Wednesday 28 December 2011

Defenestrated

I'm back from Bowen after a week of lightning and frantic attempts to connect to Facebook mobile. Now, I'm listening to Deftone’s ‘Diamond Eyes’ and wondering what on Earth I actually planned to write when I came home.

It’s a curious thing: every car trip lasting more than 20 minute, and I’ve decided to start on my magnum opus. Some magnificent creation that would make schoolchildren in decades to come question their existence, and my sanity. Literary geniuses would misinterpret it, and I won't correct them. A pathetic little ditty or internet meme. High art.

An ambition consisting of a couple one-liners and insipid comments that disappears the second we return home. Open the doors – turn on coffee. Spend the next three hours checking Facebook and browsing reddit. Remember that you’ve still got another couple of pages to finish ‘A Christmas Carol’. Eat wedges and bacon bits. “The advice I’m going to give you goes directly against what I normally tell my patients. Eat McDonalds - a lot of it.” Medical justification.

Hear thunder. Watch rain fall horizontally. Lightning painting the sky an electric shade of purple. The harbour at Bowen – a milky arctic blue; lit internally, silhouetted against a rolling black storm. Walk because you’ve been locked out of the apartment, and are being eaten alive by sandflies.  Cloud movement long before the rain starts to fall; nascent streaks of black accompanied by gallows lightning. Stream-of-consciousness as you haven't a clue what to write.

Microsoft word fills my screen with little green squiggles.

It disapproves of my grammar, heartily.

Thursday 22 December 2011

A Christmas Carol

A Christmas Carol
Once upon a time,
In a land not far from here;
There lived a little flurry of mall Santas,
Without any Christmas cheer.

From gin-soaked whiskers
Plucked fresh from darkened streets;
To hastily bandaged bootstraps
That disguised disfigured feet.

They swayed about in Santa’s Kingdom
Asking children what they did for fun;
With a hand that was held a little too tight
And a voice that smelled of rum.

Although children cry and parents bemoan
This sordid depravity of cheer;
We can still breathe a collective sigh
That it comes only once per year.

Wednesday 21 December 2011

This is not a title.

This is a first attempt at using any image software aside from MS Paint. Needless to say, it was finished in MS Paint. You are right to scorn.

Monday 19 December 2011

Somniferous almond eyes

It’s 1.30 in the morning. Although I have work in a depressingly scarce spread of hours, I cannot sleep.  Normally, I’d make use of the insomnia like normal people - staring at the ceiling in the hope that it can explain the inexplicably perpetual paucity of my bank account. But now that I have a blog - in name if nothing else - I’m allowed to write instead.

This has not been without issues. To avoid waking the house, I’m writing in the non-luculent glow of my phone, which winks in and out of existence like a narcoleptic lighthouse keeper. I’ve broken two pens in as many paragraphs. This has been solved by a pencil. If it breaks I’ll throw the lot into the bin.

I’m currently wearing a week old growth of beard from a trip to Brisbane. It’s long since gone past the stage of acceptable stubble, and now resembles a blackened, greasy mange that would put most of Occupy Brisbane to shame. It has now been shaved.

‘The Devil’s Orchard’ by Opeth is playing in my mind at a level appropriate for concert flashbacks, but not sleep.

Goodnight.

Do not buy a phone tomorrow.

Please.

Sunday 18 December 2011

The Lass

Necessary Poe's Law disclaimer: 'Tis a nonsense rhyme.

The Lass
When I go out of for dinner
With a particularly voluptuous lass,
I cannot help but ponder
Upon that perfect ass.

Squeeze it right
And squeeze it tight,
Let steely fingers deliver
A fully knuckled bite.

When she has gone away,
And when my face has stopped stinging;
About that that perfect ass
I cannot help but start singing.

Friday 16 December 2011

Nothing good ever begins with an introduction.

I’ve decided to start a blog, if only to make the inevitable descent into holiday madness seem a little less monotonous.

Nothing good begins with an introduction, so here one begins: I’m a 19 year old economics student, pretending to speak different languages and read fancy books to pass the time. A hopeless romantic, although with far more emphasis on ‘hopeless’ rather than ‘romantic’. My favourite flower is cauliflower, though I’ve heard roses taste rather nice as well.

I haven’t decided what I should write here – or here – or even what I should blog about. I’d take photographs, but I’ve been advised on medical opinion that such as ‘retina-scaringly horrible’ actually exists. I’d likewise consider vapidly insidious and truly awful poetry, but small children in Africa have a sudden tendency to burst into flames whenever a single verse is read out.

I try to avoid such incidents wherever possible.

In any case, this will likely be used as a repository for the insipid detritus that keeps me from going insane during the holidays, and that no-one-will-read, regardless. This is my distraction, nothing more.

I wrote a wholly unsuccessful blog during high school. You can find it here if interested.