TIME

What would you say if I offered you the opportunity to buy Time? For about twenty quid?

Sad robot

He used to be so happy. He once even won the coveted ‘happiest robot in the world’ award. That’s how happy he used to be. But these days he is just so sad. The other day someone said they had categorical proof that he was, in fact, the saddest robot in the world. Just goes to show you, hey..?   

Influences

As part of the build up to the release of the Time project published by Lazy Gramophone (to which I have contributed a short poem), I was asked to write a few words acknowledging the people/books/films/artists that have most inspired my writing. I have copied below what I sent them. And am aware that this piece is about one hundred time longer than the poem that's actually going to be published in the book. *Time will be released 26 May 2013. 

2001. Stanley Kubrick’s interstellar voyage is one of those very rare things: a film as good as the book that spawned it. But that isn’t why it’s on my list. It’s here because, as a piece of work in its own right, it is perfect. What the film lacks in dialogue, it makes up for with its mesmerising visuals, intriguing past/present/future plot and incredible soundtrack. I have watched it over and over again, and have never once been bored. *NB: Other films that stand up to their papery counterparts, in my opinion, include The Shawshank Redemption, The Shining, Fear and Loathing, and, more recently, The Life of Pi.

Crime and Punishment. Despite paragraphs that last forever and the confusion caused by each individual character possessing a bewildering array of names, persevering with Dostoyevsky’s masterpiece is one of the most rewarding literary missions you can undertake. As the novel crackles towards its climax, Dostoyevsky somehow manages to make you feel every gut wrenching twist and turn as if you were the one with blood on your hands. It is incredible and highlights how powerful the written word can be.

George Orwell. No award for originality here but Orwell is probably the main reason I wanted to be a writer, and at least a contributing factor to my becoming a full-time smoker. As a teenager, reading books like 1984, Down and Out in Paris and London, Animal Farm and the less-frequently lauded Coming Up for Air, it felt almost impossible to want to do anything in life other than aim to become a lesser version of George Orwell.

Jarvis Cocker. Though my Sheffield roots make me slightly biased, I think Jarvis Cocker is one of the greatest writers of his generation. He is the perfect antidote to pretentiousness, highlighting on album after album that pragmatism and wit are more effective than longwinded snobbishness. I thoroughly recommend his collected lyrics book, ‘Mother, Brother, Lover,’ to anyone not entirely convinced of Cocker’s earthy genius.  

Surrealism. There’s nothing in literature I like more than an unreliable narrator. And I think the art world’s closest matching version of this comes from the surrealists. Though frequently starved of praise from the higher brow members of the artistic community, I love the freedom present in the work of people like Dali, Ernst and Magritte. I have always imagined the stories that could be set in their otherworldly locations, particularly in those weird endless deserts.

no thing

nothing

Snowman: 'sno joke

When I was little, I built a snowman in my front garden.

He was great, twice as tall as me. I was so proud.

He had a big green hat, which went perfectly with dad’s old green scarf (cashmere, naturally).

I used three pieces of coal, to give the impression he had buttons down his front.

More coal was used to create the illusion of eyes and a mouth.

And I stuck a Clementine into the middle of his face for a nose.

Then, that night, he came to life, dragged me from my bed and flew me off to some awful snowman land.

It was terrifying.

Awful.

Psymun, aged 41

New Year's Resolutions

1. Find a new hobby

Definitely stop: 2. clambering around; 3. making dust pictures and;  4. insect experiments. (I’ve come to realise that these things aren’t ok no more)

5. Quit jogging

6. Stop slouching

7. Bake fewer cakes – replace with increased bun baking activity

8. ?

9. Contribute more to things like community + society / people     

10. Just stop it.

by Psymon, aged 7

A thank you letter (2)

Dear Aunty June,

My mum said I had to send you a letter to say thanks for the [xxxxxxxxxx].

It was really great when I opened the gift on Xmas day + saw what you’d got me – I was so happy about it. Next year, though, or maybe for when my birthday comes round (May 15^th), perhaps you could reassign some of your expenditures slightly. 

You always put your presents in such expensive wrapping papers, and you put those bows and a ribbon round it too. And the gift bags. I suggest you don’t bother with all that and add whatever the saving would be (let’s say approx 5-10Euros) on to the quality of the gift itself. No gives a  cares about the extras. Just like with people, I like to think that, with gifts, it’s what’s inside that counts.

Thanks again, see you at Grandma's annual winter bbq on the 5th.

Rikh (age 8)

PS: It’s also really wasteful. People in some counties don’t even have Xmas.

MYSTERY BUS (a true story)

The otherworldliness of their appearance tricked many of us into misplaced excitement initially. But it didn’t take long for the positivity to fade.

They’ve been here for about a month; circling around menacingly, acknowledging no one and contributing nothing of value to village life. They are a mystery. Not an intriguing, pleasant kind of mystery, but the kind of mystery that almost certainly shrouds something despicable.

Anyway, though I’m not keen to paint myself as some kind of human Scooby-Doo, I have decided to get to the bottom of it. That’s why I’ve been sat in my car, in the pitch black, for two hours, clutching a video camera, and torch and a normal camera.

But before we get on with the actual nitty-gritty of the detective work, I may as well fill you in properly about what you’ve agreed to get involved with.

Our enemies take the guise of two (or maybe three, I’m not sure) 1930s American-looking buses. I think there are two green and cream-coloured ones and one that is probably best described as deep-but-dirty-burgundy (and cream). Apart from the difference in colour, all three (let’s say there’s three) are exactly the same in appearance.

Each one boasts the same blacked out windows, the same faceless driver and the same ornate styling. To the front of each bus is fixed a spare wheel, annoyingly small and incredibly shiny. The wheel sits on the point at which the buses’ elaborate side panels meet. Like waves encircling the bus they bulge their way along each side, forming an unnecessary peak that protrudes out beneath the driver’s cabin, which is made of weird angles.   

One the rear of each bus it reads ‘Oketon Prison’ – needless to say there is no Oketon Prison around here. And, despite my best attempts, I have managed to locate no Oketon Prison anywhere in the country. I’m not sure whether this is a clue, or an intentional distraction. I’m tempted to suggest the latter.

You’ll have to forgive any incoherence in my explanation here, as I am focusing my concentration into my rear view mirror. I cannot miss the opportunity to discover the truth.

Apart from the blacked-out windows and the fake prison motifs, the thing that is causing me most consternation at present is the route these buses take. I usually see them heading east to west along Park Road, they then loop round the roundabout, up past the shops, straight on past our house and then right down Phurst Street, where it disappears from my sight (cos I usually watch them from out of the living room window). I can only speculate as to where they go from there, as I thought it was a dead end. That is one of the things that has been driving me mad. It doesn’t make sense.

Sometimes, though this is rarer, they emerge south of Park Road, come up through the park, and then follow the same route once they hit the roundabout. Where they come from before they reach the park is anyone’s guess. They loop round and round and round. Sometimes you’ll see the same one twice, or even thrice, an hour. It is infuriating.

What else can I tell you? Though they operate most frequently during the day at weekends, they are also around during the week and at night. I think they run all the way through the night, actually. They never stop to allow anyone on or off. They loop around and around. Their purpose is entirely unknown. Once I thought the drivers were holographic. But I think that might be a bit far fetched.

We must discover where these buses come from, who operates them and what their purpose is. I think they are evil and creepy.

We don't have to sleep

My mate Rikh recently told me that going to sleep is opt-in/opt-out. At first I didn’t believe her but she showed me the evidence and, I can tell you, there’s no doubt about it: humans don’t actually have to go to sleep.

“Although going to bed can be a pleasurable experience and dreams are certainly sometimes exciting,” she said, “just listen to what I’ve been doing while you’ve been slobbing out in bed, like a dumb dog, with your stupid eyes shut...”

Unfortunately she swore me to secrecy; therefore I can’t divulge any of the amazing things he’s been up to. But she’s had some right times...

Timothy Leader (maverick pigeon feeder)

Timothy Leader keeps sacks of breadcrumbs in his pockets and bags. He never leaves home without them. And that’s because he’s one of those people you see, who often wear threadbare coats and weird shoes, hanging around the public squares in your city, feeding pigeons.

It’s a singular kind of person that decides to go down the route of public pigeon feeding. They are generally extremely thoughtful and honest individuals; the kind of person with whom most right-thinking people would happily share a scotch egg and half an ale of a Thursday and/or Wednesday afternoon in summer. Public pigeon feeders (PPFs) are also usually among society’s most stable characters. It’s a little known fact that a staggering 67 point three % of them are almost entirely debt free.

These ‘average’ PPFs, however, do not represent Timothy. He is an entirely different – some would say maverick – breed of PPF. For starters he operates, in net weight terms, with an 4:1 breadcrumb to seed ratio. Timothy goes to the trouble of weighing out a selection of poppy, pumpkin and sesame seeds and expertly blending them with the breadcrumbs, simply because that’s his vibe. He can’t really be sure the pigeons notice. But he’s seen other PPFs furtively glancing at his product from time to time (though the less said about that the better).

Timothy Leader does not only differ from your run of the mill pigeon feeder in relation to the composite mixture of his feed though. He is taller, and significantly richer, than most of the others too. He works in a bank, where he has got a secretary, and he shoulders the burden of immensely stressful decisions. Sometimes it’s like make or break, and megadeals. Your average PPF lacks the mental strength to handle such intense pressure.

Ironically, it’s questionable whether Timothy would be able to handle the pressure himself were it not for his love of feeding the pigeons. It was after a particularly stressful meeting, which went badly, that he first threw a few crusty scraps of his mid-range Pret a Manger sandwich at a group of pigeons. After seeing the selfish glints in those birds’ eyes when they startled to gobble he was hooked, and started feeding them on a daily basis.

All that now remains for me to explain is the incredible level of hatred Timothy Leader holds for pigeons. He despises their horrible legs and their stupid faces. Bile rises in his throat when he sees them scratching around outside his window. He wishes them ill. This is why Timothy includes secret ingredients called poison and bits of glass in his breadseedfeed mix.

A boring story detailing four loosely connected scenarios

After fifteen cracking months in the jungle, David decided it was time to return home. He had seen twelve different types of tropical toad during his one-point-two-five year adventure. And that was three more than he ever dared dream. He was also to be heading home with a new best friend. They’d met one day when David was scratching his back on a knobbly tree. The tree in question served as a den for Conrad Carlton the clever cat, and the two became firm friends.

Conrad Carlton had led a charmed life. He was aged 50 human years when he served in the Falklands and has increased that total since. This, it should be said, is no mean feat when you consider what Conrad considers an average day. He gets out of bed at precisely noon, drinks three bowls of chilli-flavoured milk and then plays with fire and performs daredevil moves until bed. The bed he sleeps in was bought from the Imaginary Pet Shop, near Boots.

The Imaginary Pet Shop is one of those places where dreams can come true. But it also facilitates nightmares coming true too. Unfortunately its ratio is something like dreams/nightmare = 1/10. One such nightmare scenario happened when a girl called Sarah bought a grey hamster from the store back in 19-oh-6. At first everything was normal but after a bit the hamster went mental, escaped from its cage, and snapped Sarah’s neck off.

This hamster, Derek he was called, scarpered after decapitating his owner. He made a beeline for the airport, as he knew the feds would be on his ass. He didn’t care where he went; he just had to put distance between himself and the bloody mess he’d left behind. It’s tough work at an airport for a hamster, as you can imagine. But after a few hours of zigzagging here and there he managed to board flight BA345, where he met a lovely air stewardess called Jant.

The end

My legs 'N' arms 'R' bent

Thought Train

Hello,
My first digital short for Kindle was published recently. 
It is called Thought Train.
It is a short story, detailing the time when I was sucked into a succession of parallel universes.
It also includes detail of some of the unusual characters I met along the way...
The story is my contribution to the excellent baddollar project.
To purchase it you only need to spend one pound (£)(!)
You can read it on your Kindle or on the Kindle apps available on smartphones and other computing devices.
Thanks very much.
PS: the cover looks like this:

Man in dramatic super fireball escape

Man in dramatic super fireball escape

A man escaped certain death uninjured earlier when everything blew up.

Rikh Gremlin, 35, heroically strode out of a super gigantic fireball like he didn’t even care.

An elderly eye-witness to the incredible event, which took place near the park at that bit where the tramps all hang out drinking booze all day, said, “I was amazed. He looked like something from a film or off Sky, or something.

“I think the most amazing bit was just after the explosion, when he walked out of the fireball, unharmed. Amazing.”

Fire-quell operatives were on the scene a matter of hours after it was reported. They eliminated the hot threat quickly, spraying their hoses right on to the flames.

Though initially reticent to communicate with us because of recent (and well-founded) negative press coverage, the fire elimination team spokesman did eventually mumble a few ill-chosen words. But we have opted to exclude them from this report as they added little to the story.

It is thought that the fire was started intentionally by fags smoked by heroic Rikh Gremlin himself. He is now wanted for questioning by the police team of this city. His whereabouts are currently unknown and the feds are asking members of the public to come forward if they have any information that may lead to this awful criminal’s capture.

FOR SALE

For Sale

We are moving into a different (bigger) house and, because we are better off than we were when we moved into the house we are set to move out of, we’ve decided to sell some of the crud we’re now able to afford better versions of.

There’s some pretty decent kit in here. Some stuff you’ll probably see as an upgrade.

No time-wasters.

-        Three spoons (1x tea and two soup – silvery colours, unboxed, light scuffs on soup spoon): £15/ono

-        Every James Bond ever made (up to and inc. Die Another Day) on VHS: £50

-        Festive fairy lights (white, three modes, inc. ‘fastblinque’): $23/ono

-         Beige three-seater sofa (lightly soiled): £150  (SOLD)

-        Genuine space bits (assorted shapes and sizes): £3each/prix fixe

-        Bent stool: £17

-        One of them big blue bags from IKEA (perfect condition): £10/ono

-        SNES (Super Nintendo Entertainment System + Mario Land): £100 (or swap for Mega Drive + Sonic 2)

-        Large plastic dog’s bed (perfect condition – we have no pets): £38/prix fixe

All items are collection only (apart from the potential SNES/Mega Drive swap, for which my husband and I are willing to meet and exchange the items). (We could maybe meet in an equidistant pub and have a pint of booze?)

If you’re interested in any of this stuff, please let us know asap. Cos we’re expecting demand to be explosive and real.

No time-wasters.

Call 0755 358 898 or email us

(Our names are Devvo and Rikh)

LOST CAT

LOST CAT

Hello,

My cat went missing the other day.

And we can’t find him anywhere.

Unfortunately I have never taken a picture of him, so I can’t show you what he looks like (this is making me more sad than I already was about losing her in the first place).

He is a smallish brown dog, with nice eyes and a big tail.

His favourites are the park and eating treats.

He is called Bowser (like off Super Mario Land).

He has got a kind of blue collar.

If you find him please let me know.
Thanks.

Also if you have any information

Reward.

A thank you letter (1)

Dear host,

My fairly recent visit to your ‘house’ was truly a special time for me. And I feel it only appropriate to acknowledge as much in ink on paper (see below).

As you well know, when I arrived on that blustery autumn eve I was pretty much on the edge of totally losing it. But your baked food and the antique chairs upon which you let me sit pacified me greatly.

Three weeks in to my stay with you – I hope you recall – I was finally able to smile. And only a day or two later, I managed to let go of that ceremonial sword I’d been lugging around. I have you, and your kindly kin, to thank for equipping me with the requisite powers to stride past those particular personal milestones. And I am forever in your debt(s).

I think the period of my stay I look back upon most fondly is the bit that happened just after we had the disagreements. Once we’d lain to rest the ugly discussions regarding who was taking advantage of whom, I hope you agree that we had a solid couple of weeks.

Particular highlights for me from this period include the strolls ‘cross the marshes, hitting the booze hard, playing with the Scalextric set, and the day we got that swan. Lol.

It’s been – what? – three months, two weeks and but a few days since I left you now, and I have to tell you, I have never been more financially secure in my entire life. Shortly after leaving your residence, I received a telegram detailing a hugely fortuitous string of events.

A long lost relative of mine passed away over on the continent last year. And, as they were on the way to hear the reading of the will, his next of kin were all killed by forks of lightening from the sky. Three foreign solicitors have, since then, spent seven months trying to track me down. And I am now the proud owner of a cool three point five mil.
 
Your friend,
Carl Badcoqe

A boring story detailing what I did when I got out of bed and some other things too

I woke when my phone started vibrating and making sounds.
It went off at 7.30.
But I enjoyed ten minutes’ worth of Senior Snooze.
So I got out of bed at just after 7:40. I think it was 7:42, actually.
Next it was time for a shower, which went: shampoo (Brilliant Brunette), conditioner (not sure), shower gel (Radox’s Watermint and Sea Minerals), and then face wash (supermarket own brand).
I then brushed my teeth with a toothbrush and some white toothpaste designed for sensitive teeth, which I have.
I dried my body with a light blue towel measuring 1.3 metres by 75 centimetres, which I then placed into my washing basket. Light blue is, in fact, my favourite colour.
I should probably have hung it (the towel) up to dry before putting it in the washing basket cos I don’t want all the other items in my basket going damp while they wait to be washed in my washing machine.
Hopefully no ill will come of that.
I then got dressed: pants, then socks, followed by shirt, trousers, tie, and jacket.
Breakfast was coffees.
It was then time to leave the house because I was due at the inaugural meeting of the Intergalactic Heroes Gang at precisely 100.2, Standard Space Time (SST).

What I have learnt being human

You may or may not know that several years ago I entered into a contract with what can only be described as a super secret organisation (SSO). This agreement meant I had the opportunity to experience life from a variety of different vantage points. I was turned temporarily into a dog, a planet, a pirate, a super hero and a ghost, as well as several other entities.

I had some amazing experiences. The one that has left it mark most indelibly in my data bank is when I was a planet. I’m obsessed with space and, despite the inevitable isolation I experienced during my time as a celestial body, it’s going to be hard to beat in terms of life experiences. Being a ghost was a right laugh too, for a bit.

But the reason I'm saying all this is that, although I have learnt so much and am grateful to have experienced and seen more than anyone could ever reasonably expect, I’m happiest now that I am a permanent human again.

Humans have the potential to shape their own experiences and to display and receive empathy in ways fun-sounding things like cars and ghosts and planets can never hope to understand.

A human is a fantastic thing to be. Congratulations.

_____

NOTE: Advanced aliens are better than humans

What I learnt being an alien

Being an alien is really weird.

Putting to one side the fact that the alien I was had a super advanced alien brain capable of comprehending mind boggling concepts even the most exceptional human minds are unable to master, the weirdest thing about being an alien was communicating via telepathy. It was a bit like having an unreleased version of the iPhone, powered by brainwaves, located inside your soul.

My favourite thing about being a member of an advanced alien civilisation was the opportunity to experience a different level of progression and understanding. Their technological advancement was equalled only by their harmonious relationship with their natural environment. God knows how they managed it. It was really inspiring.

But I have to admit that being an alien was just too confusing. I didn’t really know what was going on during any of the 900 days I was on their planet. #lol