The Essence of Online Madness

"If music be the food of love, play on..."

I am mad. Completely and utterly mad. In fact, if it were the 16th century, I would probably be in the bottom of some small basement cell in a monastary on some two acre small island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

But it's not. Today is the age of the uber-cool virtual world, where anything you say will be broadcast to the entire world, or at least, those with internet connexions, or even, those who aren't blocked by such governments and authorities that filter out words like fuck, arse, cunt and girls.

Yes, and in this uber-cool virtual world of today, I don't go to a monastary, I don't turn to religion, I don't turn to doctors, psychologists, psychiatrists, brain surgeons, idiots or imbeciles. Instead, I turn to the incredibly powerful therapy of the internet to vent my complex and often strange emotions and fits.

Frenzied searches in the past led me to writing programs, pornography, YouTube, Gutenburg, more pornography, political forums threads, flame wars, the IMDb forums, more flame wars, dating websites, chatting to 67 year old men in those dating websites resulting in an incredibly hilarious log of the conversation involving sticky keyboards, rulers, floppy disks and the odd hard drive cumming all over the place, Nation States, Conservapedia, the Westboro Baptist Church, President Bush, Presidents of the World, Presidents of the Internet, BBC News and the Wikipedia.

My latest frenzied search for mental release has resulted in a site which has popped up on the grid for me before, but this time, I actually tried it out, to see what it's like. I liked it, so I downloaded the client and I happen to be using it right now.

Last.fm is an incredible resource for writers. And I consider myself a writer of sorts. Random, lyricless music helps me to write - and I've found a radio station which suits me perfectly - 'ost'. I have to skip through Marilyn Manson every so often, admittedly, however, it tends to be more than satisfactory, catering for me music which doesn't feature in my collection however does give me some good writing momentum.

The quote which opened this post is the very first line from a play called "Twelfth Night" by a reasonably famous playwright name William Shakespeare (Shakeshafte?). I love this line in a way, because although it mentions one emotion, it encompasses all that is amazing about music - it's the gateway to emotions. Many has been the time when the music more than the soppy montage in a chick flick has made shed a tear or two. Music tends to hit a certain part of the brain where emotion is confined; it breaks open the cell door that confines them and let them do what they should never be allowed to do - run riot.

Or maybe, should emotions be allowed to run riot? A moral dilemma, I would have to say. If you let all you emotions run absolute riot, you would have the most loving, caring, sympathetic, psychopathic mass murderers on this planet. Talk about creepy.

Anyhow, that's enough of my riotous madness. I'm listening to 'Jack Sparrow' by Hans Zimmer, I have to do a college assignment and until next time, good night and good luck.

Back on the train ride into the tropics

Well... I haven't ventured onto this for a while. What did I tell you? I'm useless at keeping these things up to date.

Anyway, a lot has happened to me in these months, as should anybody have, unless their lives are entirely devoid of any meaningful productivity.

I got drunk, several times. It was good fun. Incredibly good fun in fact - I'd highly recommend it. Meaningful experiences and meaningless relationships are often the products of becoming intolerably drunk, but with such blurred vision, it's okay until you wake up beside a face that could make the mirror crack.

I sat some ridiculously long and tedious exams which turned out to mean absolutely nothing other than I have a qualification which won't get me a job because we're facing a recession and employers are scabby pricks who don't live up to their name and employ people. Rather, they work in their establishment and hoard all the earnings for themselves, leaving youngish students like myself devoid of work and more likely to engage in what the psychiatrists of today call the cure for extreme boredom and what policemen call a breach of the peace. Luckily, although I haven't got a job, my extremist moral background refuses to allow me to become a common thief, so instead, I lie around, bored and penniless.

I procured myself a place in college doing a course in Audio Visual Media production and it's going reasonably well, considering it's only my second week in. I've played with cameras, endured the pain of watching two of Scorseses first shorts - one, which had the interesting characteristic of having a story and the other which was fifteen minutes of mind numbing torture.

Recently, it has been my habit to visit a place called the cinema far more often, and I actually have a few reasonably recent films about which I am able to talk about.

Pineapple Express is the new baby of producer Judd Apatow and writer/actor Seth Rogan. I found Superbad tolerably super and not at all too bad, but my opinion of the lowly 40 Year Old Virgin caused me to have little respect for Judd Apatow, who managed to get me to laugh once throughout that film.

However, Pineapple Express is different. It's better than 40 Year Old Virgin (what wouldn't be) and funnier than Superbad (quite a feat). I enjoyed it thoroughly. James Franco has finally proven to mainstream audiences that, yes, he doesn't just go around with a business card with actor written on it. Seth Rogan has proved, once again, that being funny is more than relying on your fellow co-stars to be and basking in their brilliance (take that, Steve Carell). The film started well and got better, the black comedy got funnier and the performances became fatter and even more exhaustingly hilarious. Packed full of in- and out-house jokes, the film promises to give you a comedy/action filled ride. Turn off your think tank, sit back and enjoy.

The controversial comedy of the year is certainly equal to Pineapple Express and may well exceed it in laughs and quality. However, it certainly has a trailer which couldn't possibly live up to its name. Welcome to Tropic Thunder - the blockbusting, controversial comedy of the year. Forget South Park, this has brought at least three 'minority' groups out with protest signs - blacks, 'intellectually challenged' people (handicaps) and quite possibly method actors or fat people.

This film is a work of comic genius and the writer was Ben Stiller. His satire on the Oscars, Sean Penn, crap television, rap artists, black people, method actors, Australians, Platoon, handicaps, Asians, drug lords, martial arts, British directors, American producers, the government, America - pretty much everything to do with Hollywood, is damn hilarious. You may only get a quarter of the jokes, if you're lucky you'll get half of them. If you're just really sad and looked up all the jokes before watching the film, you'll probably get them all, but maybe not, because you might be just slow.

Robert Downey Jr. delivers some incredible lines and although Jack Black is possibly the biggest waste of space in cinema (I am of the belief that his performance was a satire of himself) he doesn't do too badly. Watch out for the many cameos in this film. If you're really good, you might spot the mystery cameo. If you don't, or just to confirm it, sit through until the cast list comes up at least. Your eyes might just pop out of your head (go to an ear hospital if this happens, the eye hospital was useless, they just gave me glasses).

I would highly recommend seeing both films.

On a more serious note, I watched an obscure British film called 'Boy A' today. If you liked the recent 'Somerstown', 'This Is England', and the less recent 'Kes', I would highly recommend looking for it. It's an excellently crafted film which forces you to think in a non philisophical or bullshit "deep" way. It just makes you think about stuff. No wine and cheese attached.

This is the end of my post I think as I cannot think of anything more to say. I may post my recent short story here soon if I feel like it. It was quite a nice one.

Other than that, I think I'll end with my favourite Wilde quote (as only sharp wit may be quoted):

All art is quite useless.

Random Thoughts, Exams, Billy Joel, and the next idiot president...

We Didn't Start the Fire - Billy Joel

I am going to make an attempt in this blog, for the very first time to not talk about film. So, here goes.

All through the last two weeks I've been doing exams. Before you start fretting over the apparent suicidal stress I'm under, pray, relax. I'm not. I ate the Little Book of Calm a while ago, and am, as a result the epitome of calm. Ain't that wonderful (I'm already referencing!).

Now, these exams I'm doing are wonderful. They're known colloquially as The Mocks. And it's true. They are the mocking exams. They are the trial exams, if you will, for the exams that actually count and make any difference to my life at all, if any. And, like any self-proclaimed genius, I'm naturally doing dreadfully in these exams. Of course, if you took into account I haven't studied a jot since I was an eager first year, six years ago, then, I'm doing pretty damn well.

In any case, all I have left to do is History. A subject I happen to be relatively good in, plus the fact that I'm learning more History everyday through my interest in British history (not on the course, naturally) and more subjectively, I'm writing my latest film script on a historical event I first learned anything real about in History class. Thank God though, that European Dictatorships are on the course. My unnatural interest (I'm taking pills) of the history of the Nzi party (I misspelled so not to attract hate and love posts), and it's leaders have always fascinated me. I've always found especially the personality of the reviled leader interesting, from his strange sexual habits (golden shower) to his forward thinking anti-smoking campaigns.

Away from him however, I was tremendously disappointed in my performance in the old Maths and French Exams. Economics was pretty bad too. English, I hope, will be my forte. It had better be. Music was good considering my knowledge of the course was minimal. Irish, I happen to be fluent in, so, that shouldn't be too bad, other than a few grammar and spelling mistakes (I'm an oral fluent). So, why do I tell the internet about my thoughts on the Mocks? I don't know.

But I will award myself by going to see two films (oops!) on Saturday. I will see Juno, and I will see Sweeney Todd. I hope they're good. If they're not, I will be utterly furious and throw a post-exams tantrum. Not really though.

You know, if you ever listen to Billy Joel's lyrics, they are pretty depressing? I just stuck on an album here, and although they're reasonably good songs, they are pretty sad. The piano man is a manic depressant.

Talking about mental diseases, my shrink (yes, I have one) told me I have mild OCD (that's Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). I don't believe him though. Damn that pen! It never lines up with my ruler! Damn it! It has to be perfect!

Anyway, what was I talking about? Ah yes, OCD. It's a relatively common ailment, and almost everyone thinks they have it. And, 90% of people do have it, because everyone else is just lazy or stupid. Then again, 95% of statistics are made up. With an imagination like mine, I should be a statistician. Then again three quarters of the world's sea life live in a quarter of the world's oceans. We'd better start populating.

Sorry, I'm looking at the Encyclopaedia Britannica to find something else to talk about. 'DAMASCU TO EDUC', or 'LIBI TO MARY'? Neither I think.

Oh yes, Super Tuesday. The Americans are voting for their next idiot president. Let's hope their IQ reaches the dizzying heights of Mr. Bush's. Otherwise, we could be looking at the finale scene of Dr. Strangelove. If you haven't seen it, watch it.

So ends my post. I think. It was an excitingly pushy ride. And I hope it made you smile. Aptly though, I finish on a high point:

Captain Jack - Billy Joel