OU blog

Personal Blogs

at home

Some thoughts, complaints

Visible to anyone in the world

I've tried to sleep and failed. I'm tired, but I've got something on my mind. It could be the following. 

Earlier on I visited my parents' house. My mum made me a chicken roast dinner, and it was lovely, and then my dad showed up. And he said, "Let's go to the shed..." 

So we're at the shed, and I'm telling dad about my plans. I told him I've cut off the plan to do a Master of physics, and that I'd like to go back into construction, perhaps to get a ticket in plastering, so that I can earn a few extra quid on top of my benefits, so that I can buy a car and perhaps a dog. 

And then dad starts going on about "Plastering is hard," and "Dog's are difficult". Anyway, long story short, I realised that everything I tell that man, he returns to me in a negative manner. Eventually, in frustration, I said, "OKAY THEN I WON'T GET A DOG!!" - and then he realises his manner and kind of retracts himself. 

I started getting a bit haughty, saying, "Everything I say to you two, you say 'No, don't do that!'. I say I want to get a dog, you say, 'No, don't do that!'. I say I want to get a job, you say, 'No, don't do that!' I say I want to go to the gym, you say, 'No, don't do that!'" 

Then dad said, "I never said don't go to the gym."

"Earlier on," I told him, "I told mum that I don't necessarily overeat, but that if I got some exercise, I'd lose more weight. She said, 'No, doing exercise won't help you lose weight.' I mean, come on!! Of course it fucking will." 

Dad saw my point there, I think, but then went on to talk about some other thing in a negative light. "DAD!" I told him. "You're doing it again!" And he was, and told him he was always being negative. He was going on about getting a job, so I went, "OKAY THEN I WON'T GET A JOB!" but he didn't see my point. 

"Dad," I levelled. "What do you want me to do? What can I do that will gain your approval?? Because I feel like you won't be happy with me unless I'm digging a fucking hole." 

He didn't have any suggestions. 

Anyway, long story short, I managed to contain myself, and topics turned to other things, like dad's drama with the family in New Zealand, his diatribe during which he mentioned that his sister had told him that he has no experience with mental illness. Dad had said he thinks he knows one or two things about mental illness, since his son has suffered with it for twenty years. In any case, he sort of blamed my outburst on my mental illness. 

I think that sucks, and if I wasn't sure I'd blow up again, I'd have said so. I'd have told him, Dad, just because I've got a mental illness, doesn't mean my anger isn't legitimate. Sometimes I'm angry with you because I'm pissed off that you've said something or done something I don't like. I didn't say it though. And besides (I'd like to have said), you're angry with something like seventy percent of the time - does that mean you're mentally ill? 

Anyway, that bothered me. That was earlier. It just annoys me because the man can't see himself as having done anything wrong. He's blameless. 


I can't sleep. I've just tried for the last hour and a half, and though I nearly dropped off, I've been thinking about stuff. There's these women I've been talking to online - one of them on Twitter, another on Facebook - and I don't understand them. They're relatively attractive women, and they, like... they play games with me. I think they're bots, and it doesn't make sense. It makes me think I'm homosexual. Then I look at my life and I think, I don't know if I could have anyone in my bed whatsoever. 

I'm very confused at the moment. 

There's this bloke, Scott. He was my best mate growing up - I've known him since he was born. But I've not seen him for fifteen years, and I tried to contact him, and he blanked me. I don't get it. I'm confused. 

There's this woman, Tamsin. I've had a fling with her. She's like this little troll girl pixie woman, who has something about her, but she's this religious Catholic, and she won't sleep with me, although I've tried to convince her. Anyway her legs are shut tight. Once, I said to her, "You are dead from the waist down," and she said, all haughty like, "I can assure you, I am not." I was like, yeah? Where's the proof. Anyway, she's convinced I'm homosexual, and it's humiliating. In fact, Tamsin herself is a most likely candidate for homosexuality, but she hasn't had the same insights as I have. If she isn't gay, then I don't know what her fucking game is. She'll never find a man like me, or any man at all for that matter - yet she rejected me. I don't get it. I kind of hate her. 

The thing is, am I gay or not? I'm forty four years old; I should know. But the other thing is that I'm schizophrenic. Now, I'm not blaming everything on my mental illness, and rightly not, but the whole thing is a mystery to me, and in all honesty, makes me believe I'm the Christ. 

Here's where things take a turn, but I'll go with it. 

Earlier on there was meant to be a tutorial for S383, and the room was not available to me. But it turned out that the tutorial did go ahead, but I myself was cut out of it. As an ill person, I take offense at this. I think this fucking university thinks I'm trolling it! I think, in all honesty, they cut me out of that tutorial deliberately - personally, as a personal thing. I think I may talk too much in chat on those tutorials and they needed a break from me. That's what I think. 

And I think that I'm not gay or straight. I think I'm special. I think I'm Jesus. 

Be honest, reader, you're reading this, yes, you're fascinated - but you don't like me. Do you? No, you don't. And that's not for want of me trying to be likeable. You know I'm trying to be likeable, but you despise me. That's why you'll have got all the way down to the bottom of this post, and you won't engage with me, you won't comment, nothing. You'll just fuck off on your merry way like every other human on the planet. 

Fine. Be like that. 

I had a dream last night. I dreamed that I was in a van in London with my dad, and we parked up at a market, and went to have a look around, and there was a record stall, and all the records were fake. 

Dear life, are you fake? You're fake, aren't you? I think you're fake. 

I'll have to be careful. God is real after all. God is real, and I know this because He is not a human, and therefore not a beast. Humans are beasts. 

I'm done. 


Share post
at home


Visible to anyone in the world

Hi, how ya doin'?

I'm just writing down here some snippets of some dreams which I had earlier. Everyone knows that people are bored by the recollection of dreams, so prepare to be bored, I guess. 

My recollection begins at the top of my old house where I grew up. I'm there, and the bedroom is a triangular as ever, and there's a lightlike thrill tinting the edges of everything. I hear some music coming from the hallway, and then I realise I am not in my top room bedroom, but my folks bedroom, yet the music is still coming. I go out and investigate, and there is a small speaker at the bottom of the stairs and electronic music is blaring from it. I look at the speaker and I can feel the vibrations coming off the front, and they are directed up the stairs towards the door of the top bedroom, and I get my ear in and follow the vibrations up the stairs. The vibrations are very strong, and there is a thick stream of them, and as I follow them I become aware of some other speakers at the top of the stairs, and I try to find the sweet spot where the sound should be strongest. Yet when I find it, there is no sound at the sweet spot, and I place my head there, and look for a minute, and I face the door. Then there, standing at the door, are two men. One of them I know: it is Aaron, and he is responsible for the music. He is staying in my old bedroom. It seems that the other man is his boyfriend, but this is not clear, and in fact I am reluctant to guess that he is, for I wouldn't want to be presumptuous. In any case, Aaron was showing me the techno tune on which he was working. And the tune comprised several notes, with two phrases, and he played the first phrase, and it was fine, and then he played the second phrase, and the last note was a surprise, and went up, and was very surprising. 

A little before this part of the dream I was in a field where I lived in some type of cabin or shack, and what I remember was looking up at the stars, and some of them moved. Some of them moved back and forth, and I thought, 'There is evidence of alien life.' Yet before I could be exposed to this display of alien existence the entire sky became distorted, with all the stars moving back and forth, and I considered this to be some effect of transmission, and nothing to do with aliens after all. And there was a guitar in this part of the dream. I remember sitting at the shack which was on one side of the field which was in fact a hill, with perhaps a forest behind it or maybe a road. And on the other side of the field was another shack, with someone, perhaps Aaron, living there. 

Nicholas was in my dream, in his musical capacity. 

I often dream that I am living in a bungalow that is built upon an estate which, in real life, connects me to Shakespeare's Corner in Mill Hill. It is a quaint little one for an estate where roads interconnect and there are little houses and bungalows, and there is always a drug scene - that is, a drug scene in which a main occupation of many individuals is to deal drugs, and within this village there is a man and he delivers the drugs. 

At one stage of dreaming I am lucky enough to catch Nirvana playing live, and they are playing hits from Nevermind, and the stage upon which they play, to all but seventeen or eighteen teenagers, is small, and probably I am here where Kurt killed Smells Like Teen Spirit for Top of the Pops. I can get a close up of Kurt's face, and the more I look at it, the more he seems to take on features that my own face possesses. There is a young man here, and he seems like a younger version of Eric Weinstein. This young man is a new character in my dreams. When, at one moment, I am in the mode of remembering his name, it comes up as a double syllabled name - Wein ein, or Wein mein - something like that. Perhaps I am enamoured with his personality, for there is something 'cool' about him, yet nerdy at the same time. This young man has appeared in deeper parts of dreams I have had in the past. I am thinking of when Nirvana murdered his song on Top of the Pops. The young man reminds me of a character who would be a frequent presence at the parties thrown by my brother's friends. 

On the verge of dreaming it is often the case that I think about the mathematics I am doing. What seems to be apparent is the rumination of my unconscious of the form of formulas upon which I am working. And yet, the forms, recently, are never clear. That is, there is a fake quality to them, as though I am not really doing mathematics but imagining that I am. I think what is happening is that I am compensating for my lack of real ability in the subject. Nevertheless, the conclusions are as shocking as every 'eureka' moment I have ever had, and they are certainly compensation. 

Qualitatively, there is a graininess to my dreams. They say we dream when we are stressed about something or other. I think I may be getting stressed about the course, even though I am effectively ahead. In real life, I find it excruciating that I cannot wake up every morning at an early hour and do my work. For those days are the days when I really can get things done. Those days when wake late, say eleven or twelve, I cannot get my rhythm, and the day is wasted. This is a real frustration to me. Even those days when I have woken early, yet need to go out, even that one hour away from work disrupts everything for me. It is not that I haven't been working. But in my mind those days are too sporadic, which are those I get a lot done. I aim, with all eager intentions, to get eight hours a day done. Yet, this is not happening. Maybe once a week I can do that. 

I slept in the day today. I have done no work. But my intentions are good. It is now nearly half past one in the morning. I have several tasks I could complete. I guess I should try now to do some of them. 



Share post

This blog might contain posts that are only visible to logged-in users, or where only logged-in users can comment. If you have an account on the system, please log in for full access.

Total visits to this blog: 101095