Sunday, August 29, 2010
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Crete, Episode 3: Christ I'm an angry person today
0 comments1154 I want to write but have been dragged poolside. It is irritatingly noisy. No noisier than on the balcony, but at least up there I could pretend that I was seperated from the rest of it. Now the volleyball is back and very in my face. Can't even swim for a cool off.
Apparently it is actually water polo. I'm not really paying attention. It still features a beachball and grown men screaming like children.
The losing team have to do the chicken dance mentioned in Episode 1. Because if you're not suffering throguh playing, you may as well be suffering through watching.
Said dance appears to start with a bit of a sumo ground stomp. The participants certainly have the bodies for it OH SNAP.
You know how some music takes old songs, adds an electronic beat and sends it's on its way? The song feels a bit weird about what's happened to it, but it carries on, and actually kind of works. Purists will turn it's back on it, but whatever. But then you get some other guys who see this, so they take a brilliant, or at least cult song and add an electronic beat, because that should be even more successful right? But they kind of miss the point. The focus too heavily on the electronic bit, and forget their meant to be augmenting the original, not just making "An electronic version of x". Some don't even try. They just take the old song, chop it up, inject sections of completely irrelevant trancey eurodance, sew it all up and send the carcass out the door, where it promptly rots, or if its unlucky takes some kind of mimicry of life and shambles along in some undead halflife.
an analogy would be that some people take a kind of standard car, not too shit, but nothing flash. It runs, doesnt make any unwated noises, and is kind of popular with first time car owners. The then start adding to it, giving it subwoofers, a more powerful engine, that kind of thing. It's not necassary, it's kind of douchish, but on some level it works, and arguably it can be seen as having been "improved". Other people however take a super car, the kind that would Jeremy Clarkson would be wanking over, and they give it a flourecent yellow and pink paint job. And a pair of fuzzy dice. They then proceed to take out the engine, replace it with some colourful play doh in a roughly engine shape, then, I don't know, take a crowbar to the windshield. For substance. They then get in the car and try to drive it, oblivious to how much of a waste of flesh they are, and how they should be taken out back and shot.
I was going somewhere with this.
Stop messing with my music!
I was swimming quite happily when suddenly I notice the pool is empty. Using my finely honed senses I worked out that some organised shit was about to go down. Sure enough, at the end of the pool, a bunch of people were lined up ready to bow to the animatyion team's will. Music started, they danced. It was one of those synchronised simplistic dances, like the macerena or something. I honestly don't see the point in those dances. At some point in my life, maybe I was attacked by a wild tribe of macerena dancers, but it all just seems so purile. "Oh it's just, like, fun!" "You just got to do it, you know?" No,I don't know imaginary late teen girls, and I resent you for suggesting that I don't know what I might or might not like. Go be irritatingly bubbly somewhere else. Go on, the bar has free Bacardi Breezers.
1649, Just had a nap. Am now reading by the pool, listening to Daft Punk.
Read more
Apparently it is actually water polo. I'm not really paying attention. It still features a beachball and grown men screaming like children.
The losing team have to do the chicken dance mentioned in Episode 1. Because if you're not suffering throguh playing, you may as well be suffering through watching.
Said dance appears to start with a bit of a sumo ground stomp. The participants certainly have the bodies for it OH SNAP.
You know how some music takes old songs, adds an electronic beat and sends it's on its way? The song feels a bit weird about what's happened to it, but it carries on, and actually kind of works. Purists will turn it's back on it, but whatever. But then you get some other guys who see this, so they take a brilliant, or at least cult song and add an electronic beat, because that should be even more successful right? But they kind of miss the point. The focus too heavily on the electronic bit, and forget their meant to be augmenting the original, not just making "An electronic version of x". Some don't even try. They just take the old song, chop it up, inject sections of completely irrelevant trancey eurodance, sew it all up and send the carcass out the door, where it promptly rots, or if its unlucky takes some kind of mimicry of life and shambles along in some undead halflife.
an analogy would be that some people take a kind of standard car, not too shit, but nothing flash. It runs, doesnt make any unwated noises, and is kind of popular with first time car owners. The then start adding to it, giving it subwoofers, a more powerful engine, that kind of thing. It's not necassary, it's kind of douchish, but on some level it works, and arguably it can be seen as having been "improved". Other people however take a super car, the kind that would Jeremy Clarkson would be wanking over, and they give it a flourecent yellow and pink paint job. And a pair of fuzzy dice. They then proceed to take out the engine, replace it with some colourful play doh in a roughly engine shape, then, I don't know, take a crowbar to the windshield. For substance. They then get in the car and try to drive it, oblivious to how much of a waste of flesh they are, and how they should be taken out back and shot.
I was going somewhere with this.
Stop messing with my music!
I was swimming quite happily when suddenly I notice the pool is empty. Using my finely honed senses I worked out that some organised shit was about to go down. Sure enough, at the end of the pool, a bunch of people were lined up ready to bow to the animatyion team's will. Music started, they danced. It was one of those synchronised simplistic dances, like the macerena or something. I honestly don't see the point in those dances. At some point in my life, maybe I was attacked by a wild tribe of macerena dancers, but it all just seems so purile. "Oh it's just, like, fun!" "You just got to do it, you know?" No,I don't know imaginary late teen girls, and I resent you for suggesting that I don't know what I might or might not like. Go be irritatingly bubbly somewhere else. Go on, the bar has free Bacardi Breezers.
1649, Just had a nap. Am now reading by the pool, listening to Daft Punk.
Crete, Episode 2: The one in which I remember how much I love the sea
0 comments1002. Mandolins have been replaced with "What if god was one of us?"
________________________
1321 So me and my sister were almost ophans. The way my dad tells it, my mother and him were swimming in the sea, and they suddenly realised "Oops, this is a bit far out". So they try swimming back, but the current is fuckstrong, and nothing really happened. So my dad, heroic figure that he is, grabs my mum and more or less throws her closer to shore, not really helping matters for himself. He does this again, and them mum waves her arms for the lifeguard. He subsequently saves her, leaving my dad to once again fend for his own life unhindered
It is worth noting that I was in that sea a while earlier, and it is damned strong. Pulling myself back along the bouy line felt like I was pulling against a waterfall. However whereas I flourish in the prospect of death, I guess other people tend to get a bit scared, and desire safety. Fucking' weirdos man.
The beach is pretty sweet, incidentally. My life's experience of my Lady Ocean has been Portugal and France, and to a lesser extent, my own Britain's beautiful, but thanklessly frigid waters. For me the sea is pretty synonymous with "Jesus CHRIST this is cold", so you can appreciate how much I appreciate stepping into waters that don't make my extremities withdraw themselves like an above average turtles head. Now it's not a bath, but it's certainly easy to just walk into. Warmer than the pool, now that I think of it. Speaking of which, I'ma go for a paddle now, to wash off the salt. It's 1329. Late'
1500. There I am, sitting by the pool, reading my book on chinese philosophy
& psychology, listening to Chopin, when my mother walks up to me and informs my that she is going to the hospital.
"What?" I query. She answers this by holding out a decidedly bloody finger.
"What?" I query again.
"You should see the toilet."
"What?" I query for a third time, should you be unable to count yourself. It seems that she had something of a dizzy spell, and fell. Upon reaching out to the toilet back for support, it broke, taking a chunk out of my mother's finger with it.
So I put my headphones back on and started writing this. Well what would you do?
1641. Mother is back with a smile, 5 stitches, and a 180£ excess on our insurance.
I don't believe I shall write anything else today. It all seems inferior for some reason.
Read more
________________________
1321 So me and my sister were almost ophans. The way my dad tells it, my mother and him were swimming in the sea, and they suddenly realised "Oops, this is a bit far out". So they try swimming back, but the current is fuckstrong, and nothing really happened. So my dad, heroic figure that he is, grabs my mum and more or less throws her closer to shore, not really helping matters for himself. He does this again, and them mum waves her arms for the lifeguard. He subsequently saves her, leaving my dad to once again fend for his own life unhindered
It is worth noting that I was in that sea a while earlier, and it is damned strong. Pulling myself back along the bouy line felt like I was pulling against a waterfall. However whereas I flourish in the prospect of death, I guess other people tend to get a bit scared, and desire safety. Fucking' weirdos man.
The beach is pretty sweet, incidentally. My life's experience of my Lady Ocean has been Portugal and France, and to a lesser extent, my own Britain's beautiful, but thanklessly frigid waters. For me the sea is pretty synonymous with "Jesus CHRIST this is cold", so you can appreciate how much I appreciate stepping into waters that don't make my extremities withdraw themselves like an above average turtles head. Now it's not a bath, but it's certainly easy to just walk into. Warmer than the pool, now that I think of it. Speaking of which, I'ma go for a paddle now, to wash off the salt. It's 1329. Late'
1500. There I am, sitting by the pool, reading my book on chinese philosophy
& psychology, listening to Chopin, when my mother walks up to me and informs my that she is going to the hospital.
"What?" I query. She answers this by holding out a decidedly bloody finger.
"What?" I query again.
"You should see the toilet."
"What?" I query for a third time, should you be unable to count yourself. It seems that she had something of a dizzy spell, and fell. Upon reaching out to the toilet back for support, it broke, taking a chunk out of my mother's finger with it.
So I put my headphones back on and started writing this. Well what would you do?
1641. Mother is back with a smile, 5 stitches, and a 180£ excess on our insurance.
I don't believe I shall write anything else today. It all seems inferior for some reason.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Crete, Episode 1: Yes I am happy just reading, no I do not want to play your pool games, THANK you.
0 comments For eases sake I shall henceforth refer to greek time. For easy translation to British, thats GMT +2 hours.
_____________________________
It's coming up to 0800 at home, making it 1000 here. It's quite pleasant. There is mandolin music playing somewhere. There are men in matching clothes running around trying to get people who just woken up to go hiking. I am safe in my hotel room. Good luck guys.
Everything is delightfully multinational, which is nice. It's not a total Britishfest, and I don't feel like I am the only person who has no idea of the surrounding culture. Not that it matters. This is one holiday where I fully intend to just moodle about in the hotel grounds. Hell, even the beach is hotel owned. I am a little irritated by the lack of other people my age, but whatever. Who needs new friends when you have a bunch of books and free WiFi?
_____________________________
1023 That mandolin is really pissing me off.
_____________________________
1115 Just finished typing up yesterdays notes. Mandolin music is now louder and people are dancing. I believe someone will die before day's end.
_____________________________
Can't go in the pool. Will get dragged into organised ball game. Dammit, this place is really good really, but these employed entertainment fucks are the fucking devil.
The replaced the mandolin with eurodance. In accordance to my previous observations, this is hell.
Wait, no, now one of them is doing aerobics in speedos. This is hell.
They have sensed my rage and have tried to placate me with Gaga. I am not sure whether or not to be offended.
Current pool contents consists of 40% middle aged women following Mr Speedo in aqua aerobics, 60% red faced men playing a strange volleyball/water polo hybrid.
It is worth noting that there is a complete gender divide between the above parties.
They've started doing the chicken dance. Kill me.
They've started clapping. Kill them.
It's like they're rhythmically applauding their own impending demise, each clap a beat on the drum keeping death's boat moving.
I'm do some pretty nice writing when I'm angry, don't I?
_____________________________
French hip hop is surprisingly good. Why it should be surprising, I couldn't say.
Second thoughts, it might just be because it's female fronted. The vocalist was getting pretty intense. I could have pretended it was Queen Adreena.
Then they changed it when it got too angry. You know, when I began to really enjoy it.
_____________________________
I have retreated into the food hall. I have no idea of the time but obviously it is between the alotted lunch hours. The music here is much more pleasant. I assume some kind of greek folk. It has a kind of indian touch to it...I miss Ellie.
Food is ok. I had spaghetti.
Two words: Free. Ice-cream.
_____________________________
I have returned poolside to find no music. Things are looking up. This unfortunately means less high-larious anger for you the reader.
A weeble shaped woman just blobbed past in a bikini. Everything is ruined forever.
_____________________________
1607, Just back from the gym. Aww yeah, just workin' out, pumpin' iron BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT MEN DO. ARRRGH.
Shitfuck, the eurodance volleyball is back.
_____________________________
I am forced to undo three whole buttons on my shirt, mainly because said buttons fell off. How will humanity survive my half-mast-shirted form? We can only wait, and pray.
_____________________________
That is all of interest today. I predict the rest of the night will be me hating every moment of a disco, and coming back to the room to play WoW.
Good. Night.
Addendum, I ended up going to watch some pretty cool Greek dancing and live music thing, then went back to the room and played Maiden out of the balcony.
Read more
_____________________________
It's coming up to 0800 at home, making it 1000 here. It's quite pleasant. There is mandolin music playing somewhere. There are men in matching clothes running around trying to get people who just woken up to go hiking. I am safe in my hotel room. Good luck guys.
Everything is delightfully multinational, which is nice. It's not a total Britishfest, and I don't feel like I am the only person who has no idea of the surrounding culture. Not that it matters. This is one holiday where I fully intend to just moodle about in the hotel grounds. Hell, even the beach is hotel owned. I am a little irritated by the lack of other people my age, but whatever. Who needs new friends when you have a bunch of books and free WiFi?
_____________________________
1023 That mandolin is really pissing me off.
_____________________________
1115 Just finished typing up yesterdays notes. Mandolin music is now louder and people are dancing. I believe someone will die before day's end.
_____________________________
Can't go in the pool. Will get dragged into organised ball game. Dammit, this place is really good really, but these employed entertainment fucks are the fucking devil.
The replaced the mandolin with eurodance. In accordance to my previous observations, this is hell.
Wait, no, now one of them is doing aerobics in speedos. This is hell.
They have sensed my rage and have tried to placate me with Gaga. I am not sure whether or not to be offended.
Current pool contents consists of 40% middle aged women following Mr Speedo in aqua aerobics, 60% red faced men playing a strange volleyball/water polo hybrid.
It is worth noting that there is a complete gender divide between the above parties.
They've started doing the chicken dance. Kill me.
They've started clapping. Kill them.
It's like they're rhythmically applauding their own impending demise, each clap a beat on the drum keeping death's boat moving.
I'm do some pretty nice writing when I'm angry, don't I?
_____________________________
French hip hop is surprisingly good. Why it should be surprising, I couldn't say.
Second thoughts, it might just be because it's female fronted. The vocalist was getting pretty intense. I could have pretended it was Queen Adreena.
Then they changed it when it got too angry. You know, when I began to really enjoy it.
_____________________________
I have retreated into the food hall. I have no idea of the time but obviously it is between the alotted lunch hours. The music here is much more pleasant. I assume some kind of greek folk. It has a kind of indian touch to it...I miss Ellie.
Food is ok. I had spaghetti.
Two words: Free. Ice-cream.
_____________________________
I have returned poolside to find no music. Things are looking up. This unfortunately means less high-larious anger for you the reader.
A weeble shaped woman just blobbed past in a bikini. Everything is ruined forever.
_____________________________
1607, Just back from the gym. Aww yeah, just workin' out, pumpin' iron BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT MEN DO. ARRRGH.
Shitfuck, the eurodance volleyball is back.
_____________________________
I am forced to undo three whole buttons on my shirt, mainly because said buttons fell off. How will humanity survive my half-mast-shirted form? We can only wait, and pray.
_____________________________
That is all of interest today. I predict the rest of the night will be me hating every moment of a disco, and coming back to the room to play WoW.
Good. Night.
Addendum, I ended up going to watch some pretty cool Greek dancing and live music thing, then went back to the room and played Maiden out of the balcony.
Crete: Prologue
0 commentsTo make up for my stress induced absence these past weeks, I'm going to recount my holiday in Crete. It has however only just begun, so this is just what happened yesterday. Lucky you gets to stick around for a week of firther, at least semi daily updates. So enjoy the following unedited accounts of my fun packed life.This starts a few hours into the plane journey in which I decided to try some writing exercises, so expect florid prose.
_____________________________________
This tray seems not to be able to support my weight. Or rather that of my arms. It's coffee stained arms visibly ache at the force I inflict upon them
A nameless city passes below, visibility scarred by the occasional cottonbud cloud. I am mildly amused at how small metal rooves blind me from way down there. It's not so amazing, clearly, and I'm more amased at the amusement itself. But it s not amazing. It's just light. Consider the fact that it comes from the fucking sun. As does this blasted heat.
It's a curious thing. The plane is air conditioned, but it still feels like the entirity of the sun's head rests on my shoulder.
The city is gone and a river now snakes below. Eesh. A snaking river? How unoriginal. Oo. Mountains. Now that's beauty. Great structures crowned in cloud, testement to this ball of molten rock that we live on's power.
Already I have ink on my fingers.
There are different levels of cluds. you don't really think about it but I suppose it must be true. Well of coruse it is, I just saw it. But yeah, we do tend to think it goes land, sky, cloud layer, sky, space. Clearly this is wrong.
Mountaintops peer through the cotton blanket, like stone cats, curious about the midge flying above.
It's 1650. I'm going to try to read again.
_____________________________________
1735, and I have just noticed we are over the sea, and even from up here it seems gloriously, imposingly endless. The blue seems undefined and unless you look carefully you fail to see even the largest ripple/wave/whatever it's called out here. The sea merges with the sky at the Horizon so flawlessly, one would be hard pressed not to imagine that we had accidentally flown into a void in space where we are surrounded on all sides by infinite blue. Or finite blue, for the claustrophobic.
The Horizon itself is a spectacle and seems to be the only place around with clouds. Two lines of them appear to ring us, so parrallel that I can't be sure where the Horizon actually is.
Small patterns of ice are forming around the small scratches on the window. I daren't stare for too long, unprotected as I am from the sun by the aforementioned clouds. It seems that living in Britain has literally sheltered me.
_____________________________________
My mind: "Holy fuck, I can see that wave! It must be fucking huge!" And indeed it would be were it not a mountain. We're back over land it seems. Still no clouds nearby, and the coast is still visible so the Horizon is still poorly defined. Not a problem, just and observation.
I have noticed that I write Horizon with a capital H. I blame the BBC.
The sea of water has been fully replaced by an ocean of mountains. A range of mountains. A mountain range, if you will, the tips of which twist and disect, like the veins of a body.
Sunlight casdaces onto the sea-facing mountainside, leaving the other side drenched in shadow. Fog and clouds fill the valleys of the further away ones like hands cupping water.
I accidentally looked at the sun. These plane windows leave no room for warning.
One of the ice formations looks like a skeleton. Ominous. Others look like ice. WHAT COULD THIS MEAN!?
Another river. Let's think of a better description than snake: March? Could a river march? Not really, too rhythmic.
My thoughts are getting dull. Back to reading. It is 1809
_____________________________________
1819 and the surroundings have taken on a rich blue hue, complementedby the now obviously setting orange sun. The horizon is a rich red, following a pale rainbow unpwards to the flawless blue sky. I dare to look into the sun again, and find my gaze briefly trapped, a willing pain sacrificed to glimps its beauty. We are over water again, the liquid mass now dotted with islands. We reach our destination soon.
The captain informas us that we just passed over Athens. I offer a silent prayer for the ancient centre of knowledge.
I am still in awe with the sunset, though mostly with the rainbow horizon. My fellow passengers squander the view chatting while I pull my eyes away only to describe it to you, my reader. Closest to the sun the colours are the most vivid. Scratch that. The sun is gone. Only a glourious band of colour remains, welcoming the night.
A single white pin of light in the navy sky appears to welcome us, and a brief weightlessness indicates our decent. The Horizon, for now it deserves the capital H, appears as if it were ablaze.
Welcome to Crete.
_____________________________________
1905, UK time. What the fuck timezone am I in now anyway? Waiting for luggage. Everything is delightfully beige. I use the term 'delightfully' in a broad, and in fact fallacious sense. It is in stark contrast to the Hollywood shimmer and gleam of Bristol. I'll leave you a couple of seconds for that one to sink in.
It's ok really. Warm, but not unpleasantly so. Then again, it is night. Look forward to the likening of the day's heat to an oppressive dictatorship.
Goodnight sinners.
_____________________________________
EDIT: This being Greek internet, and thus Google thinking I am in fact Greek, spell check thinks everything is misspelt, so, sorry for any typos.
Read more
_____________________________________
This tray seems not to be able to support my weight. Or rather that of my arms. It's coffee stained arms visibly ache at the force I inflict upon them
A nameless city passes below, visibility scarred by the occasional cottonbud cloud. I am mildly amused at how small metal rooves blind me from way down there. It's not so amazing, clearly, and I'm more amased at the amusement itself. But it s not amazing. It's just light. Consider the fact that it comes from the fucking sun. As does this blasted heat.
It's a curious thing. The plane is air conditioned, but it still feels like the entirity of the sun's head rests on my shoulder.
The city is gone and a river now snakes below. Eesh. A snaking river? How unoriginal. Oo. Mountains. Now that's beauty. Great structures crowned in cloud, testement to this ball of molten rock that we live on's power.
Already I have ink on my fingers.
There are different levels of cluds. you don't really think about it but I suppose it must be true. Well of coruse it is, I just saw it. But yeah, we do tend to think it goes land, sky, cloud layer, sky, space. Clearly this is wrong.
Mountaintops peer through the cotton blanket, like stone cats, curious about the midge flying above.
It's 1650. I'm going to try to read again.
_____________________________________
1735, and I have just noticed we are over the sea, and even from up here it seems gloriously, imposingly endless. The blue seems undefined and unless you look carefully you fail to see even the largest ripple/wave/whatever it's called out here. The sea merges with the sky at the Horizon so flawlessly, one would be hard pressed not to imagine that we had accidentally flown into a void in space where we are surrounded on all sides by infinite blue. Or finite blue, for the claustrophobic.
The Horizon itself is a spectacle and seems to be the only place around with clouds. Two lines of them appear to ring us, so parrallel that I can't be sure where the Horizon actually is.
Small patterns of ice are forming around the small scratches on the window. I daren't stare for too long, unprotected as I am from the sun by the aforementioned clouds. It seems that living in Britain has literally sheltered me.
_____________________________________
My mind: "Holy fuck, I can see that wave! It must be fucking huge!" And indeed it would be were it not a mountain. We're back over land it seems. Still no clouds nearby, and the coast is still visible so the Horizon is still poorly defined. Not a problem, just and observation.
I have noticed that I write Horizon with a capital H. I blame the BBC.
The sea of water has been fully replaced by an ocean of mountains. A range of mountains. A mountain range, if you will, the tips of which twist and disect, like the veins of a body.
Sunlight casdaces onto the sea-facing mountainside, leaving the other side drenched in shadow. Fog and clouds fill the valleys of the further away ones like hands cupping water.
I accidentally looked at the sun. These plane windows leave no room for warning.
One of the ice formations looks like a skeleton. Ominous. Others look like ice. WHAT COULD THIS MEAN!?
Another river. Let's think of a better description than snake: March? Could a river march? Not really, too rhythmic.
My thoughts are getting dull. Back to reading. It is 1809
_____________________________________
1819 and the surroundings have taken on a rich blue hue, complementedby the now obviously setting orange sun. The horizon is a rich red, following a pale rainbow unpwards to the flawless blue sky. I dare to look into the sun again, and find my gaze briefly trapped, a willing pain sacrificed to glimps its beauty. We are over water again, the liquid mass now dotted with islands. We reach our destination soon.
The captain informas us that we just passed over Athens. I offer a silent prayer for the ancient centre of knowledge.
I am still in awe with the sunset, though mostly with the rainbow horizon. My fellow passengers squander the view chatting while I pull my eyes away only to describe it to you, my reader. Closest to the sun the colours are the most vivid. Scratch that. The sun is gone. Only a glourious band of colour remains, welcoming the night.
A single white pin of light in the navy sky appears to welcome us, and a brief weightlessness indicates our decent. The Horizon, for now it deserves the capital H, appears as if it were ablaze.
Welcome to Crete.
_____________________________________
1905, UK time. What the fuck timezone am I in now anyway? Waiting for luggage. Everything is delightfully beige. I use the term 'delightfully' in a broad, and in fact fallacious sense. It is in stark contrast to the Hollywood shimmer and gleam of Bristol. I'll leave you a couple of seconds for that one to sink in.
It's ok really. Warm, but not unpleasantly so. Then again, it is night. Look forward to the likening of the day's heat to an oppressive dictatorship.
Goodnight sinners.
_____________________________________
EDIT: This being Greek internet, and thus Google thinking I am in fact Greek, spell check thinks everything is misspelt, so, sorry for any typos.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
The Space Above Your Head
1 commentsSit upside down. Go on, do it. Bring your computer along if you have to. Preferably with a laptop, as I suspect you tower users might be slightly inconvienienced in the mobility area. Just sit upside down. I don't care how, lie on your bed with your head hanging over the edge or something, just make sure your head and therefore your vision is upside down. Now look around. Doesn't everything seem more spacious? Suddenly, you notice the large area above your head. That is to say above, when you are the right way up.
This thought occured to me during a particularily slow day at work, in which I was lying back in my chair. The thought is that we constantly look forward or down, but rarely do we look up, and see there is a world of space above us. This observation could be a metaphor for...well, I don't know. I hadn't gotten that far yet. Feel free to discuss and conspire in the comments. Now sit up. You look like a twat.
Read more
This thought occured to me during a particularily slow day at work, in which I was lying back in my chair. The thought is that we constantly look forward or down, but rarely do we look up, and see there is a world of space above us. This observation could be a metaphor for...well, I don't know. I hadn't gotten that far yet. Feel free to discuss and conspire in the comments. Now sit up. You look like a twat.
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