Once upon a time there was a girl who didn't have much going on. She had acquaintances but no friends, hobbies but no passions and likes but no loves.
This continued on for more than a few years until the day the consulate building she worked in was taken over by terrorists. True to her overly neutral nature, even though her life could potentially be in danger, she felt nothing more than irritated about the disruption to her day. Her demeanour remained unruffled, right up until the point the terrorists shot the man beside her.
As his blood splattered across her body she could still feel the warmth of it. It trickled down between her fingers and she rubbed at it, almost mesmerised by it's silky smooth texture.
Thus, when the terrorists grabbed her blood splattered figure, intending to drag her in front of the cameras to emphasise their agenda to the world, without quite knowing what she was doing, she reached up and stabbed the one holding her through his eye with a biro, killing him instantly.
And then she laughed, a bright, happy carefree sound.
Of this you must take note - right now she is not mad, or frightened or hysterical. She is simply a girl who has just found out what it is she wants to do with her life.
Which turns out to be painting the walls red with other peoples blood.
After the screaming had mostly died down, helped by the fact that the SWAT team arrived before the girl had finished with the terrorists. The girl was pulled aside and left alone in a room.
A group of dark suited, reasonable gentlemen visited her in the room and after they left, the girl was no more.
For a while afterwards (remember, this was all being broadcast live to the world) many viewers commented on the girl who had distracted the terrorists long enough for the SWAT team to arrive and save them. They pitied her obvious insanity. 'Hero' was a word bandied around a lot.
The survivors themselves said nothing of her. It was what they had been instructed to do and anyway, to speak of that girl was to remember her. What child wants to remember the existence of the monster under the bed?
There is a certain branch of the government that is not spoken of. The jobs they do are not clean ones. Even now those hidden operatives speak in hushed tones of a certain member of their rank. Of a woman who knows no fear and delights in the spilling of anothers blood.
Remember boys and girls, not all callings in life are good, not all damsels should be saved.
Wednesday 29 June 2011
Tuesday 28 June 2011
The Fear
My hero, Neil Gaiman once said "Being a writer is a very peculiar sort of a job: it's always you versus a blank sheet of paper (or a blank screen) and quite often the blank piece of paper wins." You can read the rest of his post on his blog at http://journal.neilgaiman.com/2004/02/on-writing.asp (I really recommend reading it. It is interesting and witty and wonderful to see inside a creative persons head)
Too often, in my case, the blank piece of paper is winning. I will look at it and my spine will go cold. What do I know about writing? What could I possibly write that other people would want to read? In fact - there are no ideas left inside my echoey empty head so I can't write anything anyway.
And so, coward that I am, I write nothing.
In the above post, Mr Gaiman writes that:
"I think for me the tipping point was when I was a very young man. It was late at night, and I was lying in bed, and I thought, as I often thought, "I could be a writer. It's what I want to be. I think it's what I am." And then I imagined myself in my eighties, possibly even on my deathbed, thinking that same thought, in a life when I'd never written anything. And I'd be an old man, with my life behind me, still telling myself I was really a writer -- and I would never know if I was kidding myself or not."
I worry that this will be me - that I will fool myself for the rest of my life, that I am a writer - and never write anything for fear of proving myself wrong.
So that's me, fear stripped bare. And no, I don't want to go to my grave having done nothing. I want to conquer this fear and prove myself one way or the other.
So blank piece of paper - en garde!
Too often, in my case, the blank piece of paper is winning. I will look at it and my spine will go cold. What do I know about writing? What could I possibly write that other people would want to read? In fact - there are no ideas left inside my echoey empty head so I can't write anything anyway.
And so, coward that I am, I write nothing.
In the above post, Mr Gaiman writes that:
"I think for me the tipping point was when I was a very young man. It was late at night, and I was lying in bed, and I thought, as I often thought, "I could be a writer. It's what I want to be. I think it's what I am." And then I imagined myself in my eighties, possibly even on my deathbed, thinking that same thought, in a life when I'd never written anything. And I'd be an old man, with my life behind me, still telling myself I was really a writer -- and I would never know if I was kidding myself or not."
I worry that this will be me - that I will fool myself for the rest of my life, that I am a writer - and never write anything for fear of proving myself wrong.
So that's me, fear stripped bare. And no, I don't want to go to my grave having done nothing. I want to conquer this fear and prove myself one way or the other.
So blank piece of paper - en garde!
Monday 27 June 2011
Favourites: Nail varnish
I don't know about you but I always feel undressed without nail varnish on. My nails aren't particularly gruesome but I always feel more armoured up when I have it on. I know various girls that have different things they use as shields (make up, shoes, nice underwear, jewellery) but nail varnish has always been my weapon of choice.
For start it comes in so many different colours that it can match any mood you're in - for instance I have a shade that is the exact same shade as the TARDIS in Dr Who for when I feel like being sci-fi and geeky and keep peering round corners looking for a man in a bow tie standing next to an innocent blue box (this mood occurs more often than you think). I have a virulent green when I feel like a punky radioactive girl surviving in a post apocalyptic world. I have a rich purple for when I feel like playing the doomed heiress of a failing aristocratic house and a light glittering pink when I feel like playing a kitten who has her claws hidden.
But my favourite by far, my true love forever colour is the classic, the pure, blood red.
This colours was worn by the sirens of the golden age. By the coiffed haired, form fitting, stocking wearing, poised goddess of the classic film scene. Their white cigarettes held negligently between their bloody tips led many a leading man to their doom. Their poise, their composure, their style and their sheer, overwhelming sexuality held me in thrall to them from an early age.
I might not have had the figure, the hair, the looks or the composure to pull off what they could do - but by god could I at least paint my nails red.
And so began a life long passion of finding a perfect shade. I now have a whole range of reds - from bright to arterial dark. Most people could probably never tell the difference but I know I can - and that's what counts.
So if ever I want to feel that bit more confident, or feel like playing the vamp or even just to make myself believe for one second as I walk through the door that I am so smoking hot I could set every man in the room on fire - red is always my colour of choice.
For start it comes in so many different colours that it can match any mood you're in - for instance I have a shade that is the exact same shade as the TARDIS in Dr Who for when I feel like being sci-fi and geeky and keep peering round corners looking for a man in a bow tie standing next to an innocent blue box (this mood occurs more often than you think). I have a virulent green when I feel like a punky radioactive girl surviving in a post apocalyptic world. I have a rich purple for when I feel like playing the doomed heiress of a failing aristocratic house and a light glittering pink when I feel like playing a kitten who has her claws hidden.
But my favourite by far, my true love forever colour is the classic, the pure, blood red.
This colours was worn by the sirens of the golden age. By the coiffed haired, form fitting, stocking wearing, poised goddess of the classic film scene. Their white cigarettes held negligently between their bloody tips led many a leading man to their doom. Their poise, their composure, their style and their sheer, overwhelming sexuality held me in thrall to them from an early age.
I might not have had the figure, the hair, the looks or the composure to pull off what they could do - but by god could I at least paint my nails red.
And so began a life long passion of finding a perfect shade. I now have a whole range of reds - from bright to arterial dark. Most people could probably never tell the difference but I know I can - and that's what counts.
So if ever I want to feel that bit more confident, or feel like playing the vamp or even just to make myself believe for one second as I walk through the door that I am so smoking hot I could set every man in the room on fire - red is always my colour of choice.
Friday 24 June 2011
Favourites: Pole Dancing
Now, I am a weedy girl. I walk a lot (everywhere in fact due to my extreme lack of funds for a car) so I can give a pretty good kick but ask me to carry something heavy? I have to resort to (and my feminist ancestors roll in their graves at this) eyelash fluttering. That's right, I am one of those pathetic girls who have to rely on their 'wiley feminine charms' to get their furniture moved. And that only works about 3 times out of 10.
But no more! For although I refuse to join a gym (what with them being an invention of the devil and all) I have decided that I do actually need to work out, get fit and be able to carry my own stuff.
So, what did I decided to do to achieve this? Pole dancing.
Whenever I went to strip clubs (Don't ask please. Although I must add that all the strippers I met were incredibly lovely people and were always extremely polite and chatty to shy English girls who wanted to ask where they got their shoes) I would always admire the way the strippers would fling themselves round their poles and how incredibly fun it looked.
So when I saw an advert for pole dancing in a pub my friends and I frequent, I thought, well why not?
I was fortunate enough to get a last minute place on a 6 week beginners course at the Iosis centre, based in the warehouse district of Liverpool (http://www.ioisis-poledance.co.uk/). It's based in a converted warehouse building and the instructors are wonderfully enthusiastic about their class and very understanding of how nervous first timers (me) are.
I had my very class last Wednesday.
It was So. Much. Fun.
I was terrified beforehand - convinced that as I had no idea what I was doing, no physical strength and barely enough self coordination to walk down a street without falling over that I was going to either:
a. knock myself unconscious in the first 5 minutes
b. make a complete tit out of myself
c. both
However when I got there I met a group of like minded, excited but nervous students and a friendly, chatty instructor who put us all at ease and we spent the next hour doing fun beginners exercises and poses. Including lots and lots of spinning around!
And yes, the first time I spun on my pole I might have gone too fast and ended up looking a cat stuck in a washing machine, and yes, when I was trying to do the sexy slide down the pole which involves just holding on with your hands and letting your legs fold gracefully to the floor I may have gotten stuck to the pole and, in my attempts to get down, made a sound not unlike cartoons characters make when they hit a plane of glass and then slide down that (but hey, at least they managed to slide down the thing).
But in spite of (or even due to) I had the most fantastic time. It was brilliant fun, great exercise and I can't wait to go again. If you ever thought about doing it, or if this post makes you want to try it - I say do it! Sign up now and give it a go - you won't regret it.
I do, however, really recommend having a bath afterwards. Not because you'll be hot and sweaty (which you will) but mainly because for the next two days after you will ache something rotten. I still can't lift my arms above my head without whimpering. Since you cannot do anything about it, I recommend you take it as proof that you've worked hard at something you've enjoyed.
But no more! For although I refuse to join a gym (what with them being an invention of the devil and all) I have decided that I do actually need to work out, get fit and be able to carry my own stuff.
So, what did I decided to do to achieve this? Pole dancing.
Whenever I went to strip clubs (Don't ask please. Although I must add that all the strippers I met were incredibly lovely people and were always extremely polite and chatty to shy English girls who wanted to ask where they got their shoes) I would always admire the way the strippers would fling themselves round their poles and how incredibly fun it looked.
So when I saw an advert for pole dancing in a pub my friends and I frequent, I thought, well why not?
I was fortunate enough to get a last minute place on a 6 week beginners course at the Iosis centre, based in the warehouse district of Liverpool (http://www.ioisis-poledance.co.uk/). It's based in a converted warehouse building and the instructors are wonderfully enthusiastic about their class and very understanding of how nervous first timers (me) are.
I had my very class last Wednesday.
It was So. Much. Fun.
I was terrified beforehand - convinced that as I had no idea what I was doing, no physical strength and barely enough self coordination to walk down a street without falling over that I was going to either:
a. knock myself unconscious in the first 5 minutes
b. make a complete tit out of myself
c. both
However when I got there I met a group of like minded, excited but nervous students and a friendly, chatty instructor who put us all at ease and we spent the next hour doing fun beginners exercises and poses. Including lots and lots of spinning around!
And yes, the first time I spun on my pole I might have gone too fast and ended up looking a cat stuck in a washing machine, and yes, when I was trying to do the sexy slide down the pole which involves just holding on with your hands and letting your legs fold gracefully to the floor I may have gotten stuck to the pole and, in my attempts to get down, made a sound not unlike cartoons characters make when they hit a plane of glass and then slide down that (but hey, at least they managed to slide down the thing).
But in spite of (or even due to) I had the most fantastic time. It was brilliant fun, great exercise and I can't wait to go again. If you ever thought about doing it, or if this post makes you want to try it - I say do it! Sign up now and give it a go - you won't regret it.
I do, however, really recommend having a bath afterwards. Not because you'll be hot and sweaty (which you will) but mainly because for the next two days after you will ache something rotten. I still can't lift my arms above my head without whimpering. Since you cannot do anything about it, I recommend you take it as proof that you've worked hard at something you've enjoyed.
Thursday 16 June 2011
Sometimes life's just got to be about Jaffa Cakes and Unicorns
When I was out drinking with my friends and Muttley Bear this past lovely Saturday afternoon (note: due to public transport restrictions we like to start early and finish early before we have to sell our organs down back alleys to pay for cab fare home) the conversation turned to a variety of things, but eventually ended up (after the 4th or 5th shot) at 'how you look at life'.
Now, I am an extremely fortunate person, I might whinge about how I'm nearly 30 and I've done nothing (not true) but in actual fact I have a lot of things to be grateful for. Not least my lovely Muttley Bear, my fantastic friends and the fact I don't have to cut off my hair to sell to a wig makers to buy bread. So, yeah, I am a really lucky girl.
Some people I know aren't so fortunate in the luck states. Whether it's coping with no money, dealing with an insanely demanding family, having the roof fall in (and that came in 3rd of 'things that went wrong this week') or just having to deal with long term complications these people are being bombarded with stress.
And yet they manage it brilliantly.
I am truly in awe of them. Situations that would have me crawling down to the basement and weeping (loudly and hysterically) barely makes them bat an eyelid. They swoop through life with aplomb and grace and are always there when their more pathetic friend (me) needs a helping hand.
When I asked them how they could deal with it all, and deal with it without turning into a bitter, twisted harridan, they answered 'yeah, life can be crap sometimes - but what's the point of only focusing on the bad stuff? That'll get you nowhere. Sometimes you just have to focus on the good, the silly, the funny, the frivolous. Sometimes life just has to be about Jaffa Cakes and Unicorns'
So, this post, vastly insufficient an offering though it is, it dedicated to them. The friends I know who take on the worst life can throw at them and then make life run crying for its mother.
<3
Now, I am an extremely fortunate person, I might whinge about how I'm nearly 30 and I've done nothing (not true) but in actual fact I have a lot of things to be grateful for. Not least my lovely Muttley Bear, my fantastic friends and the fact I don't have to cut off my hair to sell to a wig makers to buy bread. So, yeah, I am a really lucky girl.
Some people I know aren't so fortunate in the luck states. Whether it's coping with no money, dealing with an insanely demanding family, having the roof fall in (and that came in 3rd of 'things that went wrong this week') or just having to deal with long term complications these people are being bombarded with stress.
And yet they manage it brilliantly.
I am truly in awe of them. Situations that would have me crawling down to the basement and weeping (loudly and hysterically) barely makes them bat an eyelid. They swoop through life with aplomb and grace and are always there when their more pathetic friend (me) needs a helping hand.
When I asked them how they could deal with it all, and deal with it without turning into a bitter, twisted harridan, they answered 'yeah, life can be crap sometimes - but what's the point of only focusing on the bad stuff? That'll get you nowhere. Sometimes you just have to focus on the good, the silly, the funny, the frivolous. Sometimes life just has to be about Jaffa Cakes and Unicorns'
So, this post, vastly insufficient an offering though it is, it dedicated to them. The friends I know who take on the worst life can throw at them and then make life run crying for its mother.
<3
Wednesday 8 June 2011
Manga: Shounen Manga - Is it possible they're the new feminists? Weird...
N.B. Please bear in mind that I use sweeping (and I mean sweeping) generalisations in this post. Japanese manga is varied and awesome and you can think of any topic under the sun and they will have written a manga about it - and several ones you would never have even thought of. This post deals with mainly mainstream manga - the pulp fiction stuff if you like. But to all those who have never read any before - I truly, truly recommend it. It can be beautiful, sad, moving, hilarious, psychedelic, awful and gentle all in one sitting. it is like watching a film in stills and they have a genuine gift for using landscape as emotional/ mental references. Plus, some of the stuff is so insane that you read going 'this is just....mental. how could anyone possibly read this?' And you keep reading it out of sheer incredulity and before you know it, you've read the first volume, put your coat on and walked to the bookstore to demand why they haven't stocked the next one.
But I digress, onwards to the actual post now...
I read a lot of manga - and I mean A LOT. Possibly I am what they call an otaku in Japan, or perhaps I am not quite worthy to receive that title just yet. In any case, I read a lot and I read everything.
I admit that I am fond of the romance stuff (cheese galore!) but recently, or perhaps it has just resurfaced in me, I grow sick of the same stuff over and over. You know, 'bad boy turns good with right girl', 'he's cold and mean but really, he loves me', 'he's a manipulative bastard but it's all for my own good'. I know I am generalising here (as some of the stuff that's out there is genuinely brilliant romantic stuff or just plain CUTE and fun to read) but a lot of it goes like this.
And the girls in them - the whiny, over-dependant, spineless girls. Oh my God do they make me ANGRY! Stop crying, grow a backbone - smack him! Arrgh! (Ahem, my Essex roots showing there somewhat).
So, for a while, I have moved away from the more romantic manga and decided to switch to Shounen - boys manga. Which normally I don't go for - what with them usually revolving around blood/gore, giant robots and big tits. Not that I have anything against robots and fisticuffs - they're just not my cup of tea.
But I fancied a change so off I went.
They are AMAZING! Totally ludicrous and completely hilarious! Samurai! Aliens! Bishies! Fans! Fisticuffs! MONOLOGUES! (all rolled into one in the case of Gintama - an anime and manga - both totally worth seeing) People getting thrown through walls, people getting punched, people going through tables, people being stabbed and beaten down but still heroically getting back up to defend their friends!
They are awesome. And the best bit about them is the women. Yes, they are all scantily dressed with short skirts and big tits (unless they are spooky looking little girls) and choose the oddest moments to become bashful. And sometimes yes, you get the typical DID (Damsel in Distress) but most of them are totally badass, utterly ruthless, cold hearted, violent, occasionally psychopathic and amazing.
Not ones for hiding in a corner sobbing, these girls will walk right over you in their determination to chop the bad guy into bits first. Yes, these girls are gun toting, sword wielding, giant robot making maniacs and, in my opinion, a strong candidate for roles models for future female world leaders. Although I would advise wearing slightly more clothing. And if you are going to be doing a lot of high kicks - perhaps shorts rather than skirts would be a better choice.
So, if anyone else is getting a little tired of the typical romance heroine, I, perhaps a bit bizarrely, recommend reading some Shounen manga for a truly hardcore female lead.
But I digress, onwards to the actual post now...
I read a lot of manga - and I mean A LOT. Possibly I am what they call an otaku in Japan, or perhaps I am not quite worthy to receive that title just yet. In any case, I read a lot and I read everything.
I admit that I am fond of the romance stuff (cheese galore!) but recently, or perhaps it has just resurfaced in me, I grow sick of the same stuff over and over. You know, 'bad boy turns good with right girl', 'he's cold and mean but really, he loves me', 'he's a manipulative bastard but it's all for my own good'. I know I am generalising here (as some of the stuff that's out there is genuinely brilliant romantic stuff or just plain CUTE and fun to read) but a lot of it goes like this.
And the girls in them - the whiny, over-dependant, spineless girls. Oh my God do they make me ANGRY! Stop crying, grow a backbone - smack him! Arrgh! (Ahem, my Essex roots showing there somewhat).
So, for a while, I have moved away from the more romantic manga and decided to switch to Shounen - boys manga. Which normally I don't go for - what with them usually revolving around blood/gore, giant robots and big tits. Not that I have anything against robots and fisticuffs - they're just not my cup of tea.
But I fancied a change so off I went.
They are AMAZING! Totally ludicrous and completely hilarious! Samurai! Aliens! Bishies! Fans! Fisticuffs! MONOLOGUES! (all rolled into one in the case of Gintama - an anime and manga - both totally worth seeing) People getting thrown through walls, people getting punched, people going through tables, people being stabbed and beaten down but still heroically getting back up to defend their friends!
They are awesome. And the best bit about them is the women. Yes, they are all scantily dressed with short skirts and big tits (unless they are spooky looking little girls) and choose the oddest moments to become bashful. And sometimes yes, you get the typical DID (Damsel in Distress) but most of them are totally badass, utterly ruthless, cold hearted, violent, occasionally psychopathic and amazing.
Not ones for hiding in a corner sobbing, these girls will walk right over you in their determination to chop the bad guy into bits first. Yes, these girls are gun toting, sword wielding, giant robot making maniacs and, in my opinion, a strong candidate for roles models for future female world leaders. Although I would advise wearing slightly more clothing. And if you are going to be doing a lot of high kicks - perhaps shorts rather than skirts would be a better choice.
So, if anyone else is getting a little tired of the typical romance heroine, I, perhaps a bit bizarrely, recommend reading some Shounen manga for a truly hardcore female lead.
Tuesday 7 June 2011
Laziness: Tuesday
Argh, I've been off from work - a rather unusual occurrence for me as I have a rather rabid work ethic (when people are paying me to that is). A pity it doesn't seem to translate into my own work - already I have missed several days of blogging. This is not good.
I must work harder. And post more interesting things than me whining.
Luckily, tomorrow is another day! I am a most fortunate being that this is so.
:)
I must work harder. And post more interesting things than me whining.
Luckily, tomorrow is another day! I am a most fortunate being that this is so.
:)
Friday 3 June 2011
List: A few of my favourite things
Red nail varnish
Red lipsticks
Stockings
A small selection of handheld pistols
Kittens
Most manga (yes, even the really corny stuff)
Some anime (even the ones with giant robots and girls with cat ears which reminds me...)
Cat ears
Halloween
Costumes in general
Tulle skirts
Words
Guitars
Rock Stars
Glitter
Spaceships
Scythes - particularly ones wielded by Shinigami
Impossibly high heeled but impossibly gorgeous shoes
Veronika Posseks cooking
Cake
Chocolate
Bread
Fruit (except melons and avocado - bleurgh)
The funnies in newspapers
All nail varnish really
The way my mum used to take me for cream cakes after I had been to the dentist
Curling up by radiators reading
Radiators
Lights (particularly the lighting department in large stores)
A certain persons Muttley laugh
Putting words in a certain order and turning them into something completely new
Fabric
Dancing
Balloons
Jelly and ice cream
Foxs Party ring biscuits
Dresses
Martial Arts films
Victorian lamp posts
Cobblestones
Fog
Graveyards
Steampunk
Artists (all kinds but most particularly Pre-Raphelite)
Neil Gaiman (he is King)
Terry Pratchett (he is a God)
Waltzers at fairgrounds
Hardwear stores with mysterious drawers full of tiny different bits of metal
Door knobs
Forks
Corsets
Hats with veils
Fingerless gloves
Cream
Afternoon tea
Tiny useless handbags with clasp fastenings
Silver (the coloure, the jewellery and the 30 pieces of)
Pirates (particularly the monkeys)
Red lipsticks
Stockings
A small selection of handheld pistols
Kittens
Most manga (yes, even the really corny stuff)
Some anime (even the ones with giant robots and girls with cat ears which reminds me...)
Cat ears
Halloween
Costumes in general
Tulle skirts
Words
Guitars
Rock Stars
Glitter
Spaceships
Scythes - particularly ones wielded by Shinigami
Impossibly high heeled but impossibly gorgeous shoes
Veronika Posseks cooking
Cake
Chocolate
Bread
Fruit (except melons and avocado - bleurgh)
The funnies in newspapers
All nail varnish really
The way my mum used to take me for cream cakes after I had been to the dentist
Curling up by radiators reading
Radiators
Lights (particularly the lighting department in large stores)
A certain persons Muttley laugh
Putting words in a certain order and turning them into something completely new
Fabric
Dancing
Balloons
Jelly and ice cream
Foxs Party ring biscuits
Dresses
Martial Arts films
Victorian lamp posts
Cobblestones
Fog
Graveyards
Steampunk
Artists (all kinds but most particularly Pre-Raphelite)
Neil Gaiman (he is King)
Terry Pratchett (he is a God)
Waltzers at fairgrounds
Hardwear stores with mysterious drawers full of tiny different bits of metal
Door knobs
Forks
Corsets
Hats with veils
Fingerless gloves
Cream
Afternoon tea
Tiny useless handbags with clasp fastenings
Silver (the coloure, the jewellery and the 30 pieces of)
Pirates (particularly the monkeys)
Thursday 2 June 2011
Brain Fluff: The mental equivalent to rooting down the back of the sofa for spare change
This would be me practising writing from scratch after a long break (i.e. total lapse) from it.
I'm not sure if this is a good result or bad one...
I'm not sure if this is a good result or bad one...
Fiona handled the skull and looked at it critically. Cracks were already beginning to appear from overuse. She shook her head sadly, human skulls just weren’t built like they used to be. Call it evolution or call it gene manipulation or call it whatever – sometimes she thought they’d put too much effort into the inside of the head and not enough into what protects it.
Plus, after they’d slaughtered that last group of knights, there weren’t likely to be anymore humans traipsing their way up the mountainside. Except for maybe a bard or too, and they were on the strictly no kill list. Besides the meat was far too flavoursome for her liking.
She looked at the cracked skull and sighed again. Now what was she supposed to serve the Lapsang Souchong in?
Dreaming: Sometimes I worry there are hallucinatory bugs scuttling round and setting up house in my brain
This is a short, very rough, unfinished piece I wrote some time ago. It was based on a rather disturbing dream I had. The meaning of said dream has yet to become clear.....
Playing House
After the invasion the house was never the same.
The Fat Man now ruled the attic with his living Victorian dolls.
The Ground Floor had fallen to the sea and its monstrous sea snails and lizards. Only a small island remained untouched near the conservatory. The dreaming forest the scientists had been experimenting on had resisted the watery attack. Many had fled to its branches for safety but only those test subjects who had become symbioted with it in the trials had survived.
No one knew what had happened to the quiet mole people who had populated the Basement.
The remaining survivors now live on the Third and Second floor. Living conditions are cramped and unhealthy. Food is becoming scare due to the kitchen being situated on the Ground Floor. We’re having to make to with biscuits and stale rock cakes scrounged from the small parlour on the second floor and what mushrooms we could grow in the Third Floor bathroom.
The Stairs have to be guarded constantly. The sea never rose further than the fourth or fifth step but the sea snails and lizards constantly try to breach our defences. Some of our braver members made forays down the first flight of steps in search of food. A few made it back.
The wooden ladders leading to the attic are another matter. At first we thought we could merely shut and bolt the trap door but the Fat Man had altered it so it was jammed open. He never comes near the opening, he doesn’t have to.
The Fat Man collects beautiful men. From the few glimpses we’ve seen through the slats in the ladder and the shadows thrown across the opening, after he takes them he dresses them in Victorian underwear – corsets and bloomers and petticoats. They seem hypnotised, moving sluggishly across the floor, their footsteps dragging so we hear the scrape of their feet through our ceiling. We hear them in the daytime, we hear them at dusk. We hear them at night and at the break of dawn. Sometimes we hear a heavy thump and then the chorus of feet is one less.
But the Fat Man calls down the ladder and any pretty man nearby is helpless to do anything but follow his voice up the ladder. The chorus is growing, despite our earwax, our mufflers, our earplugs and headphones. Most of the men now keep to the Second Floor. The women guard the ladder and their men.
Our numbers are now greatly reduced due to one enemy or the other. Once infighting had been a problem as well but that quickly stopped once we realised we were running out of people to argue with. Besides, none of the people whose fault this all are alive to blame.
I’m talking, of course, about the astralnauts.
The astralnaunts had been a campus joke. No one at the facility had taken them seriously – not even the folks in the archives and they were sweetly, but terribly gullible. The astralnauts believed in the existence of other planes that could be reached through the correct application of drugs and meditation. The other scientists wrote them off as hippies chasing dreams.
Turns out, the scientists were right. They were chasing dreams. Until one they caught one, and brought it back with them.
The Dreaming Forest
They didn’t realise that it was experimenting back.
At first the scientists merely examined the outer branches of the trees. After this yielded little in the way of information some of them ventured inside.
It turned out the inside was far greater than the external view had let on. Some of the scientists never returned, becoming lost within the ever-deepening trees. A few returned and spoke of the slow, even breathing they felt coming from the trees themselves and the queer yellow green light haze in the air.
We would find them constantly returning to the forest, drawn back to it. Soon, they too became part of the experiment.
The last time I had seen one of them it had been during the invasion. A lizard had pinned me to the ground, choking me in the putrid water that was flooding the ground floor. Suddenly its weight was lifted from me, a man stood before me, holding the thrashing lizard by its tail. He stared at me coolly, his yellow green eyes seeming to be unaffected by the chaos around us. I could see the skeletons of dead leaves under his skin. He turned and walked away, dragging the lizard with him. The remains of his lab coat blew in the gale that streamed through the broken windows.
We first started to notice certain changes around about the time some of the scientists started acting like they were lost to a lullaby. At first it was just little things, the appearance of things changed subtly, the decoration of the rooms altered from day to day. We were never sure about whether we’d always had carpet or not but we definitely knew the chintz was new.
The most frightening thing was that the campus seemed to be shrinking. We never lost any rooms but buildings that were once on opposite sides of the campus were now flush together. Distances shortened and eventually disappeared. By the time we noticed how serious it was the buildings seemed to give a massive lurch and we were presented we a coup de grace. The facility was now one building.
And it was a house.
Understandably everyone was bewildered. How could a fairly large area of sprawling buildings turn into a four-storey house? The archives had turned into a cool dark basement. The First Floor had absorbed the labs, workrooms and canteen. Only now they were a conservatory, a kitchen, booked lined studies. And a dinning room with full-length windows that looked out on the churning sea. The forest had installed itself in the bright conservatory.
The Second and Third floors had entirely been given over to living quarters and dainty little common rooms with wing backed chairs and delicate little side tables. The bedrooms were more spartan but everywhere there was bare polished wood and the suggestion of dollies.
We didn’t bother to look in the attic. Perhaps we should have done.
Even the location seemed altered. The facility had always been based near the sea. But had the countryside around us always been this deserted? Had the grass always looked so wild? Had we always been quite so close to the slope down to the gritty looking shore? And had the grey sea always waved at us so maliciously?
We were in a daze, wandering aimlessly around. So in shock that we didn’t even try to make sense of our surroundings. That lasted right up until the point someone tried to open the front door.
And then the back door.
And then the windows.
Pandemonium broke out when we realised that we were trapped. People ran around screaming or just collapsed where they stood, shaking uncontrollably. We tried every door in the house, getting more and more frantic on each attempt. Soon people were throwing the furniture at the windows, using bookcases as battering rams or even trying to set fire to the glass and wood front doors.
That’s when the infighting broke out – everyone blaming everyone else for what had happened. Had the astralnauts been there they would have been ripped into bloody, mismatching puzzle pieces. As it was they had vanished weeks before, victims of the forests lure.
All the remaining scientists immediately began running tests on the forest, trying o undo what it had done. But with no one co-operating with anyone else the tests were disjointed and random. All that happened was that the trees began to lose their lustre and colour, along with our surroundings. The furnishings seemed to fade before our eyes and the polished wooden floors became duller by the day. But we were so intent upon escaping that these seemingly insignificant details passed us by.
Neither did we notice how close the sea had become. Not until we woke one morning to find it slithering against the dining room windows.
Introduction
Greetings One and All
Rather pathetically, this is my first time blogging. So, if I make any crass errors or generally just end up looking like a doofus (a strong possibility given my nature) I must beg your forgiveness.
This blog began with the horrific realisation this morning that it was June already. June, halfway through the year. This would not be such an issue (after all, I love summer) were it not for the fact that it still feels more like February. This idle reflection on the nature of passing time led to a much more shocking one - that at this rate I would be 30 before I knew it.
Surely, you say, this isn't such a massive issue. Of course it isn't, 30 is still young. However, I had planned to see the world, write several best sellers and have my own cult following by the time I was 26 and as yet, none of that has happened. Which sucks.
Therefore, seeing as my plans for world dominion not coming to fruition has been my own fault since I simply have not put the effort in, I have decided to train myself (and perhaps gain followers for future plans) to work harder and accomplish more. If I can blog everyday, or most days, at the very least I will improve my attention span.
This blog will dedicated, but not limited to, short vignettes to hone my rather rusty writing skills, random critiques of various things I read and the occasional rumbles of my ever so slightly disturbed minds.
So future subjects, I apologise for any drivel you may have to wade through but I hope the finished attempt will entertain and enthrall you.
P.S. Anyone with an awesome plan for the eventual subjugation of the human race, please feel free to share :)
Rather pathetically, this is my first time blogging. So, if I make any crass errors or generally just end up looking like a doofus (a strong possibility given my nature) I must beg your forgiveness.
This blog began with the horrific realisation this morning that it was June already. June, halfway through the year. This would not be such an issue (after all, I love summer) were it not for the fact that it still feels more like February. This idle reflection on the nature of passing time led to a much more shocking one - that at this rate I would be 30 before I knew it.
Surely, you say, this isn't such a massive issue. Of course it isn't, 30 is still young. However, I had planned to see the world, write several best sellers and have my own cult following by the time I was 26 and as yet, none of that has happened. Which sucks.
Therefore, seeing as my plans for world dominion not coming to fruition has been my own fault since I simply have not put the effort in, I have decided to train myself (and perhaps gain followers for future plans) to work harder and accomplish more. If I can blog everyday, or most days, at the very least I will improve my attention span.
This blog will dedicated, but not limited to, short vignettes to hone my rather rusty writing skills, random critiques of various things I read and the occasional rumbles of my ever so slightly disturbed minds.
So future subjects, I apologise for any drivel you may have to wade through but I hope the finished attempt will entertain and enthrall you.
P.S. Anyone with an awesome plan for the eventual subjugation of the human race, please feel free to share :)
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