Farewell 2012

As another year passes, everyone is reminiscent of times gone by, of the regrets they have, the people they've met, and of the memories that have made these 12 short months. So, like many others, there shall be much sentimentality entwined in this post.

My year, on the whole, has been really quite great. Of course it's had its downsides- but I'm very, very lucky to have shared it with such amazing people. And I think that's what is really important; it's not particularly what you're doing, but who you're sharing those memories with.

I'm lucky to have shared moments with old friends, who have always been there, who I hope will always be there. Even as we go our separate ways, I couldn't ever forget you guys.

I've also been lucky to meet new people, who have entered my life in the weirdest of ways, and who may not stay in my life, but have meant something to me nonetheless.

You see, I think every person you meet has something to show you about yourself, these may be but fleeting encounters - months, weeks, days- or even just hours, but I do think there's something to be learnt. Talking with people can help you understand who you are as a person, they can highlight flaws, encourage your talents and ultimately show you the people who you really should cherish. Because not everyone will be nice, but that's the point.

So, be merry, be adventurous, love freely, encourage happiness. All that kind of stuff.
And I hope you have a very, very "Happy New Year".

Time.

How is it,
that we measure the passing of time,
by the rate of decay?

That we estimate,
using the decomposition of life itself.

Passing time,
Fickle. Fleeting.
Man-made.

Don't let it pass you by.

Inadequate Cutlery Holding

Sometimes I’ll wonder,
“Where am I going in life?”
When I can manage,
to cut myself with a butter knife.

And Just For Fun

This is just a bit of fun, I got it from somewhere in the vast space of the internet. So if you're bored, or just want to procrastinate more than you're actually doing currently, go ahead (you'll need a piece of paper and pen or something): 

TEST

• First, write 1 through to 11 in a column.

• Then, in the first and second spaces, fill in any two numbers you want.

• In the 3rd and 7th spaces, write down the names of members of the opposite sex.

• Write any name (like friends or family…) in the 4th, 5th, and 6th spots.

• Write down four song titles in 8, 9, 10 and 11.

Before you look at the results here's how I imagine I'd look if I were an astronaut

RESULTS

• The name in space 3 is the one you love.

• The person in 7 is the one you like but can’t work out.

• You care most about the person you put in 4.

• Number 5 is the one who knows you very well.

• The name in 6 is your lucky star.

• The song in 8 is the song that matches with the person in 3.

• The title in 9 is the song for 7.

• The tenth space is the song that tells you most about your mind.

• And 11 is the song telling how you feel about sex!

Well, there you go. All I can say is that it's been fun. I hope it revealed a lot about you.

(My number 11 was Irresistible Force. Heh)

Festive Times

I've not felt particularly "Christmassy" this year. Partly due to the fact it's just not as much fun when you're no longer a child, but also because I've finally come to realise it is really just another day.

It would be nice to celebrate Christmas with loads of relatives, but that's something I don't have. We're a small family, that's just the way it's always been.

However I've had two really rather fabulous meals out with my friends. The first meal out involved a group of  25 of us taking over pretty much the entire restaurant. My friends are really quite amazing. We also had a Secret Santa planned, and with a group of us that big, it's always interesting the sort of presents you will receive. Now, the idea for the Secret Santa was that it was to be "a £5 jokey sort of present". That didn't happen in some of the cases. There was candy underwear, jewellery, chocolates, a cardboard cut-out of Harry Styles, lube, hair removal cream and even a vibrator.

As I said, I love my friends.

Here's a few pictures of our meal out:

Party hats, cos we're cool.

Hey there.

Me and my best friend.

Just being Santa.

Secret Santa

Panoramic view, oh yeah.

The gifts I received from my wonderful best friend!

That's how we do it in Essex

Matching shirts, the best way to express love.

And of course, can't have any fun without one of these...

They're certainly a strange bunch, but I really do love them all. I also went out for another meal with another group of friends. It was a buffet. We ate copious amounts. I don't regret a thing.

You make me happy, you beautiful people. Merry Christmas!

Do Talk To Strangers.

I like getting to know new people. I like how you get to understand them, all the little details about a person which you would never normally know. The quirks they have, the way they speak. I like the initial conversations, the pleasantries that are exchanged between two strangers. I like the awkwardness of silence, or the constant flow of conversation.

I like how there's some people who you instantly click with, who you feel have a deeper understanding of what you as a person are trying to convey. I like it when people start to unravel in front of you, a ball of wool slowly being knitted into the jumper of friendship.

It's great getting to know new people, the stories they can tell you, the experiences they can share. I like hearing about different cultures, different opinions, different people. Their lives, the mundane day to day stuff as well as their dreams and ambitions.

I like how the conversation then starts becoming more detailed; little flashes of life inserted into them- an opinion here, a joke there, it's brilliant. Getting to know people is like a lottery, sometimes you'll hit the jackpot. Or a huge sweet shop, so full of variety, each person offering a new flavour, a new taste of life.

So, *do talk to strangers. You never know what you're going to get.





*provided you're over the age of 16 and they're not paedophiles.

Bus Journeys

Sat on a bus. Crawling in traffic. Condensation on windows. The unmistakable hint of a crudely drawn penis. Passengers coughing. Teenagers screeching. Tinny music played from a mobile. The familiar scent of too many bodies, cramped in one place. Darkness outside. This is my experience of public transport. Twice a day. Five times a week.

However, you must understand that on the whole, I have nothing against public transport. What I have a problem with is the people who use public transport.

Now, I know I am one of these people. I realise I'm being a tad hypocritical given that I've probably made many a bus journey unpleasant for those around me because I'm sharing (perhaps a little too enthusiastically) tales of my internet adventures. Or because me and my friends are having a loud discussion of whereabouts we have curtains in our homes (that was actually a conversation we had, which took a surprisingly long time... it was pretty in depth).

However, there seems to be a very specific group of people who have been bred to make some journeys somewhat of an endurance test. I have personally noticed about three main categories that have served to make my experience of public transport somewhat more interesting.

There's probably always going to be a creepy old man on there, somewhere. He might offer you a sweet (that happened once), an invite to his home, or he may just give you a sly wink. But yes, there always seems to be one lurking. Normally with a particular aroma.

At the time I use public transport, there always seems to be school children. Now, you can ignore their constant chatter, their blithering on and on about absolutely nothing. Or you can make loud remarks to yourself and offend them that way. Or you can always chat them up (I don't recommend asking school children to marry you. It doesn't work. And I'm pretty sure it's illegal).

Also, being from the place I am from, there seems to be the omnipresence of the local Jeremy Kyle lot. (I've actually found that the more likely you are to wear animal print leggings with a body warmer, the more likely you'll probably be one of these people.) I don't get how some of these people are even still alive, in all honesty. The conversations you overhear on the bus are amusing, that's for sure. Today it was about stolen DVD's, but I've heard court cases, jail sentences, affairs, the lot.

So I suppose without these people the journeys would be a little dull, and I must say I've met some really great people on the bus, the pensioners are normally a great lot who can provide you with an anecdote or two.

It's not all bad, I guess.

Fused

It's short story time!

They say it only happens 1 in 2,500,000 cases. A rare occurrence. A miracle.

A freak show.

Me and my brother, Simon, are conjoined craniopagus twins; that's the posh, scientific name. We share some vital parts of our brain that apparently can't be separated. The whole 'having our brains conjoined' thing is kind of annoying, really. There are a lot of things we can't do. Mainly girls. Yeah, I know it's crude, but seriously, I can't pick up chicks looking like this. I don't blame Simon, I couldn't- but teenage relationships are hard enough without adding an extra “body” into the relationship.

I don't think Simon feels the same, to be honest. He's more into numbers, the logic behind things, patterns. I doubt he even notices girls, and if he did, he'd just try and label them, class them and fit them into his organised systems. He's also into reading. I don't see the point though, why read the book when you can just watch the film?

Matt is in love. He assumes that I do not know. But he is unable to keep secrets, not from me. We can't keep anything from each other. He doesn't even need to say anything; it is there, dwelling between us, a too-ripe fruit bulging in its own decadence.

Her name is May, but people call her Sprite. She is what people refer to as “bubbly”, but to be honest, I do not really understand the connection. I think it is a rather silly name. I know Matt likes her, and although I have never looked into his eyes- I can feel it, consuming him. Twisted as the pathways that interlink us, as though our veins and arteries were the delicately spun web of a spider. Fragile. I know he's in love, because it hurts him. Sometimes I feel him look at her. He wants to be separate. Normal. But that would make us broken. I am a burden.

Simon's been reading more books recently. Loads of thick, medical textbooks that he's found, with such captivating titles as “Conjoined Twins: Developmental Malformations and Clinical Implications”. It makes a change from all the counting and grouping he does, that's for sure. I don't know what's brought it all on, maybe he wants to become a doctor? Like that's going to happen.

Sprite called earlier. She asked me to her party. Me, Matt. Not Simon. Though of course he has to come too. The invite was for me. Sprite invited me. Maybe I could get Simon to write me a song for her, he's ace at guitar, he likes anything musical, I think it's the rhythm. Everything is about patterns with him.

So we're going to this party tonight. Attending social events is not high on my list of priorities. Matt spent forever trying to do his hair. Not that it matters, it always looks the same to me, his dark brown hair styled so that his fringe covers his left eye. The thing is, although we're technically identical twins, we don't look the same. My face, crushed against his in such a manner has become increasingly distorted. My eyes cave inwards, stretched, consumed by his. We both have blue eyes, but whilst mine are tinged grey, masked by the film of my declining vision, Matt's remain alive, glowing with the subtle warmth of fairy lights. He's also the taller of the two of us, my feet curl under, strained with the pressure of our conjoined bodies. I feel parasitic.

Whilst Matt showered us both in the intoxicating scent of too much cheap cologne, I stared through the window, gazing at the small puddles being formed. I start to count, one, two, three, one, two three. I like the repetition. The constant patter of the rain, beating out a rhythm that seemed to play for only me. The rain was sprinkling down in a symphony of music. Singing. It was the first notes of a colossal thunderstorm. Rising with an anger that consumed, the air was thick, enveloping. As though in the stages of a pubescent boy changing into a man. Lightning burned through the sky, scarring it with diamond arms. The wind didn't just whistle, it wailed, screaming as it was battered about the trees. Crackling. A cacophony of booms and bursts shot out in startling precision, like a sniper using the commotion as ammunition. Ominous clouds drifted over, the maestro in this celestial orchestral battle. One, two, three, over.

My head ached. At least the party was indoors.

She's beautiful. When she opened her front door, I was stunned. She stood there in front of us, but it felt like it was just me and her. In our own little bubble. Her emerald dress clung to her in ways I had only imagined. The music that greeted us when she opened the door, silenced, as I gazed at her. I hadn't realised Simon was trying to pull us inside, away from the rage of the sudden storm.

“Your face looks nice.” I stammered. Your face looks nice? She must have thought I was crazy, but she smiled, leading us inside to the mass of bodies. My ears filled with the sound of deep bass, so loud I felt it as it vibrated through the floorboards. Simon looked uncomfortable, I could hear him counting to himself. I felt a little guilty, since he really hadn't wanted to come. I promised him I wouldn't drink, but, by that point, I needed it.

I see Sprite, she looks stunning, her red hair piled up high, her pale skin exposed so deliciously. Then she's gone, enveloped in the mass of bodies. I look for her, where has she gone? I feel a cool arm on my neck, our neck, and she's right there, next to me, kissing me. Her lips taste sweet. My heart races, I hear laughter, but it's not really there. She's so beautiful.

I'm counting to myself. The room was full of undulating bodies, their neat arms and legs flowing, graceful movements despite the vast quantities of alcohol being consumed. The air smelled of happiness, of sweat, of pleasure. The musics steady beat, soothing. One, two, three. My head was burning. Matt was lost to the music, to his baser instincts. I felt him kiss her. My body tingles with the sensation of her, I can feel it too, through my brother, my life support, the person I am killing. Everything's a blur. We're in this bubble, this crystal ball, exposed yet trapped by its cool, infinite sides. I don't want this to stop. But it know it will. It must.

This has got to be better than anything I've ever done before. Even the time I tricked Simon into smoking weed with me. I feel light, free. He's still here of course, but it's like I'm flying. Don't let me crash, not yet.

It's like that scene from The Labyrinth, there are people, but they're just other faceless entities, swirling and laughing at their own private jokes, then surrounding us, closing in. Everything seems to come crashing down, the scene in my mind's eye is smashed into little pieces. A song plays, the words reverberating in my head. I wonder if Matt can hear them.

Falling in love, as the world falls down.

Tonight I was going to tell Matt about the tumour I suspect is festering inside me. I'll think I'll leave it till the morning. One, two, three. Over.

"L Plates"

I can't help but feel the word "love" is too mixed up with other feelings. It's tainted. To say the words "I love you" and actually mean them, that is the ultimate goal in human relationships. But why? What's so important about expressing "love" for something. Or someone? There's just too much pressure to utter those three little words.

I see it as this, in a relationship, there's always that point when "love" gets mentioned. It's scary. It's daunting. Young love, especially. Young people should wear L plates. Or "love" plates. Because driving in the world of relationships is dangerous. You need lessons. Many lessons. And when it comes to the test, you might not even pass, but you'll put your L plates back on, and you'll try again. You might have to keep trying. Maybe you can't get that particular manoeuvre right. Maybe you're just going too fast. Slow down.

Personally, I'd rather someone said I make them happy. Happiness is a lot purer in my eyes.

 "You make me happy." That's what I want.

Visa Omnia

This is a piece I created as part of my AS level English Combined Coursework. I entitled it "Visa Omnia". It was inspired by Ben Elton's "Dead Famous". It was a listening piece- so I created a script. Here you go:

(Lights turn on, revealing a vivid scene full of cushions, a sofa and a bar. A group of people are seated on the cushions, whilst the remaining five adults are standing around the bar, low key discussion is heard. Suddenly a loud, booming voice resonates from an unseen source)

Visa Omnia: (a rich, female voice) This is Visa Omnia.

(The contestants look round, appearing startled; characters at the bar are talking)

Eliza: Oh, what is it now? (Sighs) They’ve already got us doing these absurd challenges. I don’t wish to participate in anymore tomfoolery. (Puts down cocktail glass)

Bat: Chill. (His eyes appear glazed)  I think we all just need to chill. Listen to some Beatles or somethin’, mann. Don’t stress.

Eliza: (In a condescending tone) I am not stressing, I am merely stating my opinion upon the matter.

Callum: (awkward laughs) Maybe we should all sing a song (pause) No, no silly idea. Carry on.

Visa Omnia: (crackle from speaker) Visa Omnia would like Bat to come to The Sanctum.

Bat: They’ve found me, they’ve found me. It’s just like 1984. Man (pause) my time has come, dudes. I’ll be back (pause) maybe.

(Bat heads of to The Sanctum, leaving Cloé, Eliza, Callum and Elliott at the bar)

Cloé: (to nobody in particular) D’ya fink they’ll get me in next babes? I need to tart mahself up, I must look like such crap right naahh.

Elliott: You look wonderful to me, ahem, I mean, um, fine. (Pause) You look fine. (Averts gaze from Cloé’s chest)

Cloé: Hmm (pause) I should probs sort my face out like. The fake bakes wearing 'aat anyway. (Walks to the bedroom area, whilst muttering and patting her hair)

(Scene change, inside The Sanctum, there is a singular chair in the centre of a small, padded room)

Visa Omnia: Hello, Bat.

Bat: (slouches across the chair) Sup Visaaaaa. How’s things?

Visa Omnia: Bat, we would like you to listen very carefully now. It is critical that you understand us. We have an important job for you and you alone. (Crackles) It is essential that this job is carried out correctly. 

Bat: I read you loud and clear, dudes, I got this, I got this (slouches further).

Visa Omnia: The task we are asking you to carry out is this. One member of this household is to be killed.

Bat: Ah coooooool, man, have I gotta play a few pranks, make a few jokes, like?

Visa Omnia: We would like you to kill Cloé.

Bat: (startled) What, man, am I hearin’ you right? (Pause) So, d'ya mean like, smash her? Cos, I got a girlfriend at home, y'know, like, and I have morals and stuff, not that I wouldn't man, but c'mon.

Visa Omnia:  Kill Cloé, Bat. You and the other contestants are but pawns in this game that we are playing. You are all expendable. The aim of this game is not to win, Bat. It is to survive. (Crackles)

Bat: I don’t know how to kill, man! I’m not a killing machine, I’m a love machine! (Slight grinding action)

Visa Omnia: The audience must be catered for. We must provide entertainment, Bat. This is how it must be now, you must realise this. The audience no longer find this game of reality alluring. They are looking for more. We will provide more. So much more.

Bat: (Raising his voice) Are you mad, you can’t do this! (Stands up) You can’t just go around killing people like that, its wrong man, seriously wrong! (pause) You’re gonna be stopped!

Visa Omnia: Alas, we have already started.

(Lights blackout. Scene changes, lights come on to reveal the original room with Bat looking distraught on the sofa. Cloé is opposite him, staring into a compact mirror, Callum and Eliza are seated nearby)

Bat: I can’t do this, man. I can’t be programmed like some, (Pause) some sort of machine, man.

Eliza: Why on earth are you being programmed?

Callum: I once presented a show on robots. The kids loved it.

Bat: (ignoring Callum’s last comment) we’re here for their entertainment.

Eliza: That was pretty much the arrangement Bat? We signed up for the public’s entertainment, though I’m not quite sure why I have subjected myself to this ordeal.

Bat: (laughing) Yeah, but, do you even know what sort of entertainment they want, man?

Callum: I can do kids (pause) shows.

Elliot: We all know you can do kids, what was that in the papers? All about how you touched that fifteen yea-

Callum: (Cuts in) that was never proved (awkward laughs).

Bat: Dudes, you don’t get it! Listen to me! The audience- our public! They crave much more than we could ever give ‘em. 

Eliza: Am I following you right here, Bat? What exactly is it they are asking us to do?

Bat: They want death, they want blood. Visa Omnia are here to sustain their demands, man. Everything is seen, there is no escape, dudes. 

Visa Omnia: (crackles) This is Visa Omnia. Would Cloé please visit The Sanctum.

Cloé: Oh mah gawd, I guess that’s me then. What do ya think they’ll say? I bet they ask me to skinny dip in the hot tub. (Heads towards The Sanctum)

Bat: Everything is seen. There is no escape.

 (A scream is heard, lights blackout)

It's Not Mutual.

Did you think of me at all?
Did I even cross your mind?
Whilst you lay beneath her,
I guess I'm just too kind.

Don't bother trying to explain,
It's not your fault I cared.
I thought these feelings were mutual,
but I guess they're just not shared.

I am not your problem,
So don't you worry about me,
Things happen for a reason,
It just wasn't meant to be.