Bla Bla Bla – New + improved…

Bla Bla Bla…

I have recently joined facebook’s very own “The very boring group” (Which now I am banned from for not being boring enough), where I have posted that I can easily empathise with a dead chic, a seagul chic that is. For they go unnoticed and serve little purpose.

I came accross this dead chic…

For these reasons I have Decided that laughter is the best medicine and I will be able to smile every now and then if I surround myself with enough funny stuff and things. So for some reason I have pledged to myself to only post things on here if they are in some way amusing (if only to myself). So do not worry about the stuff before as some of it is a bit weird and difficult. Such is my voice, peace out xXx

Previous About Me…

Hello, I am Matthew Churchill. I have been posting regularly on a local shared blog; the isca notebook used by people with mental health problems.

It appears I have been flooding this blog quite persistently, and thus not allowing the other people there to get their words in. So I will post mostly here now.

Lets go back in time to 1995ish…

My english gcse at age 13-15 was let down by my falling asleep, writing poetry instead of short stories, or poetic poetry reflection instead of write ups about war poetry. And doing my final exam analisys on “ten years in an open neck shirt” instead of shakespeare or whatever. Which was a book by john cooper clarke with swearing, blatent drug references and down beat attitudes towards the drudgery of a poets life. I found it interesting that he did not always use full stops and capital letters in the right places, yet had clout and passion to his reflective descent, although I was a bit too late for the era. Everyone else was taking drunks, drinking cider, getting off with girls, I was listening to radio two and writing poems about puss coming from vacination scabs and superheros who just wanted to die but could not. The book “Ten years in an open neck shirt” I found in my godmothers book collection when I visited her council flat not far from the new london theatre where aparently there was a show called “cats”. I read out my first and only public peformance of poetry at a club called bungees at age roughly 14, the pieces were about how boring washing up is and how toilet seats that do not stay up are “feminist toilet seats”. Aparently Bob dylan and John cooper clarke had peformed at the club many years before, when I got there they were selling awfull vegatarian food and were filled with acid casualties and traumatised bohemian loosers, I guess now they are my people now, my forefathers. That is all….

oh wait and…

If for some strange reason you wanna talk to me about anything you can email me on Matthew.exeter@gmail.com

I am crap at answering emails though, I will not add strangers on facebook as I do not want to be sacraficed to people who stare at triangles while chanting to satan and exchanging numbers of underage prostitutes in far away Asian countries…

 

Finn…