I’m a Sucker…

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I’m a sucker for a love poem. Which is strange, because I’ve never really been a sucker for love. I loooooovveeeeee Love poems. Up until 30 seconds ago, I was lying in bed thinking about why I love them so much. I’d never thought about it properly before. Blog inspiration, grab the laptop, GO.

I’ve always loved love poetry. There’s something about the feeling it gives me. Even before I’d really experienced ” falling in love” myself, there was something about the way the words were woven so… So… Right? My favourite love poems aren’t the ones with the most flowery language, the most similes, the most metaphors, the ones that’re so conceptual that you need to watch them twice over just to get a basic understanding, no. My favourite are the most simple. The most direct. Words are amazing. But you don’t need to use amazing words to make amazing imagery, amazing stories. A friend of mine introduced me to 6 word stories. What’s the most visual story you can tell in only 6 words. “For sale: Baby shoes, never worn.”-Hemingway. The first time he told me that it blew my mind. I feel the same way about poetry. Though I do love complicated, multifaceted work. My favourites are the ones that I listen to and think, “Wow. I know all of those words, I connect with all of those thoughts. I could’ve (theoretically) written that.” Maybe the most remarkable thing though, is that someone with a vastly different life to mine. Someone with different experiences, a different background, a different culture even; is able to write something with I connect with immediately. Without any hesitation. That his or her words, pierce my soul immediately. They can take me into a place in my psyche that I’ve never consciously even visited. I find that truly amazing.

I guess, it’s the only type of poetry that takes me to that kind of a place. Actually that’s a lie. There is a lot of thought/feeling provoking poetry out there. But, love poetry is definitely the type I connect with most often. Maybe I go out of my way to find it, I don’t know. There’s a part of me that wants these feelings, that has had similar feelings. But I don’t think that’s why I like love poetry. I don’t think it particularly has anything to do with the Love aspect of it. But it does have everything to do with feeling. Feeling something, feeling anything.

I think back to the times I’ve felt my worst. The dark times, the dark places I’ve been mentally. It hasn’t been when I’ve been extremely sad, or extremely angry. My darkest times have been the times where I felt nothing at all. The times my life lacked meaning. The times I lacked any kind of direction. The times I felt like I had nowhere to turn. The times I felt empty. I think back to those times, and I never ever want to go back there. I never want to be back in Winter 2014, staring for hours on end at the inside of my bedroom. Not doing anything, not thinking anything. Just sitting. Staring. Still. Empty. Just going through the motions. Living without really being alive. Going to work everyday, and not hating it, not enjoying it, just being there. Standing, cleaning, serving. I was there, but mentally I may as well have been in another galaxy. I think back to how alone I felt. It’s a strange feeling. To feel alone when you’re surrounded by people. It’s inexplicable. To an extent I feel that creeping back into my life. It scares the shit out of me to be honest.

I’d rather feel anything, anything at all, than empty.

Flynn. x

Have an introspective poem. One day I’ll get around to writing one… I hope.

 

 

Closure.

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I’ve written 3 posts in the last week, 1 I posted, 1 I trashed, and the novel-length rambling I wrote at 3am this morning that will never see the light of day. This one I hope will be different.

I think it’s important to finish what you started. It’s a battle I have with this blog all of the time, there are 10+ blog posts in my drafts. All at various stages of completion. Some are finished. They’re just not relevant anymore, so to post them would be pointless. Some of them are crying out to be finished, whether they’re good or not is a different story.

At this moment in my life, I have a lot of loose ends. A lot of things that’re just lingering over me. Things that are not really over, but not really ongoing. Just, there. Relationships (I use this term incredibly loosely) that exist, but serve no real purpose for either party. Relationships that’ve ended, but still take up space in my day to day thoughts.

I have questions that I would like answering. Questions that really, have no bearing on the current situation. But questions I would like answering nonetheless. How are you doing? Do you still think about me? Did you even care? Why did you treat me the way you did? Why do you treat me the way you do? I understand that if I wanted to, I could ask these questions. But for what? What do I gain from asking it? Closure? I don’t think so. Closure is a strange phenomenon. The idea that you need to know everything, to somehow feel better. How? What difference does it make. It changes nothing. If I get the answers I expect, or vice verse, do I even believe it? I can’t say that I know I will believe them. I already have the all the answers I need, they’re buried in my gut. My eyes will be tricked by misdirection, my heart doesn’t take the facts into account, but that feeling. That feeling that is set into the lining of my stomach, that’s real. If it feels off, then it is. Nobody can  tell you differently.

Words are thrown about so.. So.. whimsically, so effortlessly. Lying to someone else isn’t difficult. Unfortunately it’s incredibly easy. Unfortunately, people do it everyday. You do it everyday, I do it everyday. About things they perceive not to be important. One mans trash is another mans treasure and all that. Your throw away comments are the words I pick out of the recycling and piece back together, hoping to find something meaningful. Hoping to find that you meant something, anything, that you said.

Never before have I been more certain that actions speak louder than words. Never. This year, a lot people have said a lot of things that I attached meaning onto. Maybe I’m to blame for that. Only to find out there words, feelings, and actions said very, very, different things. Your words say you miss me, your feelings say you’re a little bored, lonely perhaps, your actions say you couldn’t care less. Yet here I am. Thinking about you. Saying closure is a myth, when I clearly would like some. Lately, someone important to me taught me something. I feel like I already knew it, but they brought it back to the forefront of my mind. In any situation(But particularly a bad one), you have 2 choices, to be ok with it, or to not be ok with it. To accept it and move on, or to not. There is no, changing people. No changing their decisions. Accept their choices, deal with it, and move on.

If I’ve learnt anything this last year, amidst a few “relationships (Again, I use this loosely)” it’s that I need to feel like I matter. But one of the things I hate most about myself, is even when I’m overwhelmed with the sense that I don’t matter I’m still there. I’m still trying to be there for the other person. I’m still putting myself in their position, still trying to hold on. Let go, Flynn. I guess the toughest thing about having a relationship end, or watching one dwindle to a close. Is that feeling, the feeling that you don’t matter. That you never really mattered. That you were just a passenger they took along for the ride. The feeling that you can go from being a part of someones every waking minute to merely a passer by. A part of their life if, and only when, it’s convenient for them.

Life hurts sometimes, but sometimes it’s equally brilliant. Sometimes those things coincide with one another.

Have my favourite poem in the world, ironically also about hurt.

Flynn. x

You? Or Them?

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Who are you? Writing bios or online profiles, or pretty much anything about myself , I struggle. A lot. I know myself fairly well, but I feel I never adequately sum myself up. So instead of actually trying, I paper over it with some quote or vague but true statement.

“Home isn’t a destination, it’s a feeling.” – True, but not really a bio.

“A phone, a wallet and a passport. Everything else is optional. Travel more.’  – As above.

“Jay! ✌️🏻 I study languages and write stuff. 🇬🇧🇪🇸🇫🇷 ” – Oooo, insightful! Thanks for sharing your NAME. Tell me more!

I remember one of my good friends did a study on personal identity, and how the person we actual are, the person we want to be, and the person we are online correlate with one another. It’s been on my mind these past few months, who am I? Who do I want to be? Who do I portray myself to be? Mostly because lately I’ve met a lot of new people. So I wonder how they’ve perceived me. I’ve always found meeting new people difficult. I’m socially awkward in large groups. So being launched into a new work environment, in a new country, with a large number of new people and having to make friends is pretty much enough to send my social anxiety into a frenzy. However, I coped. In my old age I must admit I’m getting better at dealing with bigger groups of people. I play my position, sit back and observe, chip in when you feel comfortable. Do. Not. Force. It.

Meeting so many new people it can be hard to tell who is actually who they portray, and who is playing a role. It takes time. When I was younger, I was 100% uncomfortable being myself. I identified as whoever other people wanted me to be. My personality depended on who I surrounded myself with, or rather, who I clung to. Having been this social chameleon in the past, I like to think I’m pretty adept to spotting a sheep in wolves clothing. Lately I’ve been in a lot of environments I wasn’t comfortable being in. I knew some people. But I was often in rooms with people I’d never met, or spoken to. I made snap judgements based on the little time we spent together. You’re a prick, you’re playing the game, you’re genuine, people just don’t get you, yet. The whole spectrum. Regardless of the opinions I formed about the people it was interesting to see how people share themselves when they’re alone with you compared to the person they paint themselves to be in front of an audience. How honest or dishonest they were depending on the scenario. I saw a lot of my younger self.

“my younger self” – Pfft. I sound like I’m 23 going on 94. Christ. 

For the most part, I liked everyone I met. This blog has nothing to do with anyone in specific. Don’t read it that from that perspective. Don’t go thinking “Oooooo who does Flynn not like? Why!? DRAMA!!!” It’s not that deep. This blog has everything to do with honesty. Honesty I value more than anything in the world. Which is completely hypocritical because I know I’m not 100% honest, 100% of the time. But I try, honestly. I need honesty in my life. I need brutal honesty, the type that’s hard to dish out but most important. My best friends in this world are people who without a second thought will say “Flynn, you’re wrong. You’re being an absolute moron and you know it.” They won’t hesitate for even a second to tear me down from any pedestal I’ve accidentally stumbled upon. I love them for that.

Being honest is hard. I’ve always believed honesty is the best policy, it is. But it’s not always the easiest route to go down. It’s difficult to be honest to people you care about if you know it will hurt them. But sometimes it needs to be done. The lie will always hurt more when it comes out. Always. But that’s not the point. I’m not talking about being honest with other people, I’m talking about being honest with yourself. It’s difficult to find the courage to say, “Hey, this is who I am. This is the only person I am. Deal with it.” Some people may never do it. I think I finally have. It was hard initially, I lost a lot of people in my life who ,to be honest, didn’t need to be in my life. I just didn’t know that at the time. But I found that once I got to that point, my life improved dramatically. I’m not the person I played in high school, I’m not trying to fit in. I’m not a social chameleon anymore. I’m me, I am who I am for better or worse. If that’s not ok for some people, that’s cool. I dance around when I feel like it, I make terrible jokes because I like them, I dress however feels right that day. I’ve always been a little bit different, a little bit weird some said. Gradually I got more and more okay with being weird, being different. It made me, me. I like weird shoes, my jeans are probably way too skinny for a 23 year old male, I like rap battles but I also LOVE love poetry. I like people but I hate people. I’m sociable in the most anti-social way. I like going to parties, so I can sit in the corner and play music and barely talk to anyone. I dance around like I’m the only person in the room, because at this point; to me, I am. I’m ME. I feel like I’m being true to myself. At the end of the day, that’s the only person I have to answer to. Ask yourself, who are you catering to? Yourself? Or the Crowd?

Love, Flynn. x

Content.

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After a hectic weekend in London, I whimsically decided to fly to Budapest for a few days. As always, minimal planning was involved (There was really no planning done whatsoever… So I guess it wasn’t really involved) No expectations, no real prior knowledge of Budapest, just the hope of having a good time. Well, it surpassed any hopes I could have had. It was BEAUTIFUL. I’ve been to some beautiful cities, Barcelona, Madrid, Amsterdam, but this was different. It wasn’t swimming with tourists, it was barely swimming with locals. It felt incredibly open, spacious, free.  How such an incredible city is so widely under-appreciated I don’t know. I won’t tell you what I did there, or what beautiful buildings I saw. Frankly, I don’t want it to be flooded with tourists so you guys keep undervaluing Budapest and leave it all for me! I guess you can have a few pictures though.. I took enough! 

   

How this place isn’t full to the brim with tourists I’ll never know…
  
It’s fair to say i didn’t want to leave. But Budapest sent me off in style
 
I decided I was going to leave Budapest at 2am on Wedenesday morning, I’d had an amazing time and I didn’t want to spend a day there alone. It wouldn’t have been the same. I really wanted to go to Italy. After seeing so many different types of art in both London and Budapest I was eager to see what the home of Renaissance, Florence, had to offer.. I knew that there were flights between the 2 cities existed so it’d be simple to orchestrate.. Right? Is anything ever straight forward when I travel? Of course not. I’m a walking clusterfuck. Flights that day were few and far between… Norway? Too expensive. Poland? Too cold. New York? Marginally too far to justify for a short break. Barcelona? Ahh, home. Booked. With only 4 hours before take off, I hastily packed up my stuff, ordered an uber, and I was off. 

Something I’ve come to learn about travelling is that how you feel, and what you feel like doing can drastically change both your outlook on a city as well as your experience there. There are going to be days when you can’t be bothered to do all of the tourist stuff that trip advisor claims are absolutely unmissable. Well TripAdvisor, my feet are sore. I feel particularly introverted today.  Or I just don’t want to spend 2 hours trawling around this must see Picasso museum when to be honest, I just don’t really like his artistic style. Sorry not sorry. 5? 6? times in Barcelona, I’ve still yet to visit that museum, and unless it suddenly becomes free I’m not going to. Anyway, back to my point. Feelings. Travelling. Yeah. I loved my time in Budapest, there wasn’t a moment in which I didn’t feel at ease. Content. A place so beautiful, so relaxed, so… Carefree? These past 2 weeks have been somewhat of an anomaly. I’ve been weirdly social. I’ve wanted to spend time with people. I’ve… Dare I say it? Missed people. Visiting family, friends I haven’t seen in years, travelling with friends, making new friends along the way, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed my last fortnight. I wouldn’t change a second of it. 

I arrived in Barcelona with the intention of staying just 1 night, then heading down to Valencia and finishing my break off there. 

“So Flynn… All of your planning always works out perfectly, right? Tell me… How did this plan go?”

Well, voice inside my head… It went perfectly. After staying awake all night to get to Barcelona I was exhausted, slept straight through my alarm, and missed my train. Excellent. 

  
Now, I love Barcelona. But I’ve been there a zillion times, I wanted new. I wanted the modern architecture in Valencia, I wanted a beautiful beach, I wanted Paella that was to die for. Well, Barcelona may not have the most modern buildings, but the Paella is phenomenal. Unexpected twists and turns are now very much expected. I’m going to fuck up along the way, that’s just who I am as a person. But as long as I have my passport, bank card, phone and some clothes on my back I’ve come to realise that there is no situation big enough to spoil my adventure. Everything else is purely optional. I was going to be in Barcelona an extra day, no big deal.. I’ll go to Valencia tomorrow I told myself. But before you book any tickets, go and enjoy the day. Well, I went and enjoyed the day so much that I didn’t want to go to Valencia anymore. I explored, and I wandered, and I got completely and utterly lost. I discovered art galleries I didn’t know existed, I found festivals being prepared, I turned over pages I didn’t know the city had even written. It’s impossible to see everything a city has to offer in a short trip, but I figured I’d covered a pretty substantial chunk. Oh how wrong I was.

This time Barcelona was all about getting lost. I got lost in the labyrinth that is the Gothic quarter, I stumbled upon a world renowned contemporary art exhibition randomly placed on the roof of a shopping centre. There’s a vibe that seemingly pours from the streets of this city that I can’t help but fall in love with over and over again. 

     
Sometimes the best laid plans, are no plans at all. There’s something to be said for living completely in the moment, being free and open to whatever you’re comes across your path. Nothing about my time in Barcelona was ever more than 12 hours ahead. I stayed in a different room every night, 4 bed, 6 bed, beans bags in the hostel common area. Which reminds me. If you ever go to Barcelona (Which, if I could offer you one piece of travel advice. It’d be to go to Barcelona.) you have to stay in Gracia, specifically the Sant Jordi hostel in Gracia.. The people you meet along the way play a massive part in any journey you take and well, you won’t find better people than I did there. When a guy you’ve met once previously offers to let you stay at his house for free because the hostels fully booked that night and then when that falls through for one reason or another then lets you stay in the hostel for free instead of you having to find somewhere else you know you’re in good company. To Ronnie, Wagner, Bernie, Linda, Santi and all the guys I met travelling.. You guys helped move Barcelona even closer to my heart. You went above and beyond for me, and I appreciate it more than you know. I’ll be back, without a doubt.  

 As I stand here in line to board my Vueling flight to Paris, incredibly sleepy and consequently somewhat grouchy. Deep down I couldn’t be happier. I couldn’t be happier to see my friends tomorrow, I couldn’t be happier with how I spent my time in London, Budapest or Barcelona. I’m spending each day doing what I enjoy. I can’t remember the last time I worried about my future, a 9-5 job, or living upto expectations. I’m present, and that’s pretty special for me. I’m in a really really good place right now. Long may it continue. 

Flynn! X

Over and out.

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One of the main advantages to university study is the massive amounts of free time you have. 2 weeks off for Easter? Don’t mind if I do! Instead of spending my time mostly bored playing video games until my eyes hurt, then playing some more, like my younger a self would’ve done. I try to make the most of the added freedom university gives me. After the arduous journey from Paris to Liverpool, getting sick along the way. I spent 5 days at home catching up with friends and family. It was exactly what I needed after 3 months in France. As much as I love living abroad and travelling around there are certain home comforts that you just can’t replicate. It’s the little things: lying on the sofa, watching The Chase with my Nan & Grandad… Laughing at how terrible my Grandad is at The Chase. Waking up in the morning with my dogs lying around my feet at the foot of my bed. Helping my little sister with her homework. No amount of sightseeing or exploring can give me those exact feelings.

I mean.. look at them!

After relaxing at home I took a trip down to London. Now, London is a weird city for me. My previous encounters with the capital have all been pretty negative. Overly touristic, over crowded, over priced, I was over it. But I wasn’t going there to see the city, I was going to see a friend. Before this weekend I hadn’t seen Joel since early 2012 – so a catch up was loooong overdue.

1 of us was off to work… The other, the airport

The London I knew consisted of inferior monuments when compared to the rest of the continent. A Ferris wheel, a clock(bell) and a bridge. Whoooop Deee Doooo. Big deal. This trip has given me a much more well rounded view of London. The diversity the city has to offer once you get outside of the hordes of selfie stick wielding drones.

I could try and list off all of the things I’ve seen this past weekend in chronological order, but I know full well I’ll get it completely wrong and no doubt forget at least 40% of what I did. So instead, I’ll talk about the experience and how it’s somewhat changed my outlook on the once dreary capital.

Is everyone still rude in London? Yes and no. The waves of cockney suits storming through the tube stations with pound signs in emblazoned onto their retinas, yes. Very, very, rude. But the people who in my mind make the city special, the people who have moved there with the almost “American Dream” mentality of making their way and living life to the fullest. Those people. Lovely, friendly, polite. Everyday people make a city what it is. Paris is amazing because of the people’s keen sense for art and fashion. Paris also sucks ass because the people come across rude as sin. It’s a double edged sword.

Is London just a tourist trap filled with tacky royalist souvenirs? Absolutely not. Will you still see the queens face or the Union Jack at ever corner? Most corners. But amongst the bustling buses barrelling by and the overflowing underground there’s so much more on display if you can see past the swarms of people in your immediate view. I got to see a side of London you’d only see by living and working there. There’s an overwhelming amount of choice in the city. I got to spend time seeing each walk of life in London, from the traditional upper class white houses of North London, to the open spaces in West London. Grass and open space in London!? Well I never. Movie set London in Notting Hill. Urban, multiculturaled Brixton, Camden and Portobello Markets. Trendy SoHo and Shorditch. The hidden unground graffiti and skate tunnels underneath Waterloo. I stumbled across a fricking music video being shot for gods sake! Claudio Marquez-Made in Lisbon. In case you’re into Grime with a Portuguese twist. London showed me much more than I’d previously given it credit for.

From graffiti..

 

.. to genuinely picturesque

Food and Drink played a massive part in this trip. To the point that I’m scared to check my bank balance – it’s far too easy to spend on your card without realising quite how much!! Outside of the Starbucks’, the Pret A Manger’s, the McDonald’s, there are some really amazing places to eat and drink. This weekend just so happened to be the London Coffee Festival. My drug of choice-Caffeine keeps my heart beating. We decided checked out the opening night, There were some amazing independent coffee stalls and some sensory enhancing exhibitions which were pretty cool. Apparently “espresso martinis” are a pretty big deal in London? Personally, I found them to be pretty awful. I’ll stick with my flat white thank you very much.

1000% would not drink again

London’s multiculturalism is what makes it special for me. I love that you can get so many different things in one place I ate paella made by a Spaniard, Pizza and Gelato from Italians, you get my point. It’s similarities in differences that make London a great place to be. Everyone brings something to the table.

Over the last 3 days, this graffiti tag kept popping up all across the city. Something about it is striking to me. After looking into it online I found out that the artist usually tags it on temporary locations, wooden planks, constitution panels, hidden crevices. Something about its simplicity is beautiful to me. Now, art is subjective and to me good art is anything that induces feelings in people, regardless of what those feelings are. So if it doesn’t appear this way to you, that’s fine. But this is London to me. The best parts of London aren’t the landmarks, the constantly changing skyline, or the royal family. They’re behind all that, lying in the shadows there are gems within London. They’re in the independent restaurants, the art, the people who’re doing what they do for the love of it not the commercial success. The scenery you don’t see stood on Oxford street, the people who aren’t barging past you to be 30 seconds earlier to work. Much like life, it’s the little things that make the bigger picture special and well there are a lot of amazing little things in London.

Who could hate this view?

 

Flynn!

My teacher is secretly a rap connoisseur…

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I hope you all had a great Easter weekend! That you’re all stuffed to the gills with chocolate! I’m unfortunately not, yet. When I eventually spend some time at home, rest assured by the time I leave, I’ll be at least 65% chocolate.

Anyway, I hope you all had a great weekend! Mine was unlike any Easter weekend I’ve ever had. It started on Thursday. Late Thursday evening/The early hours of Friday morning I saw that Macklemore was playing a concert in Paris. Am I a huge Macklemore fan? Not particularly. But after a little while here the same old things get pretty boring. So it’d be cool to get out and so something different! Plus, I hadn’t been to a concert in foreverrrr. Would anyone go on such short notice? Would anyone go not actually liking Macklemore that much? Probaaaably not. Anyway, I soon realised that there were no standing tickets left, and frankly, the idea of being in the seating section of a concert just doesn’t sit right with me. Especially at a rap show. Anyway, moving on. Amongst all of this, Ramsey was up for the idea of going to a concert. So I wasn’t in this alone! Failing to find any good concerts on such short notice, I went to bed.

That morning, once again for the 6th? week in a row my Spanish class was cancelled for no good reason whatsoever. So that was totally worth getting out of bed for. That’s a rant for a future blog, but yeah. I went to my weekly 3 and a half hour French grammar class, when randomly as part of our work the teacher shows us a Rap/Electro festival happening the following day. THIS IS EXACTLY THE TYPE OF THING I WAS LOOKING FOR. Admittedly, I knew none of the artists, but after listening to one of them in class I was down for this. My teacher must have spotted me bopping away with the oversized classroom headphones, when she started telling me how one of the rappers was super well known in France. How was this early 30s, white, French lady so up to date on Rap? I do not know, it was very much unexpected.  Could I understand a single word? Nottttt really. Did it sound pretty cool though? Yess!

On a whim later that day, after discovering one of the DJs playing we had heard earlier that week at an event at “le musee de beaux arts” we were in. I didn’t ever get around to writing about that.. But we saw some cool art, did some doodles, and heard some pretty good music too!

Ramsey Doodling…
I’m not an artist.
Christina got involved in a show!

So, the next afternoon after mild confusion with the printing setup, we got on a bus to the middle of nowhere. Not quite knowing where we were going, nor why. But we were going and that was that. After an hour on the bus, we arrived at what I can only describe as an industrial park. A huge carpark, with a warehouse attached to a small theatre. What. The. Hell. Are. We. Doing. Here? Why has my French teacher told me about this bizarre place. Onesies everywhere, goth boots with yoga pants, parents with extremely young children what rap festival!?

To cut a very long night somewhat short… IT WAS AWESOME. I found a lot of French rap that I actually liked, after struggling through seamlessly endless amounts of Trap inspired French rappers this semester. Odezenne is definitely one I’m going to be looking up more.  I saw my first Grime act “Ocean Wisdom” – pretty cool! Even if he wouldn’t give me a CD for my last 5€.. It was all I had! His stuff’s on Spotify but I kinda wanted to support the guy/ a souvenir would’ve been cool! I saw my first Rap battle, even if I didn’t understand a word of it. Bigflo et Oli put on an awesome show. The whole place was going crazy, they were rapping in and amongst the crowd. Then midway through the set they had a full on rap battle with one another. It was an amazing show. Since then, I’ve listened to them almost nonstop, slowly trying to learn their lyrics, failing miserably! Caribbean Dandee Party Mixed heavy rap with reggae vibes, some of it was pretty good. I liked the fusion, but understanding it would have definitely helped. Well, I understood one song. He was literally rapping to a splif. Like, ignoring the entire crowd whilst staring at the lit spliff in his hand. It was a little weird I won’t lie.

IMG_4950
Ocean Wisdom

The later portion of the night was less rap, more electro. Words were a thing of the past, now onto eclectic beats. I’m not massively up on the intricacies of DJing. But they were all better than the David Guetta set I saw many moons ago, a slightly creep middle aged man pressing play on his laptop. Frankly that performance wasn’t deserving of a headline spot. However watching people actually make their songs live was pretty cool! Some of the DJs made more appealing sounds than others. Thylacine was pretty cool, if you’re into DJs that’re kinda upbeat, less harsh-more melodic, with actual live instruments and not just computer made sounds. CHECK HIM OUT. Really cool. The video to his song mountains is up there. The other Electro acts, whilst cool live, I probably wouldn’t listen to at home.

IMG_4954
Thylacine – Dope set!

Anyway, the marathon was drawing to a close. It was late Saturday night early Sunday morning. Did we totally forget that the clocks were going forward? Yes. Did we have to catch our coach back at a very specific time? Yes. Had that now been effected by the 2 o’clock actually being 3 o’clock? You bet it did. Panic set in, we were about to miss our bus. We were in the middle of nowhere, at 3am, with no idea how to get home. However, thanks to the general lack of organisation that I’ve now come to expect from France the coach was almost an hour late. Tired and cold we made our way back to Angers, very much ready to sleep the following day away. That’s exactly what I did.

Flynn! x

Extra: As I FINALLY (It’s taken a few days of procrastination) finish writing this, it’s 5am. Much like that 4am coach back to Angers, I’m tired and cold. I’m about to get ready to take the bus to Paris, followed by a bus to London, followed by a train to Liverpool, and finally followed by another train to Bebington. I’m very much ready to get home to my own bed. See you Sunday, Bebington.

Rendered Speechless.

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Double standards. Is there anything more infuriating than when you’re on the receiving end? One rule for you, another for me? When it happens to ourselves we’re in uproar, but we see it ALL the time and yet respond so apathetically. If even at all.

I’ve known for a long time not to trust print media. Never trust anything you read in a newspaper. Especially the sport section.. I remember reading as a kid that Liverpool were set to sign Rivaldo. Done deal, he’s going to be a Liverpool player tomorrow. Now me, a huuuuge football fan even at that age, was ecstatic. Did we sign the Brazilian legend? Of course not. Heart broken. Gutted. Print media has always been that way for me, growing up in Merseyside, you quickly learn there are certain papers less trusted than others. Some that you would be extremely frowned upon for buying. (JFT96!) Print media is gossip and rumour driven, it’s a competition to sell the best(or worst) stories, not the most accurate facts.  But anyway, that’s that.

For the large part the main stream televised media in England, or at least the BBC is fairly even. They report MOST, major global and national stories. They don’t lean too far left, nor too far right politically. Maybe there’s some bias on certain issues, but it’s rarely to the point that it is blatantly unfair. Still, l I don’t trust everything they say. I don’t think anyone should. Don’t take what you hear anywhere as gospel, do your own research, think for yourself. Question everything. Everyone has an opinion, every story can be twisted. History is written from the stance of the victorious. Everything is perspective.

I write about this now for 2 reasons:

The first is the American Presidential Election. I’m more invested in this than any Brit who has no direct connection to America should be. I find it much more interesting than my own country’s political election, unfortunately. Not because of the circus show that is Donald Trump, I won’t waste the energy to even type out my thoughts on him, but because of Bernie Sanders. In my eyes he’s the only candidate worth voting for and I can’t fathom why he is not ahead in the primaries by a landslide. Well, I can from the perspective of a billionaire but for the aver- Stop Flynn. This post isn’t about your political stance. ANYWAY. The point I was originally trying to make, before flying the liberal socialist flag, was that the way the media is covering this election is diabolical, it just falls short of cheating. The idea that a national NEWS station can ram its own political agenda down peoples throats infuriates me. You’re showing one side of a story which will unfold and shape a nation over the course of 4 years. That just isn’t right. To purposefully portray someone for what they aren’t, or worse yet, to not portray them at all. To act like what they’re doing isn’t even happening? Or isn’t relevant? Is despicable. You’re showing a 2 man race, but only focusing on one participant. It’s easy to paint the picture that they’re worlds apart when one is displayed so openly yet the other is left by the wayside.

The second, and main, reason I’m writing about this is the situation in Belgium. But not only the people of Belgium, but the people in Istanbul and Ankara who have been an afterthought of the media. These types of situations are becoming all the more common, it feels like only a few weeks ago I was writing about Paris, and only weeks earlier about “Je suis Charlie.” We are all aware of what happened in Brussels, yet little fuss was made about the 36 who died in Ankara nor the 5 in Istanbul. That’s now been swept under the rug, a thing of the past. Why? Do we value those who died in Turkey less than those in Belgium or France? Is it because it’s “Not so close to home”?  I didn’t see the Brandenburg gate lit up as a Turkish flag. Nous ne sommes pas Turquie. Why? Because Turkey boarders those middle-Eastern countries we prefer not to speak about? It’s close to those places that have been fighting for years.. It’s “Normal.” No. I refuse to go with that. I didn’t see one single Facebook status about ANY of the recent events in Turkey. Istanbul is not dissimilar from Brussels, it’s a bustling city with culture and history. It’s people want to live a good, safe, civilised life just like those in Brussels. It’s not this distant, far away, almost alien land it’s made out to be. Most importantly, they didn’t deserve the recent attacks. Yet the media portray that one is more threatening or serious than the other, that those lives lost marginally closer to home were more important. By devaluing the situation in Turkey the media is inherently placing an arbitrary value on human life, based on nothing more than location and culture. When in reality they’re no different. None of it is fair – How little empathy was/is shown to the people of Turkey, nor that people were unfortunately caught up in the twisted ideologies of others. Innocent people lost their lives. They should all be treated as such.

People.

Flynn

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FlynnLeave a comment

GAAAAAAHHHHHHHH . UNINSPIRED. I don’t know how many times I’ve wrote this. 5? 6? 1000?

I just can’t seem to get into a post. I write about 300 words and then look back at it like – Naaaaah. This isn’t any good. DRAFT. I guess I just need to get over that hump.

So here goes nothing. No deleting, I’m posting this regardless of how awful and illogical it is. I’m forcing myself to stay in this tab for the next 20? minutes. This will likely read more like a stream of consciousness rather than a conducive piece, I’m ok with that.

Sooo, I’m sat in this little coffee shop, the same one I’ve been almost everyday for the last week? I like it here, well, usually. Today it’s full of load youths, similar to a Starbucks at 4 when school lets out. Except it’s just after lunch time, WHY AREN’T YOU IN SCHOOL? I found a little bagel shop today, best bagel I’ve ever had. Only €2.90! Not baaaaaad. The guy behind the counter was as I’ve found a lot of French people, less than enthused by my attempts to speak French. Almost immediately he shouted for another member of staff. Why? I don’t know, I ordered the entire thing in 1 simple French sentence. I said the exact same thing when his associate came, and he then took my order with no problem. Why she needed to be there for him to just listen, I don’t quite know, but hey-ho. It’s quite disheartening to have this happen so often, I feel like I’m getting better bit by bit, but with each experience like this it knocks me down a bit further. I’ve found VERY few French people who are willing to try. Something I grew very used to with speaking Spanish. Spaniards seem much more open to help you try and improve, they seem happy to see you putting in effort. The French, not so much. I don’t want to generalise though, I’m sure there are people who want to help. I’ve just yet to meet them. It doesn’t really help that my French classes haven’t been great here. The one French class I actually went to back in Sheffield was infinitely more useful than what I’m doing right now. On Tuesday we “learned” how to buy things.. Y’know, because I’ve been here 2 months and not done an ounce of food shopping. I brought 6 months worth of food with me, just incase I didn’t learn how to shop. 1 class I’m learning the subjunctive, another I’m “learning” colours. Like most things here, it’s just not very cohesive. Much like this post.

Uninspired. I’m looking for that moment when life become bright again. Where I’m focused and not forcing myself into a positive outlook. But until then forcing myself into doing things is the way it’s going. I’m making myself leave my bedroom, even if it is to just do the same things but in a different environment. Maybe that’s the problem, instead of just living and falling upon that moment naturally, I’m going out of my way to try and make it happen. Slipping again.

I won’t end this on a negative note though. The weather has been getting a lot better of late here, that usually cheers me up. I’m a better version of myself when the suns out.

In 2 weeks and 3 days I’m having a roast dinner. I. CAN’T. WAIT. Oh… And I’m seeing my family.

England awaits.

À bientôt,
Flynn

Typical Flynn.. Quack !

Flynn2 Comments

Ahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah. 

IF I could stick to a plan it’d be a minor miracle, people would write it up as one of “man’s greatest achievement”, pigs would orbit the globe like satellites, hell would relocate to Antarctica. 

As much as I proclaim to love scheduling, and structure, and how I want to be more organised and have a real sense of direction, I don’t. I don’t want any of that. I bold faced lie to myself. 

I made THE MOST BASIC OF PLANS. The most vague outline of a plan, with as much wiggle room as is humanly possible for a plan to have. Yet somehow, someway, I’ve managed to wriggle my way all the way out of it. 

The plan was as follows :

  1. Berlin
  2. Brussels 

Any amount of days you want. Any accommodation. Any tourist attractions. There was complete flexibility. Do whatever you want, Flynn. 

I made it to step one, and Berlin is pretty damn fantastic might I add. But I won’t be making it to step two! 

I was lying in bed for a few hours last night thinking to myself.. “I don’t really want to go to Brussels.” For literally no logical reason whatsoever. No bad review, no worries about the city, nothing. Like a child in his terrible twos because he didn’t want a bath for no logical reason other than because I don’t want one, I spat my dummy out and that was that… The bath thing happened quite a lot according to my mum. I have no recollection of this… Obviously.  

So here we are having irrationally cancelled 3 bus journeys, 1 hostel, then whimsical booked 1 flight and 1 hostel. We’re off to Barcelona! Why?! I have literally no idea. 

I adore Barcelona. 

This is going to be my fourth time visiting, so I’ll be honest, I don’t know how much there’s left for me to see. One thing is certain though; I’m going to enjoy it. It really feels like home. Anyway, I guess this is no different to any other times I’ve decided to travel: based on absolutely no reason other than “because.”
I guess somethings will never change, I’m just not meant to plan the finer details of the long term. By long term I mean anything other than this present moment. Clearly I’m completely incapable of thinking any further ahead. Maybe that’s not something I need to change about myself, but rather I need to embrace it. If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck.. It’s probably a duck. 

I’m a duck. 

Flynn! X