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[06 Oct 2006|12:20am] |
Thinking too clearly has it's downsides. Thinking upside has it's diagonal wise. Thinking too much makes you perpendicular.
So best thing is not to think at all, so you don't get too many angles on something. I don't try to care too much, that's why I don't get hurt. By anyone. And it works. My hair is a mess, and my body and mind are too, but when I walk smoking and watching the world revolve, at least I know i'm not being moved by anything other than it.
It'll take a lot to move me. With every heart I see, every leave brown and every plan torn asunder, I know that my clarity does me service.
Work. Well, it was exactly the kind of night that fades into distant memrory and pushes time ever forward, makes no headlines. My mind lies blanker than it did before I went. Twelve people.
A few drinks, a chat with Rich and Lucy.
It's good to have you with us, even if it's just for the day.
Thanks, Brandon.
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[06 Oct 2006|01:32am] |
I think this may help my writing a little, if I talk about something here.
Grandad.
It's so long ago..I can hardly even remember him. I've never spoken about him before, because of this..I was so little. I think he passed away a few years before my grandmother. They both died when I and my sisters were quite young, and I can't even recall just how long ago.
They lived in Ramsgate, in a terraced house quite old, and opposite the old water tower. You can see it..yeah..you can...it rises over Ramsgate like a gigantic child's building block, hight and vast..and when you're a child, it looks positively monstrous, with a long blue rim at the top and red brick as it's main walls. Huge windows, dark, abandoned and sinister lay silent and a group of planks and discarded rubbish at it's side. Helen and Dawn and I used to try and get in..we never did, but this always gave it a mystery. I want to go back there and see what it's like..
But I haven't been there since my grandparents died. They were the only ones I really had, and I never knew them that well..we would visit on weekends..and would sit in the room playing while Grandad sat gazing sternly at us through his spectacles, and Grandma, altogether more cheerful, would send us off to the fish and chip shop..we'd have crinkle cut chips, peas and cod. And sometimes peanut butter sandwiches. Sometimes i'd go into Uncle Derek's room and loot his packets of Fisherman's Friends (A cough sweet).
The house was old and musty..outside a small row of sheds let out a noxious perfume of cleaning materials, paint and creosote.
Grandad went one day, and I never saw him again. We were told he'd gone to find a missing cat. I didn't even know we'd had a cat there. I never asked, and I know now, what it meant.
That could provide the basis for my homework, I suppose. Maybe he went looking, maybe he went into the old water tower and never came out..this is after all all about fictionalizing the truth a little. Perhaps there were mines and caves and all kinds of things down there.
I don't know. But at least you all know something about my grandparents.
It seems so long ago...
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[06 Oct 2006|04:23pm] |
Well, it's another beautiful day. It's beautiful because it's rainy, windy, and autumnally scented. It's the only weather I can stand. I hope it lasts a long, long time. I've been fed up completely with the late summer and am glad to have finally seen it booted out for another year.
Our fan is busted at work. It's the big extractor fan that filters out the fumes and keeps the kitchen cool. In other words, it's harder to breathe and it's hotter. Wasn't too busy, and I was out well on time.
I'm supposed to be doing my writing now, but I can't think of a fucking thing. Things are annoying me too much. And when I gets annoyed, I gets annoyed.
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[06 Oct 2006|05:13pm] |
My brief was to write a story about a family member, of about 200-300 words, making some bits different and slightly fictionalised. A sort of nostalgic form of propoganda if you like. I think i've got enough, in what I wrote the other day.
Still no Graham.
I hope he's coming back this month. I miss him. And Daisy.
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[06 Oct 2006|05:29pm] |
Lack of writing inspiration leads one to pile his bedclothes at one end of the bed and roll about like a retard.
Well it fucking does me, alright?
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[06 Oct 2006|08:34pm] |
Oh no. I haven't actually written anything this afternoon. I've been watching cartoons, like this:
Oops.
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