Ten Things Ive learned In my 19 Years

 

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1.sometimes people are wrong. Wither its your parents or proffesionals sometimes it better just not to listen.

2.Stay In School No matter how hard it gets. When people say you’l regret it you honestly will. Dont give in to opression. As the quote goes education is our greatest weapon.

3 Avoid psyciatric hospitals at all costs. You know when you hear about writers being depressed its kinda a sterotype.Honestly being admited to hospital  will make your health so much worse as no one wants to be degraded and treated like shit the way they do in hospital.

4.Its ok not to be ok-  Sometimes you have to give yourself a break. No ones perfect and you probably are doing your best. Minus the breakdown.

5.Remember who the real enemy is – You may have had a bad experience in life that turns you bitter. You may look for someone to blame your family , your friends , yourself. You have to remember that its not these peoples fault. Its just the fascist society we live in. If anything its moneys fault because the world revolves around it.

6.Go easy on the chocolate – As nice as it is. You will gain weight.

7.Smoking isnt always bad – All you see over the packets of ciggerettes are warnings not to do it. Honestly though I think smoking has helped me. It helps mask panic attacks , gets me to go outside more which elievates depression , helps me mentain my weight and can be used as inspiration. Most of my ideas for poems and prose pieces have happend over a fag. To be honest I wish Ide started it sooner.

8.Its hard being a young woman – I know. Its hard being a woman. Its hard being second best. If your poor and a woman its hard being like 10th best. Try and do things that empower you and help convince you your not just scum of the earth. Read books by female authors watch films with female actresses , listen to music sung by females. Go to clubs with other woman. Just know that we all feel the same.

9.ts Natural to worry about the future – Will I ever get a job? Will I be a bad mother? Will my partner leave me ? Its natural

10.Dont let other people bring you down – This kinda ties into my first suggestion. Dont listen to nasty people. Dont listen when your called a bum , dont let it get to you when people at the Job centre look down their snots at you. You are great, you are you!!!

Keep Warm Chapter 1

Ann lay with the sheets pulled up to her noes so that it covered her cheeks which were numbed from the cold. The darkness hung around her the silhouettes of what little objects she possessed lit up by a stream of pure light that slunk through a gap in the lace blinds that covered her window. She reached out running her slim fingers over the shaped holes in the yellowed material. A musty smell cast off them filling her lungs and making her splutter her throat burning. When she was little she’d had, the same sounding cough a great whooping one, one that made her father awaken from his sleep in the dead of night and run through to her bedroom to see if she was alright. Coughs weren’t the same when you were a child, it could have been scarlet fever or polio it sent her father into a state. If she ever had one he would run himself down accusing himself of not feeding them well enough, when in reality it was never the fault of an individual. Now her cough came from the city smog, the pollution off the factories that stuck to your skin and hair or the damp that grew from the walls where she was housed.
She rolled over, turning her back to the light and staring into the pitch black. She could feel the cold nip at her legs as she lay in only her thin vest, the thick blanket over her shoulders the only thing covering the vulnerability of her bare flesh. Not that long ago she had lay in this bed with another body whose strong arms had wrapped around her chest and whispered bliss into her ear with his warm sweet breath. She had caved in, in those moments safe in a gentleman’s arms. Just outside had lay the cruelty, poverty, decay and the selfish desperation of her fellow humans. Survivors only at the expense of another. No. She wasn’t good. No number of acts could make her pure. As no human was. We are simply animals run on fear and instinct, poisoned and diluted by intellect. No one individual was evil. Only a society could be that. A facade of the masses that hid the cruellest acts of torture, oppression, and evil in plain sight.

That night had been a one-night stand with a high ranked man in the forces. Not a working man from the pit or the site. He was not one who would be drinking in a pub around her bit. He wasn’t their “kind”. He had fair skin and hair along with clean manicured figure nails, and polished boots. A white-collar boy. He’d lured her to him. Slid up to her at the bar and made her laugh easily. Had her in the palm of his hand from the first sentence. It made her feel special that he’d picked her. She was nothing. He’d paid for her drinks and joined her at her table filling her with lager shandes after a Friday shift. They’d chatted and laughed for hours about the cold weather, his work and politics. She wasn’t very aware of politics. She’d heard rumours of the suffrage movement going on in the cities although had not seen much in the newspapers they tended to ignore it, didn’t like to give it the attention even if it be negative treated it as a disease they feared would spread. Here in a small industrial town most woman lived in the dark over the topic. She knew her older brother voted liberal the party in power at present. And whenever he talked about it he would swear a lot. This man was a member of the conservative party and said for a fact there was to be a war. She’d dismissed it as guff. They’d never be a war. Not now with all the new technology, bombs and artillery they had nowadays. They weren’t that stupid. They’d kill us all. At eleven the pub was closing up and they had been thrown out by the barman with the other late-night stragglers. A group of men from the pits, a lone chubby man, and a thin ragged alchy. Outside the rain had been pissing it down and they’d made a spur decision to seek shelter at the bookies. He’d placed a bet on one of the horses in her name chucking on ten pound the equivalent of three months’ wages. “It will win” he’d announced. He’d a confidence and asserted way to him she’d marvelled at. He held himself up straight. There seemed to her no doubt that plagued his mind. Not like them here where they doubted themselves constantly wither they could put food on the table or heat their frail bones, constantly straining to not sink to the bottom.

T2 Trainspotting (Reveiw)

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Before I begin this reveiw  *cough slaughter* I must point out that I have never watched the original 1996 Trainspotting film which (yes is a classic). However overall I felt it’s predocessor was pretty dire. First thing that struck me about this film was it’s 18 raiting , which I was quite dissapointed about as I was planning on seeing it at the cinema .(Yes my expectations of it were THAT high I was prepared to pay an arm a leg and probably a kidney knowing the price of cinema tickets to go watch it) Now I wouldn’t personally class myself as someone who could be easily taken aback. I curse every second sentence so it would probably make me a hypocrite. Yet even for me . this film is VERY crude. A little bit I can handle and was expected but taken to the point that you have to close your blinds otherwise your neighbours will probably think your watching porn , I felt was too much. This film had a lot of sex scenes (extreme sex scenes) in it as it was about them getting back together to set up a brothel business.

The main theme of this film is the underclass / drug /crime / Violence I couldn’t actually work out the theme as it was so bad it didn’t really have one. The film starts off with the main charcter spud trying to commit sucide. Yet dont worry he gets rescued by his best friend Mark Renton (who is clean from heroine). However spud is not happy with this and tries to baisically hammer Mark for leaving years a go and giving him money to spend on life running drugs.  Another main character in the story is simon. Who now in his thrities runs brothels and a failing pub with his partner Veronica and takes cocaine.  When Mark meets Simon an intense brawl breaks out over money Mark stole from Simon years ago.

The last character in the film is Franco who is serving time in the jail. At the start of the film he manages to escape Prison by getting someone to stab him. From there he runs home to his wife and son Franco Jnr. Franco Jnr tells his father he has inrolled in college to study Hotel Managment. His father is disgusted at this and more voilence breaks out. In the end Franco Jnr is forced to acompany his father in robbery. Later in the film Mark starts to fall for Veroika Simons girlfriend and they begin an affair.

 

What do you like most about Scotland 10 facts ?

1. I love irn bru diet and full fat

2. I love Edinburgh the city of literature and am lucky to live right next door to it.

3. I love batters sasuasage and chips from the chippy ( Can’t beat it)

4. I love the Edinburgh dungeons and the Edinburgh museum especially the veiw you get for the veiw top terrest.

5 I LOVE our literature we still hold top place in the world I love scottish poetry especially Norman MaCciah and Robert Burns.

6 I love how friendly we are how you can go out for a drink and get chatting to anyone

7 I love the fourth just walking along tbe beach starring out into the forth is the closest you will get to heaven.

9 I like shortbread and fudge and tablet and haggis all the stereotypical foods.

10 I love Hogmany and burns night

“I WANTED TO DRINK THE SAN IZAL”

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“Beside the sink there was a dark green bottle of disenfectant the name was in big red letters on the label. SAN IZAL. And in smaller letters under a red cross was the word. Poison. That had been spelled out to me with a warning to leave it alone.

I unscrewed the top and sniffed at the San Izal. I loved the smell of it a smell you could just about bite. I wanted to take a sip but it was poison. If I swallowed it I would die. My father said when you died that was it. Finsihed. My mother said you went to heaven to live with god.

The feeling was centred in my stomach and had something to do with the picture. I wanted my mother. I held the book close to me and crossed once more to the sink. I wanted to drink the San Izal.

I wanted to write this post centered around this story by Alan Spence. I Myself have been feeling sucidal because of current events in my life. I think feeling sucidal is a natrual thing that all humans feel. Maybe I’m worng. In this story even a young boy feels the urge to drink the San Izal and kill himself. This perhaps has to do with his enviroment  he talks about the outside of his house being a wasteland “I could see our street and another leading off it down towards the docks. Rows of grey tenements , a factory , a wasteground”  so perhaps he is suffering from poverty. Something enough to drive the masses to the bridge.

In this story I like Alan spences dipiction of what depression does to you. We see this in the example of when the boy eats a peice of bread. “Mechanically I picked up the bread I had left on the table and took another bite , chewed it to a dry pulp sweet sugary grit between my teeth. I Couldnt finish it , threw the last hard crust in the bucket” This shows that the boy feels to low to eat and the bread is tasteless to him. Alan spences attention to detail is also amazing. In the sink lay a knife I had used , still streaked with margarine. I turned on the tap , let the rush of water splash over it , but it didnt come clean , it was still smeared , the cold water clinging in globules to the blade. I think this image is also symbolic of how the boys feeling. It shows how hopeless he feels at his situation. And which in turn is driving him to drink the San Izal.

He also talks about wanting his mother. “I wanted my mother “  Almost as if the lonliness is enough to make him drink poison. At the end of the story all is resolved when his mother comes home and grants him safety from himself and the feelings hes had. “I heard my mothers key turn in the door and she was here she was home. The tears came now. I couldnt hold them back. ” His mother is symbolic of saftey and comfort and manages to sooth the boys distress.

 

 

 

Irn Bru

He woke his body crumpled on the floor his limbs stiff. A warm stream of light that fell through a gap in the grimy curtains onto his toes was the only part of his body he could feel. He rose to his feet unsteadily reeling slightly placing a hand on the solid white walls. He wore only his pants and a dirty t-shirt. He could feel the worn stubbly stained carpet beneath his feet. It was early November and the desolate flat was deathly bitter. He reached for his jeans on the floor clambering into them desperate for some warmth. The bottom of them was covered in dry sick. He rubbed his pounding foggy head and new the headache was the result of more than the cold. He stumbled through to the kitchen of the flat where he had been squatting. It was already littered in crack needles and food packets from the previous visitors and some rat droppings due to an open hinged window. He reached for a half drunk plastic bottle of Irn Bru and some aspirin. Swallowing three pills down heavily with a slug of sickly E numbers. He grabbed his smashed up iPhone which had a little charge, and scrawled down to her number. It dialled each ring hollow. She answer it was her voice. Her sweet slightly fatigued voice. “Hello” she said hesitantly as if she knew it was him. “Stace it’s me !!” he said his voice sounded highly strung in the empty flat. There was a heavy sign on the other end “stop calling Rebus I’ve told you this or I’m going to call the police. Your harassing me” she said tiredly. “we need to talk Stace I know I’ve messed up in the past but I can change I promise just let me come back let me see jack he’s my boy I’m aloud to see him” he said desperately. “Why” she spat. “what good would you do him” there was a pause her anger fizzling out. “I supported you for years rebus. I swept your drinking under the carpet I handed you money I even did nothing when you bruised me up, I can’t do that anymore not when you lost your job I can’t support you I told you that. “ she said in a tone of hopeless despair. “I’ll change stace I promise. I’ll get a job I’ll make money I’ll provide for you and not spend it on drink you have to believe me” He begged. “no you won’t!!!” she screamed “you don’t care not about anyone but yourself do you not think I struggle do you not think we all do but I still do it” she said. “ I was ill stace I’m sorry….” He tailed off. “so what” she said “do you not think we all are do you not think I wanted to go to sleep forever when you left but I can’t because I’ve got a son to look after and bills to pay you twat” she spat. “please stace” he soothed. “don’t do that” her voice cracked “don’t pretend to be the strong one” she shouted “you’re a weak selfish man John there’s nothing more to it” she rung off leaving the line ringing emptily in his ear. He through the phone at the wall in anger so the battery fell out and clattered to the floor. He fell against the door no longer able to support his body. He wanted to be dead. No he didn’t that wasn’t it he feared death just like any animal. He just had an intense craving for relieve. He looked out the windows at the sun dancing upon the roof tops. A thought came to his mind from when he was a boy. Sitting with his grandfather beside the electric fire the old man sipping on his pipe. “At one point you realise John when you strip it all back theirs no such thing as failure it doesn’t matter where you are on the status spectrum or the buggered things you’ve done or the people you’ve hurt the people who are scared of failure and scared of success so they stay stuck they’re the only failures in life. Their the ones who get depressed and turn to drink and sex and religion and drugs and violence to block it out. They’re the ones who will die in fear. The world isn’t safe John or pleasant but there is a way to find some content. And that’s to never give up.”

Aunt Julia Analysis

:Please note this is my own interpretation of the poem by the writer Norman MacCaig and may not be correct.

Aunt Julia Is one of my favourite poems by MacCaig. Its quite a melancholy poem and has connotations to death. Yet MacCaigs depiction of his Aunt Julia is a very fond one.

Stanza one

Aunt Julia spoke Gaelic
very loud and very fast.
I could not answer her —
I could not understand her.

In this stanza we are introduced to the main character of the poem Aunt Julia. We are told that she speaks Gaelic this immediately tells us there is a communication barrier. “I could not answer her – I could not understand her” This for me also has connotations of death “I could not answer her ” shows his desperation and grief and also shows us that MacCaig perhaps feels guilty about his relationship with his aunt that he never really understood her and never will understand her.

Stanza Two

She wore men’s boots
when she wore any.
— I can see her strong foot,
stained with peat,
paddling with the treadle of the spinningwheel
while her right hand drew yarn
marvellously out of the air.

In stanza two the opening lines are “She wore men’s boots when she wore any” This shows that she is perhaps a very tough woman who almost takes on a mans role. “I can see her strong foot stained with peat” This reveals that the character is a woman of the land. “Paddling with the treadle of the spinning wheel while her right hand drew yarn marvellously out of the air” This shows a more domesticated side to Aunt Julia. This is a skill heavily associated with island life – Harris is famous for producing tweed. The word choice of “Marvellously” shows the young MacCaigs admiration and fondness for his aunt. The use of the present tense throughout this stanza creates a sense of immediacy and shows how vividly and readily he can still access these memories.

Stanza Three

Hers was the only house
where I’ve lain at night
in the absolute darkness
of a box bed, listening to
crickets being friendly.

MacCaig decides to open the stanza with the word choice of hers. Which shows his affection for her and the bond they had. In the absolute darkness again has connotations of death and reiterates the theme to the reader with the darkness being symbolic of death and despair. It has links to the final stanza where Aunt Julia is “Silenced in the absolute black”

Stanza Four 

She was buckets
and water flouncing into them.
She was winds pouring wetly
round house-ends.
She was brown eggs, black skirts
and a keeper of threepennybits
in a teapot.

The writer uses personification and metaphors in this stanza to connect Aunt Julia to the landscape and objects. MacCaig connects his aunt with mundane domestic objects which symbolise her simple minimalistic lifestyle. “She was winds pouring wetly round house-ends” This connects his aunt to nature and is also perhaps symbolic of his despair.

Stanza five

Aunt Julia spoke Gaelic
very loud and very fast.
By the time I had learned
a little, she lay
silenced in the absolute black
of a sandy grave
at Luskentyre. But I hear her still, welcoming me
with a seagull’s voice
across a hundred yards
of peat scrapes and lazybeds
and getting angry, getting angry
with so many questions
unanswered.

The main theme of death is shown in the last stanza. There is a bitter despair to MacCaigs tone. He uses the word choice of “Silenced” to suggest perhaps Aunt Julia lived her whole life in silence isolated by the communication barrier and her geographical area. “In the absolute black” Is again symbolic of death.

 

 

August

The lethargic traipsing days of august
Signify the winding down of summer
And stirs up past memories of youth
To the forefront of our minds.
For our soul to replay and scrutinise.
As we walk in a constant state of stupor in the time between
Rising from sheets and covers.
In anticipation of returning to them again.
To pick through moments of the past with a thin tooth comb
Like burning bleach against bare skin
and then releasing suddenly.
let go to drift as rich green leaves
and be picked up and shepherd listlessly by the breeze.
The bitter remains of them only conscious to us as a distant sour smell from the drain at the end of the street.

Seagulls trail the polluted grey sky above
Their silhouettes, plump fully grown and of the purest white
Catching the corners of the sky with their wings, slicing through the polluted grey clouds
To reveal sacred patches of the clearest blue.
In seaside towns.
In the inner urban towns, sickly and diseased
Their bodies Decaying on top of plastic bus shelters
Stragglers One-day closer to death.

A Collection Of Fag Butts Short Story (Part 2)

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Jack Walked across the site. Dirt and rocks crumbling beneath his steel cap boots , the ground he walked on dusty and uneaven. He leant down heaving up a few bricks and sliding them under his arm in a routine manner. He stumbled across to where the house was being built and began to lay. Spreading on a layer of grey murky cement and then placing the brick on top. This was the filling of time in his days. His life one brick on top of another. The mundane repetitivness enough to keep insanity and fear at bay. The soothing relieve of money into the bank account at the end of the month ; enough to allow the objections to slide. To worn down by austerity to read a newspaper , to take an interest in politics. That life couldnt be his , comfort , clarity , security. Hope. Even if he deserved it.

He allowed his thoughts to drift off to an image of his partner. Her slender figure which made him tingle with animal desire , her charming smile which drew you to her like a moth , her flattering laugh which could make you giddy. Yet now she was gone. As quick as a memory. In a box in the ground a future erased ; a life extinguished like a naked flame. How someone could be standing next to you ; merged into every part of your life and the next minuit had disapeared was completly incomprehensible to Jack. He still expected her to be their in the place he had last saw her. A disorientation that it was impossible that he could never talk to her again , laugh with her again. Hold her in his arms and feel protected for one small moment in a world no one was safe in. He still carried the greif with him like a dusty old scarve that made each breath thick , heavy and difficult.

Most nights he spent alone , lagar can in hand the echoey flat only an empty shell and not something he could call home. Possesions scattered like a shrine , items that could never belong there anymore. Without her he was nothing. A one sided coin. An empty side of the bed. A shadow of a life. He stuffed it with booze and oven chips , saturday football matches and news at six. Mundane things. Things to keep killing time. To block out the fact he was alone in the world. Survival was necessary. Living was painful , unbearable , hopeless. Yet death scared him. Like it scared most men. So he carried on. One brick after another.