I’ve done a post on what I love about Scotland blog post but never one about what I hate. So here is a list of what I Hate about Scotland
Hate – This might shock some but I hate traditional Scottish literature Robert Louise Stevenson and Walter Scott I find their books dry and not to my cup of tea.
Hate – The way we treat people – It might be worse in England but Scottish people like to label people junkies a lot.
Hate – Shortbread its just not a good biscuit
Hate – Nationalism. I’m just sick of our country saying they want to stay in the EU it might be alright for skilled workers to sit back in their chairs and call us racists but we have family’s to feed , houses to heat we need jobs and there all being taken by immigrants. I wouldn’t go as far to say I’m a unionist but I hate how the younger generation all want independence and that its stupid not to want it when most of them are students and are not actually full time workers or on benefits and think its easy to get a Job I can tell you now. Its not. The rich look after themselves it wouldn’t matter if we were independent or not.
Hate – Our stereotypes. I think people think that us Scottish people are a lovely friendly folk when in reality most strangers look like they want to spit on you for saying hi.
Please leave a comment on this blog post and share your thoughts.
Nor limpit in poetic shackles: I love the opening to this poem it’s so poignant and
Captivating. I think the first line expresses confusion with the words in this strange land. A land unkown to prose or rhyme. I think this is symbolic of the isolation burn feels as a poor writer not many can relate to him. Also perhaps its symbolic of society’s ignorance whither its to do with illiteracy at the time or poverty that blights Scotland. “Where words no’er cross’t the muses heckles Nor limpit in poetic shackles.” This shows that burns feels trapped perhaps by his situation and lack of money but also by his gift for the written word.
A land that Prose did never view it,
Except when drunk he stacher’t thro’ it;
Here, ambush’d by the chimla cheek,
Hid in an atmosphere of reek,
“A land that Prose did never view it.” I think this expresses burns frustration that although he is one of the most gifted writers in history he still cant capture all that he wants to. Except when drunk he stachert thro it. This reveals what burns sees the drunks of the streets and perhaps his own battle with drink. Here ambush’d by the chimla cheek. Hid in an atmosphere of reek. This shows what the city was dirty at the time and covered in reek.
I hear a wheel thrum i’ the neuk,
I hear it—for in vain I leuk.
The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel,
Enhuskèd by a fog infernal:
Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures,
I sit and count my sins by chapters; In this stanza what stands out to me is the line “k
For in vain I leuk. This suggests that Burns perhaps feels guilty about his
Fame and talent.
“The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel Enhusked by a fog infernal. These lines are symbolic of heat and perhaps the devil or anger, burns maybe feels like the Devil. “Here , for my wonted rhyming raptures I sit and count my sins by chapters.” He feels guilty about his gift perhaps because of his position in society and the fame and talent he has.
For life and spunk like ither Christians,
I’m dwindled down to mere existence,
Wi’ nae converse but Gallowa’ bodies,
Wi’ nae kenn’d face but Jenny Geddes,
Jenny, my Pegasean pride!
In this stanza he is in conflict with himself and his religion , he admits he’s not a very good Christian maybe because his love of drink or sex. “Im dwindled down to mere existence “here he feels that society does not value his talent and he is merely living a pointless life that wont amount to much.
I’m a summer baby. I was born on the ninth of June 2000 which makes me 21. Getting older scares me. I’ve never had a full time job because of my health and have not really got any decent qualifications. Most people my age will be studying and partying whereas I’m stuck in my stuffy old bedroom at my grans the only interesting thing in my life who is going to be evicted from love island.
I cant help but feel the pressure of the ticking clock. I’m not even in a relationship anymore and I feel like the only thing I’ve achieved since leaving school is giving myself brain damage from rock music , taking up a hospital bed and being a regular just eat customer.
It seems like the months are slipping through my fingers and there is no light at the end of the tunnel. When I think beck now there’s so many things I wish I’d done differently , but like my mum always says you have to look forward. Its difficult when your health incapacitates you I want to believe what kills you makes you stronger but it is simply not true.
(Before I start.I would really like it if you commented and put forward your opinions on this topic)
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. No one owns art. I feel like the only accessible art form in 2020 is music and film. To most the books are left to collect dust on a high shelf’s out of reach to many and great paintings are ruined by the coffee stains of the class divide. Literature like classical music and fox hunting seems to be a possession of the higher classes. Believe it or not I don’t hate the church. The elite built me aside from school and my parents I was raised by the church. The psalms of the bible and the verses of the hymns helped me create poetry and write prose. The summer clubs helped tutor and nurture me. However I wasn’t on the same level as them. My mother dusted the pews and scrubbed the toilets whist the conservative Christians preached the pure word of God towering above us on their high podium.
At school I was always degraded siting in a third set English class I was bitter , but I made friends I will never forget despite walking along the narrow tightrope that was the poverty line. Clutching a pen for balance , one slip and I would of tumbled to my doom. Perhaps I already have. in fact I know I have. What I write is in vain , they will spit on my grave.
Survival of the fittest is interwoven into our society despite anyone taking into account the middle classes head start at the game. Yet to say this puts a black mark against your name. Artwork is too expensive to buy for many , words to extravagant to understand. , and if your a woman who tires to challenge this you may as well thump your fists against a brick wall until they are bloody and bruised , but perhaps I’m biased. No one owns art. That’s all their is to say.
There are children jumping in front of trains , and grown men throwing bricks through window panes.
An old woman drowning out her sorrow by voting for the devils of tomorrow.
There are qualified girls lining up for food , and young boys disguising their face with a hood.
Polite ladies burning up my book , whilst their dearest darlings get up to no good. Kicking the life out of a man until his lips turn to blue.
For I have seen your likes before , I have already chapped this door and ran away I never stay. In the dark I stiffly lay.
For they are you and they are me. Scotland’s shame to the highest degree.
Sentence me with immortality.
You are people in textbooks no more , which teenagers think are just a bore.
She said It was depressing, but then life always was a bitter lesson.
Why is happiness so hard to find in art? Was a question that plagued my mind today. Maybe its because we’re all miserable cows or perhaps its because most adults don’t relate to tales about happy, content little bunny rabbits.
As a child, I was as joyful as most but as I grew I became more withdrawn and well. Depressed. Neurosis plagued me from a young age. Whenever we played piggy in the middle I was always the piggy who could never catch any of my friends. In team sports, I was always last to be picked. At playtime, my peers always had better biscuits and would never share with me. Bitter resentment grew in me towards life. I wanted an answer. I wanted the truth. Books were a source of escapism for me. As cliche as it sounds, I was the book worm of the class. Yet I wouldn’t say this made me the smartest. I still struggled with figures and somehow my reports never got a place on that wall, nor did I get into the final of the scots verse team despite having a passion for burns from a young age. I can still recite Epistle To Hugh parker word for word a poem that was forgotten and pushed into the shadows by most.
In high school, it seemed my anxiety came to a peak. Out of the hundreds of young adults, I struggled to find friends. Yet this wasn’t a place you wanted to be associated with books at lunchtimes, or at least not in my school. At break times I would line up in the dinner card que only for the single reason not to look like a loner. I cared too much about what people thought, but don’t we all?
However back to the question at hand. Why is art so depressing. Or why are artists so depressing. Why did Plath put her head in an oven, why did Van Gough paint beautiful flowers and then chop off his ear and then later blow out his brains? Why are we all so mental? Is it because life is mental, do we deep down need a reason as to why we exist? Why did Stalin and Hitler kill millions? Why did Andrew Carnegie exploit his workers despite growing up poor, why did burns preach about freedom then desire to be a slave driver? Why? Why? Why? We Ask. I wish I could give you an answer. Pain, money, hate, emptiness, mental illness. Death.
I think my opinion is that we need art to give us a reason to live. We see ourselves through others. It gives us meaning. Perhaps it’s not that art is depressing, maybe it’s just too close to the truth.
A couple of days ago I was kindly nominated to do the ten feelings tag. However Im lazy a shit and couldn’t think of ten so heres five of my favourite feelings!!
1. My first favourite feeling is walking on the beach. In the scorching heat were getting in scotland theres nothing better than walking beside the calming water or chilling on the sand.
2. My second Fave feeling is spending time with loved ones. Wither its playing a game of cards with your mum or having a BBQ with your boyfriend. Nothing makes me more happier !!
3. For my third favourite feeling it has to be online shopping (or normal shopping which we’re sadly not aloud to do at the moment. ) There’s no better feeling than getting a Pretty Little Thing Package arrive at your door with lots of goodies inside. As vain as it might be Im a shopaholic.
4. Music. This has to be my forth choice I love to boogy!
5. My fifth choice has to be indulgences. Tucking into punnet of ice cream , smoking a wee bit weed while the sun goes down , having a cider on the beach. We all love a pit of pleasure in moderation.
1.The first book I have to mention is Masie goes to Morningside. I loved the Masie series when I was a child. Eileen Paterson was an idle to me and I believe my life and literary skills were moulded by her. I remember when I was five or six , sitting cross-legged on the worn out carpet in the hall above the library with a handle full of other children listening to Eileen reading the newest Masie adventure.
2. Hetty Feather has to be my second choice. Not only does it sound the same as my name or the fact my Nana gave it to me but for some reason this book holds a special place in my heart. I think Jaqueline Wilson books are underrated. As a pre teen I loved devouring her easy to read books with female protagonists but Hetty Feather Definitely stood out to me. Not only does it have similarities with the classic Jane Eyre but even on its own the book has a good story line. Based In the Victorian era we follow Hettys horrific journey as she is ripped away from her comfortable foster family and beloved brother Jem and dumped into a workhouse where she experiences many horrors.
3. A third choice for me is Goodnight Mr Tom. I studied this book in school. The story as a whole is a very warm one. When an evacuee is sent to live with Mr tom he gradually starts to grow into a healthy boy. Until he is sent back to London and to his neglecter mother. However, Mr tom manages to safe him.
4. The Woman In Black. I studied the woman in black at school for my National 5 English. It brings back fond memories for me. Sitting for hours analysing this novel and picking it apart. This book contains many themes such as loss, the battle between good and evil and fear.
5. Black and Blue. I read this book as a 16 year old when I was in a really dark place and for some reason the grittiness and reality of this crime novel resonated with me.
6. Jane Eyre. As an adult now 19(nearly 20) this classic love story connects with me. You feel Jane’s pain and isolation. As she suffers under the harsh hand of her aunt and cousins to then losing her friend at Lowood school. And then the passionate love affair.
I previously on this blog did a letter to 18-year-old me when I was 17. I’ve actually succeeded in accomplishing some of my goals (Like yes losing my virginity) . I am also probably now a border line alcoholic so I’ve completed the drinking goal (Damn those cocktails) However some things such as my health improving or going to a music festival have stayed the same if not gotten worse. The answer to that question are things overall better? No there not. They are WAY WORSE!! Anyway, lets begin a letter to 21-year-old me.
How’s the blog have you reached lets say 300 followers we’ll aim high. That’s 200 followers in two years that’s reachable.
Have you sat your Higher English yet? Please say yes
Are you in your own place? If not I feel very sorry for you
A sinister one but have you killed yourself yet? I hope not you weak piece of shit.
Are you pregnant I’m not sure if I would be happy or sad for the answer to that?
Are you working do you finally have a Job ?
Is the psychosis and low mood any better?
Are you overall more content?
That’s it folks for my letter to 21 year old me. Please like and follow.