As I understand myself, my dreams are not all that strange. I mean, there are the odd ones where I wake up and recognise that “Oh god that was messed up,” but then again, those are pretty normal. Everyone has those. The strange dreams come when I have over indulged late at night in some form of media and I’m sick.
I have a cough that only affects me at night, but means I can’t sleep for coughing. Last night I’d spent the two hours before going to bed reading Achewood. Because I was coughing I ended up in a gap between being awake and asleep, trying to stop myself from coughing again, and I was sure that somehow it was Ray’s fault. Ray from Achewood. The cat wearing a thong. I didn’t think that it was a character’s fault, but a real talking billionaire cat called Ray. Presumably Ray fixed whatever the problem with my lungs was and I got to sleep eventually.
Another time when I had a cold and had been playing a strategy game, my body lost all form and my mind lost higher consciousness. The contours of my body became the terrain for the soldiers to make war over, and I could only experience pain. I had no memory of the past except the vague feeling that I had not always been in pain, but I lacked the ability to condense this knowledge in to language or even images.
It... it was unpleasant.
Tuesday 25 November 2008
Sunday 9 November 2008
Oh Hell
Right. Back to blogging. I’ve decided to post pretty much everything I finish, including coursework, beginning with a screen play what I wrote for the sensibly named screen writing module.
It is also the reason I am going to hell.
I am going to hell because I have written something that clearly fits into the sub-genre of, er, Japan, known as Loli-goth. You can Google it; I haven’t so I don’t know what you will find, but if you don’t want to I can tell you that the goth bit stands for gothic, as in the teenagers, and Loli bit stands for Lolita. Yes, the Nabokov one.
As far as I can tell the Loli-goth thing seems to be centred around the creation or collection of pictures, photographic or illustrated, of young girls in gothic apparel. It’s not too complex
Actually I suspect that most of the time the main proponents of this, er, thing are just fans of dressing up, and don’t really think about the moral implications of suggesting the sexual infatuation with young girls. I suspect many of them haven’t even heard of Nabokov. Of course there will be the people who take things too far, because there always are.
BUT: this phenomenon is still a little odd. Why? Because it’s something we in the UK take extremely seriously, taken very flippantly. There is a cultural gap which we do not expect and therefore we are made uncomfortable by it.
SO: what are we to do? Should I not have written a gothic fairytale that, like many fairy tales, uses a dark and fantastical vision of reality to examine themes of abuse and power and control? Don’t be silly. It’s Loli-goth because the things that make it so also the things that make the story work practically and thematically.
I only hope you enjoy it.
I will just say that becuase I am transfering in from Final Draft the formating might go askew, but I will do my best to replicate it propperly
Also I don't know how the fucking hell to do a cut. It used to be called a cut anyway. Back in the days of livejournal...
The Tower
SCENE 1 EXT - DAY.
An old mansion style house with the all the windows fitted with bars. The walls surrounding the house are ivy covered and the columns for the open gate are topped with gargoyles.
A sign outside reads, “Growing Pains Orphanage: quality urchins.”
A red Bentley Speed Six (a 1920 saloon car) drives through the main gate and parks in front of the main doors.
SCENE 2 INT - A LARGE & DUSTY HALL.
The GOVERNOR is a tall, dark, skeletal man with a pencil mustache and brill creamed hair.
The COUPLE are a young, rich, beautiful MAN and WOMAN in expensive 1920’s clothes.
The ORPHANS are Shabbily dressed children between the ages of 5 and 10.
ARIENETTE is an orphan girl with black hair. She wears a rich blue dress that might once have been pretty, but is now tattered and filthy. She wears no shoes. She holds a stuffed RAVEN on a base. A plaque on the base reads, “Corvus corax: The Raven.”
The GOVERNOR opens the door at the end of the hall, entering with the COUPLE in tow. He takes a brass tube whistle out of a pocket, and blows it.
In unison, all the doors that line the left side of the hall open and two ORPHANS step out of each door (except ARIENETTE, who comes out on her own.) The ORPHANS form an orderly line.
The GOVERNOR smiles beatifically at the Couple as they walk down the line.
They stop to inspect an ORPHAN, whom the GOVERNOR brushes down with heavy, clumsy hands. As they are inspecting him, the ORPHAN sticks an absent minded finger deep up his nose, which the GOVERNOR immediately slaps down, and smiles uncomfortably at the COUPLE, who move on.
They walk along the line until they get to ARIENETTE, who is hiding behind the RAVEN. The WOMAN, curious, tries to gently push down the RAVEN to see ARIENETTE’S face. Before she can, the GOVERNOR steps into the space between them, and tries to move them on.
The MAN steps up to the GOVERNOR , plumping out his chest.
The GOVERNOR backs down, & lets the COUPLE look at ARIENETTE.
The GOVERNOR looks around in a panic. He sees a particularly small and cute ORPHAN with a dripping nose which he is wiping on his sleeve. He has a stuffed bear, which he holds at his side.
The GOVERNOR grabs the ORPHAN by the ear and twists.
The COUPLE run over to the ORPHAN, not having seen the cause of his distress. The WOMAN starts to mother him, the MAN ruffles his hair. Whilst they are distracted the GOVERNOR grabs ARIENETTE by the back of her neck, and puts his other hand over her mouth, pushing her back into the room from which she came, which the GOVERNOR then closes and locks.
The GOVERNOR goes over to the COUPLE and the ORPHAN as if nothing was wrong.
SCENE 3 INT - GOVERNOR’S OFFICE.
The COUPLE are walking out the door, with the ORPHAN in tow. The GOVERNOR is waving and smiling. After the door is closed, he pulls a face, mocking their happy expressions.
He begins to sign some of the papers on his desk. After a few signatures, he glances at the photo frame on his desk.
He continues to sign. He looks at the photo again, and then picks it up.
CLOSE UP OF PHOTO.
The photo is of the GOVERNOR looking younger and healthier. He is standing next to a HANDSOME MAN who has a hand on the GOVERNOR’S shoulder. They both wear British World War 1 officers’ uniforms. The GOVERNOR is a Second Lieutenant, and the HANDSOME MAN is a Captain. They are surrounded by hunting trophies. They are standing in front of a desk. On the desk, between them, is the RAVEN.
The GOVERNOR Puts the photo frame face down and continues signing.
He pauses, looks at a dusty box on top of a tall cabinet in the corner of the room. He gets up and retrieves a photo album and returns to his desk. He looks at a few photos, smiling very slightly. Then his expression changes and he looks hurt. He gets up and walks to another cabinet that contains a green bottle, which he uncorks and begins to drink from.
Whilst he does this we see the photos in the album. They are all of ARIENETTE looking variously younger. In one of them she is a baby, and is being held by the HANDSOME MAN.
The room contains two beds, one of which is empty. ARIENETTE sits on the other. It is otherwise bare and the only light is from a small, high, bared window through which the setting sun streams.
ARIENETTE is sitting in the middle of her bed, she holds the RAVEN close to her body and looks scared.
A loud bang from somewhere in the orphanage makes her wince, and hold the RAVEN tighter, screwing her eyes closed.
GOVERNOR
(in the distance)
GRAAHHHhhh!
ARIENETTE continues hold the RAVEN tighter and tighter. She bites her lip and shakes all over.
A single drop of blood falls from her lip, which lands on the RAVEN.
The door slams open and the GOVERNOR is standing there, drunk, with the green bottle held loosely at his side. Over the bang of the door we hear flapping. The GOVERNOR looks over to ARIENETTE’S bed, and sees her lying on her back, dead
He drops the bottle, it shatters.
He rushes over to ARIENETTE’S body, on her chest is the base of the RAVEN.
RAVEN
CAW!
The Governor looks up at the high window, on which the RAVEN is standing, alive.
RAVEN (CONT’D)
CAW!
The raven flies out of the window.
The GOVERNOR stand terribly still, looking at the window. After an uncomfortably long time he collapses like a tower block being demolished, or as if all of his bones have been removed.
FADE TO BLACK.
The title, “The Tower,” appears in white Trajan font.
It is also the reason I am going to hell.
I am going to hell because I have written something that clearly fits into the sub-genre of, er, Japan, known as Loli-goth. You can Google it; I haven’t so I don’t know what you will find, but if you don’t want to I can tell you that the goth bit stands for gothic, as in the teenagers, and Loli bit stands for Lolita. Yes, the Nabokov one.
As far as I can tell the Loli-goth thing seems to be centred around the creation or collection of pictures, photographic or illustrated, of young girls in gothic apparel. It’s not too complex
Actually I suspect that most of the time the main proponents of this, er, thing are just fans of dressing up, and don’t really think about the moral implications of suggesting the sexual infatuation with young girls. I suspect many of them haven’t even heard of Nabokov. Of course there will be the people who take things too far, because there always are.
BUT: this phenomenon is still a little odd. Why? Because it’s something we in the UK take extremely seriously, taken very flippantly. There is a cultural gap which we do not expect and therefore we are made uncomfortable by it.
SO: what are we to do? Should I not have written a gothic fairytale that, like many fairy tales, uses a dark and fantastical vision of reality to examine themes of abuse and power and control? Don’t be silly. It’s Loli-goth because the things that make it so also the things that make the story work practically and thematically.
I only hope you enjoy it.
I will just say that becuase I am transfering in from Final Draft the formating might go askew, but I will do my best to replicate it propperly
Also I don't know how the fucking hell to do a cut. It used to be called a cut anyway. Back in the days of livejournal...
The Tower
SCENE 1 EXT - DAY.
An old mansion style house with the all the windows fitted with bars. The walls surrounding the house are ivy covered and the columns for the open gate are topped with gargoyles.
A sign outside reads, “Growing Pains Orphanage: quality urchins.”
A red Bentley Speed Six (a 1920 saloon car) drives through the main gate and parks in front of the main doors.
SCENE 2 INT - A LARGE & DUSTY HALL.
The GOVERNOR is a tall, dark, skeletal man with a pencil mustache and brill creamed hair.
The COUPLE are a young, rich, beautiful MAN and WOMAN in expensive 1920’s clothes.
The ORPHANS are Shabbily dressed children between the ages of 5 and 10.
ARIENETTE is an orphan girl with black hair. She wears a rich blue dress that might once have been pretty, but is now tattered and filthy. She wears no shoes. She holds a stuffed RAVEN on a base. A plaque on the base reads, “Corvus corax: The Raven.”
The GOVERNOR opens the door at the end of the hall, entering with the COUPLE in tow. He takes a brass tube whistle out of a pocket, and blows it.
In unison, all the doors that line the left side of the hall open and two ORPHANS step out of each door (except ARIENETTE, who comes out on her own.) The ORPHANS form an orderly line.
The GOVERNOR smiles beatifically at the Couple as they walk down the line.
They stop to inspect an ORPHAN, whom the GOVERNOR brushes down with heavy, clumsy hands. As they are inspecting him, the ORPHAN sticks an absent minded finger deep up his nose, which the GOVERNOR immediately slaps down, and smiles uncomfortably at the COUPLE, who move on.
They walk along the line until they get to ARIENETTE, who is hiding behind the RAVEN. The WOMAN, curious, tries to gently push down the RAVEN to see ARIENETTE’S face. Before she can, the GOVERNOR steps into the space between them, and tries to move them on.
The MAN steps up to the GOVERNOR , plumping out his chest.
The GOVERNOR backs down, & lets the COUPLE look at ARIENETTE.
The GOVERNOR looks around in a panic. He sees a particularly small and cute ORPHAN with a dripping nose which he is wiping on his sleeve. He has a stuffed bear, which he holds at his side.
The GOVERNOR grabs the ORPHAN by the ear and twists.
ORPHAN
WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
The COUPLE run over to the ORPHAN, not having seen the cause of his distress. The WOMAN starts to mother him, the MAN ruffles his hair. Whilst they are distracted the GOVERNOR grabs ARIENETTE by the back of her neck, and puts his other hand over her mouth, pushing her back into the room from which she came, which the GOVERNOR then closes and locks.
The GOVERNOR goes over to the COUPLE and the ORPHAN as if nothing was wrong.
SCENE 3 INT - GOVERNOR’S OFFICE.
The COUPLE are walking out the door, with the ORPHAN in tow. The GOVERNOR is waving and smiling. After the door is closed, he pulls a face, mocking their happy expressions.
He begins to sign some of the papers on his desk. After a few signatures, he glances at the photo frame on his desk.
He continues to sign. He looks at the photo again, and then picks it up.
CLOSE UP OF PHOTO.
The photo is of the GOVERNOR looking younger and healthier. He is standing next to a HANDSOME MAN who has a hand on the GOVERNOR’S shoulder. They both wear British World War 1 officers’ uniforms. The GOVERNOR is a Second Lieutenant, and the HANDSOME MAN is a Captain. They are surrounded by hunting trophies. They are standing in front of a desk. On the desk, between them, is the RAVEN.
The GOVERNOR Puts the photo frame face down and continues signing.
He pauses, looks at a dusty box on top of a tall cabinet in the corner of the room. He gets up and retrieves a photo album and returns to his desk. He looks at a few photos, smiling very slightly. Then his expression changes and he looks hurt. He gets up and walks to another cabinet that contains a green bottle, which he uncorks and begins to drink from.
Whilst he does this we see the photos in the album. They are all of ARIENETTE looking variously younger. In one of them she is a baby, and is being held by the HANDSOME MAN.
SCENE 4 INT - ARIENETTE’S BEDROOM.
The room contains two beds, one of which is empty. ARIENETTE sits on the other. It is otherwise bare and the only light is from a small, high, bared window through which the setting sun streams.
ARIENETTE is sitting in the middle of her bed, she holds the RAVEN close to her body and looks scared.
A loud bang from somewhere in the orphanage makes her wince, and hold the RAVEN tighter, screwing her eyes closed.
GOVERNOR
(in the distance)
GRAAHHHhhh!
ARIENETTE continues hold the RAVEN tighter and tighter. She bites her lip and shakes all over.
A single drop of blood falls from her lip, which lands on the RAVEN.
The door slams open and the GOVERNOR is standing there, drunk, with the green bottle held loosely at his side. Over the bang of the door we hear flapping. The GOVERNOR looks over to ARIENETTE’S bed, and sees her lying on her back, dead
He drops the bottle, it shatters.
He rushes over to ARIENETTE’S body, on her chest is the base of the RAVEN.
RAVEN
CAW!
The Governor looks up at the high window, on which the RAVEN is standing, alive.
RAVEN (CONT’D)
CAW!
The raven flies out of the window.
The GOVERNOR stand terribly still, looking at the window. After an uncomfortably long time he collapses like a tower block being demolished, or as if all of his bones have been removed.
FADE TO BLACK.
The title, “The Tower,” appears in white Trajan font.
Friday 10 October 2008
THE .38 by Ted Joans
THE .38
I hear the man downstairs slapping the hell out of his stupid wife again
I hear him push and shove her around the overcrowded room
I hear his wife scream and beg for mercy
I hear him tell her there is no mercy
I hear the blows as they land on her beautiful body
I hear glasses and pots and pans falling
I hear her fleeing from the room
I hear them running up the stairs
I hear her outside my door
I hear him coming towards her outside my door
I hear her banging on my door
I hear him bang her head on my door
I hear him trying to drag her away from my door
I hear her hands desperate on my doorknob
I hear the blows of her head on my door
I hear him drag her down the stairs
I hear her head bounce from step to step
I hear them again in their room
I hear a loud smack across her face (I guess)
I hear her groan—then
I hear the eerie silence
I hear him open the top draw of his bureau (the .38 lives there)
I hear the fast beat of my heart
I hear the drops of perspiration fall from my brow
I hear him yell I warned you
I hear him say damn you I warned toy and now it’s too late
I hear the loud report of the thirty eight calibre revolver then
I hear it again and again the Smith and Western
I hear the bang bang bang of four death dealing bullets
I hear my heart beat faster and louder—then again
I hear the eerie silence
I hear him come toward my door
I hear his hand on the doorknob
I hear the doorknob click
I hear the door slowly open
I hear him step into my room
I hear the click of the thirty eight before the firing pin hits the bullet
I hear the loud blast of powder exploding in the chamber of the .38
I hear the heavy lead noise of the bullet swiftly cutting its way through the
barrel of the .38
I hear it emerge into space from the .38
I hear the bullet of death flying towards my head the .38
I hear it coming faster than sound the .38
I hear it coming closer to my sweaty forehead the .38
I hear its weird whistle the .38
I hear it give off a steamlike noise when it cuts through my sweat the .38
I hear it singe my skin as it enters my hear the .38 and
I hear death saying, Hello, I’m here!
Ted Joans (b.1928)
Saturday 7 June 2008
Everything should taste this good
Heat up your frying pan and put in plenty of olive oil and a little butter. When the butter is melted and it all looks nice and sizzley add one big clove of garlic, diced finely. Let that fry for a short time and don’t forget to smell it.
Then add a bunch of mushrooms, cut in diagonals with the stalks left on.
Add rosemary, you don’t need loads.
Fry until the mushrooms are nice and soft, add more olive oil if you need to.
Serve on buttered toast with a cup of tea.
Then add a bunch of mushrooms, cut in diagonals with the stalks left on.
Add rosemary, you don’t need loads.
Fry until the mushrooms are nice and soft, add more olive oil if you need to.
Serve on buttered toast with a cup of tea.
Friday 6 June 2008
Fatigue and vigor
I sat in starbucks toady with chapter 4 in front of me. Already started, planed in rough. I got up and left, warm tea tasted, enjoyed, unfinished, Powerfully Metaphorical.
I think I’m starting to get fatigued. I’m basically not thinking about anything else and haven’t done for the last few weeks. Even when I’m doing other things I’m thinking about it.
I think I might write and submit something to theescapist.com. Yes, the Yahtzee one. They have what is called a “fiction issue” in their editorial calendar. Something to do with gaming but, I presume, not fan-fiction.
It should be fun, and I can get back to the book afterwards with renewed vigour.
I think I’m starting to get fatigued. I’m basically not thinking about anything else and haven’t done for the last few weeks. Even when I’m doing other things I’m thinking about it.
I think I might write and submit something to theescapist.com. Yes, the Yahtzee one. They have what is called a “fiction issue” in their editorial calendar. Something to do with gaming but, I presume, not fan-fiction.
It should be fun, and I can get back to the book afterwards with renewed vigour.
Wednesday 28 May 2008
This is how it is going
Chapter two was finished this afternoon. I think my favourite part about writing a book, at least so far, is finding out what happens. It’s a great feeling when you go to bed looking forward to waking up and discovering how the story progresses.
Finishing chapters is fun as well because at the end of each so far, and probably at the end of all of them, I have a little interlude about characters that haven’t really entered the story yet. One is a bit of back story, and the other is a set up for something that happens in Chapter 3. I think I said before that I’m wary of rushing ahead to get to “payoffs” from some of the setups, and having the interludes to skip back or forth or sideways in the story is enormous fun. Hopefully they should make people really excited about what’s coming next, as well.
I’m not ready to put anything up on here yet, but I think the first interlude will be one of the first things to get shown off.
Finishing chapters is fun as well because at the end of each so far, and probably at the end of all of them, I have a little interlude about characters that haven’t really entered the story yet. One is a bit of back story, and the other is a set up for something that happens in Chapter 3. I think I said before that I’m wary of rushing ahead to get to “payoffs” from some of the setups, and having the interludes to skip back or forth or sideways in the story is enormous fun. Hopefully they should make people really excited about what’s coming next, as well.
I’m not ready to put anything up on here yet, but I think the first interlude will be one of the first things to get shown off.
Sunday 25 May 2008
I might be wrong
Well I went back to Starbucks because I was sitting at my desk until 11 looking at the rain. I think I need The Routine more than it needs me.
The main think I think I’ve learnt so far about writing is about what it takes to do a first draft. I mostly write a first draft for a short story in one or two sittings, pretty much blind. I might know the kind of thing I’m writing, and what has to be in it, but I’ll find out what is going on as I write, and it’s only when I get to the second draft that I really fit it together. Really, the first draft of something so short you can write it in one sitting is based on your own ignorance of what you are doing.
The problem is, I can’t rely on ignorance to get me through a novel. You have to be aware of the bits that need to happen, and that they might not get written for ages; you have to make them possible, to keep them in the realm potential.
I’ve written that in the past tense, but I don’t know what I’m talking about because I’m still setting up and haven’t begun to knock down. These are just things that I’m acutely aware of.
The main think I think I’ve learnt so far about writing is about what it takes to do a first draft. I mostly write a first draft for a short story in one or two sittings, pretty much blind. I might know the kind of thing I’m writing, and what has to be in it, but I’ll find out what is going on as I write, and it’s only when I get to the second draft that I really fit it together. Really, the first draft of something so short you can write it in one sitting is based on your own ignorance of what you are doing.
The problem is, I can’t rely on ignorance to get me through a novel. You have to be aware of the bits that need to happen, and that they might not get written for ages; you have to make them possible, to keep them in the realm potential.
I’ve written that in the past tense, but I don’t know what I’m talking about because I’m still setting up and haven’t begun to knock down. These are just things that I’m acutely aware of.
Saturday 24 May 2008
Strrarrbrrucks
Progress is constant, creeping, even. I don’t want to rush these early stages of it though. But I am moving forward every day, including today, in spite of a break with The Routine.
The Routine was basically to go to starbucks in the morning, drink Chai tea and write. It was going well, and without going out on the second morning of writing the book may well of stalled stock still. So thank you, Starbucks, I appreciate your ability to create enough different noises so that no one noise dominates and becomes distracting. Yesterday, however, I was told that I was ordering my tea wrong. There are two types of chai tea you can get in starbucks; a hot water and tea bag affair that is spiced and very slightly bitter. The other is a chai latte, that is about 20% froth and 70% milk. The spiced taste is faint, like it is being remembered rather than experienced and instead of being slightly bitter it is sweet, like a kitten’s vomit.
I’d been given the latter latte once before and after trying to drink it for a few minuets I went back and asked for a normal one, which they did very politely and it was fine. I don’t mind that, it was ok.
The problem I have was that when I ordered a tea yesterday the staff member scribbled on the bit of paper (like they do in starbucks) and passed it to her co-worker by the milk frothing machine that is no where near the hot water and teabags machine, so I said quickly that that was the wrong sort and I wanted the other one, to which I was told that to get access to a tea bag and hot water I shouldn’t ask for a chi tea, but I should just ask for a tea, and then wait to be asked what sort of tea bag I would like.
It’s like inputting commands into a computer – that’s what she wanted as her preferred system of ordering.
I told her I’d remember to do so in future and I have no intention of returning.
So The Routine is broken, but I cleaned up my desk and have been getting on with it with my own tea quite nicely.
The Routine was basically to go to starbucks in the morning, drink Chai tea and write. It was going well, and without going out on the second morning of writing the book may well of stalled stock still. So thank you, Starbucks, I appreciate your ability to create enough different noises so that no one noise dominates and becomes distracting. Yesterday, however, I was told that I was ordering my tea wrong. There are two types of chai tea you can get in starbucks; a hot water and tea bag affair that is spiced and very slightly bitter. The other is a chai latte, that is about 20% froth and 70% milk. The spiced taste is faint, like it is being remembered rather than experienced and instead of being slightly bitter it is sweet, like a kitten’s vomit.
I’d been given the latter latte once before and after trying to drink it for a few minuets I went back and asked for a normal one, which they did very politely and it was fine. I don’t mind that, it was ok.
The problem I have was that when I ordered a tea yesterday the staff member scribbled on the bit of paper (like they do in starbucks) and passed it to her co-worker by the milk frothing machine that is no where near the hot water and teabags machine, so I said quickly that that was the wrong sort and I wanted the other one, to which I was told that to get access to a tea bag and hot water I shouldn’t ask for a chi tea, but I should just ask for a tea, and then wait to be asked what sort of tea bag I would like.
It’s like inputting commands into a computer – that’s what she wanted as her preferred system of ordering.
I told her I’d remember to do so in future and I have no intention of returning.
So The Routine is broken, but I cleaned up my desk and have been getting on with it with my own tea quite nicely.
Wednesday 21 May 2008
Machine's Poems
Here are my binary poems for Dan.
They were originally be part of the first thing I wrote since deciding I wanted to be a writer. I had no idea what I was doing, but these are a nice thing to get out of it. I suspect most writers' first attempts don't even yield this much.
Machine's Poems
English:
When atoms of our world do collide,
and pools of chemicals start to divide.
There is the secret answer you cannot find,
of what is love and energy combined.
Binary:
01010111 01101000 01100101 01101110 00100000 01100001 01110100 01101111 01101101 01110011 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01110111 01101111 01110010 01101100 01100100 00100000 01100100 01101111 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101100 01101100 01101001 01100100 01100101 00101100 00001101 00001010 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01110000 01101111 01101111 01101100 01110011 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01100011 01101000 01100101 01101101 01101001 01100011 01100001 01101100 01110011 00100000 01110011 01110100 01100001 01110010 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100100 01101001 01110110 01101001 01100100 01100101 00101110 00001101 00001010 01010100 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110011 01100101 01100011 01110010 01100101 01110100 00100000 01100001 01101110 01110011 01110111 01100101 01110010 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100110 01101001 01101110 01100100 00101100 00001101 00001010 01101111 01100110 00100000 01110111 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01100101 01101110 01100101 01110010 01100111 01111001 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101101 01100010 01101001 01101110 01100101 01100100 00101110
English:
The lamb's lion you profess to know
held none of the qualities you will ever show.
Your emptiness is as bleak as text
with no passion from one word to the next.
Binary:
01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101100 01100001 01101101 01100010 00100111 01110011 00100000 01101100 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01100110 01100101 01110011 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 00001101 00001010 01101000 01100101 01101100 01100100 00100000 01101110 01101111 01101110 01100101 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110001 01110101 01100001 01101100 01101001 01110100 01101001 01100101 01110011 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01110111 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01100101 01110110 01100101 01110010 00100000 01110011 01101000 01101111 01110111 00101110 00001101 00001010 01011001 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01100101 01101101 01110000 01110100 01101001 01101110 01100101 01110011 01110011 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100001 01110011 00100000 01100010 01101100 01100101 01100001 01101011 00100000 01100001 01110011 00100000 01110100 01100101 01111000 01110100 00001101 00001010 01110111 01101001 01110100 01101000 00100000 01101110 01101111 00100000 01110000 01100001 01110011 01110011 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 01100110 01110010 01101111 01101101 00100000 01101111 01101110 01100101 00100000 01110111 01101111 01110010 01100100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101110 01100101 01111000 01110100 00101110
They were originally be part of the first thing I wrote since deciding I wanted to be a writer. I had no idea what I was doing, but these are a nice thing to get out of it. I suspect most writers' first attempts don't even yield this much.
Machine's Poems
English:
When atoms of our world do collide,
and pools of chemicals start to divide.
There is the secret answer you cannot find,
of what is love and energy combined.
Binary:
01010111 01101000 01100101 01101110 00100000 01100001 01110100 01101111 01101101 01110011 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01110111 01101111 01110010 01101100 01100100 00100000 01100100 01101111 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101100 01101100 01101001 01100100 01100101 00101100 00001101 00001010 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01110000 01101111 01101111 01101100 01110011 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01100011 01101000 01100101 01101101 01101001 01100011 01100001 01101100 01110011 00100000 01110011 01110100 01100001 01110010 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100100 01101001 01110110 01101001 01100100 01100101 00101110 00001101 00001010 01010100 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110011 01100101 01100011 01110010 01100101 01110100 00100000 01100001 01101110 01110011 01110111 01100101 01110010 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100110 01101001 01101110 01100100 00101100 00001101 00001010 01101111 01100110 00100000 01110111 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01100101 01101110 01100101 01110010 01100111 01111001 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101101 01100010 01101001 01101110 01100101 01100100 00101110
English:
The lamb's lion you profess to know
held none of the qualities you will ever show.
Your emptiness is as bleak as text
with no passion from one word to the next.
Binary:
01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101100 01100001 01101101 01100010 00100111 01110011 00100000 01101100 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01100110 01100101 01110011 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 00001101 00001010 01101000 01100101 01101100 01100100 00100000 01101110 01101111 01101110 01100101 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110001 01110101 01100001 01101100 01101001 01110100 01101001 01100101 01110011 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01110111 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01100101 01110110 01100101 01110010 00100000 01110011 01101000 01101111 01110111 00101110 00001101 00001010 01011001 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01100101 01101101 01110000 01110100 01101001 01101110 01100101 01110011 01110011 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100001 01110011 00100000 01100010 01101100 01100101 01100001 01101011 00100000 01100001 01110011 00100000 01110100 01100101 01111000 01110100 00001101 00001010 01110111 01101001 01110100 01101000 00100000 01101110 01101111 00100000 01110000 01100001 01110011 01110011 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 01100110 01110010 01101111 01101101 00100000 01101111 01101110 01100101 00100000 01110111 01101111 01110010 01100100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101110 01100101 01111000 01110100 00101110
Summer is funner...?
My summer project is going well enough to talk about now. If I don’t complete it I’ll have at least learned something over the last few days, and any catastrophic failure will, I hope, also teach me something. But so far it’s all going well. I’ve started a book that at the moment seems like it’s written for young adults. It’s about listening and explaining, and about changes that are happening and about children in these changes. I don’t want to say too much about it, but I’ve got a note pad that’s fairly sturdy and I’m about half way through the first chapter.
The real reason I’m writing the first draft of a book is that I don’t feel completely comfortable doing it. I considered writing a group of connected short stories over the summer, because it would be nice to complete something like that, but I also know that I can finish a project like that. I don’t know how far I can get writing a novel, and that’s a good reason to try.
The real reason I’m writing the first draft of a book is that I don’t feel completely comfortable doing it. I considered writing a group of connected short stories over the summer, because it would be nice to complete something like that, but I also know that I can finish a project like that. I don’t know how far I can get writing a novel, and that’s a good reason to try.
Sunday 18 May 2008
It is fable 90 in Gibbs
I’m feeling a bit like my head has doubled in size over night. So I don’t think I can think very well. But then, how would you tell?
Ok, I just read that last sentence back and I’m not sure I’m making any sense so I’ll get on with this and post a story.
It was written for a reading on Mayfest, and it went very well. I think I might have read a few bits of it slightly differently than it appears here, but I can’t remember which bits.
Sophia's Story
Among the bone coloured buildings and well worn pavements of Paris, France there lived a high class prostitute named Sophia.
Sophia had a single miraculous ability; every man who saw the blackbrown mole on her whitwhite skin that sat just beneath her left nipple fell instantly in love with her. As an exclusive French courtesan this was a very fortunate power to have. It did, however, have one drawback: Any man who slept in the same bed as her without engaging in sexual intercourse would fall out of love with her just as instantaneously.
The usual course of events went thus: Sophia and her prospective client would meet; they would chat briefly and if both parties were happy then he (or she) would ask Sophia to undress. During the undressing, the client would see the mole and become utterly enthralled promptly leading to sex.
The course of events normally got stuck on here for some time, but it would inevitably lead to the client being content to merely spend the night in Sophia's arms without requiring any other physical gratification, and poof!
They would wake and ask themselves, 'What am I doing here?' And the answer would always be to get up quietly, dress themselves in their expensive clothes, plant a single kiss on the sanguine cheek of the sleeping Sophia, and leave.
It was after one such goodbye that Sophia woke from one morning and decided to take a stroll, maybe to get some breakfast in a little café that smelt of fresh coffee and poet's cigarettes.
As Sophia walked (stepping on all the cracks in the paving slabs) she came across and old Gypsy woman, fat with time and dressed all in black, selling dried flowers that had been pressed flat in old books. Beside her sat a dog that was black and shaggy and lean and beautifully all at once.
Sophia bought a flower from the old woman, and as they were exchanging money she said, 'Your dog has such bright eyes.'
The old Gypsy woman laughed at this and said, 'he's not mine, he belong only to himself, and guards me because we have a legal contract.'
'I don't understand,' said Sophia, 'how can a dog understand a contract?'
'He understands because he is blessed with the mind of a man, but is cursed the body of a dog, and so is unable to either laugh or cry.'
'That's terrible' said Sophia, sadly.
'It's not so bad, he uses his mind to dispense advice to strangers.'
At that the dog began to nuzzle at the old woman's hip, and she bent down (with some difficulty) and the dog nuzzled further at her ear.
After she had straightened up she said, 'Aesop wants you to hear a story. He says “there was once a deer who fell sick, and all the deer's friends came to visit her in her pasture. To pass the time, the deer's friends ate the grass in the pasture as they chatted amongst themselves. When the deer finally got well again, she found that her pasture had been eaten bare, and that winter she starved to death.”'
Sophia though about this story for a little while, and then said, 'I think I understand.'
And with that, she left to find a man who wouldn't love her.
Ok, I just read that last sentence back and I’m not sure I’m making any sense so I’ll get on with this and post a story.
It was written for a reading on Mayfest, and it went very well. I think I might have read a few bits of it slightly differently than it appears here, but I can’t remember which bits.
Sophia's Story
Among the bone coloured buildings and well worn pavements of Paris, France there lived a high class prostitute named Sophia.
Sophia had a single miraculous ability; every man who saw the blackbrown mole on her whitwhite skin that sat just beneath her left nipple fell instantly in love with her. As an exclusive French courtesan this was a very fortunate power to have. It did, however, have one drawback: Any man who slept in the same bed as her without engaging in sexual intercourse would fall out of love with her just as instantaneously.
The usual course of events went thus: Sophia and her prospective client would meet; they would chat briefly and if both parties were happy then he (or she) would ask Sophia to undress. During the undressing, the client would see the mole and become utterly enthralled promptly leading to sex.
The course of events normally got stuck on here for some time, but it would inevitably lead to the client being content to merely spend the night in Sophia's arms without requiring any other physical gratification, and poof!
They would wake and ask themselves, 'What am I doing here?' And the answer would always be to get up quietly, dress themselves in their expensive clothes, plant a single kiss on the sanguine cheek of the sleeping Sophia, and leave.
It was after one such goodbye that Sophia woke from one morning and decided to take a stroll, maybe to get some breakfast in a little café that smelt of fresh coffee and poet's cigarettes.
As Sophia walked (stepping on all the cracks in the paving slabs) she came across and old Gypsy woman, fat with time and dressed all in black, selling dried flowers that had been pressed flat in old books. Beside her sat a dog that was black and shaggy and lean and beautifully all at once.
Sophia bought a flower from the old woman, and as they were exchanging money she said, 'Your dog has such bright eyes.'
The old Gypsy woman laughed at this and said, 'he's not mine, he belong only to himself, and guards me because we have a legal contract.'
'I don't understand,' said Sophia, 'how can a dog understand a contract?'
'He understands because he is blessed with the mind of a man, but is cursed the body of a dog, and so is unable to either laugh or cry.'
'That's terrible' said Sophia, sadly.
'It's not so bad, he uses his mind to dispense advice to strangers.'
At that the dog began to nuzzle at the old woman's hip, and she bent down (with some difficulty) and the dog nuzzled further at her ear.
After she had straightened up she said, 'Aesop wants you to hear a story. He says “there was once a deer who fell sick, and all the deer's friends came to visit her in her pasture. To pass the time, the deer's friends ate the grass in the pasture as they chatted amongst themselves. When the deer finally got well again, she found that her pasture had been eaten bare, and that winter she starved to death.”'
Sophia though about this story for a little while, and then said, 'I think I understand.'
And with that, she left to find a man who wouldn't love her.
Friday 16 May 2008
Horror
Here is a very short story that made me feel a little sick.
I've never made myself feel ill with something I've written, so I hope you enjoy it.
---------
9 Volt Battery
My Girlfriend has no face and no name; her arms end in stumps.
My Girlfriend hides behind the doors of rooms in other people’s houses.
My Girlfriend smells of ash and vinegar.
When my Girlfriend and I fight, and I say awful things to her that make her cry, the tears swell up in bubbles under her pinkish grey skin that spread across her body.
After we have made up, I take a hat pin that was left to me by my grandmother, and prick the pustules, one by one. Then I go to each in the order that I lanced them, and suck out the dirty water. It always salty and sharp, like licking a 9 volt battery, which, if you have never tried, is like sucking the weeping sores in your Girlfriend’s back, while she moans deep and soft, in a way I take to mean, “I love you.”
I've never made myself feel ill with something I've written, so I hope you enjoy it.
---------
9 Volt Battery
My Girlfriend has no face and no name; her arms end in stumps.
My Girlfriend hides behind the doors of rooms in other people’s houses.
My Girlfriend smells of ash and vinegar.
When my Girlfriend and I fight, and I say awful things to her that make her cry, the tears swell up in bubbles under her pinkish grey skin that spread across her body.
After we have made up, I take a hat pin that was left to me by my grandmother, and prick the pustules, one by one. Then I go to each in the order that I lanced them, and suck out the dirty water. It always salty and sharp, like licking a 9 volt battery, which, if you have never tried, is like sucking the weeping sores in your Girlfriend’s back, while she moans deep and soft, in a way I take to mean, “I love you.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)