gone too soon.

When God sends His angels down to Earth,

There comes a time when He must call them home.

I'm not going to lie, I am an extremely sentimental person, and the phrase 'end of an era' really chokes me up. Especially when this particular era has ended so prematurely. When I first heard of the news of Michael Jackson's death, I was drunk and in the middle of passing out on a bed in the hotel I was staying in, so at time I wasn't too concerned. In my state, I simply concluded inwardly that must've met his end in the traditional legendary form; tragically, and too early.

So obviously, you'll all now see that I've never been a huge fan of MJ as a person. I knew who Michael Jackson was when I was alot younger, but he fitted into a wide horizon of personal musical interest (he was mostly over shadowed by the likes of Keane, Lady Gaga and Adam And The Ants). I mean, I've grown up singing and dancing to hits like 'Blame It On The Boogie', 'Smooth Criminal', and 'The Way You Make Me Feel', and I will never forget watching his movie 'Moonwalker' over and over with my sister when we were little, but I'd always overlooked the man behind it all. I even remember (ashamedly) watching cartoon video's on the internet about the 2003 trials he faced and, not laughing, but finding it entertaining. The video's weren't even conveying that the allegations were true, but now, its just the whole concept. He was a shy, vulnerable human being and he was hurting.

It was the day after his death when it really made me think 'hang on, this guy really is a legend, look at all his fans!'. I had to sit in the hotel room with my mum all day, and literally, the news coverage was on every TV channel, so inbetween naps and regular visits to the vending machine, that was all i could watch. And you want to know what happened? I fell in love with him! His music; his dancing; his looks; his style; his love of children and helping people, and it all saddened me deeply. Not the fact that an extremely talented and beautiful man had died so young, but the entire 'Michael Jackson Story'.

It's not unknown that Michael Jackson suffered abuse from his father as a young child; stories that he was lonely and had few friends as a teen are also known; its been implied that he was unhappy with his image at an extremely sensitive (and for him, very public I would imagine) age; the Pepsi-Cola tragedy in 1984, where his hair set on fire; the false, and disgusting allegations made against him in '93/'05; and also questions over, well, his sanity really (the balcony+baby incident in Berlin '03). Publicly, Michael Jackson's life wasn't a walk in the park, it was nearby tragic and unusual. When he tried to reach out to make the changes and help people in the best way he knew, people beat him down, and accused him of distastful and untrue things and that is what upsets me. You literally hear the pain in his voice in certain songs (Morphine - Blood on the Dancefloor by MJ) almost like he's crying, and you can see how desperate he was to be left alone (Leave Me Alone - Bonus track on BAD by MJ). Never have I had experience of a singer whose music was so insightful to his personal life.

Such a gentle, beautiful and clever man, but such a lonely and troubled soul, who died under suspicious circumstances with a slight implication of insanity surrounding him; with some people still beleiving the lies of 1993 and 2005; and after the world and his own talent had broken him down.

The death of this truly amazing star has lead me to listen to his music, not just for utter enjoyment, but for company and comfort; a more mature and profound way of listening to music. Prominent melodies such as 'Man In The Mirror' have succeeded in making me cry about 4 or 5 times now, not because MJ passed, but because the pitch in his voice and the cosmic tunes he wrote really do tug at the heart strings. His lyrics have sent me into my own world these past couple of weeks, and inspired me to be kinder to others, to think about things deeply before acting, and to really re-evaluate my ideology on life and people, whats wrong and whats right. The fact that I myself don't have many friends doesn't seem too scary or lonely anymore, because I will have my MJ music collection (which currently tops almost 100 songs), my posters, and my original 'Thriller' record from 1983 which my Mum passed down to me, for as long as I want/need. For my new found serenity, comfort, and sense of identity I thank the man and the musician.

We'll never hear the pretty, typically 80's tune and soft, haunting lyrics of 'Human Nature' be sung by the same man who wrote the song; never glance upon those rhinestone-clad ankles as the feet beneath them Moonwalk backwards, spin and stand up on their tips; never catch a glimpse of the pointed finger of one single, gloved hand or the sway of a sequined jacket, that's what I hate about the phrase 'end of an era'. I can't stop thinking what it would've been like to have seen him tour, to have had a first hand experience of Michael Jackson. Impersonators may try (and trust me, there's LOADS!) but there will only ever be one true King Of Pop. If he was still here, we could still have a chance of re-living his glitzy legacy of the 80's, his old school style of the 90's, and his smooth R&B beats of the nouties, but we only have the video footage, and to be fair I find it deflating and sad. The cruel truth of reality and life. I now have even more reason to wish i was born before I was - 90's kids were so close to the music of the 80's (I was born just 4 years after 'BAD' was released, the same year 'Dangerous' debuted) but yet shoulder pads, New Romantics, acid-washed denim and pixie boots all seem generations away, and it has taken this 90's kid to witness the death of a legend to become a true and dedicated MJ fan.

So there you have it, why I will now always miss Michael Joseph Jackson; why I will never stop playing his songs or watching his videos; why I love him - his beautiful and insightful music, his insane dancing, for breaking down barriers for black performers, for being so gorgeous and adorable in early life, and for being passionate about helping others and being generally kind in later life - and why I mourn him, and regret not taking deeper interest in him before now. God bless...

almb.

annum.

not a day has gone passed since last may when i havent thought about you; not a day goes by when the pain of not being able to see you gets any easier.

I wanted to know how much i still love you, probably more than ever, because i know realise how big a part of my life you played.

i can still remember how excited i'd get at the prospect of you coming to stay at our house, despite my age.

i remember the remnants of the 'big paint' day at the house in stamford, the story behind the huge red handprint slapped on the front of one of my reading books, when as toddlers, you covered me and emma in paint and slid us around the kitchen, subsequently covering that in paint aswell. then you 'buggered off' to the pub with dad (as my mother so eloquently explained) leaving everything to mum to clean up!

i can remember how much i loved it when you took us away for the day to the seaside; and that time that we had to drag emma out of the amusements because we were starving and she just wanted to play on the slot machines!

i still remember the resturant we ate at that day, and what it looked like on the inside. i think you had a pot of tea, although i cant be too sure. i recall on the way home, me and emma bickering, and you parked the car and left us there to sort out our argument whilst you went for a walk in the woods!

i can even remember the smell of the pub at thorganby. everytime i go to work i can smell that smell, and it always reminds me of you.i can remember the colour of the walls that you had joanne paint like bricks from an egyptian pyramid!

i can remember the stainless steel bar top that my dad said would get scratched after a while - i dont think it did!

i remember the funny gorilla cushions you had on those leather sofas in the sitting room in the pub that went all out of place when you jumped and played on them.

i remember spending one late christmas lunch time in there with you (christmas was never on christmas day!) and you explaining to us that the HUGE presents under the christmas tree (it had sugar coated orange slices hanging off it, with reels and reels of fairy lights) were for the children of a customer. i think that because me and emma took it for granted that you were telling the truth, you gave up your prank a little early and let us unwrap what were infact OUR presents before the joke was intended on being finished. I think that year you got me the who wants to be a millionaire game, and emma a bratz doll and make up set. that was the year emma pointed at your head, and demanded to know why it was 'so thin', in regards to your hair i think.

i remember having lunch at the pub after grandad's birthday party in march; i remember what table i sat at and who i sat with.i remember the countless times we ate there in the huge dining room with the lovely old fashioned fire place, and how id always wish you could sit with us, but couldnt because you were working. that stilton soup always sticks in my mind, how you'd said it was nice, and i orded it and hated it!

i remember the weekend me and emma stayed at the house in swainby, and how i loved every minute of it.i remember your little narrow kitchen in the cottage, and that morning the french kids had ham and bread dipped into hot chocolate! i remember that walk we had up to the old abbey up on the hill near the village; i walked with Herve and chatted about how to say 'cow' in english and french!

i remember how you and lionel used to call yourselves the 'oldest gays in the village' and how we laughed about it.

i remember wet n wild, when lionel hurt his leg and refused to go back again.i even remember the day you showed us around pump house when it was practically derelict, and i remember you planning to have a hot tub of some sort installed into the middle of one of the bedrooms?

i remember thinking how much i loved the kitchen in the new house, and the upstairs bathroom.i remember how we always planned to come and stay with you in sumer holidays at the new house, but never really got round to it.i remember always wanting you to be there on my prom day or at least see the photos. i remember wanting to tell you my gcse results, and how much i wanted to be able to drive to your house when i got my license. i really wanted to tell you that i got accepted into college - i dont think i ever told you what i really wanted to do for A levels.

at the moment, im making a dress, that really i wouldve liked for you to see.

it seems as though we were on the verge of everything being perfect for the family, when everything got cut short.

short of one year, i remember doris, your laugh, every little thing about your mannerisms that used to make me smile, that used to make me glad you were there, that used to irritate me when i was annoyed at emma! i remember your voice, the smell of your clothes, the blue navy fleece you were wearing that last final day, stood in the hallway, saying goodbye...

i just wanted you to know how much i miss you, at how all these small memories will be kept safe in my mind, how i wont let them be tarnished by time, or overshadowed by new thoughts. looking at old photos replenishes things - a few from warthill we found that are quite funny!

anyway, missing you as ever.

sleep tight, keep playing those cards and thank grandma mary for looking after me.

a.

insane.

there should be a picture here, however im at college, and the nature of the image i would like to post here, wouldnt be acceptable by college computer security settings. if i had it my way, it would be a picture of some executioner, with the gallows in veiw being him. it would represent the impending doom that awaits me in the form of my father.

it is precisely 11.30am, wednesday morning, and i am already comtemplating suicide.

i went to bed last night, happily tired, at 9pm - although i had been ready to pass out at about 7.10pm. i had plans for liv and victoria to stay at mine this evening; to take them both for an evening of aerobics at mother's class; for us all to have fajitas for tea; and to generally have a nice relaxing evening. overall, i was happy and relaxed after my 3 mile jog, perhaps even content at my accomplishment.

BUT morning makes its entrance, and after a nice long night in bed, all such optimism is diminshed. First of all, i get up half an hour late at 7.30am, and proceed in getting in the bath 20 minutes before i have to leave the house.

Then, the father leaves without me, therefore establishing massive uproar between me and mum, who promtly threw me out. I wasnt even allowed a suitcase; i began packing my ridiculous amount of clothes into black bin liners.

It was then, during a fit of tears, swearing and throwing clothing and half full bags at the boiler room door, that i came to acknowledge the fact that, yes, yes i might actually be mentally unstable. I was then late for college, because i obviously missed the school bus.

(looking back, i find it kind of funny, the fact that eventhough i had come to such downfall this morning, realising that there is something wrong with my brain, i mark it on the same level as getting to college late!)

However, after a calm car journey with mum and a breif encounter with Laurence in Lounge on 2, i felt better, and went to my lesson at 9.40am.

So in less than 3 hours, i have gone from being moderately unpopular with the rents, to very unpopular with the rents (especially after i stamped on the house phone and smashed up the back of it), to becoming a walking talking dictionary for swear-words, to homeless, to mentally insane and emotionally fragile, to being in deep, deep shit, to finally coming to a slight sense of melancholy.

So it is at this point in the morning, that i am going to tell all you readers (if there are infact any of you out there) about plans for a new poem, inspired by my current emotion. It is simply titled, 'Shit'. Which i think somes it up pretty well.

I have decided that i will infact be bring liv and victoria back home with me tonight, it might just prolong my father's attempts at decapitating me for just one night at least.

urgh, computers on 3, not the most private of places to spill out your inner most thoughts - i now have an audience it would seem.


bleurrghy a.

elsewhere.

purgatory (noun)

any condition or place of temporary punishment, suffering, expiation, or the like.

At the moment, I feel as though im in narnia. This, i suppose, creates two images: one - im behind the coats at the back of the wardrobe, being happily ignored and misunderstood by everyone - (why am i there? what am i doing? you know, the likes...); two - i'm nowhere, my thoughts, feelings and emotions suspended in nothingness, or an imaginery world.

All this is attributed to the inclination of division between myself, and those who maintain certain aspects of life that i try so hard to retain myself with such ease! In mental reality, I dont know whether i need to re-assess my goals - the things that i want, but what i currently seem not to be getting (or getting the way in which want at any rate).

Recent conversations have led me to wonder what is the point in trying so hard? I decide on the look i want to acheive every night before bed so that i dont have to do it in the morning and inevitably miss the bus, but when i get to college, i low and behold see every single 'inoffensive' (quote vick) female out there (you know the type - no make-up or fashion sense; poor taste in footwear; shocking hair colour - a mushy brown/mouse colour seems to be quite popular amongst this particular type of girl; evidence of a poor attempt at individuality - a lip peircing, death metal badges sewn onto the disgusting quicksilver rucksack or an obscene streak of colour nestled somewhere into the unkempt hair. The kind of girl you just want to say, 'HERE! here is a fucking Topshop voucher. sort it!') either on the arm of some interesting looking, outwardly dishy, just generally gorgeous totty, or boasting loudly about having 4 or 5 one night stands over the holidays.

It makes me think, what is the point in asking my mum to spend £80 on my highlights every 3 months? Do i acheive the desired outcome when i waltz into college having spent all my damn wages on a brand new, relatively expensive Topshop ansemble? Is there any point in loosing those extra few pounds to look nice in my skinnies when apparently, to look like a sack of potatoes is a much better option when it comes to attracting the opposite sex? And can anybody tell me what im doing wrong?

My suspended feelings; the jitters in my limbs; the butterflies residing somewhere behind my abdominals; and the heart palpitations, have led me to be absent minded lately - im aware of the fact that i probably look a bit of a simpleton half the time. its probably because i am really. Thinking has become a major pastime - the more i think, the more the situation at hand becomes exaggerated, and the smallest of things that people do around me trigger off certain emotions in my clockwork brain. Loneliness being a prime suspect; unaccomplishment shortly behind.

This form of passivity has turned my brain into a backwards seive; it lets through the important stuff, but keeps a tight hold of the nonsense that i accumulate - the daydreams; fantasies extracted from books and stories; unrealistic notions about weight loss; and hopes and dreams of the future.

Awareness of those people who are seemingly blissfully happy with themselves, their lifes, their forged relationships, manifests even more questions like - why the bloody hell did i have to be the fucking anomoly? in these terms anyway. The lack of understanding the rest of the teenage population has for people like me (if, indeed there is anyone else like me) is frustrating. Lately ive been under the slight implication of patronisation - and the inclination that my friends think im desperate (or delusional, i really don't mind which). You can literally almost slice the stress, and the depressed fumes in the atmosphere around me with a knife they're so thick.

These past few days ive been craving just to run away in order to cheer up, to retain my mind into reality and to myself - drag it away from the adventures in Narnia, Forks and Privet Drive. Maybe hiking in the lake disrict with a few select friends, or sitting in Green park for a week, just writing about nonsense, drinking coffee and having pointless tube journeys to the sights i know like the back of my hand.

College, currently is not an inviting prospect. Being surrounded by content, happy, ga-ga faces; laced hands; conversations about love life, one night stands, plans for the weekend, and ganja - I'd rather not (Y).

So, is anyone else in Narnia? Looks like im staying a while, just wondered if you wanted to meet up and get shit faced?

a very low and depressive a.

DICK faus-pas.

turpin

okay so, ermmm new year was SHITE. i won't go into too much details - too much cider, very unpractical outfit, everyone was sexed up, one particular testoserone fueled male, and sleep deprivation. parties? not really my thing...

after amy had a fry up and a couple of hours of sleep (its actually a full blown miracle i got home in such good time), we all went out for a meal at ASK, and from there, the Panto.

It was so good, totty was brilliant. too brilliant.

we went into the bar afterwards and me and the mother start talking loudly about the hott guy who played dick turpin. 'i like a man in britches', says she; 'yeah, bit of bum action', says I. only to find, a few minutes later, he walks past and low and behold, had been sat behind us during the WHOLE conversation.

badtimes.

anyway, the start of the new year has given me nothing but a hangover and tummy ache, therefore, not a very good start. i think i'll just sit this out in my room until 2010?

yeahh.

a.

love is the end.

And when i was drowning in that holy water,

All i could think of was you.

ive been thinking, only for the past couple of minutes, about how little ive done this year. A load of shit has happened to me and my family, ive changed alot, become a different person (ive bin countless people this year) but i can't recall actually doing anything.

Well apart from ruining my parent's holiday, and probably that of those who went with us; getting close to being chucked out of the house on countless occasions; breaking things - new phones, cameras etc; spending far oo much money on clothing i have only worn once, blah blah blaaaah.

i suppose the only thing i have done is become more outgoing, louder, less retarded, less SOCIALLY retarded (yes, i do now have what can be passed as a social life), i have acquired white hair, and a strange side burn thing which i fucking hate and at which i am very angry at myself for cutting my hair off. i have become more of a daydream, lazy, probably what most people would call self centered, but its not its distracted in my case.

i do hope this upcoming year will bring me more contentment with my life.

and after reading how much our vicks did last year, im setting my goals out infront of me. although i know before i start that my list will definetly not be as long!

1) get a bf, yes i want one.

2) grow the fuck up.

3) grow out my hair, and stop DIYing it.

4) DONT loose weight, be happy in my own skin.

5) be more healthy.

6) prioritise money and time.

7) GET DRIVERS LICENSE.

8) stop drinking.

9) focus on college.

10) into a university down in london.

11) smile more.

12) walk more.

13) live in the moment, and stop worrying.

so yeah, definetly not as long as victoria's :L

i'll probably blog tomorrow, eventhough i have to get more work done. today's session only made slight progress, but every little helps.

choclit time (:

a.

restrained.

No other words to describe it other than dark grey clouds, strangling, but without conviction, no reason. There's no other colour, just grey and white, and there's no escape - no amount of therapy even comes close. Your whole body aches, and baggy clothing seems to always satisfy. Its amazing when sleep swaddles you in a warm cocoon, and your eye lids drop shut letting your subconscious take over, and carry you away into a much prefered world, and comfort, contentment and ease overwhelms you, how much you can actually sleep without doing much else with the day.

ok so, today was boring. mum ripped me out of bed (literally, by the legs) at the crack of dawn (10.30am) to go for a jog. what an epic disaster. it was only 3 miles, but i walked about a third of the way. considering i used to be able to fully RUN a 5 mile circuit at the height of my fitness in summer, thats shite.

I then got home, had a bowl of porridge. forgetting i had used honey oats instead of the plain ones, i put in wayyy to much treacle, and made myself feel quite nauseous.

So then i watched interview with the vampire with mum (feeding my new interest). i realised how similar it is to twilight, and im now considering where stephanie meyer's inspiration came from, and that her claims to have 'never seen a vampire movie before writing twilight' maybe untrue. EG:

1. Lestat and Edward Cullen's similarity in both being able to read thoughts.
2. Louis' and the Cullen's similarity in being opposed to killing humans to survive.
3. In both stories somewhere along the line, we end up in Europe, and crossing the paths of the 'Vampire King' (for all intents and perposes anyway). IWTV's 'Armand', Twilight's 'Aro' of the Volturi.
4. When Gloria turns to Louis to 'make' her a new companion, its kind of like when Bella asks Carlisle to 'turn' her to be edward's immortal mate.
5. Aaaaand in both stories, you can only kill a vampire by burning him. (:

END OF GEEK SESSION (Y)

anyway, i then started 'Eclipse', and realised that the language is slightly different to the other books in the series and decided to put it aside for another day when i wasnt feeling as tired. had a nap, then went to work. i was late. and my boss knew it.

ERRRM then went home, devoured a box of chocolates with the mother, had a cuddle with dad, had a scrap with alfie the mad golden retreiver.

Today DID however, give me some useful (finally) completed decisions. i will not be partaking in any upcoming hunt for a new boyfriend. not until i have left college and gone to university (YES vicks, we will be going to london mark my words. probably with Laurence in tow. maybe Cain lagging a few days behind).

yes, amy bland had finally realised that it brings nothing but pointless hopefullness, more pain, and tears. im going to look up, all the time, so that when my prince charming does come along, i wont see him coming, and i'll be caught off gaurd, and he'll like me because im ditzy, playful, thoughtful, ridiculously head-in-the-clouds me.

i am actually, funnily enough looking forward to new year, despite the lack of a place to sleep. im looking forward to going to see the panto (after seeing the pictures of the actors in the box office. phwaor). im looking forward to being reunited with my beloved London once again on the 3rd of jan (Topshop wait for me!).

im AM not however, looking forward to getting back on the scales in a few weeks time nor am in any way shape or form, looking forward to going back to college, firstly because of the amount of dick heads i have to face EVERY SINGLE DAY (ohh yes, there is one particular smug looking twatface i am talking about); secondly because i havent even started my assignments yet; und THRICE, i do NOT want to do my politics exam.

I will never, unfortunetly, be inhabiting number 10. Seriously though, its not easy holding off that slight degree of pessimism.

anyway, tomorrow, some SERIOUS english work needs completing if i really want to go out for jemma's 16th. i suppose i'll be the buyer of alcohol? ohh dear god. So i'll be spending the day with Lear the insignificant, or Lear the senile or LEAR THE BLOODY BORING! ohh man. i kind of miss the english lessons me and victoria enjoy at college. especially now that we are done reading the play, some of the voices were bloody brilliant.

I am now, seriously contemplating either a) bed or b) eating MORE chocolate.

ey fatty bum bum.

a.