Monday, 29 December 2008

A Heartbreaking Tale of Staggering Beauty

As much as I have protested throughout most of my semi-adult teenage life, I am coming much more consciously aware of a desire building in me to write fiction. As a younger man, I abhorred the act of writing fiction, partly due to a principle I had come to refer to as "Midnight Philanthropy". Now as much as this sounds like a strange pseudo electronic-soft rock ballad-type band, (And it was, for three days) I used it as a term for any teenage literature, and in turn, literature that teenagers would commonly associate with "Fantastic Writing". That is to say that many of these works of literary delight very frequently used over-indulgent descriptions. Many people find these metaphors very enjoyable to read, but I, as a twisted misanthrope, simply found them innocuous.

Well, no surprise there then...

An example of such a description is one of my own invention, and it bears mentioning that I vomited twice after writing it. Yeah, think about that motherfuckers.

The moon shone in the lake, the water rippling like the lake was being caressed by several tiny hands, so dainty that they could only embark on a small venture from the shores.

Ugh. You see?
Anyway, I felt as though writing these sorts of things were inherent in writing fiction, so I made a very drastic attempt to stray away from it, only to find that this was a HUGE MISTAKE when I started University. "SHIT," I had briefly considered, as I was told to write something for the next class. "Write what you know" was the advice given to me by a friend, whom I immediately stuck with an open palm, shouting "Don't be so impetuous, the maestro has to WORK!"

Things were bad, and they were going to get worse, fast. I cobbled together a humorous sketch thing about the president, and then a thing about gangsters, pieced together from parts of a horrifying nightmare, but it wasn't enough. Then I thought, "Write what you...know!" shortly followed by; "Luke, you're a genius" and then a fifth of whisky.

It was good advice. I knew being cynical, I had spent most of my teenage years with the perspective of a much older man, about the world being crap and such, and so I knew a lot about misanthropic texts. I perused the words of Bret Ellis, and took in everything about The Great Gatsby. It helped. I liked novels about disenfranchisement, about decay and grit. So I liked writing them. After all, I am a cynic.

Reading this makes me depressed.

That's all from that, the moral of the story is, go do something that was obviously a good idea to start with. "Midnight Philanthropy" is not the only term I had hashed up as a young man, and between rehearsals for the school productions, me and many friends in my secondary school education coined a couple of words that we still use in everyday talk...uh...everyday. Lets dive right in;

  • Rooney: A person who looks like a chav, acts like a chav, partakes in typical chav-like activities. May indeed be a chav.
    e.g. "careful, there's a Rooney coming in the store" or "That Rooney was mental!". Can also be used in the plural sense; "Look at that bunch of Rooneys." (cautionary note: NEVER look at a bunch of Rooneys)
  • Chough: A person who acts like they are better than everyone else, and takes a much higher stance on things, such as acting more intelligent, or making jokes at other peoples expense, whilst being much less informed and/or intelligent, yet still pursuing the notion that they are better than other people. Choughs tend to run in packs of about three of four, and will have groups of mixed sex. They may also have Demi-Choughs sticking close by, basking in their self serving and egotistical nature. Also, sometimes they can be total fucking douchebags.
There. Hope I've widened up your world just a little more, Friends and/or Colleagues.

Peace out Bitches.

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