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[20 Oct 2004|09:47am] |
Much playing with my hair last night, and watching people in the Bell. Not a great deal of action. I could have had more a pleasant evening satying at home with some wine. I may do that soon to save some cash. Besides, the Guiness effect...is taking hold.
Had to dry Des. The fucker was sitting outside as bedraggled as a destitute rag lady. I checked the prick's paws for mud, I don't want him causing trouble for the rabble.
Ah, he's grooming. That means pulling fur out and spitting it on the ground. Loser!
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[20 Oct 2004|10:29am] |
It's Wednesday, which means only one thing. That it's the middle of the week, and my day off. Quite honestly, it's like most others, but without intolerable washing up.
And so it's time to make a bacon sandwich. Let's curl pig!
If you're in the mood for a bit of fumbling, join our night time walking around a dark room with the lights off club.
It's a toe stubbing chortlebox!
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[20 Oct 2004|12:44pm] |
A power cut caused by a faultly connection just took place. Hopefully it's nothing too bad...just some fiery CRACKLING noises coming from a wall socket.
Fun and games. All seems to be normal now. Okay, back to defacing internet screens. My latest work later.
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| Your weekly overturning of a certain "Welcome Screen" |
[20 Oct 2004|01:00pm] |
I'm in no mood to squabble.
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[20 Oct 2004|04:18pm] |
The afternoon rolls sleepily into sight, with all unpredictability of an apple falling from a tree. I'm so bored, nothing inspires me today.
Des has at last turned up like a bad penny. I had to clean his messy little paws, due to rainy muddy weather. Nothing to worry about Bolb? He's a dirty little fiend. I shall clean him.
If this carpet gets dirty, mother will lose it. Despite this being inevitable. It will be piss covered and tea stained in no time, and all care will revert back to cup slinging nonchalance.
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[20 Oct 2004|04:30pm] |
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music |
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Ella Fitzgerald - Misty |
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Bloody hell. I cannot believe I mistook this song for Billie Holliday once. Shows what I knew about jazz vocalists, eh?
Fucking right though..it's beautiful.....autumnal romantic bliss....makes me want to put on a warm coat and walk through parks covered with swirling orange leaves, yes it does.
However, the image is somewhat disturbed by bent tins and dog shit.
Ah, it was bliss for a while.
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| Oh no, Phyllis is scared to write esssays, it's been seven minutes and it's still about Des.... |
[20 Oct 2004|04:49pm] |
Yep. Start writing about Wuthering Heights, meaning to incorporate views on eighteenth century attitudes to women, feminism, and Bronte'...and I end up with this:
"When considering a feminist slant on Wuthering Heights, it is important to take into account not only that Des has the filthiest WHORE paws I have ever seen, but also that he is almost completely boring. In fact, I went so far as to amplify and over-protract yawning sounds beyond reason, in a mocking sound so to make my feline feel worthless, more than the furry ball sod did before."
Er...I think I need to concentrate.
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| Partners for Melon |
[20 Oct 2004|05:09pm] |
Clamus and the deeply flawed RPG
Episode 1: The Round Door.
Clamus sat at his worn desk, contemplating over a pipe and the dim glow of a candle. He was writing to his friend a letter, sketching an outline of his plans to up sticks and leave to go adventuring once again. This was no ordinary friend, it was his oldest, and therefore by default tediously wizened, and without doubt posessive of staff hanging from a bony hand, like a fucking lengthy old finger, pointed like a steeple.
He wrote scratchily, wondering why these bloody feathers had so little capacity to retain ink, and he frustratedly rammed it into the ink bottle again and again, with increasing rage...stabbing a little faster each time, splashing ink arond the light paper, ruining the words. Clamus swore and slammed his fist down onto the page, knocking ink bottle into the air and smattering onto his tunic.
"Fucking ruined! Long have I toiled to fashion this godforsaken letter! I was supposed to forewarn Graves about my impending trip, and to enlighten him to make preperations for my arrival! Good dear lord of Crayton, what is this fell luck that overcomes me! Next time I shall purchase biros from the horse and cart 7/11"
Clamus realised his foolishness, as he had been eulogising to absolutely nobody at all. He sat down and stared at the destroyed letter, before balling it up and chewing it angrily.
".....mmmmmneed meed......and sustenance!" He muttered, with a moutful of pulpy fucking paper......he dragged on his furs, and swung open the round door, cursing his decision to buy spherical.
The outside of Clamus' dwelling was a leafy meadow, bathed in blood red of evening sun, and a thin layer of mist above the wavering flowers. His was a beautiful scene, and he was sad to depart from it, but the pull of making easy cash from a few hour's cliche'd adventuring was too much to resist. He bashed the coat of his horse, which glared at him, giving him an intentful look of "Do that again, and i'll tear out your eye". Clamus leapt up onto the horse, and completely over it's back, crashing head first into the ground on the other side. With a lump the size of a pear, and a now irritated demeanour, not to mention a dazed head, he decided to walk the distance.
Tramping through leaves and bracken fell from the trees, he notice the lightening glow expanding as he left the forest, punctuated and almost pinned to the sky by the heights of the city Crayton. It was near two miles away, and it would take him a good hour's tramping to reach.
More later.
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[20 Oct 2004|06:45pm] |
Where the fuck did I get seven hugs from? Yeah, grope me...and while you're at it, get those hands down there too. Mmm...that's it..
Right, where was I? Here, at the computer, looking like a sorry hobbit, if you please. I have at least written a spoof fantasy adventure, and defaced the screen of a hateful ISP.
Cracking. Soon I will depart for the pub, to read my book desperate to glean some more insight, other than ending up writing swearing spoofs of it.
Polar bears shouldn't go clubbing. Can you imagine the casualties? Other ferocious animals that should steer clear of human exclusive events:
Grizzly bears at the nursing home
Preying Mantis boot fair
Learning french with a black widow spider
Funnel Web Bingo.
They'll crash you into death faster than you can fuck off.
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| We're quizzin', quizzin' in the name of boredom...an' ah hope yer like quizzin' too.. |
[20 Oct 2004|06:54pm] |
Here's another one pilfered from the lovely Suzanne:
You Are a Little Scary |
You've got a nice edge to you. Use it. |
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[20 Oct 2004|07:09pm] |
I've got a headache now, which is scuppering my poetry writing. I'm trying desperately to write something original...something based on the tiny little details of life. Smoking under stars, the beauty of a perfect night....bliss in moments of euphoria.
Been thinking about that actually. I get moments only too rarely..of exquisite happiness. These are times of few minutes in which I feel that nothing is impossible, and that my life is going to get better. It's all in a minute...tingling goes from my spine to my arse...as if somebody is running a slightly buzzing device along it. Not unpleasant. It's an extension of the shivers down the spine sensation.
I often think....that things.....(that being a fairly oblique choice of word), are going to improve. They have to, I don't want a year like this one.
Well, i'm looking forward to 2005. That's all I can do. For now i'm stuck in limbo, typing about a village so familiar to even you lot.
Next year....we ride. America beckons. Zoomeister's tour begins. And hopefully, will not end prematurely. I'll be in all the bars in town. Wherever it is.
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[20 Oct 2004|07:19pm] |
Another very odd mirror moment today. For the purposes of self treatment and therapy for B.D.D, it is important to log these, whether good or bad.
The other day walking past Ian's car in the Bell back yard, I caught myself in the mirror...to my mind I resembled a crushed hobbit, as I often say...I look bitter, squat, and unremarkable...although perhaps this cap I am forced to wear to keep my hair from falling into food modifies the image somewhat.
However, today, in my bathroom mirror, I could not have looked more different, or better. I was not the same man! Honestly, I had nice hair, down each side, my jaw looked unique and good, and the eyes were once again brilliant and glinting, full of dark meaning.
How then is it possible for I to feel so handsome one minute, yet so physically inferior to even a burnt crash test dummie at another juncture?
Bloody weird. Anyway, that's another report on my disorder for you. I think that deserves another bite of sandwich.
Yum. Some crisps!
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