Continuation from: Part One

17/SEP/2010
As I got to the taxi rank, it had just started to brighten up a bit and the clouds were starting to break up, to let through some sunshine to lighten up this grey mess of a capital, London is exceptionally grey and dirty, for all it's culture and general mess, it feels like a sad, pressured heavy city, even when the sun is out, it's never an uplifting experience, just one that gives visitors, locals and even animals more ammunition to complain about the area.

I'm exactly the same, I love to hate this place and I constantly after an assignment to get me freed from these grey shackles into something more comfortable, like a nice Victorian bathing suit, black of course, got to be classy with it. Nothing like that is going to help with that dream anytime soon, so any free chance I get to kill a man is welcomed, makes me feel slightly better about being in London and that I’m not dead.

Waiting in the queue for a cab, I should probably be more in a hurry as I’m more than likely on cacti and the body has probably been found by now, but it doesn't matter, there's no rush to get to my drop off point for this particular mission and it'll just be an hour lost if I was to get caught by the law due to fucking admin then the paper work I have to do afterwards, makes killing people in the first place a bit of a nuisance.

Special privileges for someone like me, not quite a kill whoever and we'll 'make it go away' status (for me, it’s got to be a certain person), like the licence to kill gives you, besides that’s rubbish anyway, licence to kill... First of all it's called "The selected ability to terminate any anatomy, professional or otherwise that is in interest of the security of the queen government and country act 1856 or The SATAPOIS Act. Secondly the guys granted a SATAPOIS are so near retirement and so stressed and shaky, they wouldn't be able to kill someone, even if their lives depended on it, they normally just take the fall when it comes to that scenario, saves the embarrassment.

I get in my cab and hand the cabbie a piece of paper, he has no idea where it is, fucking moron, thought these guys are meant to know The Knowledge, not a good start.

I get out and try the next cab, he knows, of course he does! Looks like a proper bruiser, like he would be able to ring my neck, and pull it through the protective Perspex, I feel safe as I wave goodbye in my head to the dead body, train station and all those annoying people called pedestrians.

As the cab drives along, well, as the cab stands stationary for the fifth time this journey, due to more annoying pedestrians wanting to cross the road safely, honestly, bunch of wimps, you seem happy to barge everyone out the way in the train station, not quite so brave on the streets.

I did wonder about tribes as my first thought, pedestrians vs. runners and pedestrians and cyclist vs. car, car vs. other cars, horses vs. the world.

 - On a street a Pedestrian and a runner will not note either's existence nor will nod heads at as they pass one another, a runner and a runner would nod but a pedestrian and a pedestrian wouldn't (probably due to anyone walking and saying hi in the city are weird, only exception is in the middle of nowhere, pedestrians are happy to say hi, where the risk me abduction is far greater)

 - pedestrians, runners and cyclists hate cars, for the simple fact, they're jealous - they want to drive at incredible rates of speed and have the convenience and flexibility that muscle power just doesn't offer (as in you wouldn't just up and run to the other side of the country, you'd want to drive it) so in order take down the cars one at a time, these bipeds put themselves in the firing line of cars, crossing when the man's red, avoiding subways for the more dangerous route, others simply jump off bridges, anything to stop that car. And with the ridiculous ruling that pedestrians etc have a right of way, the car constantly loses out.

 - car vs. car, when peds aren't trying to destroy the car's tribe, cars are quite happy joining in and destroying each other, it's normally old cars rearing the back end of a new one, no different to hamsters eating their young, except it's done at 70mph.

 - horses, everyone hates horses they're just about ok in a field, but when they deviate from there onto a road, everyone treats them like they've punched their first born in the teeth, if you don't have a first born then they spent all your life savings on a hooker in Las Vegas, every aspect of these burly useless rats doesn't make sense, the people, the requirements, the money, they get in the way of everything and the look of them to name a few. They're, in a word. Shit. I'm sure I’ll eat those words when machinery farming and fuel based vehicles plough themselves into the ground.

Bloody thought tangents, the taxi eventually decides it should earn its money by taking me somewhere as supposed to just charge me for sitting in an elaborate street bench. I’m heading to somewhere in London, I’ve never cared to visit before, Shoreditch.

I could’ve got the tube, but if you knew what I know about the air in the tube and what it’s pumped full of to keep it “breathable”, you would take up a diet of eating seeds and leaves in the vain hope they would take root in your body and create a tiny forest to clean out the damage.

Rest of the cab was boring (out of choice), the cabby tried talking to me, I was disinterested and politely ignored him with one word answers, which no doubt I will pay extra for in some sort of stealth fare at the end of my journey, which I had issues paying it was something like £20, from getting to my wallet to pay the guy it turned into a fare of £20.20 and the driver locked the door meaning I had to find a 20p, got that out, only to find the meter gone up another 20p, for fuck sake – I complain at the cabby, but he just smiles and says I have to pay it by law or something, my own rage was deafening.
Being a reasonable guy I am, I go to get more change out as it’s now £20.80 (due to our verbal exchange) but I don’t have more and I kind of lose it, I have time for this mission but not enough time to piss about with this overweight dirt bag, I grab my the standard issue metal suitcase and smash in the window and climb out through the newly created emergency exit.

I get out entered another screwed up universe of trendy wankers and the like and headed into the Macondo café to wait for my contact…

06/AUG/2010
I'm on the 935 Gatwick Express train into London Victoria. A journey like any others, involving obtrusive ambient noises of wheels to tracks, engines, people doing various bodily functions, wind rushing pass the windows.

It's warm today, well, it should be hot but as the air con is up to maximum, it feels wintery. The dark grey heavy clouds, stopping all the sun's light penetrating through, the rain skimming on the windows,  though knowing English weather it will just throw the most inconvenient parts of any type of weather without leaving any satisfaction of it's inconvenience. It all adds to the wintery effect, oh and it's November.

I'm sitting at a table with a daily free newspaper I’d jus finished 'reading' (I of course mean, browsed and looked at pictures) and two ripped and scrunched up cereal bat wrappers, containing the most disappointing food substance known to man. The bars just crumbled at first sight of natural unpackaged air and even though, I consciously picked two completely different flavours (pineapple and cranberry) they both were jammed full of raisins, that they may as well just done away with writing the flavours on the packet and stuck with raisin flavour and let the colours fool us we're eating something with flavour.

Anyway, looking around my carriage, there's the usual array of solo businessmen, reading big thick fantasy books about human psychology, war and bagpipes, possibly. Being that the book is over an inch thick and looks old, it's something I’ll never read, random made-up musings of someone I don't know nor care for, what a waste of time.

This is the point I turn slowly to the camera in a self aware moment, but as this a written story and you have no idea what I look like, imagine a giraffe chewing on some leaves for a couple of seconds with some cute zany music playing in the background by porcupines.

An annoying American family broke my concentration, with their verbal air polluting noise virus, which in any mode is tolerable and sometimes charming, but mix in surprise or shock and the reverberations from their vocal organs to your ears is something similar to a world war two siren, going off next to your face. Except of warning of danger, the dangers happened, the Lllllaaaannnndon Eyyyeeeeee has been spotted and they have left their finger print in your inner thoughts, to plague and infest in you until the next American decides to be shocked or surprised within a two mile radius.

The Brits aren't much, we're live fast die young with our annoyance and only fuelled by alcohol, the only comparison would be a dog playing with its owner being play aggressive (the Brit probably will want to put physical harm onto you, so use caution) after a while, the dog will get dog bored (the Brit, Brit bored) and just sleep wherever, after a few circles marking their territory (usually the same for both dog and Brit)

There's a man standing near me, who's caught my eye, not in a gay way, but in an 'I'm looking at you, you know' way. I acknowledged this by looking away; he seemed to be anxious and fearful for his suitcase, which can only mean one thing.

He's playing spy, a wannabe. The buffet cart rolled loudly through the carriage and he leaped out his skin, He's looking all over the place, pacing away a hole in the floor, and has a few beads of sweat on his brow and has his finger on the door button tapping away for it to open, even though we're still rolling at seventy miles an hour. Oh, it's the button to the toilet. Guess that answers the anxious, sweaty look about him, it happens to the best of us.

We arrived into London Victoria

Do you ever feel like being apart of a group, yet so removed from it, not out of choice just consequence kicking in. You feel as if it's fate's way of saying you don't belong, even though you do. It's a bizarre occurrence that happens once every so often, where you end up thinking deep about your existence, this happened because a group of people complained the train was late, tuting and huffing and I was an outcast, without a hilarious joke to get me accepted, I felt redundant as a human. Though to be honest I couldn't care less about train punctuality as I’d finished my work day.

Still, the moaner pack moved off the train, and split up pretty rapidly to our own adventures, mine however, remained on the train. The toilet doors opened automatically as I pressed the button and the pacing shit prone guy from earlier was dead. Out cold on the floor, not bleeding or anything disgusting like that. Just out cold. I'd be more surprised by this had I not been the one who killed him.

You know how it is, discrete injection as you board the train when you accidently knock into someone, and 20minutes later you feel like Elvis, shitting your pants, when in fact you're dying, a typical day really being me, wait, I don't shit my pants just induce it and it was my first kill, so nothing typical at all.

My job was only to get the standard issue briefcase, that all intelligence guys seem to have, they must all shop at the same place for their gear, I was feeling pretty nervous myself, but I had to frisk the dead guy for his possessions and get the case.

He didn't have much in his wallet, £20, blood card (O Rh positive) and a stripper-gram receipt, not even any ID, so I left him and everything just spread out, soaking in the pool of misfired pee next to the loo.

I took the case off the luggage rack and fought my way along the narrow platform through the hoards of fast inpatient commuters and slow clueless tourists, needless to say my adrenaline was running high, as was my shoulders as I barged pass those fuckers in my way.

I took the escalator to the next floor up and attempted to get a cab to the drop off point.

To Be Continued…

25/JUN/2010
I'm in London  near Waterloo Station, living in a small flat overlooking rooftops and glass buildings. It's a winter’s Friday afternoon and the sky is blue and bright. Working from home that day and nothing really to do that's urgent, I decide to head out for a walk along the south bank.

Walking past the Tate, where foreign students are drawing St. Paul’s, Walking by the OXO tower and looking at the quirky bright furniture, continuing past the bars and a tourists. Heading to the walkway under London Bridge, the bridge was being drawn up to let some cruise ship through, I was around half way through the tunnel when I found myself distant from the background sounds of the distant people and the humming of the traffic overhead, it all seemed to just fade away.

Time slowed down, a wave of coolness brush past me, from the corner of my eye a blue glow floated over my shoulder and into an opening to the side a few steps in front of me. Out of curiosity I followed the glow and it went into a hole in the wall, I peeked through the hole but was only met with darkness, I turn away and the glow was there again in the corner of my eye. I look back towards the glow and the hole in the wall was bigger, the glow was bigger now and was pushing me towards the hole. Next things I notice was the daylight glow falling away in the distance.

Now, I don't know where I am, or what time it is. I hear rustling, I'm soaked, I'm confused. I'm in a rock pool. Water's warm. Curious small fish floating around and nipping at my clothes. I use my hands to feel my way for something solid to help me sit up, it takes me a while to be certain on something sturdy enough. I get up and the sky is a familiar blue and bright, but everything else wasn't.

It wasn't a rock pool I was in, it was on a giant Komodo dragon that had just come out of the shower and was resting on the sand. I groan. Komodo groans back. From what I can see from upon the dragon's back, is clear white sand various grass huts; few selling marshmellows, few shower huts. I climb down from the dragon and walk along the beach. A giant falcon from nowhere and picked me up saying "you don't belong here" being shocked the only reasonable response I could thing of was "sure".

Last I saw was the roof of the marshmellow hut, from there on in, I shut my eyes, probably passed out. Next thing I know atop of a tree near another beach, hugging a branch recovering from passing out. A voice from the bottom of the tree was calling out to me, I can’t remember what was being said, but I knew what it meant. Instead of waiting till it made sense what this person wanted me to do but gravity had its own idea. I fell out the tree.

She was a girl, very pretty with big deep eyes and wavy brown hair.
“What the hell you doing here?”
“Was going to ask you the same thing. I’ve no idea, I found a hole in a wall in London and sort of fell in it, and how did you get here?”
“Sort of the same, not London though, you been here long?”
“Don’t know really, long enough to make friends with a dragon and pass out in a tree, you?”
“I don’t know, I awoke just down there and heard rustling in the tree, went to see what it was and it was you”
“So we’re stuck in butt-fuck nowhere with you”
“Lucky me, of all the people, it had to be you”
“Yep, and without banoffee pie… but plenty of marshmellows”
“What?”
“There are komodo dragons near here, taking showers and eating marshmellows”
“Right”
“I wish I was lying, unfortunately it’s true they don’t speak English either, if you were wondering”
“No, No I wasn’t”
“No need to be touchy”

At that moment, something was walking down the beach it looked human in shape but it wasn’t it had a certain feel to it. A glow about it. We didn’t say anything, just kind of mesmerised by this figure. In no time at all it seemed to be right by us and asked us a question. I can’t remember what, but the answer was murmured in a way that it could answer the most complex physics problem, as long as the answer was yes no and/or maybe. He didn’t answer any questions, just gave us a glass slab and glowed into the distance.

The glass slab had writing on it, I wasn’t too interested, but you were.
“It basically says, no reason for you being here. You just are. To get back you’ll need a key to open the way you way you got in”
“So, need a key then”
“Looks that way, doesn’t say where it is either”

The main problem was not only finding a key in a strange place (that’s hard enough already). The main problem was that everything was shaped like a key, yale stones on the beach, chubb trees with chubb leaves, the way the water broke no the sand, all key like.

Dark clouds were settling in above us, making themselves comfortable, we decided to head for shelter and headed into the woods, battling through the undergrowth of chubb ferns. A shack emerged in the distance. Looking through the window there was no one inside just a sad small lonely flame in the fire place and a wide range of food in the form sandwiches, seeds, toffee and water laid out neatly. You knocked on the door and it opened slightly making you jump.

Walking slowly into the dark space the light from the fire grew and things seems much brighter, almost like a second sun. On the table in between the seeds and the toffee was a glass slab written on it was “Eat, Rest”, there was small type written below it “The key is near”

Not planning to destroy the shack in order to find this key not at least on a empty stomach, we ate the food and talked about where the key could be, knocking on the walls for a hollow space and looking under the table. We gave up and fell asleep by the fire.

Next morning I woke up first, the fire has gone, food has been cleared. On a shelve above where the fire place should’ve been was another glass slab “pick me up”. I thought about this for a second, as I picked it up the fire place turned around moving us towards the familiar sound of rustling and all I could see was a bright blue light.

“Huh? Where are we?” You said in a croaky morning voice.
“Back on the beach, that’s the tree I had delight in falling from”
“What happened to the shack?”
“Gone” I looked at the glass slab, the inscription had changed.
“The key is gone… for now”

With no idea what to do next, we laid on the beach, looking at the sea. Time whirled on, seconds to minutes, minutes to hours. We talked complete nonsense about sand, grass, penguins, reality, uni, life etc.

Dusk was settling in, and a strange stir was occurring, I heard a noise in the under growth and I saw something form the corner of my eye

“Did you notice that?”
“Notice what?”
“Same thing that got me here, just happened again, a movement in the corner of my eye”
“Sure it wasn’t the wind?”
“You can see wind can you?”
“Yes, no, oh shut up”
It moved again
“Follow me”

We went towards the gravity tree and delved further into the woods, the movement was much more prominent now; you could even see it now. It led us through the woods until there were no woods, it led us onto another flat coast and around to cliffs and into a cove.

The cove was oddly decorated like on office, with square florescent lighting, blue wheelie chairs, light wooden desks, bookshelves with random files, post-it notes, brown tape, paper clips and other various stationary goodness.

The office stopped a while in and there was a giant misty mirror lake, an island was in the middle, lightly glowing with a lighthouse. I did wonder to myself how I noticed the office first over the lake, seemed normal at the time. At the perimeter of the lake was a boat and I was luckily enough to get to row it to the island.

What seemed like forever, we finally got to the island, since I rowed you agreed to enter the lighthouse first but it wasn’t fair so I went in first. Inside it was a derelict candle lit hollow room, the stairs were destroyed. There was the figure looking at us, from back on the beach. It handed us another glass slab and vanished towards the door.

On the slab it said “This is the end”. From then the lighthouse began to shiver and crumble, small bits of debris was falling onto us. You tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge, the pieces were starting to get bigger now. Thinking of ways out, but the windows were too high to reach, the stairs were too broken to use. Debris was more frequent and bigger. Seconds turned into minutes and everything was going in slow motion as bricks and dusty household objects gracefully plummeted to the earth.

At a lost of what to do and where to go, we crouched down by one of the walls, being the safest place to be. We hugged and time slowed down further. We looked into each others eyes, both thinking what the other one was thinking that ‘this is the end, we’re going to die’ you were actually thinking ‘We’re going to die and my hair looks crap, of all the days I didn’t bother and I have to go and die’. I was thinking ‘There must be something that rhymes with orange’

I wanted to say ‘sorry, for getting you in this mess and you know, ending your life and all that’ but what came out was “lozenge!”

We kissed and everything faded into a bright white. We’d found the key…

04/JUN/2010 
This is the first and last diary I ever kept about my experience with a very serious common childhood illness when I was 18 (don't worry it's uplifting and I survived)

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25//APRI//2003 - 11.30: Wake up, have a shower, notice weird spots on chest, don’t really think anything of it. I have a sneaky feeling it might be Chicken Pocks, Allergic Reaction to Alcohol or Cancer.

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25//APRI//2003 - 15.50: Go to the Doctors. Wait in the waiting room with old and pregnant people, while trying desperately to resist the powerful charms of ‘Saga Magazine’ I wait around for 12 minutes before I realise that nothing is going to happen for a while. I pick up a children’s book, on facts, stuff like ‘Did you know that a rich man has a room devoted to wrapping presents!’ read the book for mild entertainment.
I get bored and put the book down. The thing is about waiting rooms is that you can’t lose too much of your attention just in case you name and room number gets called out over the antenna, once you missed it, that’s it, no treatment for another month! I’m wary for another 5 minutes before my eyes begin to wander around the room I’m in. It’s a dire place the sort of place where you’re expecting to pick up the plague if you take your guard down for one second or worse get some guy talking about his prostate problems. There are fake bricks and some windows and the usual smell that lurks around waiting rooms...fear.
Just like shoe shops has leather, toilets either extreme smell of disinfectant or extreme smell of piss chamber and playschool has poo.
My name finally gets called out, over the muffled voice of a guy saying something that resembles my name and a number, you wait around for that quick 5 seconds, just to check there aren’t two of you, and then you stand up and look around as if you’ve won! You know you haven’t because you’re there for a reason...I find the room, a nice unfriendly place with a chair, computer and such medical stuff. The doctor I talk to is about as interested to find out what’s wrong with me then some underachieving bully at school is learning.
I tell him what’s up, and he jokes around saying I’ve
got SARS...at that point I was about as happy as a cow when it sees the headlights of a juggernaut coming straight towards me, No one is laughing.
He says that he’s joking, and says I’ve got chicken pocks and had to be pretty much quarantined for at least 10 days...my heart sinks.
I leave the room as quickly as possible and get in my car and get the hell out of there.

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25//APRI//2003 - 17.00: Bored. I can see the next two weeks being the most horrifically intolerably gayest bored time, as I get more and more down the fact that I won’t be able to see a human apart from my mum, and the friendly people such as Montel and Ricki Lake getting me through this awful time, I’m close to tears more emotional than a pregnant wife. Things didn’t get better when I was forced to watch Star Trek Voyager double bill...my brain feels like going into total shut down, and not waking up for another 3 weeks, just to make sure I haven’t got this freaky-dink disease.
Stargate SG-1 comes on, I have to flea to wherever I can I make a dash to the toilet and wash my face, just to pass the opening sequence. This makes the program seem more eventful to watch having to guess what the hell is going on, other than ‘o look, bad guy... [Bang]...o look at that we saved the world...again!’

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25//APRI//2003 - 20.45: Forced to stop watching TV so that my mum so she can talk to her friends...I go on the internet, the place where dreams are smashed by the same old websites that you view everyday.
The internet is much like America, well not really, more like the American dream. People go on there and expect to find that one true thing that they’ve always wanted to see/read to make their life complete. Unfortunately this doesn’t happen; sitting at a computer will do this to you. It will KILL YOU! Radiation from the screen seeping into your eyes, not really looking at anything, perhaps changing your desktop, ripping off more of you’re favourite bands etc. ok so it won’t kill you but it will make your life very dull, Escape before it’s too late.
As I sit here, I’m getting the feeling that I and my computer are going to become even closer friends, as well as my TV and anything else that requires minimal effort and maximum entertainment.

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25//APRI//2003 - 21.03: I can feel my brain going into cabin fever mode, only been bored in the house for 6 hours...I start a countdown of 10 days (from midnight last night) before I can resume a normal life.
Time remaining: 9 days and 2 hours and 15 minutes.

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26//APRI//2003 - 13.01: Just woken up from a 12 hour sleeping session with a nose bleed, feeling very tired and very hayfevery, although happy that there’s only 8 days to go.
Things are getting worse, more spots, itching beginning to start, and still very much pissed off and bored...8 days 10 Hours and 59 minutes. Mum gone into annoying mode thinking she’s funny by making ‘spot’ jokes and other stupid comments. I’m going to play Halo to relieve some stress by killing some aliens.

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26//APRI//2003 - 16.51: Soul destroyed, TV getting more and more repetitive, more places are starting to get itchy, but I’m convinced I can fight it with mind over matter, and it seems to be working and so is ignoring it I put my ill top on, this officially means I’m ill, a green fleece with a silver zip that has been through every illness I’ve had from the last 5 years or so I’m feeling this log book is going to be the highlight of my day...8 days 8 hours 9 minutes

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26//APRI//2003 - 18.00: I finally left the house, went to no where special, just a second car Mercedes garage, looked at a bunch of ugly cars that people feel that they should own, because it makes them more special, richer than everyone else...and I’m sure I saw more Mercedes and BMWs on the way home than any other car...a lot of people have made it I guess. The salesmen are really annoying too; you even walk past the garage with an eye on a motor and you end up running down the street trying to keep your wallet safe from the bunch of wolves. Not really wolves though more like vultures...vultures in suits and hair, and a company car...or gold plated company wings, since vultures can’t drive.

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26//APRI//2003 - 21.42: Thanks to Scrubs my soul has been replaced by cheap Japanese, made to the million noodle cooker look-a-like.
So I’m now on the internet once more, I’ve been through the usual sites, deleted the spam, taken the e-trash out, still no enlightenment found but TV needs more warped comedy...just too generally make the world go round.
Damn this infernal world, why do my credit cards have to be maxed? Why can’t I buy anything of the net, to entertain me on my travels of boredom, or at least that magical site that can keep me entertained for hours without having to read long pointless stories, about someone’s life that at the end of the day I’m only going to forget what I read and don’t really give a damn what he’s gone through...damn this cruel world! AND I’m tired!

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26//APRI//2003 - 23.16: Too tired to carry onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

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27//APRI//2003 - 12.34: Wake up, look in the mirror and my face has been annihilated with a spot machine gun, can’t move my face, and can’t wear my glasses so can’t watch TV, things are just great! I can’t wait for things to get worse! No itching yet, for which I am thankful.
7 days 11 hours 26 Minutes

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27//APRI//2003 - 17.00: Bored, can’t eat, can’t move face, all hurts, officially hate babies they should all go to hell. Time is going r e a l l y   s l o w l y. Tick tick tick...
7 days 7 hours 0 minutes

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27//APRI//2003 - 22.16: 7 days 1 hour 44 minutes, starting to get tired earlier and sleeping in later, really need to wash and a change of clothes.

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28//APRI//2003 - 10.53: Bored already and been up for about 10 minutes, getting emotionally stressed about this illness, why do I have to have it now, why do I get ill every month, grrr. I’m really pissed, still can’t move, eat, brush my teeth now, wash, I’m a living rotting corpse. Finding this really hard to cope with, Plus I found out it will go on for longer than 2 weeks, cheap Japanese soul destroyed.
6 days 14 hours 7 minutes

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28//APRI//2003 - 22.58: Had a bath, finally got round to it, not many posts today TV was a little more adventurous with my needs of entertainment. Had a guest as well, first and last I can imagine! Itching starting to come on with a vengeance, hopefully I’ll sleep through tomorrow with unconsciousness...doubtful it will happen and ill wake up early and wont be able to sleep late and it’ll be like Russian torture! (Who says optimism has gone!?) Time seemed to have went quicker today as well, which is always a bonus...
6 days 1 hour 2 minutes

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28//APRI//2003 - 23.28: Sleep seems to be my only option now...
6 days 32 minutes

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29//APRI//2003 - 20.54: Spent the whole day watching TV, nothing very exciting, had some porridge which was special...brain starting to turn into mush.
5 days 4 hours 6 minutes

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30//APRI//2003 - 13.29: Had a good nights sleep, spots are retreating (well no more have appeared) my retail shopping therapy has arrived, so that will keep me entertained, Hurrah!
Spots is such a nasty word, just mentioning the word opens up a doorway of puss and blood and all other horrible, contagious evilness. They’re fun to pop, evil to share.
4 days 10 hours 31 minutes

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30//APRI//2003 - 23.57: Not feeling tired yet, feeling back to my old self, although not looking it! Today went pretty quickly, spent 4 hours just watching one DVD ‘Not Another Teen Movie’ with all the extra features and all, great fun...well kept me entertained which isn’t hard to do. Had my first proper meal since last Thursday, 6 days ago, I think my body is going hay-wire with all the nutrients and energy.
I’m surprised with myself, with the amount of time I’ve been bored, I haven’t once visited bored.com...well I’m impressed!
Feeling a lot better and only 4 days 3 minutes left...sort of, not including scab-rehab!...eeeshk.

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01//MAY //2003 - 17.50: Had an eventful day, I’m feeling heaps better although looks like it could be picked off at any second. Any who not the one to moan...much...ok well yes I am, a lot...I got things sorted, got Coaxial Apparel one step closer to an awesome finished product, had eventful TV, well lacking around lunchtime, but it picked up. Actually time went quickly, and I can’t name a lot of things I’ve done...seems odd.
Might be off to reading festival this year too, although the line up sucks so I’m just going for the camping, which is where most of the fun happens anyway, and no doubt sound will be shit and blah really.
What else...well that’s it, going to Weymouth...should be a hoot most boring seaside town that the planet knows, minus Skate Park, surf shops and music shops (if it has any?).
I don’t know it’s been a long time since I’ve been there, but at least I do get to go on a ride-on lawn mower! Went on the scales today seemed that I’ve lost 2 stone whilst being ill...I’m really sure that’s not good, I need to eat again, l o t s and fast! O well just got to wait for the scabs to heal up and I can walk the streets without kids puking, the elderly hitting me with brooms and such like, and fathers trying to run me over!
3 days 7 hours 10 minutes, as I said - sort of but I probably need to add another 14 days to that for scab-rehab...but my math isn’t that good, simple as it is, I’m just too lazy.

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03//MAY //2003 - 2.18 AM: Not tired, not feeling ill anymore and the scabs are dropping like water from Niagara...well almost!
General Day has generally been general, woke up as most people do to start a day, eat food novel for me my first breakfast in a long week. did some stuff like...I don’t know, clean my teeth, prat around on these things, kept myself entertained long enough to give myself the excitement of watching my last DVD I bought National Lampoons Loaded Weapon 1, awesome funny film to watch especially on Sundays, along with Police Squad, Airplane 1 + 2 and Hotshots, Easy Comedy...anyway watched it, laughed at it...not really much more can be said!
I ventured to Weymouth as well, meant to be 2.1/2 hours away took 3 great journey just had detours, mainly for my mother driving to Marks and Spencer...never mind, I still wait at the door for adoption papers to come through the doors, which my real rich family has just forgotten to send...here’s to hoping!
So, here I am sitting in some study thing my dad has decorated, the rest of the house looks...well, it looks like a dump, but he’s split it into two; ‘mini-me’ version of his huge house and, well ‘house’, the house version of the house. Mini-me bit looks nice, bit small, and ‘house’ is big but crap! I won’t complain though since it will be my house for the next three days while I go through this scab-rehab. I’m not entirely sure why I am up so late, I mean as un-tempting the zed-bed is, with about an inch of spring in the mattress and about as comfortable as trying to sit on a camel they weirdly enough has a seat of nails on it! Man, those desert types are weird...not that, that’s true of course...they sleep on it though (I think that maybe slightly more east?) but when they snore I’m sure someone will let them know about it (thinks...look a giant hammer) and midnight twitches must be a laugh every time you get them...perhaps if its marketing that was why it didn’t happen (and the amount of pain involved) bed of nails, party piece for all, watch you enemies bleed to death on rusty old nails, invite them round for a party get them drunk, send them to sleep and accidentally drop a ten ton weight on them...honest mistake to happen...
Also another reason I’m up is that I’m waiting for someone special to come online on Messenger, perhaps Ghandi or Jesus, someone different from the crowd but I know it isn’t going to happen, it’ll wind up being either messenger to messenger Jehovah witness’ or double glazing salesmen...both equally annoying, and will be coming to a messenger near you! Look out for your nearest MSN carnival for handouts!
Music would be my third and final reason why I am up, my only vent from well...anything, music will be here for as long as people will...nice and my head is really starting to annoy me, get out of my head you little buggers! Never mind, rise above it! I guess I should really get some sleep, no idea what countdown past from caring...no doubt be mind numbly bored tomorrow...whoo hoo more nonsense to write!

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04//MAY //2003 - 00.28: Because I’m going to...The Hives the excellent Dutch!? Band from the Dutch land for the NME generation...the nice! Simply going to say...had a good day for a change.

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06//MAY //2003 - 15.28: Hello, good afternoon and good night. After a horrible weekend in hell (Weymouth) I’m home again! Raa! And I’ve got 80s pop playing in the background all is ok! ‘Take on me!’ still got scabs and dead skin falling off me, not the nicest of images but ‘slowly learning life is ok’ and still got remains of spots, not sure if I should go back to normal life tomorrow ‘Its better to be safe than sorry’ but never mind, more people I can infect with this evilness the better I feel inside! After all I don’t want to be selfish!
Although I’ve just been food shopping, so if I am still contagious a lot of people just got ill! Food shopping is a very weird thing to do, its kind of hard to explain, but everyone looks in your shopping trolley and judges everything you do by what’s in your trolley, its like have court case in Tescos, and depending on whether you’re guilty of innocent is judged by what foods you buy...very weird, so many food as well, stuff I’ve never heard of before or seen what they looked like, I cant give examples because I cant think of any right now because my memory is shot, but given the chance I’m sure Tescos would put a zoo and perhaps a Formula one race track in one of the aisles, since they seem to sell everything else, and why do they sell so much stuff, if a kid wants a bike, they will go to a bike shop! Not a food store...not that it really matters though.
Summer of 69...’They were the best days of my life’ weather is picking up...sun at last! Blue skies, loud kids, good happy music comes back into fashion, any stories to happen, and many drunken binges! And ill leave you lot too it...it’s been emotional, I promised myself I wouldn’t cry...

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11//MAY //2003 - 20:51: Poxy pox update, living a normal happy loser life again, going out, getting drunk, getting my bad self down to funky 80s pop classics...Wham, Dead or Alive, Go West, all the classics, getting shot down by girls, puking, waking with hangovers, eating crap, living the dream. Still got scabs on me, and dropping off me like some scab-slug, and I’ve had no itching as well...which I’m quite happy about, I doubt it very much to do with mind over matter, more like boredom over excitement, I really think those pink elephants dressed up as Spartacus singing a few hip-hop tunes really helped too. Tra la la la...

28/MAY/2010

Bamboo is the ultimate evil the world has ever faced... if you're a panda.
Pandas are more heavenly that purgatory, i only say that they're not devine for the simple fact, i don't trust them, but what bamboos are doing to them is unforgivable until they die a horrific and terrifying death that not even satan should be subjected to.

Seeing as Satan is like a naughty younger brother and more like the messenger in all this heaven and hell nonsense, for him to have anymore than a slapped wrist and no dessert for tea, is probably just the right punishment, Satan after all probably suffers from Paraphilic Infantilism and Nevernudeism he's frustrated with his body and it's his only outlet of agression via doing bad things...

Bamboo gets everywhere, like air, only less helpful to the survival of human and panda race.
Bamboo contains the anti-viagra, that's genuinely it's technical termanology used there, no lies.
Bamboo contains an exceptional amount of Cocainalite, a cocaine-like substance that's lighter and easier to carry.
Bamboo grows at an exceptional of speed and spreads like wildfire, and if you burn it, it uses that energy to grow even faster
Bamboo have been known to mimic people and throw themselves in front of trains at rush hour
Bamboo also like to point and laugh at people with Cerebral Palsy


Bamboo isn't nice, not one bit.

Join the BANBOO campaign today and receive your free Bamboo clothes drying horse and matching kite.

This message was brought to you with association with the Business And Management Bureau Of Oscillators

18/MAY/2010

‘Yeah I am a spoon and I am proud of it. I do not care if you think I should be a knife or a fork. You make me sick like a leper in a pepper factory. I would prefer it very much if you could go off like, year old out of date milk in an oven. You are so full of shit it bleeds out your eyes, so just go away’

‘What was that outrage for? I only asked if you wanted a spoon since you had some yogurt on your tray. I thought it might aid you in the consumption of it’

‘Oh, fair enough, I’m sorry. I am a spoon though, so why would I want to embrace something I’ve been trying to revolt against for the last eighteen months?’

‘That made no sense, but whatever Why get a spoon fed dessert then?’

‘You don’t have to eat it with a spoon you can drink it with a straw’

‘Would you like a straw?’

‘No thank you, sorry about that little outrage, have a nice day’

‘Thanks, you weirdo’

As Yilres walked off with her yogurt into a dark pit, unaware it was there she fell accidentally, she inevitably didn’t live due to her selfish yogurt not saving her and the speed of which she hit the ground made it impossible to live when you’re splashed out over a few hundred feet. Tuioct the yogurt survived.

Tuioct seeped through the ground rocks of the base of this dark bottomless pit. Tuioct’s sheer brute power smashed right through these rocks without mercy and made filtering through solid rock almost a straining breeze. The rocks were upset by Tuioct’s disrespect for them so the rocks sent out hit-rocks to go and eliminate Tuioct. Originally it was Yilre’s job to get rid of Tuioct but due to his disability to notice big dark holes was her weakness and died (in case you missed the first part of the story).

Moatho the ace assassinator was picked and sent down through the metrolpolis of the Earth’s core, using informants and clues come across in a pet store found Tuioct. After a twenty minute chase through little colonies of rocks and another twenty minute vehicular chase through the tiny densely populated and almost like a solidified liquid streets of the Earth’s core. When Moatho caught up with Tuioct, Moatho drank Tuioct through a straw; this is the worst possible death for yogurt.

Moatho was knighted then used for concrete in the thousand foot tall solar panels in Australia, the perfect send off.

13/MAY/2010

Two pelicans, were hanging around in the wetlands, not doing a lot, just chilling out watching sport on TV psychoanalysing the players.

Ebton and Sepbok were in a mood.
Not with each other, but the mood to... Travel!
So they went. They didn't pack anything... Other than a bag of bowling skittles, a thermometer and a VHS copy of Look Who's Talking Too.
Off they went in their car, a 1984 Ford Fiesta.

They drove...

Until!
They Drove some more
And then!
The road carried on.

The car's tires became bored and decided there and then to burst into a thousand tiny heated rubber fragments, releasing the stale fish smelling compressed air causing a rippling of the fabric laden atoms around it and ripping them apart, the energy from these fragments penetrating through this new wave of distortion was enough to create a noise of a boom so large it could be heard from a distance twice that of 500 cats eyes.

The rim of the wheel cut through the road with the downwards force of gravity plus the weight of the car. The empty space now required for the car to remain in it's status quo was ruined and completely off kilter, the metal spindle where the tire once wrapped itself around was the heading for a direct hit into the soft summer heated road below and like butter the road collapse under the intense pressure from this circular blade.

The heat generated from this conflict between the metal and the road was forcing tiny shards of metallic strips to pop off through the very existence of time, or so it seemed. These super hot metallic strips flew off in complete chaos scoring the underbelly of the car and creating miniature tiny-time-fractioned nuclear explosions on everything it touched.

Large Spark climbed up the wave of air atoms to reach unprecedented heights of the other metallic strips, to land in a dark and strange word on it own. Finding the safety on this soft bouncy surface, which Large Spark got on really well with like two old friends and got on like a house on fire.

Meanwhile, as this friendship was heating up, the passage that had been pierced in the road by the tier's rod was about to reach a dead end, as the metal rim was about to find the constant strain on it's relationship with the road could only last so long, before it was simply going to stop.

The rim stopped playing ball, there and then, and stopped. The momentum behind the vehicle pushed all it's weight and then so, into the dead end, pushing the rear of the vehicle up in the air. The car, drifted within it's own world of physical confusion, over itself, back to normal, over itself...

The exhaust was travelling so fast through the air, it was making a low whistling noise.

The acquaintanceship between Large Spark and it's pal had progressed rapidly the his new friend was crying with joy, Large Spark dried away those tears and make the funniest joke his new friend has ever heard, causing the tears to ignite. These new flames were evil and rushed within Large Spark's new friend until they reached Large Spark's new friend's Lacrimal Gland.

The car lit up to biblical proportions, the atomic wave of air surrounding the car, heated up and warmth was instantly felt with it's neighbouring more relaxed atomic wave just passing by. The flame licked the paint of the car causing the colourful shell of the car to expand away from it's middle and burst. The yellow heat honey syruped upwards past the windows like the water running through a stream for the first time.

The car's flight was coming to an end, the front of the car folding inwards like a paper aeroplane aimed at a rapidly approaching tennis ball, simply put crushed, the rest of the car followed suit, until all that was left was a metal disc covered in honey flames.

A giant hand came from the sky, clasping a fork and headed straight for the honey disc. The fork bayoneted the honey disc and raised it to the sky. A few moments after the honey disc disappeared into the clouds, the faint sound of munching and a swallowing noise could be heard.

...Ebton and Sepbok perished in the crash

05/MAY/2010

Silence, the eternal nothingness that can bring everything to the forefront.

Sitting outside in the sun supping on a nice bottle of warmed Guinness, listening to nothing thinking about everything and a tiny Boeing 747 flew pass my eyes and straight towards a pseudohermaphrodited pheasant.

The bird shocked by seeing a tiny passenger airliner fly towards it's face. It squawk in shock, as it was closing it's bird mouth organ the plane flew straight down it's squawk pipe, through the stomach, pass it's intestines until it reached the end of it's journey, the rectum.

The plane had other ideas and still had plenty of momentum left in it, to fly the pheasant arse first into and through a white picket fence. The impact forced the pheasant through the slats leaving a white mark on its feathers. The bird came to rest 5 miles down the road, when the plane managed to escape the bird's shitty claws.

Lying there, unconscious, the pheasant was discovered by a Dr. South, a lady who is about 20ft tall in bird perspective, with grey pinkish hair with a blue rinse, wore a long brown jacket, some other lady doctor type things and squarely triangle glasses, she also has an interest in bags of coal, jean pockets and blades of grass over 3 inches in height.

Dr. South took the bird down to Minnesota, where she had a clinic looking after and healing distraught Pheasants After a Micro Plane Attack, or dPAMPA. Some folks say that was pheasant's luckiest day, and i agree, very lucky bird to be found by the owner, founder, SEO and FD of dPAMPA.

Dr. South took the pheasant throught a rigorous session to strengthen the pheasant's mind and body to with the incident, but nothing was working. The Pheasant read in Brick Weekly, when bricks come out of retirement within the property game, they experience a similar mental breakdown from stress by the their new unfamiliar circumstances, Bricks get over this by using hypnosis. Dr. South was out of ideas and the Pheasant was desperate, so decide to give it a go.

The Doctor used the old fashioned method of hiding behind a sofa and jumping out in front of the Pheasant with a meat cleaver in order to induce hypnosis, the Pheasant was out cold like an abattoir's freezer.

The Pheasant woke up, ostracised within dPAMPA.

The Pheasant decided it would be better off being alone as a mentally crazed long neck and legged bird with the ability to run at maximum speeds of about 70 km/h (45 mph), on the streets of Africa.

27/APR/2010

A day like any other day minus the 50-80% of the first bit, was boring, lie anything else we do it’s because we have to, not because we want to nor does it simulate us into wanting to do more, most people are just happy being bored all day doing something then come home to do nothing having nothing generally planned and be fine with it, it makes little or no sense but that’s what general life is, unless you’re in that 10% group of people that get money from your enjoyment.

A carrot named Mike loved her job; she got to do what she wanted. Yes, she Mikeatina, she loved to grow and she got paid for it she did so well at growing, by growing 18 feet in 2 days she got promoted to super-compost, which meant she got extra pay for doing the same job made easier, unfortunately she grew so large an estimated 45.4 feet she got sliced up and eaten, so never do well at anything it’ll only get thrown back in your face.

Another vegetable that wasn’t a vegetable but in fact a humanoid named Thomp who was actually a dogoid, went ‘le woof, le woof’, he was French and lived in Sao Paulo a hidden city like Atlantis but not underwater but under The Eiffel Tower, Sao Paulo was a one sentenced colony where everyone would only say one sentence due to poor education, eight days a week they would not go to school, instead they’d rather go to the local corner shop, not just the children but everyone in Sao Paulo, and they all got their education from this one corner shop owner, imported from Russia, the only French phrase he know was ‘aucuns mercis, je n'ai pas besoin d'un petit cheval’ which roughly translated to ‘no thanks, I don’t need a small horse’ and because Thomp knew ‘le woof’ he was worshipped and given Gold from all across the land and given more Gold [Symbol: Au, Atomic number: 79, Atomic weight: 196.96655+1] and other cool stuff that would come in useful if he would want to buy stuff.

He thought one day he’d be a good dog, by saying to himself ‘I want to be a good dog’ and bought everyone a flower and a bone to entertain the people of this land if they happened to be bored, while sitting on a table in a big room with others doing stupid boring meaningless work. In all other cases, the time that they may be bored they all got a fully working magnetic travel edition of Jeremy Clarkson and if they were stuck in Manchester, Woking or a Fishpond with surrounding grassland they got a fully working travel edition of a weighing machine that could only work out 50g of Tableismism [Symbol: Tb, Atomic number: 79, Atomic weight: 196.96655+1]. Everyone was very happy with him as leader, so happy in fact all their heads exploded, killing Thomp in the process...damn for him.

20/APR/2010

Walking in the country along some grass,
... Well, by grass, it was like a beaten track,
... Well, by beaten track, it was more like a mud path,
... Well, by mud path, it was more like a gravel street,
... Well, by gravel street, it was made of bricks road.

The brick road was run down with many potholes,
... Well, it had just been raining, so they were more like puddles
... Well, by puddles, they were over spilling with each other like a small pool of water,
... Well, by a small pool of water, it was slightly more like a pond,
... Well, the pond was more like a reservoir,
... Well, it was in fact Lake Garda.

In your mind you're thinking, blue skies, still mirror-like water, not to dissimilar to the mirror lakes of New Zealand, small dwellings hugging the side of the hills but no, It was a miserable, wet day, extremely grey and misty, couldn't see further then a couple of meters in front of you.

... Well, not that i could see much of it anyway, because I was stuck looking at a tree trunk, so my vision was very much banded. Grey Garda, Tree Trunk, Grey Garda... Continued.

I can't remember why this vision stuck in my head, but that's all I remember from my year in Europe, a tree obstructing my view of slightly less than inspiring view of local attractions, but then being a dendrologist, it isn't really a surprise that timber crust has been burnt onto my retinas, so bad in fact that people start looking like trees, not in a good way either.

You, viewer of this very text, might find this confusing as I chose to study trees for my entire adult life, so seeing everything as something I 'enjoy' could come across as a blessing, if I was a chocolate-maker, seeing everything as a refined sugar or cocoa based product would become with a gleeful reaction, like colour-blindness but object-replacementness.

But, having this condition was met with the same response much in the same way as a window fixer man would've or perhaps a shit-cleaner, to be honest I've never known of such a job as a 'shit cleaner', but if there is one, he wouldn't enjoy this condition, though most poets are pretty miserable, perhaps they have this condition.

Shite-ku

everything is shit

item, doodad, mass, gizmo

it's all shit to me

I hate trees, ever since I got pushed out of a tree by a tree and I broke my leg and I had to have a wooden splint, it felt like the tree was mocking me, for those 6 weeks, rage grew inside me the only rest from the rage was when Autumn came, until I could take it no more and I had to work something out to fix the problem.

So, I've spent my life, trying to work out how I can bring these vile chaos fueled freaks of nature, down to the ground like freshly cut timber by an arboriculturalist, buying cases of matches just to watch them burn, stealing handfuls of pencils and throwing them away and playing 17 hours of pooh sticks a day, and occasionally hammering copper nails into them in order to give them a slow and painful death.

I need more ideas otherwise, I feel the trees may win and my life would've been all for nought...

[Ed: After publishing this article the author was crushed alive by a falling life-sized replica model of The Flyer II]

 

16/APR/2010 

Circle rules the world, everything in the modern world today is circular, in front of me now, within eye shot, I can spot 9 circular objects, and whoever the owner of circles are, their royalties must be through the roof.

I was flying one day through a tunnel that reflected music ambiance well, a chilled out drum beat with many a cymbal dashing, calmly floating off to the darkness in front, with my pal badger who goes under the name of Monta, going with the flow, drifting along nothing, but a lot of nothing to do. After the aloofing had past, they decided to go to Livingston, to visit our friend Jaws, he was a red credit card with glasses and loved to DJ and motivate the crowd by hand gestures. He tried to exclude me, with gambling and sending me to Las Vegas and it worked.

Jaws and Monta, decided to go to a coffee bar in Livingston, take a rest before their chaos of a day about to happen, Jaws got an extra whipped hot chocolate and Monta got a red wine to be healthy, since he was health conscious badger, being healthy seems to fit that description. They spent many a day in this coffee bar wasting the day away talking rubbish such as, ‘What if trains could fly?’, and ‘What came first the robot or the dance?’ And important life threatening questions such as, ‘What should I have to eat tonight?’ and ‘Why doesn’t music have more than one note?’ They often just stared into space, and counted how many UFOs were flying around in the room. Usually there were a couple everyday tinkering about, doing what UFOs do best and that’s being unidentified. the UFO’s being novices at this UFO game don’t usually do very well, this pissed off the UFO novices and decided to attack God for being unfair to them and not giving them a fair advantage to their name.

After a few hundred years of dispute over this, UFOs got their name changed to IFO (Identified Flying Objects). This made their life easier and they took a whole new take on things. Much like history on repeat, everything starts again as if it has repeats itself, almost bizarre. The IFOs became smooth and suave; these tiny spaceships began wearing suits, drinking espressos, driving top of the range ships. They soon became out of fashion and then got swatted down, becoming shortly after the swattage, extinct.

Jaws and Monta asked for help from the bar, about what to do around Livingstone, They knew the area pretty well, always got brain blocks when coming up with things to do. They decided to take a walk walk walk, and take in the sights sights sights, as they walked walked walked they realised that things will never be the same and things rearranged. They were happening as they walked, they went where they wanted to go, buildings changed before their eyes. Livingstone was breathing and growing. They were upset by this, they then realised they were only there because they wanted to be, listening to hip hop on their boom box, the non stop beats dropping, they decided to strut down Livingstone giving it their all, they walked till they got bored, and decided to fly elsewhere.

They flew to the next best city they knew where to go, Chicago. They were singing on the streets all the guys wanted to be them, all the girls wanted to be with them. They were living the high life, spending money like it grew on trees, (in which, the paper comes from.) After much competing from Mr.T and Columbo break dancing under a bridge of the windy city, they lost, Jaws and Monta went out on the town to drown their sorrows in fine wine and chips and curry.

They woke up the next day Monta had a pool of drool from his ear, and Jaws was hugging a 10 inch TV screen. When they got ready, they decided to hunt for big foot; they borrowed someone’s car and told them it would be back by 2, they lied, especially when the car blew up, combusted with them in it. Big foot walked past laughing, staring at the wreckage, and just moved on.

Welcome and all that...