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Twitquiz Post

2012-01-17T12:48:00.000-08:00

TwitQuiz Theme for Musical Mayhem

Artists with animals in their names!

Chilly English Winter

2010-10-08T02:44:00.000-07:00

Clapham Junction in mid-winter is a horrible place, the wind blows brisk and the air has the threat of blizzard hanging in it's wake as it shoots past to freeze your face. Micheal stood waiting on platform three waiting for his train home, he stood patiently staring the thousand yard stare of a man who hadn't slept in two days. The ecstacy had left his system leaving a flatness to his inner-being that threatened to swallow him whole. His head pounded from over-consumtion of alcohol and his belly growled from hunger, he walked dreamily to the over priced cafe where he bought a ridiculously marked up Americano in the hope that the caffine might just stave off his comedown. He paid the teenager behind the counter who begrudgingly made his coffee and poured it into a paper cup and put one of those plastic covers on the top to apparently keep the temperature of the coffee at a thousand degree's for as long as possible. He nodded a thank-you/goodbye (it was the most that he could muster at the time) to the man and left quietly trying to hide the fact that he had almost seared his lips off with the super-heated beverage inside. As he got back on to the station and realized that his train home was delayed by another hour because with all the advancement and developments in the human endeavor to master the humble locomotive a twenty ton train could still be felled by, a leaf, his phone rang. It was Naomi,
"Hey baby." She said
"You alright Girl?"
"Yeah, I'm fine" she lied.
"Good."
"How was your weekend?"
"It was good thanks"
"How was the gig?"
He had a flash back of being elbowed in the face by a genuine punk,(the punk in question even had a mohawk, like the others to prove he was indeed and individual) while in the mosh-pit.
"It was good thanks"
"Aaa, I'm glad to hear it, what did you do before hand? You didn't get to drunk did you?"
He had arrived at waterloo at twelve thirty the on the friday (it was now sunday) with his best friend George, they had started drinking at nine that morning and as soon as they had got off the train they met up with Dan who lived in London and had done for a year. It was a short trip to the nearest pub where they downed two Guinness' before moving on to The Worlds End in Camden for another swift half or two.
"No, we had a couple but nothing to heavy." He lied.
"Good, I was worried about you being in a strange town completly off your face." She laughed.
He lied some more.
"No I was a good boy."
He neglected to mention the mushrooms he bought off a dodgy market stall owner while stumbling around Camden market, He had taken them and within an hour he was watching a dozen hot air ballons fill the Brixton Acadamy, at one point he thought he could hear a baby crying after he wedged his boot into something soft on the floor. It took him about fiveteen minutes to realize that no-one was irresponsible enough to take their baby to a gig consisting of five hundred punks smashing each others faces in, in a darkened room. He also missed out the part where him and Dan left George in a random pub near Leicescter Square to take a drunken ride on a rickshaw to meet a bloke who Dan knew could take them too a guy who he knew could sell them some E's. It ended up with Dan walking up a back ally (while off his face) with a dealer who he didn't infact know, with Micheal following behind like a paranoid spectre watching over the procedings incase the dealer pulled a knife. If they were about to get fucked by the dealer, Micheal would have been as much use as a chocolate condom and would probably have been more use walking up front and getting stabbed.
"How was the hotel?"
He remembered being in a hotel on the second night, however the first was spent in the clubs untill day break, George had left Him and Dan to sit on the dancefloor, staring at the flashing lights and tripping the last of the THC from their respective systems. The second night Dan had gone home, his come down had hit him hard and he wiped out in favour of a warm bed, so George and he had decided to to wander around Pymlico untill they found the first hotel that would accept two ecstacy fuelled stinking alcohlic teenagers. The hotel looked like it was rat infested, the owner must have thought they were gay because they were shoved in a room at the top floor which had two beds pushed together. They went out for a walk to stave off the comedown after an hour and when they returned the owner looked very surprised that they had actually come back and they wern't just there for a secret rendezvous.
"It was good thanks, the owner was nice."
"Did you enjoy your fry up?"
"What?"
"The full english, this morning, you know at the hotel."
"Oh, yeah it was great" more lies, he had half a bowl of smartprice cornflakes and a manky cup of tea "the sausages were gorgeous, they had those posh ones with the herb filling, yummy."
"You'll have to take me one day"
"Yeah" he lies
"Where's George?"
"He's gone to Dan's for the evening, he's gonna get the train home tomorrow."
George had actually started chatting up a girl in McDonalds when they had gone out for their midnight jaunt from the hotel, as far as he knew he was being raped in a gutter by a super rat intent on taking over the world by starting a human/rat army.
"Micheal."
"Yeah."
"Can I tell you something?"
"Yeah. Anything you know that" he lies
"Well, are you sat down?"
"Yeah." he lies somemore. He lifted one leg up so that his foot rested against the wall of the plaform
The tannoy, makes that 'ding ding' noise to sygnify that the bored tinny coporeal voice is about to announce another disaster has been created by a fallen twig so the train will not arriive for the next ten years.
"I'm pregnant."
The station announcer lets everyone know that the 09:10 to Weymouth will be delayed by another twenty minutes.
"Fuck" he exhales as he allows his head to smack against the wall, 'and it had all been going so well'.

I am going insane!

2010-06-21T11:43:00.000-07:00

The people around me
Those surround me
Are going crazy
(or am I going insane)

The things that haunt me
Bond me
Are all acting strange
(or am I going insane)

The values they taught me
That fought me
Are disappearing in haze
(or am I going insane)

They told us to follow,
the ways of Gandhi
They taught us how hollow,
were roads to money

But when we stand up
for what we believe in
They stop us and say
This is not the right way

And when we fight for
What we once stood for
They stop us and say
This is not the right way

Does he?

2009-11-15T02:36:00.001-08:00

How does he think;
The same as me?

How does he hear;
Does he hear like me?

How does he feel;
The same as me?

How does he see;
Does he see like me?

How does he understand;
The same as me?

How does he taste;
Does he taste like me?

How does he think;
The same as me

A Sonnet, in the English Style

2009-11-05T09:16:00.000-08:00

'A Show of Olympic Magnitude'

Bellicose Mars arrives all vengance and rage;
Agile Mercury darts around the packed hall;
Calm Venus brings serenity like a sage;
Lofty Jupiter inspires awe from all,
Noble and transcendent as his giant roar
of mirth and gaiety fills the Grand Stage;
Sombre Saturn's entrace means that no more
shall jollity spring (this was fated, like old age);
Enchanting Uranus will subtly decieve:
a trickster and magician fills the scene.
Mysterious Neptune pleases the naïve
but remains regal and proud like a Queen.

It's not the Greek Gods that have me entralled:
Holst's The Planets played in a concert hall!

This Is The Child........

2009-11-02T08:56:00.000-08:00

This is the child who is sat outside the Head Teacher's office.
This is the child whose future is going to be under discussion in five minutes.
This is the child who is waiting for his mother to come to the meeting.

This is the child who throws chairs around in the classroom.
This is the child who swears at teachers.
This is the child who tries to protect his younger sisters.

This is the child who the other children are a little bit scared of.
This is the child with eyes holding all the knowledge in the universe.
This is the child who will steal tonight to eat and to feed his siblings.

This is the child whose teacher wishes he was in someone else's class.
This is the child no one can get close to.
This is the child failed by an overloaded system.

This is the child who has fallen through the 'Every Child Matters' net.
This is the child I wish I could turn the clock back for.
This is the child who never had a childhood.

This is the child who doesn't trust anyone.
This is the child who knows he is unlovable, unworthy and disliked.
This is the child who will go without to ensure his sisters get something.

This is the child no other school in the city will take.
This is the child with nowhere else to be.
This is the child known by every Police Officer on the local beat.

This is the child who wishes his older brother wouldn't come home to visit.
This is the child no one trusts.
This is the child who lies awake trying not to hear his sisters' screams.

This is the child who knows that life is pain.
This is the child no-one will help because it is all too hard and complicated.
This is the child who will not change for PE in front of other children.

This is the child Social Services has given up on.
This is the child who knows that adults lie.
This is the child who was born because his mother loves babies.

This is a child who has outgrown his purpose.
This is the child who will not explain where his latest bruise came from.
This is the child who runs full pelt, head first, into the concrete garage in the playground, because it is the only way to stop the pain of his life.

This is the child who will repeat this life pattern because no one has helped him; no one has proven to him that he is worth anything; no one has given him the chance to escape his life.
This is the child who should have been seen, heard and helped five years ago.
This is the child who proves the futility of our rules and regulations.

This is a child.

And his life is already cast and set because he will never escape the pain and trauma of being the child he is.
And no one did anything meaningful to help.
And no one could wring enough action out of the system to get him away.

Because there wasn't enough proof.
Because there wasn't enough reason.
Because every Social Worker who worked with the family was more scared of the parents than fearful for the children's pain.

This is a child.

A person.
Who we are all complicit in harming.
Because we didn't do enough.

Writing Competitions

2009-10-27T06:09:00.001-07:00

http://www.korepress.org/KorePressShortFictionAward.htm

Short story competition for women writing in English. Closes 31st Oct!

http://espressostories.com/

Extraordinarily short stories. No particular prizes except the joy of being published (online) and read!

http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/whatisnano

Start writing 1st Nov - job must be completed by midnight 30th Nov. 50,000 words.
Quantity, not quality.

As We Begin

2009-10-27T05:33:00.000-07:00

This Blog is for the use, support and kicking-up-the-bumness of any writers who feel they should like to have that!

It's also for any who would be happy to administer that!

If you would like to post pieces for critique; thrash out an idea which keeps slipping away from you; seek endings, beginnings, middles; try out ideas on a supportive audience; or just talk about what you are writing/would like to be writing/should be writing. If there's anything else a friendly group of people who like to play with words might be able to support you in, which I haven't mentioned here, speak up.

Whatever each of us needs to get the story out of our heads and onto the paper!

Let's do it!!