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[Brainstormed things from my notepad. One was non-uniform, and though not exactly creative, this is what I came up with. It's not meant to be polished or amazing, but I haven't posted in ages, and I need a starting point at least.]

Today was non-uniform day in the accelerated society known as school. It's always interesting to note how these things ripple throughout the society.

Non-uniform days always seem to bring out the essence of people, or at least enhance them. Dazzling colours are coupled with dazzling personalities, and this shows most obviously with thugs. Today a kid who by many standards looks fairly average was messed around by some idiots. It's almost as if the clothes act like war paint, in fact that's not a bad comparison. They can identify eachother, and once a small crowd exists it's sure to widen, especially when there's fresh meat.

Identification of like minded people seems to be a very important aspect of people's clothing, and not just with thugs. I would imagine that if there was no uniform all the time, then people would be very much boxed in by their clothes. Clothes are your social standing, there's no in-between because then no-one knows where you stand, and therefore you stand nowhere. If you're mainstream, you dress mainstream. If you're alternative, you dress alternative. With uniform most people can mix around, people are judged on their personality rather than their clothes.

There's one crack in this uniform though: hair. I have freakishly long hair, which means I'm not going to be mixing with any popular kids any time soon. The alternative kids tend to be a little more libertarian though, so anyone who wants to can generally come hang around with us as long as they don't threaten people. Some do try to regulate who should and shouldn't be here, but those are generally ignored. A few eyebrows were raised however when recently a guy with quite short and spiked up hair was married into the group (he had a girlfriend who was alternative). It didn't help that he had a square jaw and a very chav-ish look either. He was accepted though.

Once a group of what I presume to be his friends came along and made fun that he was hanging around with alternatives. He obviously didn't enjoy this clashing of the two worlds, and neither did anyone else. The point is, all this would never have happened had their been non-uniform. He'd be dressed in clothes characteristic of his group, and if he tried to come over here he'd have been regarded with such suspicion that it would have been impossible for him to become the permanent fixture he now is. He seems like a nice guy, and I fully admit that if he had been wearing chav clothes, I would have taken the chip on my shoulder and beat him round his proverbial head with it.

Moving on, another incident interested me today. A member of the alternatives brought in a huge bouquet of mistletoe and spread it around a bit. All the girls were kissing one-another as girls seem to do when any excuse comes along. Very few straight kisses though, and one girl who is unsure about her sexuality would only accept kisses on the cheek. Why, you ask, SWEET MERCIFUL JESUS WHY?! Because I didn't have a camera.

But seriously, people seem to place emphasis on the sex in homosexuality. The truth is that the only difference in definition between homosexuality and heterosexuality is which gender you find attractive. The magnitude is a matter of culture, just like it is with heterosexuality. Thus, the explanation: Heterosexual kisses are real to the participants, they mean something. Same-sex kisses also mean something to the homosexual participants. Of course, culture is such that homosexual kisses between men is always serious, so that's why little of that was going on.

Girls are always interesting on non-uniform days. Since they don't seem to care much about clothes, rather the lack of them. I guess a (drunk) feminist would argue that since men have had all the money historically, they haven't been able to afford so much cloth. The more likely explanation is that people think skin is attractive. Of course, not all females dress could be fit into a matchbox. Some wear more clothes, especially in winter. Personally, I find girls (paedophile! What would you call females aged 11-18?) more attractive artistically and otherwise when they're wearing more clothes.

They also seem to polarise. Guys can come in wearing average clothes, and look average. If a girl came in wearing 'average' clothes, they'd be making a statement about how everyone else is attention seeking. Clothes really seem to sort girls into groups on non-uniform days, at least among people older than 13.

The influence of clothing is quite clear, and it has good and bad points. With uniform people are judged by their personality, but without uniform people are able to express themselves with their appearance. Though they may claim other reasons, it's quite clear that uniform is also a method of managing behaviour also. It separates you from those who can deviate (such as teachers), and that makes people easier to manage.

I'd be interested to hear the observations of people who do not have to wear uniform.

I stumbled upon an interesting thought in my journeys of today. In my series of articles one would probably find that I'm heavily opposed to dependency on distractions. If you know me in real life, I may have even said 'A gramme is better than a damn' in general conversation. To represent that drugs (I include alcohol in this) distract from reality, and thus make us easier to manage.

But not today, today is Christmas. My theory is that people can't live without some kind of regular celebration, because otherwise we have very little to look forward to in today's capitalist world.

It being dark today as I walk home from school (working until 5PM). The first thing I notice is the dazzling display of lights on the houses down Quarry road. This puzzled me for a second, how would people in council housing be able to afford the most lights I've seen so far? Then a Marxist devil appeared on my shoulder, and I realised: the low quality of life makes people crave the higher quality all the more.

Christmas is a time of goodwill to all men, of happiness. The happiness of Christmas is self-evident, and that's what makes it so powerful. When people criticise Christmas, the reply is often 'Oh, have some Christmas spirit'. The resemblance to 'A gramme is better than a damn', is startling. Oh, and for those that don't get the reference, read 'Brave New World' (contact me, it's out of copyright and I can send you the text). Simply, 'gramme' refers to a drug.

Capitalism does have some nerve though, giving us a holiday to help us cope with it, and then selling it to us! When you think about it, how many of you could cope with the boring monotony of life if you didn't have [your favourite holiday] to look forward to? I'd wager a lot of people would find it much harder, it's as if people need a special occasion to enjoy good food and family.

As always, be observant these holidays, the signs of oppression are all around you.

Oh... and Merry Christmas!

It's 1:45 AM. I'm not really sure what to do.

Something's building up in me, I know. I get these ideas which wont go away. One idea is the idea of beauty, and how futile my efforts to create it are.

In primary school, everyone is put in a box. There are the science/maths people, the geography/history people, the art people, the English people... the list goes on. The whole purpose is to make it easier to teach and encourage people so they feel confident about their learning. I was a science/maths kid, which was alright. I'm good with that area, and my method of learning works with it.

But, unbeknownst to them, that wasn't all me. I'm science/maths/english/art. I could have gone either way, except my handwriting was terrible, so people assumed that creativity wasn't my strength. This was a huge mistake to make, since I can't cope without that other half.

I was a thoughtful child. From around year 3 I didn't have any friends, I didn't have any real friends until year 10. This coupled with a bit of a reserved nature meant that I spent a lot of my time thinking and learning. I tried to apply science to the society that I saw around me, and came up with an equation for the relation between niceness and popularity. It was flawed, but it explained what I saw, and even though I didn't know it I was practicing sociology. Sociology is a subject I really enjoy now, because it's a mix between logic and creativity, I'm in my element.

That's not enough though. Every now and again I come across something that really evokes a feeling in me, sometimes humour, sometimes love, sometimes sheer wonder. It might be drawing, writing, music, whatever. It's something artistic.

And it hurts me right to my very core, because I might not be able to create something like that.

Every little teen angst scribble brings a tear to my eye. What I'd give to be able to do that.

But I can't. At least not at the moment. I'm still grappling with creative writing, it's kind of discouraging that I couldn't work out a way to express these thoughts in a creative piece. I read 'Generically Titled, Uniquely Written' by subliminiminal and... the creative romance, it touched me.

To some of you, this will sound ridiculous. For me, however, this is very important. If I can't create something individual... if I can't express _myself_... if I can't create my own little piece of beauty... what point is there in my existence?

I know the response to this from some of you will be 'What point is there anyway?', I understand this. But if I can create I can be happy with myself, I can feel satisfied. I can make other people feel, something I long so much to do.

My life is a struggle with beauty and its evasion of me. My goal is to have the ability to create in all the art forms. I want to be able to write beautifully, scribble drawings, paint, design tshirts. I want to make someone laugh and cry. I want to wake up in the middle of the night with an idea, and let the passion drive me through 'til the morning.

But for now, I can't. The loss kills me, and I hope against hope that with practice, maybe I can.

Oh my God I'm so freakin' bored with everything at the moment.

The problem is, no one around me seems to care about the things I care about. I mean, they're nice and all, but there's no creative depth, no passion. Everyone seems to care most about relationship drama, parties, drugs, or nothing. If I have an idea for a project, there's no one I can talk to about it and have them get excited about it, and have more than a passing interest in joining in. I'd give a lot to know a person like that.

Well, it'd probably be very easy to find someone like that online if I searched for a coupl'a days, but it'd need to be in real life. It'd difficult to display and go with that kind of excitement if you're a long distance apart. I guess what I want is to find someone similar enough to me that I can actually _enjoy_ a relationship with. The relationships I have now are fun, but fun quickly wears off, and I have startlingly little in common with the other person.

I'm a pretty odd teenager to be honest. I don't want to go out and bathe in euphoria every Friday night. I don't particularly care about my studies. I don't want to have a million friends. Even the whole romance thing isn't as important. What I want is to learn and create.

But I'm running on empty. I find it really difficult to create anything when I feel like the no one cares about it. I can write, but I want more than that. Even if I did write there's no one to give me meaningful, emotional, real feedback on it. I do love the 'net, but it can only do so much in this area.

So if you're stationed around Bristol, UK, and you understand what I'm getting at, talk to me.

I'm generally not a very jealous person. Call it arrogance, or simply being content with my lot, but there are very few things that can make me jealous. I shall list them here:

1. Romance.

2. Art Students.

I'm messing around considering what to do for higher education (US equvilent -- College), I have a huge number of books full of each universities' offerings. When I was there, I actually reached a point where I couldn't carry any more stuff, literally. Problem is, I'm good with computers, and I've no doubt I could get my way into a computing course, and nearly every university does computing. So where's the problem?

I want to be an art student.

My qualifications will show nothing towards the arts. I took Sociology, Media, Computing and Maths. I'd have to get in on my sociology and my personal work.

But I want to be an art student.

Okay, maybe not art in the classical sense. I'd like to be in a creative writing course, failing that journalism. Even with journalism, if I choose the right place I might at least be in an atmosphere where artistic forces might flow into me as if my osmosis. Fuck, I didn't even take English, it's a really stupid idea to gamble on getting into a creative course...

But... I really fucking want to be an art student.

Computing is easy, give me a year and I could learn it all myself in my spare time. It wouldn't be a qualification, but I'd've learnt, and that's the important thing. Creative subjects... they're a challenge. I guess that's part of the reason they appeal to me. The biggest reason is beauty though. It's as if a switch in my mind has been thrown in the past few years. Creation evokes such emotions in me. If I had the choice of relationships or creativity, I'd choose the later, by a large margin. The emotion... it's like love but amazingly huge. The feeling of confidently dipping a paintbrush into a pool of paint, it's incredibly seductive. It's the kind of thing I'd believe in God for, I'd pray to be given a chance to get onto a good choice, I'd promise to whatever theistic being it is to give my all. I'm not exaggerating here, I'd starve myself for paint.

I need to be an art student. I'm not even sure my words can convey how fucking much I want this. I'm fucking shaking.

[Edit]I did it! Screw you, 'realism'![/Edit]

I hold the weighty chunk of dull brass coloured metal in my right hand; a thin, bent in the middle, strip of stainless steel in my right. I slide the latter into the a small slot in the former, and place a slight force against the strip. I'm creating an unseen force, and noticing a barely audible tap in the mechanics of the machine. Notifying me of its readiness to be compromised.

I hold the orphaned lock steady, and with my left hand pick up another strip of steel with a handle and a small notch on the end. I position my index finger along to nearly the end of the strip, so I can sense the vibrations. I insert the pick, and search for the binding pick.

Tick. Click.

It's been a while since I've left the house. One week definitely, probably two. I ordered myself a set of lock picks. Learning to pick a lock has been a goal of mine for years, ever since I started creating my first journal hosting site. The entry is still there, in its immature and unrefined dialect. Probably around the third I wrote.

Scratch. Click.

It's not that the world doesn't interest me, or that I'm satisfied or happy up in this room all day all night. It's just that there's very little to do that can't be done in this room, and thus little incentive to leave it. There are people... of course. But they're never really much interested in the things I'm interested that stretch beyond the indoors.

Snap. Click.

My friend's lives seem to consist of television, music, social lives, and intoxication. The first two happen mostly indoors. The third is generally extremely dull in their incarnation. The fourth is either solitary or destructive. The key element I want is construction, interaction, creativity, the exchange of ideas. I've never known anyone who can relate to me in that way. Except, of course, on the internet. So it is in this chair I stay.

Jolt. Click. Push. Revolve.

I look through the darkness of the room at the drum of the lock. It's turned now, perpendicular to its previous position. I push the first strip to make it turn a little more. Looking at the back, I see where the lock would have attached to a door, it turns also.

Reverse. Click.

Still, back to school tomorrow. Funny how repetitive it is, really.