‘I feel as though I was of some elder race left here by mistake’….
Someone told me recently that when I left Lancaster the morality rate would go up; I’m not so sure that that was fair, but then they were only teasing. There is a certain love for decadence which seems to be a part of my soul, I quite like it but with it comes a taste for melodrama. Every so often it’s fashionable, but usually not. Read on, but you were warned!
I feel old.
I came to university and students were allowed to be responsible for their own actions, the money of their societies and themselves. Ok so that led to me committing a couple of acts of what? Fraud? Embezzelment? So that a tiny society could fund some huge socials…but the society never had more money than when I was a treasurer.
Now students have to trust LUSU with their money and that means no infringement of LUSU rules, no buying alcohol with society money…and I remember the days when Writer’s Guild had two treasuries, one of money and one of drink and the society rule was that any alcohol left behind at a society social was taken by the society as a donation to the treasury…
Now it seems societies have to officially warn members that they’re drinking too much. They can’t buy alcohol because they have no money of their own. Societies which cannot afford to have to provide for all sorts of disabilities, being as and when isn’t good enough.
This debate seems to be centring on alcohol but really I’m talking about personal responsibilities and trust. There is a lack of trust in LUSU for it’s members, the students and the societies it’s in, seems like theres more people now talk about appearances, seeming to cater for the disabled, seeming to cater for teetotal members, Jewishmembers, Islamic members, appearing to care when in actual fact you do it for the look.
I am an anachronism.
As was the barcrawl it appears.
A social wherein you go to drink.
Therefore LUSU run.
And we, the students cannot be trusted. We have no personal responsibility.
The exec is charged with responsibility that they are not given qualifications to deal with; thus LUSU again denies us.
A drinking social. No one really drinks anymore. Alcohol is not to be trusted. Nor are we.
The PULSAR barcrawl is no more, but a barcrawl that has been LUBBS,LURPS,Jugglers and whoever else turns up cannot die…it seems I leave but before I go all the flames of passion are quenched with useless, thoughtless beaurocracy. Lipservice to morality. Appearances sake.
One last tremendous party fueled orgy of passion last June and I should have left, gone running to the East before this beaurocracy, this lipservice, this lack of the REAL.
I like drinking socials. I am myself. Responsible for me, to me, and no one else.
My final year was full of life and now it’s as though we are slowly being sapped of the passion that gave us drive. My friends; Giggles, Byron, Beardy Best Mate, Fantastic Finger Guy, Naiad, Yellow Dart et al. we are being made other than we are. Dancing, parties, laughter, all typed up by the grey.
I believe in passion above morality, life above beaurocracy, feeling above lipservice.
We are being slowly quenched, I run eastwards from this tide of lacklustre sapping greyness. It is threatening us all and it seems as though everything is falling apart. Do we really only come to university to work, write essays, fill our lives with greyness so we can except the mindless drudgery of the world of work.
Where is the place we can go to fill ourselves with who we discover to be us?
Or must it all become: Monday night Pagan Soc, Tuesday Night LURPS, Wednesday night PULSAR, Thursday Night Mountaineering, Friday Night Taekwondo, quite a rote. It seems as though it is being made gradually harder and harder to run those small groups of friends we once called societies. It seems as though the mindless beaurocracy is making every aspect of life harder and harder until it doesn’t seem like life at all.
So I drink to the decadence of my final year as an undergraduate, to l’art pour l’art, to…oh hell I’m feeling sentimental:
It seems as though my personal Beardsley has died and Oscar’s still wasting away in prison. I live such a small life.