gogo potential advertising revenue

2)     Rejection from Posh School B. Tip of the day: don’t play hard to get at the interview of one of the most prestigious schools in London (ie: tell them that they’re your second choice, despite their invitation of complete confidence) and don’t be completely honest about anything. I feel slightly deceived by the whole affair, but life goes on.

3)     The facial hair on the left side of my face grows at a slightly faster rate than its right-hand counterpart. This could prove problematic when I ultimately decide to grow out my ‘plumage’. Also, in order to go to Posh School A, one must be clean shaven. But in order to be a real hippy, one must possess at least some facial hair. Thus, I am faced with a difficult dilemma: to shave or not to shave.

4)     GCSEs. It’s absorbing a gigantic amount of facts of varying uselessness, sitting in an exam room, regurgitating as many of those facts as you can over a period of approximately two hours, and receiving a nice little certificate for it. I think I can safely say the only two I’m actually looking forward to taking are the maths non-calculator paper and the drama final piece. None of the career paths that I really want to do actually involve being scholarly, but I guess it’ll be worth it in the long run just to buckle down and study my butt off =/

5)     The phrase ‘everything happens for a reason’ has appeared an irritating amount of times in conversation these past few weeks. I used to believe this, but now I’ve realized that it’s absolute bullshit. There’s far too much pointless suffering in this world. People don’t die for reasons; people die because their heart stops beating. I’d really like to believe in some sort of religion, but The Streets perfectly articulate my feelings on this:

‘I never cared about God when life was sailin’ in the calm,

And for that if God exists I’d reckon he’d pay me regard’

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________The number of good things massively outweigh the bad though, so I’m happy enough.On a side note, the most frequently searched term to get to my blog is ‘female masterbation video’. Thanks for reading =]

Whilst we’re still on the subject of vaginas, I slept with a cat on Friday. I’m sure that God would approve of this; it was a match made in heaven. Please note that the ‘cat’ in question was quite literally a female feline- in any case, I’m not nearly cool enough to refer to the opposite sex via colloquialism. I’m proud to announce I didn’t revert into my former bestiality habits, as this could also potentially cause me to be classified as paedophilic (the cat in question was less than half a year old).

God’s existence is a subject of much debate. Some might argue his existence, whereas some may simply gesture in my general direction. But of course, that general direction is everywhere, because by definition he is everywhere and everything (I think). Other than the devil, because that would be antichrist. Not really, but I like using the word antichrist. I’m of the opinion that this world is too bizarre and wonderful to have been created by pure numerical chance, but at the same time, it’s too fucked up for there to actually be some greater being overseeing us. I think whoever he/she is/was they left this world a long time ago.

But if you happen to be here, I quite like you. In fact I’d say my affection for you is bordering on love. If you’re reading this, please cut me a break!

So, results for Posh-School-That-Costs-An-Unearthly-Amount-Of-Money-Number-One are in. I got in, which is more of a relief than anything else. It’s more of a back up than anything else. I have no idea why, but I felt a sudden urge to make a Naruto reference. Unfortunately, I’ve only watched half an episode, so this makes it pretty hard to form any intellectual comment on the intricacies of Naruto.

But anyway, this is where you come in. All it takes is for you, yes, you to donate 50p, yes- 50p is all I’m asking. If 60,000 of you donate that amount, then I’ll be able to go to Posh School A. Not that I have any great desire to do go to said school, but please email the money to tonnan16@yahoo.com. I may be forgetting that my fan base actually consists of approximately two people, one of whom may possibly be related to me, and I may be overlooking the fact that it’s impossible to email money, but that’s beside the point.

I had lots more to say, but my mind operates in such a way that the harder I try to remember, the more I forget. I think there’s a word for that, and I sincerely hope that the word I am thinking of doesn’t start with the letter ‘A’.

 I’ve been doing a lot of creative writing lately and I may make these available to the general public sometime in the near future, but mostly its disjointed crap that acts as a temporary therapy for me.

Mystery Jets/Kid Harpoon/the Kooks tomorrow!! Until next time, my friends…

—

Today I set fire to a tissue. In the kitchen. My dad promptly told me to evacuate the premises (though using somewhat less eloquent, more profane phrasing). By this time the tissue was fully ablaze in my hands as I burst into the hallway in state of euphoria that quickly deteriorated into the abrupt realization that the smouldering remnants were attempting to devour one of my fingers. I swiftly dropped the fiery ball on the (wooden) floor, where it continued to fester for a few moments before it finally disappeared with a grumpy crackle. Good god. The scent of burning skin still lingers on my slightly scarred finger.

I often feel compelled to performed random acts of madness, out of the sheer desire to do something completely bizarre. It’s a personality trait of mine. Until recently, I’ve been fairly successful in suppressing these urges, but as of late I’ve realized my life is far more interesting if I follow these insane notions. I’d like to take this opportunity to, for the umpteenth time, apologize to my girlfriend for thoughtlessly breaking her shelf in a desperate attempt to perch on the top of her wardrobe.

About a month ago I jokingly professed my love to the photography teacher, promising that I’d write him a love poem. The man kept me to it- and what I reluctantly produced, astonishingly, was not a Shakespearean love sonnet, but instead the following: http://tonnan.wordpress.com/the-dark-artist

A week or so ago, I looked back on that poem and I suddenly realized why I’m doing this. Writing is an escape for me; it functions as a brief interval in reality where I can reflect on the amusing moments in my life (filtering out the shitty, stressful and sad bits). It’s effectively the only place you’ll ever find a record of who I am, and who I was. And that’s a beautiful yet scary thing.

“Behold, the future of mankind foretold in the medium of dance.”

ahahaha

————————————————————————————-

Part of me feels compelled to begin this with a rhetorical question: am I the only one who frequently attempts to ‘scan in’ into their house using an oyster card? The aforementioned rhetorical question is of course completely answerable and thus isn’t really classified as a rhetorical question, but to call it a rhetorical question seems just that much more exciting than calling it just a regular old ‘question’.

Moving on, I’ve got another interview for school today. This one promises to be a significantly less gruelling process than the interview that ‘happened’ to me last week. I use the term ‘interview’ in the loosest of fashions- it was effectively five mind-numbing hours of nervous flittering about in what can only be described as ‘a mass gathering of teens (lacking alcohol and in frivolous attire), taking it in turns to be escorted into an isolated room by a teacher, only to be drilled to point of breakdown by said interrogator’. But somehow that phrase is not quite as catchy as the word ‘interview’. Unfortunately,  the ratio of time spent doing something to time doing nothing was about 1:5… this made the nerd inside me terribly sad.

I’m still not sure why but I didn’t really like getting interviewed. I thought I would cherish the opportunity to talk about myself for a shameful amount of time. I wasn’t even particularly nervous or anything. I think it might have something to do with my unremitting urge to say something completely crazy and my (often failed) attempts to suppress that urge. In retrospect, I think that took up a lot of my brain usage. I like myself though; I’m comfortable with myself—my amazingly awesome personality, my exceedingly handsome features, and my unique style of walking (that has more than once been compared to that of an overgrown penguin).

On a completely related note, I don’t touch myself, because that would be antichrist. In any case, for some reason unbeknown to me, I somehow don’t turn myself on enough to make that an enjoyable experience. I wrote a long in-depth analysis of why this could possibly be, but I decided to spare you this time. Alright then. Yeah… the bit where I talk about my masturbation habits (or lack thereof) has now officially ended, and we can refrain from mentioning this subject ever again.  

I think I’ll end this entry on that note. Stay tuned for more musings, ramblings and elongated life stories. Possibly another amusing video, though I can’t make any promises.

Over the past six months, it seems that everything happened at once. I’ve taken some GCSEs, acted in a play, got a social life, broken down multiple times, became gladiator in World of Nerdcraft, realized that I do give a shit about the future and my mum got cancer again. Wow. I like to think that all of these events are, in some screwed up way, connected. Or maybe that’s me just being unduly thoughtful.

So, a bit about myself, so you know what you’re getting yourself into. I’m British, fifteen years old, and I’m currently residing in London, though I lived in New Orleans for some five years. I like writing, music, video games and acting. I have an undying tendency to find myself in embarrassing situations.  Just three days ago, I found myself showing around a group of prospective parents at my school, and pointing out the delicious cakes that some year seven children baked and took photos of. A parent helpfully pointed out that the display was actually of ceramics. I proceeded to further dig myself into a hole by defensively saying something along the lines of ‘I know; I was merely stating that it would be nice to eat cakes in the pottery. I like cakes and pottery’. 

I was considering being a pretentious little shit by saying that this blog isn’t about you, but in actuality, it isabout you. It’s about you, most probably a random stranger on the internet, giving a shit about me. We, as humans, love knowing that people care about us; we love to know that there’s someone, somewhere thinking about us. Why else do we update our facebook statuses religiously; why else do we care about looking presentable in public?

Like it or not, your world and, in effect, the world is centered around you. No one is truly selfless; everyone helps one another for one of two reasons: to get something in return or to get that ‘oh-I’m-so-nice-and-great’ feeling afterwards.  Whether that something is love, potential help in the future or hot sex, it doesn’t matter. We’re all self-centered in some way… some of us are just better at disguising it than others.

Contemplations and random musings aside, the USA worries me. There are (probably) a huge amount of gun wielding KKK members scattered around America. Chances are that one of them is crazy/stupid/smart enough to hatch a plan to assassinate Obama. However, what worried me even more is this sadistic hockey mum (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k4aHL12vtEM) getting within a twenty mile radius of the Whitehouse. Granted, it would be highly amusing for a short period of time, but politics aren’t supposed to be funny. Or maybe I’m just generalizing- George Bush was pretty LOL and he did a damn fine job as president (haha).

I’ve promised myself I’ll try to keep on posting here somewhat regularly; I’d hate to disappoint my three devoted fans who may or may not related to me and/or have four legs.

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