The Government knew for sure they were doing something wrong when the children stormed Parliament demanding free healthcare for teddy bears.
Friday 31 January 2014
Wednesday 29 January 2014
250 Words: Tales from the city: Turtleneck
A great affinity for water has always been in me. If my skin is not wet it will itch and I become increasingly anxious, my breathing quickening.
Growing up I would cure this by spending hours in the bath, sleeping in it even- possible because I have gills as well as lungs. Situated on my neck, I gained my nickname from the pullover I wore perpetually to hide my shame.
In addition I was home-schooled by my parents and went on to run my own business from the family home, always wearing damp clothes under a wetsuit to help me concentrate.
As a result I have always been a recluse and kept myself away from everyone, even now, because I was born a bit wonky and would be labelled a freak: albeit one superior in at least one respect.
It’s perhaps little wonder, then, that I stood out so much when I started to appear in public. This happened soon after I moved into my own place. Having gained more independence, I would walk through the city, going wherever I wanted and soon discovered the river.
I would swim in it, jumping off the bridges (naked sometimes), for hours, feeling the water, the freedom of having so much to move in.
But I attracted attention, became a myth, then an attraction. My parents shouted, I became scared my secret would be discovered and swam in my turtleneck. I didn’t know what else to do until the Navy came to call.
Growing up I would cure this by spending hours in the bath, sleeping in it even- possible because I have gills as well as lungs. Situated on my neck, I gained my nickname from the pullover I wore perpetually to hide my shame.
In addition I was home-schooled by my parents and went on to run my own business from the family home, always wearing damp clothes under a wetsuit to help me concentrate.
As a result I have always been a recluse and kept myself away from everyone, even now, because I was born a bit wonky and would be labelled a freak: albeit one superior in at least one respect.
It’s perhaps little wonder, then, that I stood out so much when I started to appear in public. This happened soon after I moved into my own place. Having gained more independence, I would walk through the city, going wherever I wanted and soon discovered the river.
I would swim in it, jumping off the bridges (naked sometimes), for hours, feeling the water, the freedom of having so much to move in.
But I attracted attention, became a myth, then an attraction. My parents shouted, I became scared my secret would be discovered and swam in my turtleneck. I didn’t know what else to do until the Navy came to call.
Monday 27 January 2014
≤140 Characters, or Tweet Repeat: 4
For revenge, he burned the place down and destroyed 2000 years of academic history, ensuring the flames started with his own brother's name.
Saturday 25 January 2014
250 Words: Improv, aka Ramblings 4
Whatever happened to Steve? I remember the last time I saw him was in the Wetherspoon’s on Grape Lane, the one that all the slags hang out in, that drag guys to kiss in the alley down the side. And maybe more, I don’t know, I’ve never been a random. Anyway, I saw Steve in there three, maybe four years ago, I remember cos it was the night I last went out with Nicki; she dumped me the next morning (though I didn’t breakdown into her naked breasts, Los Campesinos! fans; I did that on her doorstep having left with my head held, reasonably, high). God I loved her at the time. It was only later I found out she’d been screwing right around town. Probably in the alleyway down the side of the Wetherspoon’s on Grape Lane.
Hmm.
Anywho, I saw Steve last then. You remember him too, don’t you? Not even that night? It was also the night that you fell down drunk, smashed your head up real bad. That’s why you might not remember that night so well but you must remember old Stevie Steven! He cleaned you up someone told me (I missed the whole thing, arguing with Nicki no doubt, I only found out at closing time, hadn’t noticed you were gone). Well that was the last I saw of him, in the Grape Lane Wetherspoon’s the night before Nicki ditched me and you smashed your head up badly. Whatever happened to him I wonder?
Hmm.
Anywho, I saw Steve last then. You remember him too, don’t you? Not even that night? It was also the night that you fell down drunk, smashed your head up real bad. That’s why you might not remember that night so well but you must remember old Stevie Steven! He cleaned you up someone told me (I missed the whole thing, arguing with Nicki no doubt, I only found out at closing time, hadn’t noticed you were gone). Well that was the last I saw of him, in the Grape Lane Wetherspoon’s the night before Nicki ditched me and you smashed your head up badly. Whatever happened to him I wonder?
Thursday 23 January 2014
≤140 Characters, or Tweet Repeat: 3
As the earth tore asunder, separating the population between new lives in heaven or hell, Steve wondered, "Where is the jury of my peers?"
Tuesday 21 January 2014
250 Words: I was his personal homework diary (or Day Book, didn’t our school call them? Day often pronounced “Gay”: hilarious, I'm sure you'll agree)
He’d ring up every evening shortly after six when his parents’ phone rates changed. It annoyed my parents immensely as this was the time we sat down to tea back then. I wasn’t so bothered, though, was pleased to help. And, anyway, we weren’t having cooked dinners at that time so nothing was getting cold.
He’d ring up and ask what homework we had to hand in the following day and I would stand in the kitchen and run through our timetables in my head, working through the day from 1st to 8th period, stating each lesson then saying what, if anything, we had to do that evening. Maybe an essay or problems from the textbook.
This was, mostly if not entirely, during the GCSE years, Years 10 and 11, when I wasn’t in all his classes, so I’d have to either jog his memory for Maths, Business Studies and Geography- I’m sure he would often tell me!- or perhaps he had other go to guys for those…
It was certainly a mutually beneficial relationship as I mostly did my homework the night before it was due and so these communications must have helped remind me of pieces of work I might have forgotten about, helped eliminate my own need for a homework diary.
I was his personal homework diary and I was happy to be so for my neighbour in so many lessons, the boy with many of the whispered words that helped get me through the schooldays.
He’d ring up and ask what homework we had to hand in the following day and I would stand in the kitchen and run through our timetables in my head, working through the day from 1st to 8th period, stating each lesson then saying what, if anything, we had to do that evening. Maybe an essay or problems from the textbook.
This was, mostly if not entirely, during the GCSE years, Years 10 and 11, when I wasn’t in all his classes, so I’d have to either jog his memory for Maths, Business Studies and Geography- I’m sure he would often tell me!- or perhaps he had other go to guys for those…
It was certainly a mutually beneficial relationship as I mostly did my homework the night before it was due and so these communications must have helped remind me of pieces of work I might have forgotten about, helped eliminate my own need for a homework diary.
I was his personal homework diary and I was happy to be so for my neighbour in so many lessons, the boy with many of the whispered words that helped get me through the schooldays.
Sunday 19 January 2014
≤140 Characters, or Tweet Repeat: 2
Naturally it was after he decided to tackle his problem with Derek that he died. Unnaturally.
Friday 17 January 2014
250 Words: The Tinners
“You gotta feed the crust to The Tinners, young man. You ‘ave to appease the creatures whose world we chip into every day and whose treasure we take away. It’s down this path.”
“We must please The Tinners, my boy; those small men born of tin, with tiny hands and tiny teeth. Vicious little buggers they can be. Especially with those who rob their ‘omes, so they say. Stand back for the lift.”
“Don’t upset The Tinners, child; just leave what’s left upon the ground and we’ll come to no ‘arm. No creatures of the mine will pull the roof down upon our ‘eads or take our air away. Now tuck right in and Old Man Davies will tell you a tale…”
“Ay, leave ya pasty crust for The Tinners, lad, for an arrangement was made centuries ago when The Tinners were starving’ ‘cause they’d eaten all the bugs they ate for food.
“When prospectors came looking to mine, The Tinners, though hungry, put up a strong and united front to protect their lands. But their hungry eyes, connected to hungry bellies, spied the engineer’s pasty made by his wife. Part meat. Part fruit. Jus’ like yours, and the deal was struck between us human and them Tinners.
“And so we must abide by the deal struck long ago and leave the crust of our meal on the floor or face the tinners’ wrath.”
“And, besides, it’s cleaner, better for you. The crust‘s covered in dirt from your ’ands, look.”
“We must please The Tinners, my boy; those small men born of tin, with tiny hands and tiny teeth. Vicious little buggers they can be. Especially with those who rob their ‘omes, so they say. Stand back for the lift.”
“Don’t upset The Tinners, child; just leave what’s left upon the ground and we’ll come to no ‘arm. No creatures of the mine will pull the roof down upon our ‘eads or take our air away. Now tuck right in and Old Man Davies will tell you a tale…”
“Ay, leave ya pasty crust for The Tinners, lad, for an arrangement was made centuries ago when The Tinners were starving’ ‘cause they’d eaten all the bugs they ate for food.
“When prospectors came looking to mine, The Tinners, though hungry, put up a strong and united front to protect their lands. But their hungry eyes, connected to hungry bellies, spied the engineer’s pasty made by his wife. Part meat. Part fruit. Jus’ like yours, and the deal was struck between us human and them Tinners.
“And so we must abide by the deal struck long ago and leave the crust of our meal on the floor or face the tinners’ wrath.”
“And, besides, it’s cleaner, better for you. The crust‘s covered in dirt from your ’ands, look.”
Wednesday 15 January 2014
≤140 Characters, or Tweet Repeat: 1
"A non-stationary stationery cupboard is a confusing thing," thought Doris, "How can you be sure there'll be paperclips when you need them?"
Monday 13 January 2014
250 Words: Edited excerpt from My Experience of Corduroy Girl
I remember it like yesterday; can watch it on the back of my eyelids like a film. After all, it’s not every day that an event (whether disaster, accident or evil interlude) occurs that brings you a superhero. Because, in reality, superheroes do not confine themselves to a particular city or town. Hence they are “super.” Really, Superman is a bit lame to commit himself to Metropolis and Batman selfish to never leave Gotham. These are but strong men, not super.
In actual fact, superheroes will go wherever they are called. Will go to where the problem they are required to solve actually is. And they will do this until such a time as they can retire and go back to a normal life.
My superhero encounter, of course, took place during the time of the “Material Superheroes.” For those who are too young, they came after the “Underwear Heroes” and before the “Eye Colour Super-People;” long before such abominations as the “Credit Card Wonders” and the bloody “Coffee Shop Kids.” How the latter ever worked, exactly, I’ll never know.
No, the “Material Superheroes” were the Real McCoy, the old sort of hero, before they began to seek fame and become all conceited and superior. Then, as now, though, the origins of the superheroes was a mystery. All that was known was that, when it was time for a new set of heroes to be chosen, they just appeared. And that they are well looked after while they are superheroes.
In actual fact, superheroes will go wherever they are called. Will go to where the problem they are required to solve actually is. And they will do this until such a time as they can retire and go back to a normal life.
My superhero encounter, of course, took place during the time of the “Material Superheroes.” For those who are too young, they came after the “Underwear Heroes” and before the “Eye Colour Super-People;” long before such abominations as the “Credit Card Wonders” and the bloody “Coffee Shop Kids.” How the latter ever worked, exactly, I’ll never know.
No, the “Material Superheroes” were the Real McCoy, the old sort of hero, before they began to seek fame and become all conceited and superior. Then, as now, though, the origins of the superheroes was a mystery. All that was known was that, when it was time for a new set of heroes to be chosen, they just appeared. And that they are well looked after while they are superheroes.
Saturday 11 January 2014
250 Words: Tales from the city: Mimi Cry
Her parents originally called her Minnie but her ability even as a baby and toddler to copy first the sounds and then the expressions of her parents caused them to nickname her Mimi.
As she grew, the ability to mimic posture, movements and voices perfectly joined her repertoire and Mimi made it through school as a clown aping teachers for the amusement of her classmates.
Later on she would play many a telephone prank before settling on a career as a stand-up whose act revolved around impressions; eventually gaining fame through a television series.
Mimi had always been happy with the abilities she had been born with; pleased she could bring joy to others. But when The Blur, and then the others, appeared in the papers and, much later, after Mimi had been confirmed publicly as “one of the gang,” she began to gain a different outlook.
Her talent suddenly seemed to fall short, to not be enough. Mimi had always wished to go the whole hog and shapeshift but that was just a silly dream, an impossibility. Now she felt she should use her powers for good, to join-up as it were, but impersonating people on the phone was the only practical application that actually worked. Even the best make-up and prosthetics would never make up for her lack of height.
And so Mimi Cry pined away hoping for more, wishing she were more blessed. The comedian becoming sadder by the day. Until the day she met the ape-man.
As she grew, the ability to mimic posture, movements and voices perfectly joined her repertoire and Mimi made it through school as a clown aping teachers for the amusement of her classmates.
Later on she would play many a telephone prank before settling on a career as a stand-up whose act revolved around impressions; eventually gaining fame through a television series.
Mimi had always been happy with the abilities she had been born with; pleased she could bring joy to others. But when The Blur, and then the others, appeared in the papers and, much later, after Mimi had been confirmed publicly as “one of the gang,” she began to gain a different outlook.
Her talent suddenly seemed to fall short, to not be enough. Mimi had always wished to go the whole hog and shapeshift but that was just a silly dream, an impossibility. Now she felt she should use her powers for good, to join-up as it were, but impersonating people on the phone was the only practical application that actually worked. Even the best make-up and prosthetics would never make up for her lack of height.
And so Mimi Cry pined away hoping for more, wishing she were more blessed. The comedian becoming sadder by the day. Until the day she met the ape-man.
Thursday 9 January 2014
250 Words: Wedding boy
Wedding boy is suited and booted. Wedding boy stands straight and smart at all times. Wedding boy is polite and charming, speaks clearly and calmly, is somewhat soothing in tone. This kid is a professional of his kind; though only at weddings. Only in this field does he come to life.
Everything about the occasion seems to fire the blood through his veins. A large family of older siblings and cousins meant he spent every summer of his teens at various weddings and he grew a connection to the atmosphere and the rhythm of the occasion from the ceremony to the photos to the dinner and the dancing.
A superhero in a way, he can mingle like no other, talk with anyone of any age about any subject. The fact that he cannot pass a job interview to save his life only highlights how at ease he feels in the wedding arena. Away from it he is like a toy left on the shelf waiting to be picked up and played with again. Then, once in the thick of it, he comes to life and runs on his pre-programmed engine.
Wedding boy is suited, booted, smart, polite and articulate. Wedding boy knows how to work the crowd. Wedding boy is happy for today, happy in the sun with champagne in hand. Wedding boy thinks not of tomorrow. Of the next non-wedding day and wait for the next invitation. Rather he enjoys and savours every moment of each couple’s perfect day.
Everything about the occasion seems to fire the blood through his veins. A large family of older siblings and cousins meant he spent every summer of his teens at various weddings and he grew a connection to the atmosphere and the rhythm of the occasion from the ceremony to the photos to the dinner and the dancing.
A superhero in a way, he can mingle like no other, talk with anyone of any age about any subject. The fact that he cannot pass a job interview to save his life only highlights how at ease he feels in the wedding arena. Away from it he is like a toy left on the shelf waiting to be picked up and played with again. Then, once in the thick of it, he comes to life and runs on his pre-programmed engine.
Wedding boy is suited, booted, smart, polite and articulate. Wedding boy knows how to work the crowd. Wedding boy is happy for today, happy in the sun with champagne in hand. Wedding boy thinks not of tomorrow. Of the next non-wedding day and wait for the next invitation. Rather he enjoys and savours every moment of each couple’s perfect day.
Tuesday 7 January 2014
250 Words: Historical romance story attempt #1 (or Man and woman contemplating the moon/Couple No 8)
They would meet under the protection of moonlight in their own time and world, under their own rules, away from the town that kept them apart for reasons they understood but looked beyond and lived beyond in the other light of night on the far side of the woods.
Here they could talk of their hopes for the future; the move to Berlin they were saving for, where they would be free to marry and be together. Here they could embrace freely as the lovers in town did. And walk hand in hand about the trees, the tall and silent pillars that kept their love secret.
In nature, by nature, the couple were free to live how they wished. Unlike in the forest of felled wood shelters where they could not even show recognition of one another. In human civilisation they were gaoled and separated by convention, by views they did not share because their love set them free, sent them elsewhere.
Somewhere where they would contemplate the moon and her seeming freedom from the shackles that bound the earth’s creatures. Often they would dream of a life alone on her surface by a sea of milk, eating the cheese laying all around. There they knew they would be happy and free to love.
And so to the moon they looked for the strength to stand together, to stay together, until that wonderful day when they would be able to ride away to Berlin and live the life they desired.
Here they could talk of their hopes for the future; the move to Berlin they were saving for, where they would be free to marry and be together. Here they could embrace freely as the lovers in town did. And walk hand in hand about the trees, the tall and silent pillars that kept their love secret.
In nature, by nature, the couple were free to live how they wished. Unlike in the forest of felled wood shelters where they could not even show recognition of one another. In human civilisation they were gaoled and separated by convention, by views they did not share because their love set them free, sent them elsewhere.
Somewhere where they would contemplate the moon and her seeming freedom from the shackles that bound the earth’s creatures. Often they would dream of a life alone on her surface by a sea of milk, eating the cheese laying all around. There they knew they would be happy and free to love.
And so to the moon they looked for the strength to stand together, to stay together, until that wonderful day when they would be able to ride away to Berlin and live the life they desired.
Note: The painting that inspired it.
Sunday 5 January 2014
250 Words: Welcome to the dance
Smile for me, fucker. I’ve brought you to such a nice hotel. Not exactly the hang-out of movie stars, I know, but it’s perfectly respectable, clean. You won’t get pubic lice off the sheets, here. Guaren-fucking-teed. I’ve spent a shitload making it so, so it better be.
Don’t fancy it, huh? I can wait a little while. I can wait all night. I can cut one on if you’d prefer. Give you a permanent ghoulish smile, make you a joker. I’ve done it before. It’s quite fun, actually. Cutting real slow through the flesh of the cheeks, forward and back with a vegetable knife, blood flowing over my hands a lovely warm feeling.
Come on, smile for me, won’t you? Or do I gotta bring out my friend, Mr Magnum. Yeah that’s right, this gun makes you my bitch, my puppet. Attaches a string to every muscle in your shitbag body. And I only want to pull two, pretty boy- show me those beautiful teeth.
Fine, I’ll shoot you in the leg.
Hurt, don’t it? Flesh bored, bone shattered. Happened to me once. I couldn’t stop smiling after- kind of a nervous, hysterical reaction. Don’t seem to have worked with you, though. Or maybe.. what’s that creeping in, a little quiver in the corners I think I detect. Come on, you can do better than that. Why did the lobster blush? Because it saw the salad dressing. That’s it.
Hurr.
There.
Told you I’d wipe the smile off your face.
Don’t fancy it, huh? I can wait a little while. I can wait all night. I can cut one on if you’d prefer. Give you a permanent ghoulish smile, make you a joker. I’ve done it before. It’s quite fun, actually. Cutting real slow through the flesh of the cheeks, forward and back with a vegetable knife, blood flowing over my hands a lovely warm feeling.
Come on, smile for me, won’t you? Or do I gotta bring out my friend, Mr Magnum. Yeah that’s right, this gun makes you my bitch, my puppet. Attaches a string to every muscle in your shitbag body. And I only want to pull two, pretty boy- show me those beautiful teeth.
Fine, I’ll shoot you in the leg.
Hurt, don’t it? Flesh bored, bone shattered. Happened to me once. I couldn’t stop smiling after- kind of a nervous, hysterical reaction. Don’t seem to have worked with you, though. Or maybe.. what’s that creeping in, a little quiver in the corners I think I detect. Come on, you can do better than that. Why did the lobster blush? Because it saw the salad dressing. That’s it.
Hurr.
There.
Told you I’d wipe the smile off your face.
Friday 3 January 2014
250 Words: “Two-hundred and twenty-seven Lears. And I can't remember the first line.”
It fails, it slips, it rolls away. Memories and thoughts peeling away like layers from an onion. Pickled too, it seems, more numb. Names and faces were the first to go, falling away along with my teeth and jowls. All I seem to have now are metaphors as I enter the haze of old age. It's like my brain is daily turning to sand that exits through my nose and ears, slowly turning my home and garden, into a lifeless desert.
The world is becoming more and more blank, whole chunks of chapters of my life erased from the book I've been compiling since birth. Nothing quite fits together anymore. I'm not sure why I was in Blackpool in 1964, for instance, or what the hospital was like in '76, or where it was even. I just know tidbits, islands that were once a complete country.
I used to get angry when something escaped me. Little facts, normally, like who wrote Gormenghast or painted that odd looking Odalisque woman. But sometimes those names and faces. I would have a little fit and get mad at myself for not being able to recall something that was there somewhere. Now I just smile and accept it. What else can I do? I can't fix the grey mush in my skull. The only choice available is to smile patiently and carry on because I'm already doomed to follow this gloomy path that I can see will only get gloomier.
Something about attendance, maybe?
The world is becoming more and more blank, whole chunks of chapters of my life erased from the book I've been compiling since birth. Nothing quite fits together anymore. I'm not sure why I was in Blackpool in 1964, for instance, or what the hospital was like in '76, or where it was even. I just know tidbits, islands that were once a complete country.
I used to get angry when something escaped me. Little facts, normally, like who wrote Gormenghast or painted that odd looking Odalisque woman. But sometimes those names and faces. I would have a little fit and get mad at myself for not being able to recall something that was there somewhere. Now I just smile and accept it. What else can I do? I can't fix the grey mush in my skull. The only choice available is to smile patiently and carry on because I'm already doomed to follow this gloomy path that I can see will only get gloomier.
Something about attendance, maybe?
Note: The title quote appears at the end of the Manic Street Preachers track, PCP and was taken from the film, The Dresser. There is also a reference to the Manic Street Preacher's track, Pretension/Repulsion.
Wednesday 1 January 2014
250 Words: In the heat of the riot
He threw the Molotov cocktail and watched it smash and turn briefly into a beautiful fiery flower close to the tyre of a police riot van. The pigs, as he called them, had been on the retreat for an hour now, the young rioters being large in number and well organised.
He took another cocktail and lit it’s limp rag wick, his eyes coolly searching for a target. On deciding to burn pig fat this time he stretched out and lowered his right arm before flinging his weapon of choice toward his victim.
But before he saw the policeman raise his shield to block the assault, a command was given and the rioters in Whitehall, along with those who had just gathered in Parliament Square stormed forward at the police.
With the others he swarmed, his former target again in his sights as he drew the knife. Onwards he ran, skipping about comrades and holding back a little as the lines of police were quickly broken and the cry for blood went up. At that cry he approached his mark and knocked him to the ground, falling on him and swiftly pulling up his helmet’s visor before inserting the knife in his neck, just as he had been trained to do.
As the fear grew in the stuck man’s eyes and the blood warmed the rioter’s hands, the latter smiled in the knowledge that he would be one of the heroes of this auspicious day. One of the good guys.
He took another cocktail and lit it’s limp rag wick, his eyes coolly searching for a target. On deciding to burn pig fat this time he stretched out and lowered his right arm before flinging his weapon of choice toward his victim.
But before he saw the policeman raise his shield to block the assault, a command was given and the rioters in Whitehall, along with those who had just gathered in Parliament Square stormed forward at the police.
With the others he swarmed, his former target again in his sights as he drew the knife. Onwards he ran, skipping about comrades and holding back a little as the lines of police were quickly broken and the cry for blood went up. At that cry he approached his mark and knocked him to the ground, falling on him and swiftly pulling up his helmet’s visor before inserting the knife in his neck, just as he had been trained to do.
As the fear grew in the stuck man’s eyes and the blood warmed the rioter’s hands, the latter smiled in the knowledge that he would be one of the heroes of this auspicious day. One of the good guys.
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