I Gave Too Much

There really is nothing worth living for. I have never experienced love or real sex. A dark fumble and bitter taste is about all. I’ve never had anyone put their arms around me at a bus stop and made sure I got home ok. I’ve never shown love to another nor received it. I haven’t even come remotely close to it.

I have no money.

I have no real friends.

I have family that I never see.

What is the point of living, accumulating more debt and worrying about how I will live this life? It will be easier for everyone involved if I just wasn’t here rather than everyone worrying about this freak.

Jesus.

What a total waste of space.

I don’t deserve to exist.

Boys and shoes and boys and shoes and boys and shoes

An idea of girls and subcultures:

"It is as everything that relates only to us comes out in footnotes to the main text, as worthy of the odd reference. We come on the agenda somewhere between 'Youth' and 'Any Other Business'. We encounter ourselves in men's culture as 'by the way' and peripheral. According to all the reflections we are not really there."

Woman's Consciousness, Man's World- Sheila Rowbotham

This quote is from 1973. Think of how many subcultures and fads have come and gone since this time. Or even, just music culture in general. Have we had the breakthrough or are we still just under the radar?

I'm not a pessimist, I'm an optometrist

Where's Captain Planet The Movie?

Today I read a semi-interesting article about how Generation Y is already feeling nostalgic about their childhood. I am not entirely sure if I am young enough to fit in to this particular age group, but the examples made me feel old. It mainly focused on the fact that the Harry Potter cast and the majority of its fans are already jumping into their early 20s- even though it feels like just yesterday that this bespectacled young wizard first appeared on screen.
The Disney Generation (and I do mean the new version, not Britney and Justin... although having to state that difference also makes me feel my age) are also on the brink of adult hood. This realization brought up comments about what children's television programmes were most missed. While I was more into VHS copies of The Trap Door and Roger Mellie Man On The Telly, I had at least assumed amongst the listed would be shows like Are You Afraid Of The Dark? or the original Power Rangers. Instead, I was seeing Lizzie McGuire and Pokemon. Plus, Britney Spears is relatively close to my age, so why is going to see her in concert being compared to seeing someone like New Kids On the Block?
Admittedly, I am a complete nerd for looking up movies and bands I obsessed over as a child. It's a bit charming to dig up old mix tapes and try to figure out just what you were thinking when you were taping Boyzone off the radio. Or that one time when you went to see them and Peter Andre was the opener. Remember when Peter Andre was known as just a muscle-man with bad hair singing cheesy pop tunes? He still is? Oh, anyway. Well yes, some people reading this may think that my own personal childhood attachments may not seem that old themselves. Sometimes it doesn't really feel that long ago that I was watching the Little Mermaid in theatres. Then again, that movie came out in 1989- twenty years ago. Staple Disney movie in any kid's life, and some of my younger friends are a bit shocked that I am old enough to have seen it in its original theatrical release.
Not to mention, the kick Hollywood has been on lately with bringing things like Transformers and the Ninja Turtles to the big screen (again) as well as their choice of not-so-old remakes feels a bit ridiculous at times- Drop Dead Fred? REALLY?
It's impossible to stop the clocks, and I suppose I can try and force myself to admit that Limp Bizkit have already become a band of yesteryear, although I still refuse to lump them in as an artist of my generation.
I guess what sort of disturbs me the most about all of this is that at some point, bands like the Jonas Brothers and television shows like Hannah Montana are going to be dug up some years from now by twenty-somethings looking to feel like a kid again. I can't help but feel a bit sorry for them, cartoons these days aren't nearly as interesting as they used to be.

Public Transport

I sit alone near the back of a route one bus. Blank metal walls surround me and I get the distinct feeling that this must be what it is like for a tinned sardine: cramped and marinating in the juices of your fellow passengers (though I imagine the smell would be preferable).

The Monotony of my surroundings is broken only by a few advertisments which I read aimlessly to pass the time. One has a picture of a woman sat on a similar but much cleaner bus, apparantly in a state of complete bliss. The reason for this I cannot imagine being the superb quality of her surroundings but probably the prospect of getting payed to pose for a photo on a bus. Another notice is for flu jabs designed no doubt by a group of men in suits wanting to take advantage of the current state of paranoia over the latest brand of the illness. According to the statistics it brandishes in bold red letters it appears to be for all who care for their lives the equivalent of the touch of Christ.

Again bored I find myself narrating a Discovery Channel style documentary in my head said in the mandatory Attenborough drone
"The Bus is a hugely diverse environment with many creatures coming from all over the area to use it's services" and so on. In my fictional documentary the compulsory drunk slumped mumbling to himself at the back of the bus is a queer representative of the leader of the pride gazing down from his vantage point over his kingdom.

In front of me are rows upon rows of uniform seats all with the same revolting, dull, multi-coloured covers, designed no doubt to disguise any stains (be it fast food, White Lightning or the vomit induced by it). The seats seem to me to share many similarities with the people sitting on them: ordered, used to maximum efficiency and desperate to hide any faults with mediocrity. Each person shares the common objective of trying to avoid any contact with another, pretending to read a newspaper or attend a bawling infant. This may be public transport but in spirit it seems there is nothing public about it.



Matthew Suter

Prostitutes in Picadilly

So rumor has it there are prostitutes that are situated near my flat.

I've never seen them so I've never really believed it mainly because I didn't want to.

My sister swears theres a black pimp with a ponytail that hangs out in Picadilly Gardens, high and flanked by women. (In my head he looks like Samual L Jackson in Jackie Brown)

Anyway today we had really good weather, so I went out taking pictures and my mission was Industrial Manchester circa 1980...One thing led to another and I ended up in what is known as the red light area because there are dark tunnels pervs pick up women from, I spotted a woman walking through one...

I only go and take a picture because her back is turned

She turns starts yelling at me waves her arms about screaming "Come on then, do you want a better picture, I'm gonna get your F****** ass kicked you stupid B**** Go on then"

Then she starts tottering after me and I'm running like nobodies business, because all I can think of is a manic Samual L Jackson character chasing after me and killing me departing with a quirky One liner, which includes the words 'Mothef*****' and 'Ho'

Which is, admittedly a pretty cool way to die.

King Of The Delta Blues

[I don't know how many people have heard this song before, and I don't feel the need to post the audio; It might ruin the impact as the lyrics are almost lost amongst the music. I just always seem to have them in my head.]



Their bones break where their hearts cannot, and heads are gonna roll ‘til I want them to stop. I’ll be there with bells on, just name the state. It will have to be underground. Underground because God ain't up this late.
Their bones are breaking ‘cause they’re weary and aching. The axes are falling ‘til they're dull or they're breaking. I’ll be there for you, or we can set us a date. I swear I love you, I swear by Christ. It is your father that I hate.
Lying to you never gets to me, because getting caught is what keeps me so honest.
Honestly, I might be the king of the delta blues. I sold my soul to write this for you. So get off your back. Is this really how you like to fuck? Face down ass up?
Trade it pound for pound. Trade it quart for quart. Trading lust for
love is like trading cheap wine for port.
This white-collar floozy has the blue-collar blues. More skeletons than closets and I still have more skin than tattoos. Ice where it’s bruised, swelled, rub out those bedsores.
To the face that launches thousands of ships, I miss you more then ignorance is bliss. More then I let on with my kiss. More then you’d ever care to be missed. Today a sister lost her sister, a son his mother. More than this. Fuck this.