, examining and closing as many different sites as fast possible. naturally if i found a teaser video i watched that too, though pornotube is proving a site of limied appeal.
i scanned as many images as possible, so in some way i could immerse my mind in the thought of womens' bodies and the possibilities thereof.
this proved, without further ado, effecive.

of course occasionally i found a vid worth talking about.
details ahead.
one stood out because it was a sextape of a sort-of-celeb. so now i know what keely hazell looks like when she's giving head.
the other was far better, and possibly one of the sexiest vids i've ever seen. Tera Patrick and some equally hot no-name giving a double BJ to some lucky bastard.
call me a pervert if you want, but this was HOT!

then, one evening when eimear was at a friend's house, i was on pichunter, and i started looking up the usual gubbins and ruttins, but then for some reason i decided to look up the simpsons.
naturally there was a veritable shitload there, but i didn't click any of it. what stood out was one link was to something involving kim possible.
i'd recently heard of something called "rule 34"
rule 34 states that there is fan art pornography of everything.
everything.
so i started testing this, looking up all kinds of stuff, snow white, alice in wonderland, little mermaid, the jetsons, futurama, the works. it's all there (found a dead end on superheroes though. and oddly on kim possible too. guess they were doing their best to avoid paedophilia). i wasn't clicking any of the links, i just looked at how many were out there.
after a while it stopped being sexy.
seriously, i mean in any way at all, it was just pictures.
i lost interest in sex completely for a few days after that, and fell into a strange pit of depression.

here's how it was strange.
while at filming the next day (a film which we actually made up on the spot each day of filming) we were trying to work out what one character's dark secret should be. we agreed i should be some kind of sickness, and have some kind of medication, but not be something like cancer or aides.
we reasoned that it would be better if we didn't point out what it was with a mallet, so instead we chose to make it certain to ourselves what the problem is, but not make it blindly obvious in the movie.
we settled on manic depression.
we went up to david's PC and looked up the symptoms just to be clear on it, and the site we landed on had a list of what to look out for.
i ticked every box.
i said i ticked every box, but no-one reacted. i thought maybe to say it again, but thought that might be a bit attention-seeking.

on the walk home i said it again to cillian, and he said david gets depression too, but he still didn't seem too fazed by what i'd said, as if i was just making conversation.
in a bizarre way i kind of was.
but we just shot the shit, about weird dreams (though i'm not so candid in speech), about people, about stuff in general.
and it felt good, it felt good to just talk, and i do it so rarely, guess it comes from spending so much time with my family.
Cillian's a cool guy, though he's got a mean streak like none i've ever seen. he just seems to be so hyper-pissed off at everything so much of the time.
all the same, sound guy.

dignosing myself as bipolar put a strange slant on how i felt. however little i have in my life, at least with this i somehow will still have that. this was comforting to me in some strange way.

i've also matured recently so that i don't grab the johnson every time i get that lonely feeling, i've learned to stop and think about what i really want. i really get sick of touching myself sometimes. so i've started to analyse precisely what kind of feeling i'm getting if i'm just hankering for an orgasm then i'll do it, but a lot of the time i find that what i'm really craving is the real thing. so i leave it be. usually.
so much time alone with the tv has also left me pretty desensitized to the stars of late night tv too. i play with the idea of calling them, but i don't want to hear them use their dirty voices on me or anyting, i want to talk to them about how they see themselves, about why they took this job, all these psychological and sociological questions to ask topless models.
one night a girl snapped and started ranting for a while about she has a twelve hour shift sitting here with her tits out, about how boring it is and how they have to look happy and horny all the time.
i loved this. i thought it was absolutely brilliant. not in a sexual way, it just made me extremely happy to see someone who wants to talk about their specific and obscure problems.
the other night i was watching it and a girl mentioned how it was her first night back in a while and she wasn't having a good night so far.
i also like it whenever one them gives out about being phoned up by children.
all this makes me unique.
i am the only man in the world who watches porn for the social subtext.

other little development in the last while is, well...
david started going out with evelyn.
now this bothered me a bit at the time, it felt flat out unfair to me. i had told her how i felt (at the time, the feeling has since passed) way in advance. i had been under the impression that she still had a boyfriend (as well as the impression that david was still with emma).
on top of all this, their feelings apparently emerged on the one day in a week i wasn't on set.
of course i didn't give out to them about it or anything. because it's not really their fault, per se, that they started going out. they aren't doing it to get at me, their doing it because that's what males and females do. it would be as unfair to them to get in the way of how they feel as it is for them to do so for me.
it was just such a blow to me, as if someone had torn a chapter out of my life, and i'll never get it back.
i mean seriously, from the first time i saw her, the very first second our eyes locked, i felt the spark, and what's more i felt like this was a girl i really had a chance with, like nothing could keep me from her.
then i found out she had a boyfriend, and i've already explained the rest.
but this was different. she knew i liked her. if she was ready for a guy in her life, then why not me?
this sounds hubristic, but it's not, it's simply human indignity. it's not just saying no, like not being considered, even for a second.
it feels like we're barely even friends now, we hardly talk at all. before i told her we'd have a big hug hello and goodbye every time. now we're just so distant.

and to anyone else who thinks i'm sick for talking about the way sex works in my head, you should look at a film called superbad.
better still, just look at the quotes page on imdb.
notice how gratuitous and pompous it all sounds?
but it's a hit movie, adored by critics. why? because they put it into context, and they break down your boundaries with comedy.
and do you know why it's so funny?
because it rings true. all this obsessing over sex they do, the mythologising of it, guys do all that.

i've also come to a realisation that as much as sex would be great, having it now would not be the solution to my problems.
i don't need a girl in my life now, i needed her five years ago, i needed the world to give me what i needed as i needed it (and by need i don't mean want, there's a time for all these things)
i needed a girlfriend when i was thirteen, i needed intimacy when i was sixteen. maybe if i'd had these things sex would have been worth waiting for, but now it'd be somehow wrong.

there's this girl who's sort of into me, i think.
it's the girl i met at the concert a few months ago, her names marie. i've been sure she likes me for ages (guess what my first clue was) but i'm not sure i like her that way. i wouldn't mind a round two, but i just don't think i'm in a place in my life where i purely physical relationship, which is really all i think i could give her.
nothing meant against her, but i don't think she could handle the amount of baggage i would bring. sex isn't the cure i need, i need someone i can depend on to be close to my level of... well... whatever noun can be used to describe me. the girl is pretty, and there's the possibility as always, but i don't think this is the girl i need right now. as i said, the time for flings was at least a year ago, now i'm too far gone.
so i've decided.

i will only have sex under one of two circumstances.
firstly, if i can wrangle a girl that can handle what she will read about here. this is the real acid test. if this is too much for, then so am i. i don't mean i'm waiting for the girl i'm gonna marry, i mean if i'm going to have relations with a girl, it may as well be a girl i can relate with. so when we walk away we can grow in some fashion rather than just passing the minutes.
only other circumstance is if i somehow wrangle two girls at once.
both of these are equally unlikely
but so be it, alright!
so fucking be it.

hick's dreams: may come

had possibly the best start to a day ever this morning. but to get the full effect of how it was, let me roll it back a few hours more
well, the night before, i did you-know-what.
i'd been left up last, watched bangbabes, there was this ridiculously hot girl wearing nothing but a red thong, and she was a master cocktease. then i went to bed and polished the flagpole.
now, when you do it, you never get it all out, there's always just a little bit more that leaks slowly for about half an hour after the fact. so to avoid having to ignore the slow dribble against my skin, i decided to leave the sock on.
then, the next morning, i had a wet dream. this in itself was even better than usual, cos it was just a flat-out, no-holds-barred, shag. fantastically hot girl i didn't recognize, bobbing up and down on me, me able to see everything, just like i'd want it to be in real life. and orgasms are just so much more enjoyable when there isn't a cock in your hand.
it was better than usual cos i usually have some pretty weird ones. like the one where i was bill murray dressed as a flamingo...
anyway, this is usually a great way to wake up, but for the fact that you're then usually covered in wotsit.
i really can't stand the stuff, that's why i prefer doing it in a sock so much.
but this time i still had the sock on me. as a matter of fact, the absence of mess made me wonder if it had been an actual wet dream or not.
but it caught the whole thing, it was amazingly comfy, and to date it was the best (a)sexual experience of my life.
i'd assume the only way a wake up could be improved upon would be if the girl was still there.
but alas.

if only all mornings could start so well.

other dreams i've had recently have been less fantastic, but almost as unlikely.
like the one where my house was being demolished independence day style, with the family still inside it.
it was sort of like the blue rinse thing from artemis fowl. just blue light filling everything. tiny little bits of my starting to disintegrate all over my body. i run towards the door, i say something along the lines of "i'm going to escape," my mother says something along the lines of "no, you can't" as i pass her. i get out the door and i discover the light goes as far as the gate, but i know that by the time i get there i'll be so disintegrated that life won't be worth living.
so i go back into the house, and it's starting to fall apart, and feel a warmth inside me as i start to die, and i'm glowing...
and then i woke up.

other strange dream i've had in the last while, well... it's hard to describe.
i was at some kind of sleepover. lot's of white rought-iron beds, white sheets. not so much girly, more like the hospital wing in a girls boarding school, like you see in tv shows about early 20th century british children.
there's me, and there's three girls from drama, laura, aoife, and third one was one of two girls, but it might have been one that then became the other (dream logic). the two it might have been are evelyn and emma.
now we're just hanging out, it feels normal, nothing particularly out of the ordinary.
i can't remember how it happened, and it'll sound weird no matter how i word it, so i'll just spell it out.
they started flashing me and i started taking pictures of them.
it wasn't a sex dream, it barely even classes as a sexy dream, it was like this was just how we behaved when we hung out (which i don't think we ever have, not all in one group at least)
this being a dream, they were all quite a bit more endowed than in real life.
then i woke up and went downstairs, and a couple of people from drama were over at the house. i sat down in the armchair by the telly and noticed i was sitting on a big pink photo album. it was actually a digital photo album, with lots of tiny screens, but i'm not sure why it had pages.
and it was full of all the pictures we had taken in the dream, and quite a few that we hadn't, with lots of girls i didn't know, who were wearing strange futuristic corsets.
i rushed out to the kitchen to hide it in the coat cupboard. then i noticed aoife and racheal were sitting at the kitchen table talking, looking through a magazine, and for some reason racheal mentioned a review for serenity.
i decided to show them the album, to see if they knew anything about it. i went back to the cupboard, but the album had been replaced by a playboy lingerie magazine. this confused me, but me being me i decided to look through it. for some reason it was full of reviews for video games instead of naked women.
then i woke up again.

what does it all mean?
i'm fucked if i know, terry.

other events...
i got a tooth out recently. it' was immensly painful. mostly during the anasthetic injections.
"haven't you ever gotten a jab before?"
"not in the face."
but having a tooth pulled out wasn't fun either.
see i was expecting the strain to end when it was gone, y'know like the relief when you take a really huge crap, or, getting more obscure, when you squeeze out the contents of a blackhead.
it's nothing like that.
it
sucks
ASS.
he put some kind of thready stuff in the hole to help a clot form, and for some reason it tasted like cloves.
i hates cloves.
not as much as i hate the taste of a gooey clot/scab in my mouth constantly for days on end.
i really didn't need to know what clots/scabs taste like.
really.

so know it takes me ages to eat, and i sound like a cartoon character because i have to keep my tongue at the back of my mouth, so esses and teehayches are problems.

any other events, let's see...
well ronan found me with my cock in a sock.
he just rushed into the room.
i really hate the fact that we share a room. not because of him, i'd hate it if were anyone but a girl i'm screwing.
this matter of privacy while i'm doing myself is the only reason i ever do it standing up in the toilet, with my man-juice sputtering all over my fingers.
at night i still have to wait until ronan's asleep before i start doing it, otherwise i feel awkward. it's almost as bad if he starts talking in his sleep while i'm in the throes.
but even the toilet doesn't guarantee privacy.
once (ages ago) my dad opened the door while i was in there.
my parents have only very VERY recently grasped the concept of knocking. it used to be a regular occurrence for them to barge in while i was taking a crap or a piss.
anyway, my dad opens the door, i'm over by the bath, which is out of sight while you're in the doorway.
i immediately say "i'm in here" and he says something like "no, i just wanna get a blahblahblah" but he's already opened the door enough that he notices my shirt and jumper are on the floor in the corner, sohe asks if i'm taking a shower, i say "no... i'm in here go away!" but he can now see the toilet completely, so he knows that's not what i'm doing. i shove my dick back in pants as i'm coming and ram the door with my shoulder saying "NO DAD, I'M IN HERE!" and it isn't until he's well aware what i'm doing that he decides to leave.
since then whenever i go to the bathroom he assumes i'm fucking myself. he says things like "while you were having your interesting experience"
this man used to have stashes of porn he's been collecting since before i was born. i had to actually ask him to get rid of them. twice, once for the collection of books and magazines in the attic and once for the selection of videos he used to have beside his record collection in a high cupboard in the living room. i've seen a few of them on the sly. lots of pregnant stuff, and really crappy audio/video quality.
he thought it was unspeakable that a fifty year old man with a wife and five kids shouldn't be allowed to have a twenty-year-old porn collection.
that isn't even all of it, i've found quite a few dvds and vcds of the stuff too, almost entirely terrible. i didn't confront him about them, but i rearranged them in his collection so that they were in places they might get found. as far as i know they didn't, but i think he caught on to what i was doing, cos they're gone now.
he said the videos are all gone, but i found one hidden in a different cupboard, behind a stack of dvds. i'm assuming he thinks he's really clever for outsmarting me.

the acoustics in our house work very strangely, so if someone is talking in the hall, the kitchen, the living room or the hall, you can hear them from almost any room in the house. because of this i can always hear my parents talking about me, almost always completely misunderstanding everything i do. worse still is when my mothers on the phone, and she's telling her friends and so on about all the things happening in the house, and whenever she talks about something i've done, she invents things, she re-interpret things so that every point i made miraculously disappears, and she makes the casualty not my sanity, but my education.
she has this selection of anecdotes about when we were all kids, and all the cute things we said, and all the babyish things we did, and so on.
very recently, she told me a story about when i was in junior infants, my late grandfather came to pick me up, and he saw some kid in my class say something mean or nasty or bold to me, and i'd grabbed him by the collar and said to him something like if you ever say that to me again i'll kill you" or some other kind of threat. i don't remember it at all, but she did. she's remembered it for thirteen years.
when my granddad had told this story to my mother he had been delighted that i was so empowered.
think about this for a second, if every time she had thought to tell the story of how when i has five i said i want to be a toilet paper maker, she had instead told the story of how i stood up for myself, might i be a considerably different person? maybe a happier person, or a person who isn't scared of the dark, or who jumps at sudden loud noises?
through my entire life a hug has been her remedy for everything, always referring to me as her "poor baby" if i had a serious problem, even these days, it's still what she calls me. she has always said that if someone is giving you a hard time you should just ignore them and they'll go away. (they don't, i've tried it my entire life, it simply doesn't work, and with the exception of a solitary instance, when i've told someone about it it has amounted to nothing)

my dad has just come into the room and made fun of me. he thinks it's hilarious.

i've run out of steam now. you get the idea now anyway. you understand the way i've been fucked over by the chain of command.
i gotta tell ya, i'm a complex person, but oedipus is one of the few complexes i can safely declare i will never suffer from

i'm at this point an hour and a half late for a drinking party. not sure if i should even go, i'm now a sour wreck, i can barely keep my arms on the keyboard. the difficulty i now have with chewing makes eating incredibly hard, so i'm doing it less. i've had one meal today, at half one in the afternoon.
i would have had one at half twelve too but my mother wouldn't let me.