Hello, hello? It's me, Picasso.

Fucking bastard shitting fucking fuck fuck fuck FUCK. I fucked my English Language assignment, 4 marks off a pass. The fucking bastard could have at least given me a pass so I could fuck off and spend my time doing sometime I came to university to do in the first place, rather than this stupid fucking system where you have to try everything to get a ‘flavour for it’. No. I don’t want to any more. I’ve had a taste, it’s bitter as fuck and I don’t like it. But yet I have to do it, because to carry on to the next year of my English LITERATURE course I have to have passed a drama, sociology and Language module. It’s fucking madness. If they want to make literature students have a taste of something they’ve not come to do why the hell are they marking you to the point where if you don’t pass the modules you don’t get to progress to the parts of the course you actually came to do. I’m irate, I’m utterly devastated. I got a mark equivalent to a first on my fiction hand in, and I fail Language. The idiots on the top floor will see this mark, um and ar and stroke their beards before finally announcing that ‘my yes, he does seem to be getting a first pass in his literature module, however when it comes to Lexis and Syntax language understanding he simply doesn’t cut the mustard, how can we allow him to carry onto his straight literature course’. Makes me want to spit and scream. However I can’t. So for this next assignment I must increase my score I think by 10 or 15 marks. I’m going to shut myself away, consult with the lecturer, ask him to recommend books, send him first, second and third drafts, get him to help me craft this into the best fuck off essay I’ve ever written it’ll probably bore the shit out of me, and out of anyone other than him who’s going to read it but woop-de-doo once it’s done I’m fucked off out of it, I’ll be with my heroes and my comrades talking morals and ethics and finding new ways to believe in things. The language kids can keep treading their tired old path. My course matter changes every time someone turns the page, that’s immensely powerful. You can’t explain that with convention.

In other news I’m going to dress up like a pirate and go to my Student Union for the first time since freshers, even though it’s only over the road. I’m lazy and it’s usually empty. I just don’t want to be on my own tonight, because I’ve already cried to my mum over the phone about this, and I’m listening to Elliott Smith and that’s just not constructive.

I’m going to go to Birmingham tomorrow to buy presents for Nathalie, and my mum who’s awkward enough to have her birthday a weekish before Christmas. And for anyone else I can think of. Apparently there’s a German market on, so if it’s not a million pounds there might be something nice there worth getting too.

I’m just looking forward to going home and having Christmas and seeing everyone again. I was fine before this happened, it’s just fucked it all. Fucking fucked it.

Sighs and weeps.

Cheer me and you with some O-Zone - Dragostea din tei

A fantastic song, which when translated makes very little sense.

"You want to leave but you don't want don't want to take me,
Don't want don't want to take me,
Don't want don't want, don't want to take me.
Your face and the love from the linden trees,
And I remember your eyes."

Well why yes of course? I understand you Romania, ten four! The lyrics don't matter, get drunk or happy in which ever you chose. I'm going for chips. Shout the lyrics, numa numa yay, and you're in and around the right ball park.

Goodnight

x