A disordered day
2007-10-09 13:55:02
13:00 Wake up
v bad. should have been up earlier than this.
13:01 Get up. Try and remember if I've had any nightmares but can't remember any.
v good.
13.03 Run bath. Have not washed in days since I went home to see my mum.
v good. Attempt small activities throughout the day that you can accomplish.
13:09 Stare at own reflection, trying to see a soul behind the eyes looking back at me. Cannot. Notice how my features just hang off my face when feeling empty inside. Feel like laughing. Do not.
v bad. You have not taken your pills yet.
13:15 Lie in bath. Listen to rain outside window. It's like Grimsby outside. Grey. Oppressive. Relentless. Cold. Isolating. But fresh, cleansing. Consider the phrase 'pathetic fallacy'. Feel warm water irradiating my dirty skin, fragmenting dirt and grime with near-intolerable laser blasts of heat. Think about oblivion. Imagine every cell in my body fragmenting like the dirt - dissolving, crumbling, melting. Feel calm as I listen to the rain.
v ba
Henkersmahlzeit of rhubarb
2007-10-08 16:26:32
"Is this going to go on much longer?"
"Less than I knew, more than I expected."
"I can't believe he chose this."
"Why?"
"It's a tragedy. A tragedy."
"Such a waste."
"Blimey, I haven't seen him in years. Hasn't he got fat?"
"Do you think he's watching us? Do you think he's laughing his arse off?"
*silence*
"I can't imagine what it must be like."
"Are you okay?"
"Angry. I feel angry. It's so stupid and senseless and so typically like him."
"I need a drink."
"Milking it, much?"
"Makes you think I guess."
"No."
"Yeah, thanks a bunch."
"He just wanted to be loved for fuck's sake, why was that so fucking scary to him?"
"I didn't really know him."
"Someone's going to have to sort it all out."
A Form of Ugliness So Intolerable
2007-10-07 08:08:49
As a result of my belligerent disinterest in the world of fashion, I've been entirely ignorant of the fact that Little Wolfie has now been moonlighting as the new Kate Moss for the past four months.
As part of Burberry's new campaign to demonstrate their clothes aren't entirely for Victoria Beckham and people who want a weekend alternative to manmade fibre, Patrick Wolf, Edward Larrikin (then fresh from the sadly late Larrikin Love), Agyness Deyn and a handful of other people that to be honest I haven't heard of have been appearing in magazines and on billboards all over the capital since June. Shows you how much I get out these days. I'd imagine that using famous musicians is the industry's way of bringing the label "back to the people". Oh Fashion, you cunning thing.
Beth found the above in a magazine left on the tube. I do like his coat, though am sad to see that retro military clothing has now, inevitably, hit the high street stores.
Fashion: n. The art of raiding the bins
Read more: Ugliness
Tim shares a joke
2007-10-06 08:20:03
Read more: shares
The Future of Camden Market
2007-10-03 11:12:56
looks pretty bleak.
For anyone who has never been there, they'd probably find it similar to something out of a (cough, spit) J K Rowling novel. Every city has its districts (Chinatown, Gaytown etc) and London is far from an exception. London, like many larger cities, has Alientown, and Camden
Market
is its kooky and vibrantly beating heart, choking through the incense clouds and in a sea of Chinese women screeching at you to buy their food.
For someone not entirely human, it's not at all surprising that The Stable Market is one of my most favourite places in London, if not the world, and I always take people who've never visited the city before there because it really is like nothing else the city has to offer. Over the years I have purchased from there pocket watches, clay skulls, occult texts and retro military clothing (proper original trenchcoats mind - none of this US Marines dress uniform-wearing Emo nonsense.)
Now this precious little oasis of cobwebs, bric-a-bracs and ins
Read more: Future
Paradox
2007-10-01 13:45:59
Twinkle twinkle like a star does love blaze less from afar?
Read more: Paradox
Teriyaki Chicken
2007-10-15 20:54:47
Read more: Teriyaki
, Chicken
, Teriyaki Chicken
Those white silent people
2007-10-15 08:27:39
This is the book where the precious things go. This is where I put love to grow mouldy, where I put lies told to loved ones to be forgotten about - to fade with time, blanched to inedible like asparagus left in dark cupboards for the rest of lives. This is where I put my dreams and fears, stapling their excitement and power to bored pages like hunting trophies, waiting for their blood to seep out and soak until they become just words on a page. This is where I put myself, where I tried to paint the childhood portrait that would age instead of me. This is where I lost myself, in a half finished game of hide-and-seek. This will be the only place left where anyone who looked could find me. Sometimes I hear their footsteps. Sometimes I hear their breath as they pause, hand reached out, taut with intent, pink with pulsing blood. But I, being only words upon a page, cannot call them in, cannot call for help. Cannot call. I listen instead to their footsteps as they turn and walk away, each so
Read more: people
Thanks, Reggie
2007-10-14 10:22:18
Read more: Thanks
, Reggie
Personalised Demotivators
2007-10-13 10:28:09
Normal
2007-10-20 05:58:50
This is really quite impressive as a piece of forward thinking. Unfortunately for me, it's from an author I am particularly jealous of/frustrated with, but she's clearly the only person in literature with the gravitas to pull it off. And indeed the balls.
Dumbledore doesn't like girls.
A generation of children will now be growing up seeing just a few more things as normal, which means the usual psycho-loonies in the far right Christian Faculty Against Witchcraft and Buggeration will be denied many future acolytes to keep their vile pestilent philosophy of hate going.
Must... resist.... urge to praise...
Read more: Normal
The Dysthymia Variations
2007-11-01 13:42:52
horror creeps
curling from somewhere dark
beneath unwashed carpet
soon to be another’s mat
mudding over once rich purples
trod by the prince of anhedonia
who would never be king
this is the time
but not a hand nor a finger moves
only black keys and bomb blasts
pepper the night where jasmine
once hailed the coming of saints
preambling a fanfare
never heard, never finished
the sand slips again
untouchable behind cold glass
this is the time
but no one hears it called
Read more: Variations
10,000 days old today
2007-10-31 15:46:41
The air beyond the glass reeks of Samhain. The charge of gunpowder peppers the air as the season’s fireworks creep from hibernation. I imagine them crawling out of the rich chocolate mud from beneath a sea, tealike, of rotting leaves and crunching twigs, their snouts sniffing at the unburnt air before they shriek like banshees towards the stars, scorching the earth with sparks and smoke as they fly. I sit, hear, and smell the air, listen to the distant thud of reds, whites and blues creeping in from the cold between the gaps in the window. I sit here and my head is spinning in a mad, oxygen-high dance. And I’m going nowhere fast, the lyrics say, but it’s okay. It’s okay now. This is Samhain, Halloween, the eve of ghosts and spirits. This is the night of the dead, the end. This is the thirteenth card, poised inevitable between the magician and his trinity of cups, almost spilling their mulled wine in their eagerness for celebration. Nothing is eternal. Full moon
Normal
2007-10-20 06:58:50
This is really quite impressive as a piece of forward thinking. Unfortunately for me, it’s from an author I am particularly jealous of/frustrated with, but she’s clearly the only person in literature with the gravitas to pull it off. And indeed the balls.
Dumbledore doesn’t like girls.
A generation of children will now be growing up seeing just a few more things as normal, which means the usual psycho-loonies in the far right Christian Faculty Against Witchcraft and Buggeration will be denied many future acolytes to keep their vile pestilent philosophy of hate going.
Must… resist…. urge to praise…
Read more: Normal
Teriyaki Chicken
2007-10-15 21:54:47
Read more: Teriyaki
, Chicken
, Teriyaki Chicken
Those white silent people
2007-10-15 09:27:39
This is the book where the precious things go. This is where I put love to grow mouldy, where I put lies told to loved ones to be forgotten about - to fade with time, blanched to inedible like asparagus left in dark cupboards for the rest of lives. This is where I put my dreams and fears, stapling their excitement and power to bored pages like hunting trophies, waiting for their blood to seep out and soak until they become just words on a page. This is where I put myself, where I tried to paint the childhood portrait that would age instead of me. This is where I lost myself, in a half finished game of hide-and-seek. This will be the only place left where anyone who looked could find me. Sometimes I hear their footsteps. Sometimes I hear their breath as they pause, hand reached out, taut with intent, pink with pulsing blood. But I, being only words upon a page, cannot call them in, cannot call for help. Cannot call. I listen instead to their footsteps as they turn and walk away, each so
Read more: people
Thanks, Reggie
2007-10-14 11:22:18
Read more: Thanks
, Reggie
Personalised Demotivators
2007-10-13 11:28:09
A disordered day
2007-10-09 14:55:02
13:00 Wake up
v bad. should have been up earlier than this.
13:01 Get up. Try and remember if I’ve had any nightmares but can’t remember any.
v good.
13.03 Run bath. Have not washed in days since I went home to see my mum.
v good. Attempt small activities throughout the day that you can accomplish.
13:09 Stare at own reflection, trying to see a soul behind the eyes looking back at me. Cannot. Notice how my features just hang off my face when feeling empty inside. Feel like laughing. Do not.
v bad. You have not taken your pills yet.
13:15 Lie in bath. Listen to rain outside window. It’s like Grimsby outside. Grey. Oppressive. Relentless. Cold. Isolating. But fresh, cleansing. Consider the phrase ‘pathetic fallacy’. Feel warm water irradiating my dirty skin, fragmenting dirt and grime with near-intolerable laser blasts of heat. Think about oblivion. Imagine every cell in my body fragmenting like the dirt - dissolving, crumbling, melting. Feel calm as I lis
Henkersmahlzeit of rhubarb
2007-10-08 17:26:32
“Is this going to go on much longer?”
“Less than I knew, more than I expected.”
“I can’t believe he chose this.”
“Why?”
“It’s a tragedy. A tragedy.”
“Such a waste.”
“Blimey, I haven’t seen him in years. Hasn’t he got fat?”
“Do you think he’s watching us? Do you think he’s laughing his arse off?”
*silence*
“I can’t imagine what it must be like.”
“Are you okay?”
“Angry. I feel angry. It’s so stupid and senseless and so typically like him.”
“I need a drink.”
“Milking it, much?”
“Makes you think I guess.”
“No.”
“Yeah, thanks a bunch.”
“He just wanted to be loved for fuck’s sake, why was that so fucking scary to him?”
“I didn’t really know him.”
“Someone’s going to have to sort it all out.”
A Form of Ugliness So Intolerable
2007-10-07 09:08:49
As a result of my belligerent disinterest in the world of fashion, I’ve been entirely ignorant of the fact that Little Wolfie has now been moonlighting as the new Kate Moss for the past four months.
As part of Burberry’s new campaign to demonstrate their clothes aren’t entirely for Victoria Beckham and people who want a weekend alternative to manmade fibre, Patrick Wolf, Edward Larrikin (then fresh from the sadly late Larrikin Love), Agyness Deyn and a handful of other people that to be honest I haven’t heard of have been appearing in magazines and on billboards all over the capital since June. Shows you how much I get out these days. I’d imagine that using famous musicians is the industry’s way of bringing the label “back to the people”. Oh Fashion, you cunning thing.
Beth found the above in a magazine left on the tube. I do like his coat, though am sad to see that retro military clothing has now, inevitably, hit the high street stores.
Read more: Ugliness
What I did on my holidays
2007-11-06 06:53:29
Out of The Mouths of Daves
2007-11-12 10:33:34
Read more: Mouths
To Vancanada, and The Lust for Vellum
2007-11-10 14:01:05
I bring my own order to chaos.
Never underestimate the motivational power of an ordered, tidy room. Dig doggedly enough through the detritus of mundane living and you find something made of silver - a talisman shining old-fashioned smiles from beneath the receipts and pennies. Beauty within the dirt. Buried treasure. Follow the map back to the tale of extremes - raw chaos, ability, of beasts of the field grazing in fields of emotion.
Twist something rare from the weeds, the mud and the splinters.
Everything now is Potential - the garlic crusts baking in the oven beside the cheap Merlot, gulping tobacco’d air in unspluttered breaths; the fat pumpkin waiting to be mashed, gingered, chilied and made Autumn soup; the pretty blond things bewilderingly queuing up like a box of assorted courtisans, their words all warm and sweet like the husks of baked honeycombs. The future is a great big wide open cliché of a road, leading to the promise of adventure for someone who never learnt to d
Post Halloween Blues
2007-11-10 08:26:12
Hallo. I’m Maureen, the mildly despondent pumpkin. I have seasonal affective disorder. Have pity on me.
Read more: Halloween
, Blues
Star Trek XI: Anorak Anarchy
2007-11-09 07:41:48
After the gratuitously unnecessary (and now increasingly disputed) redesign of the Enterprise (it looks too predatory - too sleek and angular, unshockingly more like a warship rather than an explorer, though a lot of fans are now claiming this is not the official redesign) the latest indication that the producers are continuing Enterprise’s trend of paying absolutely zero attention to the show’s existing continuity has come in the form of Winona Ryder, cast as a younger version of Spock’s Vulcan mother.
What an otherwise lovely idea.
Unfortunately however, Spock didn’t have a Vulcan mother. He was half human, on his mother’s side. Like the Eighth Doctor, apparently.
Nobs in space.
I realise that a blog post about Star Trek
can send most readers away in embarrassed droves, like knocking on the wrong door and finding yourself in an Incontinence Anonymous meeting. It’s just I really used to love this show as a kid. The cringingly reflex idea of a Starf
Read more: Anarchy
Any Question Answered
2007-11-08 04:58:18
PD: What’s Patrick Wolf’s middle name?
[1 minute later]
AQA: Patrick Wolf was born Patrick Apps on 30th June 1983 at St Thomas’ Hospital. He is a singer-songwriter from South London. He has no middle name.
Cue arguing between the gays, BL insisting that he does indeed have a middle name, and that it is *****. PD ultimately texts back:
PD: Is Patrick Wolf’s middle name *****?
[wait 10 minutes for a reply]
AQA: No, Patrick Wolf’s middle name is not *****; he does not have a middle name. There are no people living in the UK called Patrick ***** Wolf either.
At that point we though it best to just leave it. It wasn’t worth paying another pound just to upset someone.
Read more: Question
The music of the spheres
2007-11-16 09:20:01
Everyone’s in their own bubble, their own world within the void. Each of us, in our own polished steel sphere, all float aimlessly about the cosmos, without steering, without gravity. Without control. The closest we truly get to one another is when we bump, just briefly, but always moving on our own path, sometimes parallel for a time, but not by design. By coincidence. All of us carry the force of our encounters with other bubbles and the impact they had and have upon ours, the straight line back to our origin long lost, contorted in coincidence after contact after collision. Connection. Our paths are irrevocably changed by every contact we make, some slight, some head on. Bubbles do not burst, they do not merge. Steel grinds against steel, resonating into the void in choirs of high frequency harmonics. This is the sound of our friendship, our loss. Our loneliness. Our love.
I have a big secret…
2007-11-19 18:43:56
Read more: hellip
, big secret
Triskaidekaphobia
2007-11-18 06:41:33
He felt the indifference surrounding him - the hard seat of the pew, the flagstone’s chill leeching into his heels and toes. He no longer looked to the statues above, no longer watched the unattended altar and wondered. He simply stared on at whatever his eyes encountered, no longer even asking for answers, no longer waiting for a response. No longer waiting for anything. Just waiting.
Chapter 10 is done. It’s done. It’s done, it’s finished - the last of the ’safe’ chapters before we get to the series finalé crunching three parter. This particular chapter has taken me over two months to write out in full. About a week of that was doing the last scene alone, the last few days were spent on the last three sentences. Not that the last scene was particularly difficult other than the fact that once I’d finished it, I’d have completed another chapter. I seem to have huge issues with closure. As soon as something ends I don’t seem to wan
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