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10/01 Direct Link

'Do you know what's stopping me from being†a writer?'

'I couldn't possibly guess.'

'Nothing.'

'Nothing?'

'Nothing. Just an invisible wall. Barriers that we put up ourselves. I mean, what's stopping me from writing†a book and getting it published?'

'You complete lack of literary talent?'

'The process, that's what's stopping me. I think that it will take too long to write a book and, should I ever find the time, the chances are that no-one will want to publish it.'

'You're probably right.'

'But I can't be sure until I've tried.'

'So what's stopping you?'

'Nothing!'

10/02 Direct Link
The words come awkwardly, as do the silences.
He desperatly wants to force the words out.
They crawl and creep under his skin, trying
To burst through. To consume their host.

He imagines putting a pair of
Tongs down his throat, pushing down
Until he gags, until he can clasp the
Words an pull them out of him.

And while these imaginings go on,
She is still standing there, waiting.
Waiting for the words which she knows
Will not, cannot come.

Who would have thought that
Three small, simple words could choke
This man to the point of collapse?

I...I...

I love you.
10/03 Direct Link

Two women are diagnosed with motor-neurone disease.

One lives in an affluent area in the south-east, the other lives in inner-city London.

The one in the south-east is surrounded by rich, caring people, who throw charity events, including a classical concert, in order to raise money for her, and other local sufferers.

The one in London has no-one. There is no money spare to be spent on donations.

One recieves help and support, the other doesn't. Their lives have been dicated by a postcode.

It's not fair.

I can't see how it can be changed.

10/04 Direct Link
It's Monday. I'm tired. It's been a busy few days.

None of these factors help creativeness, so here are a few questions I think about in the hope that you will better understand my mind.

-Why?

-Am I good enough?

-What would Wilfred Owen make of the game Call of Duty?

-Who would win in a fight, a carrot or a potato?

-Am I simply a brain in a vat?

-If so, does this give me an excuse for not doing homework?

-Why is there never enough time to practice my instruments?

-What is reality?

-How would I define love?
10/05 Direct Link
He was walking over to me. I made a point of looking down.

'So,' he asked 'what have you done today, to make yourself proud?'

I hate him with a passion. I sigh loudly.

'What?'

'Done anything to make yourself feel proud?'

His enthusiasm was infectious. It gave you a headache and made you want to vomit.

'What are you talking about?'

'It's my new thing. Every day, we have to do something to make ourselves feel proud.'

I hated his 'things'.

I thought for a while.

'Well, I made it through the day.'

'Fantastic!'

I really did detest him.
10/06 Direct Link
'Have you every looked at your hands?'

'I suppose. Why?'

'They're amazing.'

'They're hands.'

'But have you never stopped to think how you move your fingers? How it is that you wish them to do something and they instantaneously do?'

'Not really.'

'You've never wondered how it is that you can be in complete control? How your body will do whatever you tell it to? Have you never even wondered how it is that you can tell your body to do these things?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'To think about it is pointless. It happens. That's all you need to know.'
10/07 Direct Link
The pianist lounged back on his stool, surveying his surroundings.

It was a bar. Not one populated by tourists or students, but one where true drinking took place. It was where people went to indulge in cheap wine, slurred banter and casual racisim.

The light slunk around the room, as if ashamed of even being there.

Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the smell of smoke. It always smelled of smoke, even though the ban had been in place for over two years. Maybe it liked the atmosphere.

He hated playing there, but musicians can't afford to†be picky.
10/08 Direct Link
'Right, I have a plot.'

'For what?'

'The book I'm writing.'

'The one you're writing because nothing is stopping you?'

'Yes.'

'What's the plot?'

'A man goes on a journey...'

'And?'

'And what?'

'You mean, that's it? A man...goes on a journey.'

'Yeh.'

'It's not really original, is it? I mean, everybody goes on a journey at some point in their life.'

'So what would you do?'

'A man has finished his journey, but cannot remember what happens, so he tries to re-trace his steps.'

'...Maybe you should be writing it instead.'

'Maybe.'

'What's stopping you?'

'Nothing.'
10/09 Direct Link
CRASH!

'What the!'

'Hm?'

'What was that?'

'What was what?'

'That massive crashing sound?'

CRASH! AHHHHHHHHH!

'Oh, that massive crashing sound.'

'Yes! What is it?'

'Nothing.'

'I like to think that I am a rational person. That I don't get unduly worried and that I refrain from voilence. But if you do not tell me what is GOING ON I WILL PUT YOUR HEAD IN THE OVEN AND TURN IT UP TO 200 DEGREES CELCIUS!'

BANG! CRASH! SCREEEEEEAAAAAMM!

'It's just something I keep in the cellar.'

'WHAT DO YOU KEEP IN THE CELLAR THAT MAKES THOSE HORRIBLE SOUNDS?'

'Well, it's...'
10/10 Direct Link
Mary sat by the river, her feet resting in the water. She loved the feel of the flow as it whispered its way over her. Looking at her reflection, she contorted her face in order to determine whether she was observing herself, or some water spirit who resembled her.

Having come to the conclusion that she was looking at herself, she glanced around. He had promised that he would be here soon. Then again, he normally promised he would be here soon.

Mary was used to the dissapointment. Resigned herself to it.

At least the river was here. Silent. Concrete.
10/11 Direct Link
I feel less creative. Like all my ideas have been snatched from my mind.

I can think of nothing interesting to write. Nothing at all.

Maybe none of my batches were ever interesting. Maybe I have simply been writing drivel for the past year, with nothing of merit ever being created.

Abominations. My words are abominations. Horrors. Scars.

They are ugly and brutish and unsubtle and terrible and full of awful, awful ideas.

I should give up. Stop tormenting whoever accidentally reads my batches.

Or maybe I should carry on in order to try and improve.

Make something of worth.
10/12 Direct Link
'Do want some of my tintinabulations?'

'Sorry?'

'I've got some spare tintinabulations. Do you want any?'

'...What do you think tintinabulation means?'

'It's a type of current bun, traditionally made in Norway, with fish flakes and ginger.'

'You know what?'

'What?'

'I really pity you. I do. You have no understanding of anything. You bumble through life aimlessly, never aquiring knowledge. You are an idiot, and will forever thus remain.'

'...You know what?'

'What?'

'I pity you. All you can see is the academic. You look at a rose and immediately think of the biology, not the beauty. How...sad.'
10/13 Direct Link

'Right, so, here is the start of my story.'

'Ok. Let's have a look...hmmm...ah-ha...right...good, good...yes. It's a load of rubbish.'

'What?'

'Take the first line. 'I will allow you to name me Isaac.' You're just stealing†the first line†from Moby Dick and making it worse.'

'Well, that's not to difficult to change.'

'Also, nothing happens.'

'It's not supposed to.'

'I know, but nothing happens in a very dull way. You need to make nothing happening sound exciting.'

'How?'

'I don't know. I'm not a writer.'

'Any other comments?'

'Rethink or perish.'

10/14 Direct Link
Jospeh continued walking along the pavement, going at a speed slow enough to annoy the people behind him, but just fast enough to make it awkward to pass.

He knew Mary would be waiting. She always did. Probably dipping her hand in the river and watching as droplets fell from her finger and caused the water to ripple.

Mary and Joseph. He understood the connotations.†

Running a hand through his hair, he tried to decided what excuse to use. He could think of none, so instead decided that he would simply go up to her and kiss her passionatly.
10/15 Direct Link
Waste.

That's all it is.

Unthinkable waste. Throwing away the spark. Watching the life slide down the drain.

She taught me geography. Ran marathons.

Nothing, now. Pure waste.

She was a good person. As far as I could tell.

She never shouted.

The lessons were in an old wooden hut, with antique glass windows. There was a small tree outside. The leaves would turn the light green.

It smelt of slightly damp wood. Earthy. Always slightly cold.

She gave us quizzes. Told to me run faster. Told me when I broke the school 200 meter record.

What can I say?

Goodbye.
10/16 Direct Link
'Dad?'

'Yes, dear?'

'I'm worried about something.'

'And what is that?'

'I'm worried that nobody is ever going to find me attractive and that I'll never get married and that I'll end up alone for the rest of my life.'

'Oh darling. That's just a fact you may have to resign yourself to.'

'What?'

'Well, honey, if I'm honest, you're no oil painting. The most that you can hope for is that someone is willing to marry below themselves. Like your mother did with me.'

'What?'

'There's no point in shielding it from you. Reality hurts, get used to it.
10/17 Direct Link
The triplets were one year old, today.

They were Christened in the church of Jesus the Carpenter.

It was rather a dull affair. The highlight was when the bishop went to draw the cross on Thomas' head with water, and Thomas pushed him away.

Lousia was perfect. Johnathan was more interested in eating the programmes.

Afterwards, there was little to do. I watched an old man cheat at pool against an eight year old.

The cake was good.

I assumed that the triplets had a good time. They won't remember it.†

But that's not the point, is it?
10/18 Direct Link

Apparantly, a question Harvard University ask students in an interview is 'Think of 10 things that you can use a kettle for'. I humbly present my answers to this question.

1. Let's get it out of the way...to boil water for tea.

2. To boil potatoes.

3. As a method of fighting off thieves.

4. You could use many in conjunction to power your TV by letting the steam move a turbine.

5. As a replacement hammer.

6. As an aphrodisiac.

7. As a piece of modern art.

There would be more, but it seems I've run out of...

10/19 Direct Link
Here he came, walking down the street. Passers by were giving him funny looks.

He always got funny looks.

Mary twisted her body to face him. She knew what he would do. Having thought of no excuse as to why he was late, he would simply kiss her there and then.

She wasn't sure whether she resented the fact that he thought her so shallow. Maybe is was rather nice that he belived everything could be sovled with a kiss.

Two sides to everything.

She took her feet out the water and stood to meet him. Mary smiled and waited.
10/20 Direct Link
Winnie the pooh...what happened next.

Eeyore:

Helped to set up the largest accountancy firm in Europe, specialising in helping European royalty avoid income tax. Upon making his first £1,000,000 he commited suicide by hanging himself by his tail.

Tigger:

Brought out an exercise vidio, which was popular with the Hollywood elite. He eventually died of a heart-attack.

Piglet:

Piglet, or 'piggers' to friends, is rumoured to be in China, helping the dissidents fight against the Communist government.

Winnie the pooh:

He still has a fetish for honey, and is still the happiest and most content.
10/21 Direct Link
I detest the word 'bored'.

More specifically, I do not like people who constantly say that they are bored, or that something is boring.

A while ago, I was sitting in the school hall, listening to a general studies lecture. It was about the 'troubles' in Ireland, the IRA, bombings and how, in Dublin, you would not put the lights on in your house in case you presented yourself as a target.

Two people behind me kept on saying how bored they were throughout the entire lecture.

They never even gave it a chance. That is what really annoys me.
10/22 Direct Link

There she was. She looked good. She looked fine.

She was, for the moment, all Joseph's. For how long was a mystery. They weren't the Beatles, They wouldn't last forever, but at least they could enjoy the time that was theirs.

That was his theory. Joseph never really discussed it with Mary. He didn't think she would be interested.

Executing his plan, he kissed Mary, if not perfectly, then properly.
†††
He tried to do this as little as possible. Apparently, if you kissed someone properly, your heart worked so hard that you lost three minutes of you life.

10/23 Direct Link

'How would you like to die?'

'That's morbid for a Saturday.'

'Well, I was just thinking about death...'

'As you do.'

'As I do, and I was wondering what was the best way to die.'

'As you're asking me, I assume you came to no conclusion?'

'I'm working on something. I was just wondering if you had anything to offer.'

'...I would like to die happy.'

'Hmm.'

'Hmm?'

'I thought you'd be, well, more imaginative.'

'Oh. Well, how about you?'

'I came to the conclusion that it doesn't matter how I die. I'll still be dead, so I won't care.'

10/24 Direct Link
Look.

ThethingisI'vebeentryingtotellyouthisforquiteawhilenowandyouneverseem
togetmyhintsmaybetheyaretoosubtlewhoknows?

ButitseemsthatIthinkaboutyouallthetimewhenIfirstwakeupallduring thedaywhenIgotobedbyallthetimeImeanallthetimeanditjustseemto methattheonlypossiblereasonthatthiscouldhappenisbecauseI havehoplessromanticfeelings...

Heh...

What I mean to say is...

I love you.
10/25 Direct Link
'It's two months till Chirstmas!'

Here he was. Again. Still acting like an insufferable child. Again.

'Congradulations. You understand how a calender works.'

He seemed to be immune to my sarcasm. Maybe that's why he's the only one who has been able to stand being around me.

'Don't you love Chirstmas, with all the lights and presents and glitter!'

You could hear the exclamation mark at the end of each sentence.

'What do you want this Chirstmas?'

I thought for a while.

'Peace and quite.'

'That's nice. I want an x-box. I wonder if Santa will bring me one?'
10/26 Direct Link
-She hasn't replied.

-I know.

-She hates you.

-No...she doesn't.

-Yes she does. She hates you. She detests talking to you.

-That's not true.

-It is. It is true.You push her away. You try and be funny and witty and you fail and fail and fail. Every single time. You try and be polite and charming and you just give the impression that you're already middle aged.

-No.

-Yes. She hates†seeing you, she despises...

-Shut up! Just...just...shut up...

-Temper, temper. Phrases like that drive people away, you know.

-I know.

-She hates you.

-I know.
10/27 Direct Link
On the way back to Dover on the ferry, I had my faith in humanity confirmed.

Sitting in one of the lounge areas, a man asked me where you could purchase a newspaper. It wasn't far, so I decided to take him there myself, as I am terrible with directions.

When I got back, coats and bags were on my seat. However, they had been placed there by a family behind me, who were reserving it for me for when I got back.

It was a simple, sweet, beautiful†action by complete strangers.

Most people really are very nice. Promise.
10/28 Direct Link
It's cold.

Freezing. Can't feel hands. Bones shake, rattle and, occasionally, roll. Rubbing frantically. Nothing.

Isolated. Cold cold cold. Wrap up warm, my mother always said. I am. Not helping. At all. Rub quicker. Just hurts, No warmth.

Shiver. Slides down my body. Looks like I've had too much caffine. No such luck.

Waiting. It's cold. I want to cry. Freeze to my cheeks. Fragments of ice, shrapnel, flying from my eyes.

It hurts. It's cold. It's like it's inside me, radiating outwards. See my breath. No longer pretend I'm a dragon. To cold to use imagination.

Pray for me.
10/29 Direct Link
Mary wasn't surprised that the kiss didn't linger.

Apparently, he had read a study about kisses causing shortness of life. She wasn't really that interested.

Mary took his hand. It was cold. It was always cold, even in summer. It had shocked her, the first time, to the point that she pulled away sharply and gasped. She'd even looked at her hand to see if she had had freeze burn.

Joseph had just stared at her, smiling slightly, as if used to the reaction.

Now, it no longer bothered her. Mary felt it was her duty to keep them warm.
10/30 Direct Link
I just realised that it is nearly the end of October.

Where did it go? I swear someone stole a few days, snatched them from under our noses.

Is nobody angry? Does nobody care that time, the unconquerable army keeps marching on without stopping to consult us? I want it to stop. Right now.

I want to push time to a standstill. I want to remain forever in this one bubble of time, at this age, with this mind, with this situation.

...I am just a petulant child, screaming at the world because it won't give me what I want.
10/31 Direct Link
Joseph always noticed how warm her hands were. Then again, to him, everyone's hands were warm.

They went walking in a vauge direction. It didn't matter where, just so long as they were walking together.

Their parents thought that they were a sweet couple. Joseph didn't like this description. Sweets only last for seconds, the pleasureable experiance evaportating quickly. Temporary. Even if they did not last together forever, the feelings experianced would outlast the world.

Joesph thought again, and wondered whether he really believed this. He came to the conclusion that he thought too much, and walked on with mary.