Something was odd about the room. The floor had the same old carpet; the walls covered with the same posters, but something was different. The room didn't smell any worse, not any more cluttered, but I could feel something. The windows were wide open: that was different; more light, revealing all the corners in the room. However the room was darker in a sense. The same colours in the same place, but as if they had given up hope; like an old man who remembers his youth; how he could run, dance and leap through the air, stop, out of breath, but ready to go on; an old man who looks at himself now and sees how much he can't do, how much his body limits him as it grows old; tired and dim; worn away by the years; not changed, but weakened; more fragile. The room had lost its life. Once, the vivid, contrasting colours would wake me up; liven me. But now they seemed garish and dull; hurting the eyes, but boring them as well.

It could be all this light, showing what it really did look like; mismatching furniture, clashing pictures on the walls, ugly designs. But that's what made it homely before, made it part of me, not because it was perfect, but because it was like me, confused, unordered, imperfect. The room was exactly the same. Neither wind, rain, time or any man had touched this place since the door was bolted.    

The room hadn't changed, everything lying there as they were left, still the same, but it had ceased to be my home. Ten years had detached me from the world I knew, from my family, my friends, this room. It made me a foreigner, uncomfortable, unwelcome even in what was once my home.

I threw my suitcase on the floor by the bed and lay down looking at the ceiling. The mattress was stiff, the springs had rusted I guess. It creaked a lot more as well, groaning every time I moved. It didn’t want me on it; it wanted me to move somewhere else; It had grown accustomed to not being lain upon, and it wasn’t going to change for me. I got up out of courtesy, and walked over to the window.

Are the rest going to be like this? What about my family, my friends? Will they be uncomfortable aswell? Will they have grown accustomed to not having me around? Will they groan, when I’m with them, and relax when I leave?

I looked back at the room again.

 What if the room hasn’t changed? It looks the same. What if it’s me? Do I not fit because I’ve changed, and others don’t know me? Can I not get along because I’ve forgotten? Have I changed too much?

Ten years can change anyone, but is it irreversible? Can I be moulded back into shape, or am I stuck as I am: Different.

My creative juices were bubling away, but I couldn't be bothered to get up from in front of the computor so the best course of action, I have decided, is to write on my blog.

Since this is not a premeditated entry, without any goal or wiff of a direction of where I am heading with this, the words which follow may be rather confusing. It will probably end up as a stream of conciousness type thing, so I'll probably have to edit out all my deep dark secrets which might come splurting after I'm done with this. I'm telling you this just in case you get startled by the sudden and ubrupt ending of sentence, which I have lopped out of this entry with the all-mighty delete button.

Anyways. Rambling is fun. I could go on for

A thought just occured to me. Aha! ding! No its a bad one. I'll tell you anyway.

It is -- wait for it --a game!

Well, not really. It's more of a try-to-guess-what-I'm-going-on-about-thing. Except, with a difference. It will be in a language which you do not know.

Lets see. hmmm.... What language don't you know. hmmm....

Aha! Swahili! No. That won't work.  I don't know swahili either. Might pose a slight problem. Try again.

Aha! (Having lots of ideas today, aren't I?) Latin! None of you know Latin. OK. Here is the the phrase:

"tu es asinus con maximus clunii". Ok. that one is too easy. But I guess none of you could guess it.

You know how other bloggers have their motto or whatever across the top of their blogs? Well I guess this is kinda mine "tu es asinus con maximus clunii"  sounds cool as well. You'll never guess what it means though. I will tell you next entry. But you people out there must try to guess what it means. Please?

Where was I? Oh thats right. I was rambling. No wI will tell whats on my mind at the moment.

Directly above my mind is my rib cage, because my mind dwells somewhere between my liver and my pancreas. Do not worry, I have not stooped so low to have my mind reside in my stomach, where many boys of my age have decided to place theirs. My mind is probably somewhere in my conective tissue. Anyway. Back to what is on my mind. My rib cage. What is on my mind looks like what is on any other persons mind. (Actually most people's minds reised in their heads so ahve hair on their minds. But lets pretend. I like pretending. I'm happy. Be happy. Not sad. Sorry. My thoughts wondered off track again.) But that what it wants you to think. Because deep down in side its really a evil genious with schemes and plots to take over the world.

I think lost my train of thought again.

Oh here comes another one. In my recent life I was stared into the eye and told that I have I have really long eye-lashes.  The person also added that I have really thick eyebrows. I guess both of them are true. But keep in mind that I was talking and then suddenly this person interupts what I was saying, and tells me this information. Also this all came from a guy. I was also told that I have boring eyes. But I was also told I have pretty eyes. Anyway. Sorry 'bout that.

Here ends a long freight train of thought hurtling at high speed into the grasp of the allknowing mind and all seeing eye of the great internet. Actually if we wait long enough, there might a religion based around the mighty god of the internet. But that would take a lot of time and a lot of regress of the general IQ of our western nations. However at this rate, computors are getting so much better and people are getting so much less qualified in the area of any particualar science, that we might eventually come to that.

I bid all ye readers goodbye. Both of you.

tu es asinus con maximus clunii!

My second and only post

Fisrtly I dedicate this post to Michelle, because she was the only one who said "please update"

Becuase it is in my nature to write infrequently I will not write about events of the day but of my general thought or things which effect me greatly. Basically I will talk utter garbage for about 2 pages.

So here follows garbage from ths depths of my heart, which is my stomache really, so this comment will be about the garbage of the stomache: frankfurters.

For all those who do not know, frankfurters is the posh name for, ground re-minced intestines and hearts and bladders and brain and chicken fat and pig trotters, and sheeps head, rapped in some form of edible plastic. I mean, if you saw this stuff growing on a tree, would you or any other animal come and take it and eat it? Who in their right mind would eat that? Its like all the roadkill smooshed into one long tubular piece of paste, hardened by the solidifying fat inside. 

And lets do a word analysis. Frankfurter. If you look at the name you see that it sarts with the word "Frank".  Obviously, Frank is french for French guy. So from this I can draw the conclusion that the inventor of this was a French cook. This explains the variaty of the ingredients used, becuase only the French cook, and therefore no cook at all, could ever think that sheeps throat, and cow lungs, is exotic and not just plain revolting. But if you look at the word as a whole you see that is German in origin. This also explains something about the cheff. Only the super efficient and practical mind of a German could ever think that the off-putting taste of the frankfurter is merely a slight detail, and that coating it with some leftover shopping bags was a good way to contain it.

So, from this I conclude that the inventor of the frankfurter, was half German and half French. This of course makes him Belgian. This proves my point of the day. Beligains are genius's. For not only did they give us the potato chip*(americans see the end of the entry, NOW), and the likes of  Hercule Poirot, they also gave us the frankfurter.

I hope this has made you think as much as it has me made me do so, for it ahs deeply motivated me. I will be full of purpose for the rest of the day.

A man who wishes he was part Belgian, and doesn't really like the 1/8 of him which is French.           

( Potato chips are called french fries by you lot (Americans), because the American who first called them French fries was on a tour through Europe, when he came open them. Because he was an ignorant non-Europian, he could not tell the difference between The French and the Belgians, because they both speak french, so he gave "Belgian fries" or "chips" the wrong name.)

To all those dear friends who did not follow the instructions ı have previously given to you.

This will be my one and only post. And if you were to have read the comment I wrote to you, the first time I wrote to you on your xanga, you would know, that I told you, not to write to me, because, I told you to not to write to me, when I wrote to you, because, there is nothing on my blog, which I wrote to you, which is worth writing to me about. 

If you want me to have some kind of input which would require me talking to you face to face, talk to me face to face, so I can talk to you face to face, back to your face, from where the talking to my face, to which I was responding to with my face, had originated from. 

If you want to talk to me about a comment I made about your blog, or someone-esle's blog, or just want to talk to me anyway, just comment on this "blog". But make it a proper part of a conversation, and not some little half sentence statement. such as "cool" "luve you". (All though any "I-luve-you"s will be kindly excepted as long as they are at the end of a decent comment.)

sorry to make this oh-so-slightly confusing, but to make my self clear about me beliefs wants and opinions ı had to write this comment as ı have written it above.

Yours sincerly Angus