October 2011
3 posts
5 tags
Some more
I liked yesterday’s dialogue (yesterday? Or the day before? Time seems to be running together; too many late night and early mornings with nothing to differentiate today from tomorrow) so much that I did some more. Scribbled that shite out and wrote some more. Here’s an extract. If you like it let me know. (Please?)
A: [on the phone. The phone is ringing]
B: Hello?
A: Don’t...
Hugh Grant
Not really a post about Hugh Grant, but I’ve been told I sound like him, and I want to try out some dialogue from a play I’m tinkering with.
B: I love you. You and I have been drifting, moment by moment, past each other, somehow never gathering the courage to say it. So I’m saying it. I’m saying it before I leave because if I don’t then you’ll find someone...
Once again, the chorus
Love! Always this ridiculous obsession with love!
(I always have an obsession with correct grammar and spelling, but so far that’s never been made into a musical starring Ewan MacGregor. But we can dream.)
Because one thing’s piling onto another and a blog’s just come up that’s frustrated me a tiny little bit, so sausages to everyone expecting something sensible....
July 2011
3 posts
When it happened
When it happened, Maria was indoors. The storm had been growing for some time, thick, heavy clouds squatting low over the city. She pressed her fingers to the glass. It was cool against the fleshy pads. Far away lightning flashed, soundless now. Maria counted. She’d reached four before the rumble vibrated through her fingertips, up her arm, into her heart.
Maria took her fingers from the...
2 tags
Love
I write about love all the time
Time is all I have to write about love
I write for all time about love.
This is silly because I don’t know anything about love.
I have denied love three times before the dawn.
And before the dusk a hundred times again.
And now I am asked again.
I don’t know what love is.
Ask me again tomorrow.
June 2011
1 post
April 2011
3 posts
A riff on Merchant of Venice
There are three suitors, waiting. One looks with disdain upon the others, and his livery is red and fine silk. Another dresses plainly but with no less disdain views his neighbours; his pious nature in combat with his proud nose. The last looks neither at his neighbours nor at the casks before them; instead his eyes are fixed to the object of his beauty.
The lady asks the first to choose a cask....
Speak
Speak thee, fool!
Sayeth then the fool nothing. What may he say?
I have no words but love upon my lips?
The kiss that lingers still upon mine breath forbids me speech?
I am rendered unto stone until her lips unbind me?
Speak now! Lest I tear out thine tongue!
This tongue speaks of naught but her.
These tears speak naught but her.
What value has tongue, or eye, or heart, e’en, that...
Prologue
Being young is generally considered the worst and, indeed, the most difficult part of one’s life. It’s only considered that by adults, of course, children are generally keen to rebel and do so by enjoying themselves immensely.
The thing – if you can call it a thing – about being young is that everything is very new. Ideas burn through the twilight of the brain like supernovas and alter the...
February 2011
1 post
Valentine's Day
As we approach valentine’s day, we are assailed once more with one of two attacks:
1) You are in a relationship. If you do not spend huge amounts of money, right now, then you are an unromantic soul and s/he will leave you. There is no question of that.
2) You are not in a relationship. You poor, sad, lonely fucker. Today is all about love, and who loves you? No-one. You pathetic lump of...
January 2011
3 posts
I've got a feeling
A desire to write nonsense,
scribble scream of consciousness words on blank pages
and burn them
and start again. Everything toxic
crap, distracting, all of it dashed out of me
and burned away, like a -
a detox for the mind, a clearing, a decluttering
I don’t need all these words, all these phrases
I’m trying a minimalist way of speaking but it’s impossible
to...
Sing a song, dance a dance
5 in the morning is not a sensible time to be writing. There is every chance that the words I type, or try to type, will be trite and not right. But this strange buzzy feeling one gets knowing that the world still sleeps, that the sky outside is darkness, that at this time and in this place you enter a community of people who live their lives in the twilight…
a walk at this time of the...
5:15 horror
Still they smile
With widened eyes
And grins spread ear to ear
And though they smile
Behind the bars
With faces pressed against the steel
You know within
Within your heart
The smiles are just for show
And as they smile
And do not eat
And do not drink
And do not die
But smile and smile
With eyes so wide
You see inside Behind the smile
Behind the broken stumps of teeth
Behind the...
December 2010
4 posts
Watch, then, you secret dancers,
Who, being so obscured by mist and fog
Are naught but pin-pricks in obsidian sky.
Each step delicately lumbering;
Stars all aflame tread lightly about pirouetting rock.
As above; so below
Let joy dance with love twixt fire and snow.
(this needs lengthening but will do for the moment.)
Look into the night sky, and you see stars, if you are lucky. Except you don’t, of course, you see stars as they used to be. Look up at the moon and if you have picked a good night then you will see a brilliant dot of light close by it. That is Jupiter, except Jupiter is no longer there. It has moved on already; you are only seeing the brilliant after-image of a planet.
The point of this...
gotyouhigh:
I want to be able to talk to you again so desperately but I don’t know how to begin.
Hello is always a good start.
Angry
How dare you, you low-life, cowardly, disgusting little crawling piece of shit. What on earth gives you the right to make out I’m in the wrong when you’re the little freak who sniffs around my girlfriend and knocks on her door at four in the morning as high as a kite.
She isn’t worried. She reckons she can look after herself. I say you’re three words away from a total...
November 2010
1 post
Easy
There are only 26,
twenty-six,
letters in the alphabet,
with which I do my best to turn images into words.
Computers, now, computers have it easy;
if my audience were robots I’d need write only
00101010101110100010111010101101010
and they’d coo and gasp in amazement as they saw the picture I described but
they’re not. you’re not. You are alive.
You get me, and you...
September 2010
2 posts
2 tags
Love (Poem)
I’m sitting
Waiting.
Not waiting for a train to take me far away
Not waiting for a parcel (food from Mum and Dad!)
Not waiting for my laundry
(Though I do enough of that)
No.
I’m just waiting for you.
Typing tip-tap-tippity
In a coffeehouse with voices
Loud and quiet
Big voices and
small voices.
Skies outside grey, gloomy.
It’s clear to see why.
Because my Sun is in here
And she...
Love (prose)
Did you ever fall in love with someone at first sight? How shallow. How awful. Slap yourself on the hand and consider yourself chastised; we are such a wonderful series of beings that to fall in love merely with the features of a person is as awful as falling in love with a statue. In fact, you may as well fall in love with a statue, for all that your love will be returned - unless you, too, are...
August 2010
2 posts
1 tag
Where there is darkness
Look at me dangle,
man-sized model.
Palest of the pale;
an English rose
(although Saxon is more appropriate)
Loose-limbed and slack-jawed,
(although a bit of re-wiring will sort that out)
I stand, dunce-like, in the corner.
I don’t much mind; look at me grin
Seeing unseen.
These sockets, where once sat radiant orbs,
Now watch over you, you little, clever people.
When I was alive,...
As above, so below
Consider this, as you sit reading, right hand on the mouse, left hand cupping your left cheek, flicking between tabs and reading between the lines and trying to find something interesting on the internet - good luck with that, by the way, those lolcats are bloody everywhere now - consider the door behind you. You can’t see it. You live in a nice house, and you have kind, considerate parents...
July 2010
2 posts
For all time
On the 15th of January in the year 2022 CE, religion was extinguished. Across the world, mosques, churches, synagogues were all systematically destroyed; these ancient relics of a bygone era no longer necessary in a world run by science.
Of course the world is not run by science per se, rather, it is run by people who have great faith in science. This is, of course, a delightful irony, and one...
Once
Eat, drink, and be merry.
Tomorrow you may be dead.
You may be homeless.
You may have no money.
Your friends may pass away.
But today, for once, none of these things have happened.
You have a home.
You have money.
You have friends.
You’ve got time on your hands.
Don’t waste it here.
March 2010
2 posts
Thou Shalt Not Steal
When I was little I I stole a lollipop. It burnt a whole in my pocket until Mum found out, Washedmymouthoutwithsoap. And then stealing always tasted like soap and I Never Stole. But today I did. From right under her nose I stole And she pouted and asked for it back. But I can’t. See. It’s not burning a hole in my pocket. But a whole burning in me.
The third part of the serial, with apologies for...
That is the last we shall see or hear of Michael Voice; you may imagine he is returned to the earth in the form of ashes or that he was ascended into heaven to become one with the heavenly host or that he was taken to the pit of Hell to burn for evermore. You do not know. If you knew what kind of man he was perhaps you could judge, but you do not, and so you must accept that you will never know.
...
February 2010
3 posts
you can do anything you want as long as it makes...
So spake a friend of mine
Tweeting from afar.
I could not simply let this lie,
This foolish genie in a jar,
Be exhumed and so inhaled
By those young minds
Who my friend failed
I am disgust. And so I find
This girl entirely blamed of crimes
So purple and so cup-of-tea
They shake the hands and give the time
And then, in cheek, walk up a tree.
“I shall not have this!”...
Grr writer's block. Nothing is writing write.
I’ll get back to drowning you in prose to make your soul weep tears of flame tomorrow. Or maybe today, depends what time I crawl from the Pit. Numquam titillandus draco dormiens, as they say, and I suggest you heed that advice.
Oh, and I got the damn job, y’all should know already cos you follow me on twitter but if not, yo! France for the summer baby!
In the name of Love
How do I love thee?
I do not love you for any distance, for all journeys return in the end, and I do not love you in a circle.
I do not love you for any height, for if there exists even another millimetre then my love is poorly described.
I do not love you for any time; forever has no meaning for bones in earth, and the worms that gorge on me have no romance in their souls.
I do not love you...
January 2010
2 posts
Poem (yea, sorry)
Snow is fluffy
Snow is light
Snow has killed
Two people tonight.
Nature’s force, thus demonstrated
Was by Man, orchestrated.
Rain is gentle
Rain is soft
Rain has carried
Mountains off
It pauses not for human breath,
In its arms is only death.
O! Solar orb
So far away
And yet it has
Killed ten today.
You cannot hide. You cannot run.
Nature has no need for guns.
Serial, part 2 of an infinite series (which,...
Michael Voice had not had a hugely productive life until this point, which suggests that his death was no great loss to the great sea of humanity that crowds this medium-sized planet. This is entirely dependant on the bigger picture, and for Michael, the bigger picture was actually very small, and in his wallet. It featured himself, and a girl, which made his world very much smaller than this...
December 2009
3 posts
A serial in zillions of parts. Maybe.
You ever walk on the sand? If you live where I live, an hour away from the beach by the train, then it’s a ridiculous question, but still – you ever walk on the sand? Think about that sand, so soft between your toes. This isn’t a story about beaches, or sand, or even toes, although it starts with sand, and ends with beaches, and may in fact go via toes, although that is something I am not...
Untrue, but fun: Poem
Manners maketh the man
So spake the mater
Who, by the way
Has no manors. My father does.
Two, in fact.
But no concept of politeness.
And this is odd
Because
He had
The best tutors money could buy.
I think my mother saw that manors maketh the man
And figured she’d be a bigamist.
Pain poem, naff as ever
Pain is life And blood, and love And all the things We fear in the dark It is teacher And friend And comfort and joy A poor life this If full of care We have no time To fall down stairs.
November 2009
4 posts
my body has now decided the best place to store...
angelsandambulances:
filleanglaise:
f.m.l.
I WAS JUST GOING TO POST THIS EXACT THING
except mine was going to say “dear chest, stop expanding please, it’s not attractive”
no one will ever sympathise. ever.
No. No, they won’t. Quite hard to sympathise with big breasted women. Look at Jordan.
YESYES I GOT A DAMN TUMBLR.
Poem
I’m coming up to twenty now.
Holy hell!
There must be something
Hidden
In the water, some
secret chemical to make us all
- oh, what’s the word? -
Because I can’t remember
Being little
All I remember is
That first kiss
In the rain
Imagine that.
One kiss
And then, whoosh!
Instant amnesia.
Apply directly to the lips.
You told me your name
I’d tell the world,...
Prose
Turns out, I suck at poems, so here’s something descriptive.
The wind that howls outside my window is a macabre cross between a wolf and a hoover. Don’t think that’s macabre? Imagine a half-wolf, half-Dyson crossbreed. Right. Now you see it. It howls, and shudders, and whistles through cracks in the walls. I can only imagine the rain that must be peppering the glass by the...
