We have no oil again

We have no oil again
Agraphia

Maynooth, I’ve given you everything and now I’m nothing. Maynooth, twenty-four euros and forty cents. I don’t have any understanding of your choices. I am too selfish to think why people don’t have a care for the world or even their local environment’s over-taking by the sadistic government that drives our college to turn from a school into a business (though it tries so). I am merely offering a piece of artistic prose. Sometimes I write, and it does some good and other times it does not. Sometimes I tell the future in bizarre senso-matic ways that bewilder me in hindsight. Sometimes I rant at a keyboard when someone asks me, and I enjoy that too. Care to listen to me talk about myself for a long time? I know I’d love it.
But seriously forks. Or not. I’m enjoying myself at least, in my jigsaw-life with my rambling prose in between “academic life” and somebody’s Symphony No.1 in E minor. Tell me, are you familiar with the works of e. e. cummings? Isn’t it awfully poetic how he didn’t use capital letters in his name? How romantic! I’ve been in this wee establishment for nigh on four years, and I and my peers seem only the more stressed because of it. Yes, we can now get TEFL, or do a Masters or even… The sky is my ass’s limit. Learn to fly. Or transport donkeys. My friend Fuckhead has been in this college nigh on 8 years, and he’s one of the most stressed out, but terribly productive people I know. With all respect, what can I make of it after four years in The Nooth.
I entered as a lost faun, awaiting a structure of logic and law that might ease the existential dramas and delinquencies of my former life. Miles from home, I entered into this strange and plastic campus to participate in things like “quantitative methods” and “psychology”. Who had heard of such things? Bizarre fascinations of a closed world of intellectuals kept well hidden from the far-reaches of society. And as I grew I realised, and took fun out of, my studenthood. Likewise I realised that this studenthood (which I realised), was indeed… normal. I began to enjoy the stereotypes of “the woolly hat” and “getting drunk” – crazy things I’d only experienced on Barry’s Tea ads or in the Beano… or somewhere I don’t remember. Unfortunately, however, I’ve had reports of cynicism.
What I mean to tell you, with the couple hundred words I must squeeze my mind-frame onto, to whomsoever it may concern, life of the student can be one of invaluable education. Before you get into an uproar, I must proclaim clearly – it’s true, you can get an education of some kind here. So long as the will is there to learn (this particular type of information). You do, of course, learn what they want you to. Now in final year, they seem to have let a couple gaps that enable one to squeeze imagination into undergraduate schoolwork (which is an almost distant, bizarre concept in my line of study), and to allow that spark of what one has interest in, to ignite on the suffering. Yes indeed, a pleasant experience, this so-called learning, with the right motivation. For example, writing, or “interest”, can be intertwined with some sort of achievement – like a sort of a hobby. So, it appears that one can interact talents with actions to participate in meaningful endeavours, which goes against what Mr Society Man seems to encourage - the life of living because you have to and doing what you’re supposed to do.
To thine own self be true, they said. And it’s all juxtaposition, and every degree is talking about pretty much the same thing in different languages. So long as we can wear scarves over jumpers with hairy coats, and get drunk before 12, and get to bed after 12, and have the money (or none), we don’t need to worry about the future of student life. ?. With its wheelings and dealings and horrible overtakings by people that just aren’t as cool as they used to be; and the funding-based biases that just don’t think free speech is profitable, or proper. And the wonderful position of the students taking over the old independent newspaper to try and get people educated about what’s educating them. Indeed.
So the moral of the story is:
Free the fucking radio waves!
And wake the fuck up!