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[04 Nov 2006|12:32am] |
I had a good piece written here about what it is and isn't good to laugh at, but it didn't look right.
Ah well.
I went out tonight, only primarily to see how Rich was holding up. I've been through what he's going through, and I know how important it is to have friends that genuinely care for you and want to help you get out of the blues. Rather than the ones that dispense empty platitudes from the ether.
I can't do much, other than tickle his ribs with jokes about anything and everything, but listening is all important. I didn't know Rich well enough when I was in the midst of depression, but I know he'd be there for me should I be experiencing such things now. I remember how Dee, Di, Graham, Bolb and Stan, Sue and Derek and Dan helped me and how I appreciated them and grew from their support. And how others would have if only they'd known.
He'll be fine. I know it.
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[04 Nov 2006|01:29am] |
This is Victoria Stilwell. She goes round people's houses on the telly and sorts their dogs out good and proper, if they're being a bit naughty, barking at visitors, or biting the postman's bollocks off. And she's going to be my wife one day. When all decency and logical reasoning is removed from her head and face.
She's a bit domineering, and has a nice fringe. I don't usually like fringes, but I like her fringe. And her eyes are nice. She looks like she could take you out on a lead and give you a good sodding thrashing with it later. In bed. I would be her dog, and i'd get down on all fours and lick her fucking shoes off.
Yes. I have been a bad dog, Victoria. You must teach me, teach me with your naughty canine whip. That's it, give my dirty balls a good, hard TEACHING.
Goodnight! Woof, woof!
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| What I wrote for homework. |
[04 Nov 2006|03:53pm] |
Miss Emmet stepped down the steps outside the old theatre, with swiftness aided by the sea air whipping in and around the dimming
lights and open holes in the cliff, turning the air itself into whistling noises. Rain belted and whipped up a frenzy in the air,
and left whirpools, that scattered and shattered the silence creeping in and out of the abandoned theatre she once went to dance,
every weekend, thirty years ago.
It was where she now gathered her thoughts, once a week..she'd drive her old car up to the steps snaking down the cliff-face, walk down,
and sit outside, with a cigarrette..thinking about when both their lives were different.
As she sat on the steps, pecualiar noises seemed to creep from the halls she once danced in. Out of the balconies, jewellery
tinkled, voices laughed and whistles joined in the hum of the rain as it cascaded over ledges and into drains..pitter pattering
into the steps and into her shoes. She looked back and felt the distance as the old brick and red paint gazed down..once
decorative and vibrant, now painted thick with strange slange, colloquial and vile...thick and artless. This is what she was left out of,
and if she were honest, she did not much mind. Old cards lined the outside of the gates...faded and..many blank, but some still glowed under,
some smiles left in the halls, some dances still in pace..and rhythm.
She didn't mind being left out here.
She was left out of this new society, and the theatre felt the same. She even smoked to send a gusty cloud into it's open door one
more time, before gathering up her things and braving the stormy laughter, as she scampered back up the steps to her car.
Very rouch copy. Needs editing.
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[04 Nov 2006|03:54pm] |
Who loves ya, baby?
Hello. It's five minutes to four on a chilly Saturday afternoon. Liverpool are one nil up, and work wasn't too bad. You can't really complain about that. However, Livejournal thinks it's Blurty circa 2004, and will not work at anything other than a crawl, so I can't update that.
I may be working Fridays for some time, and that will do my finances no harm at all.
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[04 Nov 2006|06:19pm] |
Tell me, what was I fighting for?
What.....
what was I fighting for all those months?
I didn't even get a name..the petals drifted past my face..
the floor is the only thing speaking my name..
the petals are drifting with the angel's wing, and the golden flash is all that's visible in the grey gloom.
What was I fighting for in the first place?
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