The End Of Days.

Well this is my blog that I believe doing a degree in English Literature deserves. I had planned to start it throughout the summer but like most of my plans post HEFC at Newcastle College it seems to have always been on the to do list behind the next day session, much like my Fathers famous Monday diet he was always going to take up after the weekends takeaway. Anyway, now I have had my first 3 lectures for the 3 parts of my course I thought now would be the perfect time to start.

Today was a lecture with the course leader, Nigel I think I’ll grow to like Nigel he seems a very nice chap and definitely made my brain whirl and whizz like it’s never done before at 9am on a Wednesday. In fact in ways I didn’t even think were possible unless a lot of alcohol and drugs had been consumed and I was involved in putting the collations problems right at 4am on a Sunday morning.

None of this means anything and because I’ve just wrote down what I feel in text using the medium of language it has instantly became meaningless. Confused? Welcome to my Wednesday morning. According to Barthes, a guy who couldn’t decide whether he was a Structuralist or a post structuarlist so instead decided to drift in and out of both camps and write extremely hard theories to fuck my students heads there is no real point of me writing this blog at all and my intentions are pretty much obsolete the moment they leave my head via my fingertips through my keypad and into my word processor. The Author is dead. The unlucky ones of you who have read this far don’t give a shit what I’m hoping to share and what I’m hoping to articulate through this blog and will instead bring your own perverse meanings to what I’m writing and come away with an entire different view due to your unique culture capitol than what I’m trying to get across. In other words you’re all tainted.  Some other guy called Derrida (most of these guys are French, so excuse my bigotry here but as if I needed more reasons to dislike them) He believes language works on 2 different axis and basically because language is infinite there can be no meaning to it!!

Just to round off this extremely upbeat and pretentious first blog post EVERYTHING I do in life, including sitting here with a coffee pandering to my ego by believe people will want to read my random ramblings is to get back to that magical moment of plenitude. Plenitude is when I was one with my mother in her womb and everything I do, every desire, every purchase I make is in actual fact just me trying to replace what I lost during birth. However by learning to speak I instantly fucked up any chance I ever had of fulfilling my main objective in life as language has no meaning and therefore basically I’m fucked. The more I try to give meaning actual meaning the less meaning the original meaning has.

I’m probably going to be a dribbling mess come Christmas. I’m sure Marxism and Semiotics were also mentioned at some point.

Gavin Nelson.