Thursday, 16 February 2012

I clambered over the fence, and over the second fence, and I landed heavily but upright on someone's lawn. In front of me a hole in the ground spewed forth great thick cords of smoke that twisted in the wind as they rose. I looked at the house, pebble-dashed and smug, that sat at the top of the lawn staring down at me with its double-glazed eyes, and knew I would find no aid there. The sounds of the hunt were getting nearer, and I knew that I had nowhere to run. There was only one option, and it presumably ended in a fiery death - but this would be preferable to being caught by the hunt, and some deep instinct told me that this strange hole-in-the-ground had been put here for a reason, by an agent, natural or supernatural, who wanted me to escape.

And so I took a deep breath, thought of my wife, and jumped feet-first into the pit. The smoke enveloped me and stung my eyes, and I fell.

Wednesday, 15 February 2012

(I pass this graffiti every week, and I can't figure out where Nestle's Milky Bar fits into the teachings of Christianity.)

Do writers use characters as vessels for their own ideas? Do they put their less tasteful, less acceptable ideas into their characters so they can disassociate themselves from those ideas when necessary? Obviously I'm not advocating Tyler Durden's approach to modern life, just presenting it. I personally don't see the erotic side of drinking blood, but I think it's interesting so I write about it. But if you are able to dismiss your characters' philosophies, systems and habits, then you must have some of your own that you genuinely believe in. Do you? Or are you flailing wildly around in the literary world, looking for what you can't find in the real world?

Tuesday, 14 February 2012

I have nothing to say today, so how about a nice blank TV screen?

Monday, 13 February 2012

This has been there for a few weeks now. It's grey and cold today, but we'll soon begin the spiral climb into spring, flowers will bloom etc., and not long after that the wasps will wake up and fly around and menace us, like very small dragons, and it will be summer, and it will all be honey and jam, ice cream and cola, blockbusters and air conditioning and t-shirts, sunglasses and beautiful women walking the bridges across the Thames, long days and pleasant nights, afternoons on the grass with a green glass bottle and a Jeff Noon novel, and a blue sky more big as I can glean.

Sunday, 12 February 2012

Watched the BAFTAs in the pub. The Artist took seven awards, and I haven't fucking seen it so I can't criticise that decision. I have a headache and it's time to go to bed. And I'm thirsty. Ernest Hemingway once wrote "The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for". I agree with the second part, now and then.

Saturday, 11 February 2012

I don't want to write anything today. I didn't want to take the photo either. Blah blah blah. Looks like it's from Akira. Just gets better and better. Words, words, words. No I meant, what is the matter? The matter 'tween whom? Akira and Tetsuo? Blah blah. Let's watch The Machinist. No, he needs to stop walking. Blah blah. Streams of consciousness when I have nothing more interesting to write. Thus ends another day, one motive, no hope, every sidewalk I walk is littered with other people's words.

Friday, 10 February 2012

between your intentions

and the results of your actions.

Thursday, 9 February 2012

I did nothing for most of the day today. I allowed apathy and disconnectedness to take over, I felt miserable, I even went back to bed in the late afternoon. Then I went for a walk, started writing a new story, and went to training - and remembered I have very, very good friends and that there is treasure buried in this trash-heap of a world. I walked through the snow feeling blessed and invigorated.

Wednesday, 8 February 2012

The internet has given us each a platform, so that there are so many platforms that we have no reason to pay attention to any of them. Artists without admirers, radio stations without listeners, journalists without readers. We should have listened to the boy from The Incredibles: when everyone is special, no one is.

Tuesday, 7 February 2012

These curtains close on worlds unknown
The poor will talk about how poor they are
The Irish will talk about how Irish they are
Scientists will talk about science
And artists about art
And these curtains close on worlds unknown
Another drink goes down your throat
Another sun rises and you're still the same person
Another YouTube play of another rap
And now that man's hands got plans for me
Now that man's hands got plans for me
And these curtains close on worlds unknown
These curtains close on worlds unknown
Red bricks circled round

Monday, 6 February 2012

The snow is melting, and will melt faster than double-sided memories of a long night.

Lyric of the moment: "na-na-na-that that don't kill me can only make me stronger".

Sunday, 5 February 2012

Glass and snow, and flowerpots. In dealing with the police and the hospital over the last two days, I find my respect for public service workers increased and my despicable socialist ideals more firmly entrenched. The snow seems to be melting already, and it's just about time to start work on a new story. Let's get down to business.

Saturday, 4 February 2012

Winter sun in a wooden sky, no good deed goes unpunished. He seems to have come from another dimension, lacking something vital, but perhaps one day he'll learn, perhaps he'll learn, perhaps he'll learn.

Friday, 3 February 2012

My brother's desk diorama: the execution of Fallout Boy. What are the final thoughts going through that oversized plastic head, I wonder?

Thursday, 2 February 2012

I don't know what this is doing here in our hallway, but it looks angry. A one-eyed steel ogre, angry because he has no legs and can't move, perhaps. Progress is being made: I am finishing short stories more reliably than ever, and the stomach throw is less frightening than it was even two weeks ago. I just need some new footwear before the snow sets in, it's the angel man.

Wednesday, 1 February 2012

Creating your bus avatar:

Choose skin colour.

Choose hair style.

Choose shirt colour.

Choose nose (uppy/downy).

Choose your Pledge:

"I won't put my feet on the seat!"

"I won't use a seat for my bag!"

"I won't listen to music out loud!"

"I won't complain when the fare goes up again!"

"I won't talk to the person next to me in case they take offence and stab me!"

"I won't have an original thought!"

"I won't wonder if perhaps I'm more than a 2D vector graphic with only a handful of variables distinguishing me from the next person!"

"I won't do anything worthwhile before I die!"

And now you're ready to enjoy London Transport.

Interlude: A Link

A link to a short story by Hides His Eyes and Tchockolate, written for her 365 stories blog.

http://threehundredandsixtyfivestories.wordpress.com/2012/01/31/day-116-to-be-named/