Well guys, it's been a hell of a year and all I can say is THANK CHRIST it's over! The best thing to come out of this year was a shiny new iPhone (thanks Santa) and severe emotional scarring (thanks life). Still, all things must come to an end. Even the bad things.
My plans for New Year - as is fast becoming tradition - are meagre but should be fun. For once in my life I plan to herald in the new year and throw myself at the challenges that face me (passing Uni with a decent grade, getting a job, moving out) as opposed to shrinking away and getting others to fight my battles. As a wise hobbit once sang, 'the road goes ever on and on' so keep calm and carry in.
I think sleep deprivation may have confused me so I'd best retreat to bed where I'll most likely dream of torture and Filofaxes (thanks Santa!)
Have a good one!
Friday, 30 December 2011
Wednesday, 14 December 2011
Words Have Appeared
Christ, is it possible that I'm actually typing words for FUN?! Good God it's...it has to be a lie! But no, it's not, this is actually happening, I'm actually typing words that you're actually reading. What a world, eh?
It's 8am and I feel like doing something different. I'd like to go out onto the hills and paint a portrait or delve deep into the city with a badass camera and get all snap-happy. I'd like to do something new today. Problem is I don't live near hills and can't paint for shit...also it's kinda cold to be out and about and my camera screen got smashed so taking pictures is a bit hit and miss. Today I'll probably stay in bed all day doing nothing of interest. Oh, I guess I should clean my hamster cage too.
There's something disturbingly beautiful about early mornings. I hate how late the sun rises now, and how the mornings are always a dirty grey colour instead of a fiery red. But mentally, I mean, the morning after the night before is always a good time to get creative. New start new day new weather new people. New opportunites that are always squandered...for me, anyway.
For those of you that have found my through my twitter and wonder about my personal life, I shall provide. With only a few months left of university I've started to develop a soul-crushing fear of the future. Fear is affecting my sleeping, which means I now have an extra 8 hours to write my dissertation. It's going swimmingly before you ask.
Yes it is Christmas soon and no, I'm not interested. Christmas is next week and I'm so far away from jazzed I could play a bad guy in a Disney movie. We'll leave that for another ramble/documentation of my final year of student-hood.
Happy December!
It's 8am and I feel like doing something different. I'd like to go out onto the hills and paint a portrait or delve deep into the city with a badass camera and get all snap-happy. I'd like to do something new today. Problem is I don't live near hills and can't paint for shit...also it's kinda cold to be out and about and my camera screen got smashed so taking pictures is a bit hit and miss. Today I'll probably stay in bed all day doing nothing of interest. Oh, I guess I should clean my hamster cage too.
There's something disturbingly beautiful about early mornings. I hate how late the sun rises now, and how the mornings are always a dirty grey colour instead of a fiery red. But mentally, I mean, the morning after the night before is always a good time to get creative. New start new day new weather new people. New opportunites that are always squandered...for me, anyway.
For those of you that have found my through my twitter and wonder about my personal life, I shall provide. With only a few months left of university I've started to develop a soul-crushing fear of the future. Fear is affecting my sleeping, which means I now have an extra 8 hours to write my dissertation. It's going swimmingly before you ask.
Yes it is Christmas soon and no, I'm not interested. Christmas is next week and I'm so far away from jazzed I could play a bad guy in a Disney movie. We'll leave that for another ramble/documentation of my final year of student-hood.
Happy December!
Wednesday, 1 September 2010
Smoker
I inhale the smoke from a burning cigarette
held between two stained fingers that are not mine.
I am talking to a boy too cheap to offer me more
than just the one toke.
His fingers are not those of a guitarist,
though he tells me otherwise.
He tells other lies, too,
and I pretend to believe him,
ignoring the plump look of youth about him,
and agreeing with every word he says.
He sips vodka from a flask and winces,
trying hard to disguise his distaste for this,
Whilst I suckle at the flask like a child on a breast,
swallowing with the same ease as you might
water from a tap.
I ask him, again, for a smoke
and again, he says no, yet, again, holds out his fingers,
and expects me to toke, dependent on him.
And I do, because it's all I can do.
©LBrown.
held between two stained fingers that are not mine.
I am talking to a boy too cheap to offer me more
than just the one toke.
His fingers are not those of a guitarist,
though he tells me otherwise.
He tells other lies, too,
and I pretend to believe him,
ignoring the plump look of youth about him,
and agreeing with every word he says.
He sips vodka from a flask and winces,
trying hard to disguise his distaste for this,
Whilst I suckle at the flask like a child on a breast,
swallowing with the same ease as you might
water from a tap.
I ask him, again, for a smoke
and again, he says no, yet, again, holds out his fingers,
and expects me to toke, dependent on him.
And I do, because it's all I can do.
©LBrown.
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
Bad Reviews and New Projects
Today I got some so-so reviews for my children's poem which you can read below.
Obviously, it's not perfect. It's a work in progress I scribbled down at 4am one morning and would need a lot of work before I did anything with it. Still, anything less than a stellar review is always a little below the belt for me!
In other news, I finally started working on my first script for production. Yes, it's being produced by me and my best friend, but still that's something! We hope to get some attention from it, and if not it's still something I can boast about on my CV. It's a good thing mimicking natural speech is something I'm capable of.
- L.
Obviously, it's not perfect. It's a work in progress I scribbled down at 4am one morning and would need a lot of work before I did anything with it. Still, anything less than a stellar review is always a little below the belt for me!
In other news, I finally started working on my first script for production. Yes, it's being produced by me and my best friend, but still that's something! We hope to get some attention from it, and if not it's still something I can boast about on my CV. It's a good thing mimicking natural speech is something I'm capable of.
- L.
Sunday, 11 July 2010
"Beaten" - short prose.
He stumbles out of his car and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. The stench of beer combined with the stale taste of cigarettes in his mouth is dangerously obvious, far too obvious to hide his state of inebriation from his wife. Nothing to be done about that though. With any luck she'll be asleep, though it's only just gone 11pm.
After a few failed attempts to get his key into the lock he stumbles into the hallway. Immediately she's there, shrieking and screaming at him. He's late, and Ben's been asking for him all night, waiting for his father to come home and help with a school project. Yet again Dad has come home drunk, but does it matter? Surely Ben is too young to understand anyway,
He listens to his wife and suddenly realises how disenchanted he's become with her. He's bored of her, doesn't love her. She annoys him, spends his money, yells at him. He's only keeping her for Ben. Ben needs a mum. But, Jesus! She needs to shut up. He shouts back at her and out of nowhere he's fuming, screaming at her like never before. Why can't she leave him alone? Why can't she be a good wife? Why can't she shut the hell up for five minutes?!
Suddenly she's on the floor, shuddering in a heap at the bottom of the stairs whilst he stares at his fist, covered in blood. He looks up in horror and sees Ben at the top of the stairs, quiet and quivering.
She gets to her feet. She's up the stairs with a terrified Ben flung over her shoulder and tears staining her face. She hastily packs a bag for Ben, a bag for her. She can hear her husband being sick into the kitchen sink. She leaves with Ben, slamming the front door behind her and hurrying away into the night. She kisses the top of Ben's head and doesn't look back. She is not like her mother-in-law. She is much stronger.
©LBrown.
After a few failed attempts to get his key into the lock he stumbles into the hallway. Immediately she's there, shrieking and screaming at him. He's late, and Ben's been asking for him all night, waiting for his father to come home and help with a school project. Yet again Dad has come home drunk, but does it matter? Surely Ben is too young to understand anyway,
He listens to his wife and suddenly realises how disenchanted he's become with her. He's bored of her, doesn't love her. She annoys him, spends his money, yells at him. He's only keeping her for Ben. Ben needs a mum. But, Jesus! She needs to shut up. He shouts back at her and out of nowhere he's fuming, screaming at her like never before. Why can't she leave him alone? Why can't she be a good wife? Why can't she shut the hell up for five minutes?!
Suddenly she's on the floor, shuddering in a heap at the bottom of the stairs whilst he stares at his fist, covered in blood. He looks up in horror and sees Ben at the top of the stairs, quiet and quivering.
She gets to her feet. She's up the stairs with a terrified Ben flung over her shoulder and tears staining her face. She hastily packs a bag for Ben, a bag for her. She can hear her husband being sick into the kitchen sink. She leaves with Ben, slamming the front door behind her and hurrying away into the night. She kisses the top of Ben's head and doesn't look back. She is not like her mother-in-law. She is much stronger.
©LBrown.
"Monsters" - a children's poem.
Greg was a good vampire,
He would never drink your blood,
He'd much prefer a glass of milk,
And that's why he was good!
Sam was a good werewolf,
He'd never bite (but could),
He'd much prefer to chase the cats,
And that's why he was good!
Jess was a good zombie,
Although misunderstood,
But she would never eat your brains,
And that's why she was good!
But out of all the monsters,
I'm sure you will agree,
None are quite as nice or good,
As a cuddle with Mummy!
©LBrown.
He would never drink your blood,
He'd much prefer a glass of milk,
And that's why he was good!
Sam was a good werewolf,
He'd never bite (but could),
He'd much prefer to chase the cats,
And that's why he was good!
Jess was a good zombie,
Although misunderstood,
But she would never eat your brains,
And that's why she was good!
But out of all the monsters,
I'm sure you will agree,
None are quite as nice or good,
As a cuddle with Mummy!
©LBrown.
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