Saturday, 20 December 2008

I Can't Believe You Actually Died

Today was a bit warmer than it has been and my back is still sore. Christmas. I am going on a 'snowboarding' trip in January where my intention is to do no snowboarding, I will write stories and songs and draw pictures but I will not snowboard. At work I started writing a story and I really liked it a lot but then for some reason I did not save it on my computer which was stupid. I tried to make a few notes so I could start again. The notes came out like this and I think they work.

Chickens Outside a Pub After a Few Drinks

Drunk fighting

Like chickens

Swearing is chicken noises

“scratching like chicken toes on the gravel”

Clothes are torn up

Afterwards men go to work and live their lives and hug their children

People who work with the man or men ask questions

Men make up lies to cover up scrapes

“It was a football accident or maybe DIY”

The following is recommended by me to listen to when tiredness and loneliness sets IN

Monday, 15 December 2008

between my two bedroom walls there is only me

i have been wandering aimlessly around my house eating crisps and drinking chocolate milk and my housemate told me to stop being such a waste of skin and update my blog instead so i figured i would come here and write a poem
Legs Off

I fell in half because my legs came off
My legs said to my torso
"I am leaving you, you have been a terrible husband"
The torso was not impressed
"You are such a bitch, no wonder no one will ever come here for dinner parties"
They went on like this for hours
"Why will you not just admit you are wrong for once?"
"Why will you not give me back the past 25 years?"
"Why will you not give me back my self respect?"
I have no control
My torso is in so much pain, emotionally
They both make valid points
My legs are exhausted
I am exhausted when I say
"Let us all just sleep on it."

Thursday, 4 December 2008

this will not

I want to be sure, and make you, the reader, feel sure and certain here. This blog will not turn into a music blog and i will not start posting MP3s and reviews of bands and Top 10 lists and things of that nature. Ok. I'm glad we're clear on that.

I wanted to just post this.
It is a link to hype machine and particularly a song by Karl Blau and I am listening to it repeatedly right now. I'm clicking on the little triangle time after time. It is helping me whilst a write a story which may or may not end up being called 'Watching other people make mistakes is easy and hard at the same time' but i'm not sure yet.

So far this new story includes sentences such as
I am a good liar and I know it’s a cliché but there is little else you can say in situations like this.

It really is stupid and he can be such a bastard but friendships get to a point where you can’t undo them.

and of course
You’re so pathetic sometimes.

Will it end up being any good? Who knows? Only time will tell.

Tuesday, 2 December 2008


The man has a full jacket
The man turns and runs at the door
Followed by two middle aged floor managers

I am at the checkout
The girl scans what I want
"Why don't I get to do that?"
She means chasing criminals
"Yeah, it looks fun right?"

It does look fun
The managers return empty handed
"I could have caught him"

Thursday, 20 November 2008

i went to see Mount Eerie play but got to see other things

On monday i took the train to london to see Mount Eerie.
It was a great show.

There was a couple who could not stop touching eachother whilst Mount Eerie was playing his songs. They were out of control. I think they may have fucked in the toilet. Is it romantic? If it is your favourite band, playing the music that means the most to you in the world, is it reasonable to want to touch or fuck the person you are with, but only if they are into it too? Then there is the fact that you are distracting yourself from the music by dry humping someone instead of giving your attention to the music.

I don't know.

I have so many questions.

There was also a man playing scrabble and mariokart on a nintedo DS.

Wednesday, 12 November 2008

The Story Of The Fucking Stupid Spider

a story I wrote this afternoon instead of working or playing solitaire.

There was a spider and it was fucking stupid.
Like all spiders this spider had 8 legs.
But unlike the other spiders this spider only used 6 of them to walk with.
The other 2 legs it used to make obscene gestures in the direction of police and royalty.
“Go fuck yourself.”
The Fucking Stupid Spider would stand and shout at the windows of Buckingham Palace for hours on end.
“You are shit.”
The police would come and move him away using an upturned glass and an old greetings card.
But he just came back a week later.
He would never learn his lesson.

The Queen was up in her bedroom looking out through the curtains.
“That stupid spider is here again I see.”
“Yes Your Majesty.”
The Queen bought a new corgi dog at an auction in the summer.
“Why don’t you just have him killed, Your Majesty?”
“Corgi, if I just went around having spiders and earwigs and dragonflies killed every time they shout swear words at me then I wouldn’t be a very good queen would I?”
“But he is an exceptionally fucking stupid spider isn’t he?”
“Yes Corgi. Yes he is.”

Another thing about the Fucking Stupid Spider.
He could never spin any web.
Not ever.
And this meant he very rarely got to eat anything at all.
He died sad and stupid and lonely.

Tuesday, 11 November 2008

Chris is status updates off of facebook

Chris is a shell of a man.
Chris is the same colour as the fucking universe.
Chris doesn't trust you. Any of you. You're all liars and you know it.
Chris just killed himself but it didn't take.
Chris is AM.
Chris is Hound of the Basketballs.
Chris is jichael mackson.
Chris is the first black president of planet earth.
Chris is a sad and pathetic loser and wonders if and why anyone really likes him.
Chris is the new president of planet earth.
Chris is alone.
Chris somewhere over the rainbow, there's another rainbow.

theatre website

I work in a theatre.
The website does not work.
Old people cannot work the website.
Old people ride their computers like they are large horses and expect them to work like they are toasters.
I listen to their voices and hear the groans of a thousand bleeping soundcards.
The computers turn into small horses which are too small for the old people to see.
Because the old people are old and their sight is shot.
The computers are small because the young people want it that way.
They just turned invisible.

Tuesday, 4 November 2008


if i always sit on my hands
then i can't push you over

Thursday, 30 October 2008

boss mortician verses the amateur pallbearer

Boss Mortician and The Amateur Pallbearer are two characters which have been floating in my head for some time. I want to write stories and plays and sitcoms about them.

Here's part 1 of an introduction, it is primarily about Boss Mortician...
Boss Mortician rose to success post-WWII, offering mid-quality funeral services at mostly affordable prices. His speciality was a range of caskets built to resemble the fallen trunks of grand oaks, complete with knots and broken branches, these caskets would be lowered into the ground by a small crane owned and operated by Boss Mortician. The tree casket range was discontinued in 1963, due in part to the flammability of the materials used.

Wednesday, 29 October 2008

lesley joseph facelift

the platform is looking at me

If I took off my clothes in public I would be in trouble
Probably, yes
I choose to take off my clothes and walk around the railway station
In the cold with nothing to shield me from the screaming winds
I hate the naked body and I hate the railway station
The platform is looking at me
I tell everyone to fuck off
The guard approaches me as a train approaches me
“Don’t push me” I shout at the guard
I throw my naked body in front of the train
The platform is now looking at the guard
A dozen people ask “what did you do?”

Sunday, 26 October 2008

papier mache dog head in the woods

story I started

I keep my change in my pocket.

I keep my hand next to my change.

I walk into the woods and the change changes into little rocks that I place on a tree stump. And the stump and the little rocks change into a man wearing a papier mache head shaped to look like a dog’s head.

Through a hole in the papier mache mask he says “who are you and what are you doing?”

I explain that I am not here to cause him harm, and that I walked into the woods as a shortcut on my walk home from work. I explain that I’ve had a tough day at work and that the customers are painful to talk to.

"These are things that do not concern me little boy" the man says in a way that makes him sound like a film set in ancient Rome. I am offended a little by being referred to as 'little boy' because I am a grown up fighting constantly against the immaturity that holds me back from succeeding ever.

"Then don't ask me who I am and what I'm doing then!" I am angry at the man and his stupid papier mache head. He is naked also and that bothers me. "Who are you anyway?"

"My name is Scott and I work for the council, therefore you work for me, you are my employee. Go. Do my bidding."

I push Scott over on the leaves and branches that cover the ground. He doesn't land too hard because of the cushion this debris provides. I reach for his papier mache head. It is shaped like a dog's head and looks stupid and ironic. I hate Scott now and his stupid head. I try and pull it off but he has gripped tight holding of the edges. I pick up a rock. The rock is bigger than my fist and much harder and with coarse edges. I smash the papier mache head until I can see the real human eyes beneath. There is an amount of blood also.

"Do my bidding." Scott is week and crying and still giving instructions. "Do my bidding." I pull that last of the papier mache from his head and now pieces of the dog helmet cover the ground, mixing with the leaves and woodland debris. "Do my bidding."

"What exactly is it you want me to do?"

"Tell me. Tell me, who are you and what are you doing?"

I don't know the answer to the question anymore.


Thursday, 23 October 2008

Around The Inflatable

this is a new blog i have started. i am chris. hi.
this is going to contain bits of writing and also pictures i have drawn and maybe at some point music i have made (though i am happy to keep that seperate and over here for now.)

this is a little piece I wrote 6 years ago. it remains unfinished.

"That's my new dad", said the little boy.
I was unsure what to say to this little boy (he was little, I checked his height prior to his entry to the area surrounding The Inflatable. He came in at 90 centimeters approx.), sure I'd had a summer of nothing but little boys and girls, running around enjoying themselves and such, but this little boy felt the need to approach me, nobody else, just me, whilst I was waiting for The Inflatable to become deflatable, and tell me "That's my new dad, not my old dad. He died when he was 17 on a motorbike." Erm... Is this a test? Is The Company watching me? Is the guy in the bear costume really a spy-disguised-as-a-childrens-entertainer sent to check that I can handle all manners of children related issues?
In response to the little boys comment I simply reply "that's sad, man."
(Am I a stupid stupid person?)
The little boy looks up at me and says "yes I know it's sad."