A Matter Of Materials

Chemistry re-takes. Over and done with.

It was quite an easy paper. Or rather, papers. I quite enjoyed doing the Foundation bit. If I didn't get an A on that, I must have a really distorted, skewed understanding of Chemistry. Hahaha. Organics... Urm... I'm not sure. I guess it's either borderline A or B. And no, I'm not superstitious, so I'm not afraid of jinxing myself. No touch-wood or anything like that. But what I am afraid of is when I confidently predict my own grades there's always a possibility I'm grossly wrong and I have to eat my words through a funnel.

After finishing the paper, we went back to the house and decided to go and grab a coffee in town. It was me, Clive, Lowco, Fudge and Sam who went. Sam drives, so we lazily parked just outside the Quarry near the church and walked the rest to Starbucks. But hey, it's nearly lunchtime, so Starbucks was full and we ended up at Costa's.

The thing I love about Costa is that when they say "medium" coffee they actually mean "massively gigantic cup but there's a bigger one called 'large'." I mean, it's not as much a cup but a bowl a mocha I was having yesterday. And the sandwiches are nice and hot. I think I should've gone for the Frescato option, but oh well.

We got back to school just in time for lunch, but we didn't go to KH.

Then Kam said to me on Google Chat if I wanted to go to town, so I answered, "why not watch a film too?" So we did. And we also brought Mubin along. Indiana Jones it was. And not bad. I thought it was a good action film, filled with funny one-liners and nostalgic references.

There was a blatant reference to Damien Hirst's diamond skull, which was quite funny, but somehow I felt like an arse laughing to it on my own. It's when Indie says "I saw a crystal skull once at the British Museum. Good craftsmanship, but that was it." That was a public-held view of Damien Hirst's skull, that the craftsmanship was excellent and painstakingly done, but its artistic value was nil. To be honest, I'm not a fan of Damien Hirst. Maybe it's the commercial aspect of it. I'm not sure.

Here's Damien Hirst's skull:


It's beautiful, flashy and certainly expensive (£50m in fact), but that's it. You don't feel anything from it. It doesn't draw you in, it doesn't provoke you. It's almost like an ineffective piece of jewellery, which at least pulls you in and makes you want to have it. This, well... I won't even want it on my mantelpiece or as a paperweight.

Now this is one of my favourite paintings. Geo showed it to me because he was doing his Art course on the artist. It's by Georg Baselitz:

It's a painting of a boy masturbating, if you didn't notice it already. What I like about it is that it's surreal and real at the same time. The boy's expression seems to be of both nothingness and pleasure at the same time. The whole painting also embodies a certain comical quality to it. And the brush strokes are unique, which I guess is due to the fact that he paints his paintings upside down.

I'm not sure what I'm gonna do today.

Signing out

Over and out

Wordless Silence

The wordless silence brings about an intense questioning of unmentioned pretenses
One thoughtless action in the midst of silent intentions
This isn't the part where we're supposed to fall
It's not, now we are falling against the grain
Nothing makes sense anymore in this senseless, mocking world
A cheerless smile embedded into your cheerless lips
Hopeless distaste of the injustice of one's silence
Twisted tongues with escapist tendencies conjure silent thoughts
And again wordless silence brings about cheerless songs


Crimson blood stains the air with virulent violence
Whispers of vengeance dominate the conscious
While the unconscious lie in blissful ignorance
Silence is in itself inevitably wordless
Yet this time more comes through than meaningless sentences
The power of wordlessness cannot be underestimated
High hopes dashed by uncertain consequences
Callousness of the individual wrecks the vital constituents
And again wordless silence brings about false pretenses

Three Pesky Little Pomegranates

So yes. After exactly 2,343 years, 42 days, 12 hours and 35 minutes, the indecisive Warwick has actually done something I never thought they would do. Make a decision on my application. Of course I practically made the decision myself when I decided not to do the online interview they gave me.

Ah, yes. The irony. I was actually scared they were gonna accept me. Really, like I would've been properly gutted if they said "Okay, we want you here. The online interview? No matter. That was just a delaying tactic anyway. We couldn't decide between you and this Russian guy who speaks no English. In the end 4 out of 5 of the committe decided we want you."

Obviously that didn't and wouldn't have happened.

I'm seriously relieved that decided to finally reject me after toying with my oh-so-fragile emotions. Urm... Hahaha.

So that leaves me with three offers. I've made my mind up three years... I mean three months ago. UCL is Firm. York is Insurance. And Royal Holloway, I shall mark you as Declined. As I clicked on the 'Submit Reply' button, I scrambled freneticly to check whether I hadn't mistakenly botched it up. If I did, it would've been too late, but no, I didn't.

So that's UCAS over and done with. Bub bye A-Level world. Oh wait, we've still got four weeks of it. Shit. And oh, damn exams. Pesky little things exams are. One of the few inconvenient inevitabilities in this world along with death and taxes.

So.

So.

And so.

Signing out

Over and out

Assassinations From A Cup

Target: Rich Wang (Churchill's) Status:Eliminated
Time of Death:Between 0730-0800, 11/03/08 Weapon Used:Orange Juice

The Assassins tournament has started. It's that season again, when all the upper sixth get silly by lobbing glasses of water and shooting with water guns all around the school site.

I was drawn against Rich Wang in the first round. Not that I had any idea who it was when I found out. But my housemates pointed out who it was, and I was already trying to figure out a plan to assassinate him, before he assassinates me.

The first round started at 0000 hours, and will end at 1500 hours today. I have eliminated my target. So has a few people. Some even stayed up till the early hours of the morning to sneak in and assassinate their own targets. The people who stayed in their rooms barricaded their doors, or exchanged beds with other people. I kept a water gun on the side of the bed, and installed a make-shift alarm on my door that consisted of simply a chair, a rubbish bin, and a trolley bag.

The night went well. No attacks. I slept well. But Sam Waterworth who's a housemate of mine, got assassinated by Welshie, a guy from Ridgemount. This morning in breakfast, Peter Stewart assassinated Nick Carling in KH with a bottle of water.

Mine was next. I was looking at Churchill's way all the way through breakfast. Rich Wang had not come yet. But when he came, he saw me too. He had a bottle of water in his hand. So did I. But it was a delicate situation. Going in for the kill would almost be suicide. It's easier when you're chased but you're aware of it. So it had to be timed perfectly. And I timed mine brilliantly.

There were two tables inbetween us. They were empty. But then some Oldham's lower sixths filled in one of the tables, and he lost concentration for a bit. In that twenty-second window, I sneaked towards him, with a glass of orange juice in my left hand and a bottle of water in my right. The plan of attack was to use the orange juice as a diversion, as a fake attack, and then when he is trying to avoid the orange juice I would squirt him with the bottle of water.

But he didn't notice I was coming at all. So it was unnecessary of me to use the orange juice. But I forgot. So I spilled the orange juice all over his jacket, and walked back to the table. Mission accomplished. He was not happy.

Next round starts in a few hours. Most probably some time tomorrow.

Signing out

Over and out

Multiplication Of Miltonian Melodies

I am feeling quite irritable at the moment. Really. I cringingly went through two lessons yesterday with a sense of utter boredom and immense irritability. I even found my fringe extremely annoying. I felt like cutting it off with a pair of garden scissors and burning it in a big bonfire, which just so happens to be in the middle of the Science building.

I had no lessons in the afternoon, so I went to town with Clive, essentially doing nothing useful, wandering around like there's nothing else to do but wander around town. I treated myself to a mug of hazelnut hot chocolate from Starbucks, which didn't taste as good as I remembered. Oh well.

Actually I was gonna do some work for Paradise Lost for English over my double PR, but I forgot the most essential thing, the actual book itself. So that plan has gone to pieces. Now I'm just Multiplying and G-Mailing. If such terms do exist. I mean, if Facebooking is an actual word, then I would imagine it would involve slapping someone's face with a book, but hey, apparently it's staring into a computer screen for six hours ignoring friend requests from people you don't know from the U.A.E. and blocking invitations to applications asking if you want to know if you share your personality with Britney Spears. Even Multiplying means something else. In the past it would mean reproducing mini Jays that run around wreaking havoc and destruction plotting world domination, but now it means posting up seven hundred photos on one album so that it will take that one person on a dial-up modem three days to fully load the whole page.

Ah, the wonderful threat that modernisation brings to the world. Cyberspace. Even that term has gone out of date, out of the list for 'hip' terms. I mean, the only people who would actually use the term cyberspace are people who thinks to justify in Microsoft Word means you have to argue the point you just made in your Word document. Word.

I think Microsoft Word sounds like it was developed by a bunch of programmers doubling as ghetto gangsta's who carry guns around, with a massive amount of bling around their necks and on their fingers. Word.

I still have the image of mini Jays running around. I'm sorry. It's a bit freaky now it's come up.

I bet I would have a favourite mini Jay who would come complaining that the other mini Jays have been bullying him because he's the smartest one.

Which brings me to my next point. For my 21st birthday, I want a Mini. Whichever Mini it is. The Mini Cooper S maybe? That's what I want. Better save up. I'm not even being subtle here. I'm throwing it out in the open. I want it wrapped in a wrapping paper with little Mini prints. And the birthday card would have the keys inside it. Don't forget. It's only, what, 8 months away.

I need a girlfriend. Oh wait.. Never mind. Forget I said that, Pill.

Hahaha. Joking, Pill.

Signing out

Over and out

Infatuated With The Sweetest Pill

I just got back from James Higham's art exhibiton opening, in the Art School. Compared to Geo, James has a more realistic style, much less abstract, and admittedly a better painter, but Geo is much more entertaining, with bolder ideas, and more creativity. Abstract really suits him. But who am I to comment though. I'm not the most artistic person in the world. Haha. Oh, and congratulations goes to Geo for getting into Wimbledon Arts.

Anyways, today has been tiring. Although I only had 3 lessons out of 7, I had to use up my triple PR and breaktime to finish my English notes.

My pill. Colon D. She knows what I'm talking about. Haha.

I've got no work to do, till.. No. I actually don't right now. All the set work has been done and handed in. What a gem.


Signing out

Over and out

A Man Conquering A Mountain

Today is the end of the weekdays for this week, and as have been frequently said by other people, TGIFF! I've added another F in there. Guess what it's for.

Anyways, school hasn't been too bad. The amount of work has substantially slowed down. So I'm coping.

We went to Geo's art exhibition opening a few days back. It was pretty interesting. And the jazz band was brilliant. They played Sublime's 'What I Got' at the end of the opening, and if it wasn't for the microphone suddenly becoming shit, it would've been amazing. The whole exhibition was on figures, and I think Geo based his work on a guy called Baselitz, who drew his paintings upside down. It was well good.

The night before last, me and Clive also helped Geo out with his graffiti for the Rec Room, which was a big piece with the word 'Everest.' This is, if you're wondering, a tribute to Sandy Irvine, who was in Severn Hill ages ago, and was argued to be the first person to go on top of Mount Everest, but his body was never found.

Oh, well. Nothing much else really.

Signing out

Over and out

We Can Hear You Shouting

Tension is in the air, or more specifically, in the house.

Remember a few weeks ago I complained about my neighbour who couldn't stand my loud music? Well, things just went up to another level.

Apparently last night he went crazy, shouting and swearing at another guy, Will, in front of our housemaster. He's lost it, I think. He has cracked under the pressure.

Lauitt's ears must have been pretty fucking sensitive to even hear Will on the phone. Will was on his phone, under his duvet, under his pillow, as quiet as possible. Fuck knows how Lauitt heard him, so he went to Will's room, and warned him that if he didn't stop talking on the phone, he'd call the housemaster.

Okay, let's get this clear. Lauitt is a fucking snitch. He told Vicars (housemaster) on me when I was on the phone at 12.30, and when my music was 'too loud.' Last year someone had sex in his room (hahahahahahahahahahaha) during the house dance, and he told Vicars about it.

Anyways, here's how it went on. Will ignored him, and said "Go on, tell him." Lauitt being a stubborn bastard, went to tell Vicars.

Funnily enough, Will had finished his phone conversation and was in bed when Vicars and Lauitt came in to his room. So Lauitt just lost it. Apparently he shouted "Stop FUCKING lying to me, Lan!" (Lan is Will's second name). Vicars had to tell Lauitt to leave Will's room. It's quite funny, actually, when you think about it.

He went absolutely mental (I'm not really sure that's PC, haha) and stormed out of the room. Apparently, me being only a room away, was the only one in the corridor who did not hear anything. Clive said Lauitt's eyes were mental. "I told him not to talk after 11, but he still persists!" or something like that was what Lauitt said.

He's an odd fellow, Lauitt.

I think he's gonna switch rooms with someone from the D-wing. If he's not, he's in for a very torturous time. This corridor is a pretty lively one. He's not gonna last long before he cracks again.

Signing out

Over and out