deviantART: by:SirCellophane

deviantART: by:SirCellophane http://search.deviantart.com/?q=by:SirCellophane&section=today deviantART RSS for by:SirCellophane en-us Copyright 2009, deviantART.com Thu, 17 Dec 2009 00:05:09 PST deviantART.com http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss http://s.deviantart.com/minish/widgets/apple-touch-icon-precomposed.png Bump out http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/18906759/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/18906759/ Wed, 18 Jun 2008 07:39:13 PDT Destroying the sandcastle
is just as important
as the other thing.

I think the Hobgoblin is equally as likely to be found pulling staples with a pair of pliers as running around the forest with a hammer.

_{it's how you go about it, see?} ]]> ~SirCellophane Look up, Hannah. http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/16398997/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/16398997/ Mon, 14 Jan 2008 07:28:07 PST [link]

"I'm sorry, but I don't want to be an Emperor - that's not my business. I don't want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone, if possible -- Jew, gentile, black man, white. We all want to help one another; human beings are like that. We want to live by each other's happiness, not by each other's misery. We don't want to hate and despise one another. In this world there's room for everyone and the good earth is rich and can provide for everyone.

The way of life can be free and beautiful.

But we have lost the way.

Greed has poisoned men's souls, has barricaded the world with hate, has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed but we have shut ourselves in. Machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical, our cleverness hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery, we need humanity. More than cleverness, we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost.

The aeroplane and the radio have brought us closer together. The very nature of these inventions cries out for the goodness in men, cries out for universal brotherhood, for the unity of us all. Even now my voice is reaching millions throughout the world, millions of despairing men, women, and little children, victims of a system that makes men torture and imprison innocent people.

To those who can hear me I say: Do not despair. The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed, the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass and dictators die; and the power they took from the people will return to the people and so long as men die, liberty will never perish.

Soldiers: Don't give yourselves to brutes, men who despise you, enslave you, who regiment your lives, tell you what to do, what to think and what to feel; who drill you, diet you, treat you like cattle, use you as cannon fodder. Don't give yourselves to these unnatural men, machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts! You are not machines! You are not cattle! You are men! You have the love of humanity in your hearts. You don't hate; only the unloved hate, the unloved and the unnatural.

Soldiers: Don't fight for slavery! Fight for liberty! In the seventeenth chapter of Saint Luke it is written, "the kingdom of God is within man" -- not one man, nor a group of men, but in all men, in you, you the people have the power, the power to create machines, the power to create happiness. You the people have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure.

Then, in the name of democracy, let us use that power! Let us all unite! Let us fight for a new world, a decent world that will give men a chance to work, that will give you the future and old age a security. By the promise of these things, brutes have risen to power, but they lie! They do not fulfill their promise; they never will. Dictators free themselves, but they enslave the people! Now, let us fight to fulfill that promise! Let us fight to free the world, to do away with national barriers, to do away with greed, with hate and intolerance. Let us fight for a world of reason, a world where science and progress will lead to all men's happiness.

Soldiers: In the name of democracy, let us all unite!

Hannah, can you hear me? Wherever you are, look up, Hannah. The clouds are lifting. The sun is breaking through. We are coming out of the darkness into the light. We are coming into a new world, a kindlier world, where men will rise above their hate, their greed and brutality.

Look up, Hannah. The soul of man has been given wings, and at last he is beginning to fly. He is flying into the rainbow -- into the light of hope, into the future, the glorious future that belongs to you, to me, and to all of us. Look up, Hannah. Look up."

- Charlie Chaplin, 1940

]]> ~SirCellophane Old Fashioned Family Feast http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/16248558/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/16248558/ Fri, 04 Jan 2008 00:11:39 PST
Give us a blizzard, a heatwave and a tropical storm.

Give us a year of awe and wonder.

Love and Stories,

D

P.S. An eclipse and some manner of virgin or animal sacrifice wouldn't go astray either.

]]> ~SirCellophane And that was that. http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/15789573/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/15789573/ Tue, 04 Dec 2007 07:04:05 PST

Maybe just to prove I could.

Maybe just to prove I could do it well.

Maybe because I made so many friends or because I fell in love again and it works this time.

Maybe because I'm awesome.

Maybe not.

In any case, it's done now. I have a little more time and a lot less to worry about.

I'm looking forward to reading. A lot.

]]> ~SirCellophane Once every six months http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/15011554/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/15011554/ Thu, 11 Oct 2007 07:32:20 PDT I turn my head from side to side and ask her if I've changed.
She won't say. But I ask anyway.

There are people who only live in the rain. Standing on the balcony or in the yard, talking through the flyscreen. And when she stops they fade again. A very specific breed of ghosts. Wet ghosts.

]]> ~SirCellophane The weather's getting to me http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/14897007/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/14897007/ Wed, 03 Oct 2007 10:05:43 PDT And there are beautiful girls with limited English but a lot to say and theyÂve got the most adorable accentsÂ

Actually

I donÂt dream about any of those things.
That would be nice though.

I mostly dream about falling out of aeroplanes, off buildings. Being run over by cars. Being unprepared for things. Insects coming out of my mouth.

And this recurring one where we argue in the city then she kisses me.

My dreams are less complicated than they used to be.

]]> ~SirCellophane All Along The Watchtower http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/14178987/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/14178987/ Wed, 15 Aug 2007 11:14:22 PDT Bob Dylan at the Brisbane Entertainment Centre.
Monday, August 13th, 2007

The support band were very good. "The Frames". So good I downloaded one of their songs from ITunes when I got home. Albeit a free one: I don't have any money. "People Get Ready" Absolutely beautiful song.

Bob was excellent and generous. He played a lot of newer songs which I didn't know so well but are now on my GET THAT FUCKING ALBUM IF IT'S THE LAST THING YOU GOD. DAMN. DO list. My mission is now to find them.

And he didn't have to. But he also played the following:

It Ain't Me Babe early on, which is funny because it's what he's been trying to tell everybody for the last 30 years.

Lay Lady Lay which was beautiful and, I'm not gonna deny it, incredibly sexy. I'm not sure exactly how he's done it, but he's destroyed his voice perfectly. He is a Blues singer.

Highway 61 which was fucking amazing. The drummer did this awesome fill in the breaks before the end of each verse.

Tangled Up In Blue! was completely unexpected. Beautiful. Always has been a beautiful song, but it has grown and matured with him. The drastically human story had a wiser edge to it, the harmonica solos simpler, refined, self assured and serene. It's also fun to listen for where and when he swaps the voice from 1st to 3rd person and even sometimes swaps the roles of the characters. (He looked over his shoulder as she was walking away and she stopped in for a beer where he worked. Don't know if it was a strip joint though.) Not one performance has ever been the same as another. This is why we love him.

Ballad of a Thin Man was sinister and as confusing and unusual as usual. It will be long time before I'm certain of how I feel about Mr Jones.

And his final song:

All Along The Watchtower was more than I could have asked for. In my honest opinion it was the best song written in the 20th Century and on Monday night I remembered why. I'm not going to go into the depths of the metaphor and how it applies and affects our hearts and minds and why mine especially, because that would be incredibly self-indulgent and boring. Suffice it to say that the song's only flaw is that it is not long enough. And that is a part of why it's so fucking rad because, like a nursery rhyme, like a fable, it is easy to remember. Short and sweet.

I have participated in many a standing ovation (I used to go to a school that worshipped the ground on which the rowers waddled), but this was the first time I meant it. It was for more than the concert (which was great, generous, but not the best). It was for his career. His incredible gift to us, though we weren't very nice to him a lot of the time. His endurance. His patience, work and skill. All that stuff.

I don't know how long he'll keep making music or, you know, be alive so it was a privilege to see Bob Freakin' Dylan play All Along the Freakin' Watchtower etc. Especially since it's almost exactly 30 years since my Dad saw him, only I'll actually remember the experience.
_{Dad probably had more fun though, but at the time I think he would have had just as much fun spinning on a spinny chair.}

Thanks for the tickets, Dad.

And much obliged, Bob. You make me feel inadequate as a poet and a man.

It's four in the morning.
Goodnight.

]]> ~SirCellophane And curse Sir Walter Raleigh. He was such a stupid http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/14117861/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/14117861/ Sat, 11 Aug 2007 10:37:00 PDT I'm so tired.
I haven't slept a wink.
I'm so tired.
My mind is on the blink.

Etc.

I have no trouble sleeping in.
It's getting to sleep that's an issue.

I need a new avatar. This one is old and doesn't look like me anymore. I've forgotten how to do them.

I've got a whole bunch of unfinished scripts, poems, monologues, stories and assignments to work on. But as much as I try to work on them, I get nothing done.

One of my best friends has been dumped unpleasantly. What do I do what do I do?

Worst asthma I've had in a decade. Hurts worse than anything to breathe.

I probably haven't tried hard enough to sleep. What do I do what do I do?

Too many thoughts. I've turned myself nocturnal. Moron. Nothing useful. Try anything. do you lover her? of course you do. pointless though, you know that. and selfish and cruel. howdo you lover her anyway wow freudian slip. write a sonnet. wanker. all of my pocket watches have stopped. web cam and no one to talk to. what are you doing? What are you doing? It's three in the morning, what am I meant to be doing? Not typing your thoughts into a weblog that's for fucking certain. Moron. Shit, am i typing this? that's why it's taking so long. can't sleep until i've proven i exist felt something or made somebody feel something phone contacts. sms would be terrible wake them up who the fuck is rodger do i know a rodger? no send beautifulpoetrycryforhelpfunnyobservatio nmakeathoughtmoronfraudfakelechleechlous eloserlazylavalamplooseendslauraneedsmet osendfeedbackforyear8smindmatterswayover duelaurenneverwrotebacktomeletters are hardtowriteshelikedmyletterwhokeepssendi ngthosemysterylettersiwishtheyweremorefr equentwhoareyouhopeyou'reabeautifulgirlyoupigbetsheisthoughobse ssedwithbeautyespeciaallythekindthatmake smewanttohideslowsdowntime pleasesmileagainbecauseidon't understanditfindwantwantwantwanthungryem ptyburningoverfeedthefurnacesuffocatethe flamefireineverythingi'mlikeabrokenrecordstildoingitwonderifthi swillscrollsidewaysbecauseit'sonewordandbewideorsplituplikeinwordlyri cscan'tfuckingwritethesesongsittakessolongones ongayearthunderandjazzyouthinkthisispoet rydon'tyoudon'tyoudon'tyoudon'tyousovainyou'lllovethiswhenyoureadit soartychildsomethingihadtodotonightgameh opeshe'sokdon'twakeanybodyupstopitidiotelectricblanket bekkykeepscomingonlineandofflineonoffono ffhopeel'sok isaiddon'twakeonyoneupgotobednoeatthengotobed

]]> ~SirCellophane Bad Taste http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/13921616/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/13921616/ Sun, 29 Jul 2007 00:53:02 PDT
Two billboards, side by side.

On the left:

"A child dies of hunger every 5 seconds. Do you Care?"

On the right:

"Oporto Grilled Chicken Burger Value Meal: Just gotta go!"

I dunno man. I dunno.

]]> ~SirCellophane Wynnum http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/13666089/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/13666089/ Mon, 09 Jul 2007 01:56:08 PDT
One of the oldest suburbs of Brisbane.
Moreton bay, Bleak St Helena, the prison island, sulking closest to the shore.
I think it's St Helena anyway. It's hazy.
Huge cranes in the shipyards to the north, sleeping monsters.
There is nothing special to the south.

The kids make noise but it's muted, drowned out by the dry wind of cultural exhaustion.

The trees are leaking. They've emptied out the wading pool, dug it up.

Children on scooters speed to the end of the jetty, playing chicken with an ancient god.

There won't be a sunset today.
It'll rain, but only a little.

]]> ~SirCellophane Loved http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/13009267/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/13009267/ Sat, 19 May 2007 05:13:18 PDT
My friends have given me a beautiful old guitar. I am going to fix it, shine it, string it, play it, learn it, name it, sing with it and it shall be mine.

Thank you.

I love you guys.

]]> ~SirCellophane 17 http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/12961743/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/12961743/ Tue, 15 May 2007 05:46:50 PDT
_{I didn't get me anything. I feel terrible.}

I love you guys.

I am tired.

]]> ~SirCellophane So it goes. (belated) http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/12925775/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/12925775/ Sat, 12 May 2007 06:58:57 PDT This is late, but I've been meaning to do it.

Kurt Vonnegut is dead.

So it goes.

]]> ~SirCellophane I am incapable of quiet thought. http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/12599687/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/12599687/ Sun, 15 Apr 2007 00:24:21 PDT sneaking out of bed
to watch their parents dance.

Lovers on an overcrowded train,
smiling to each other,
talking telepathically.

Two people
who have never met
standing in a thunder storm:
One on a sky scraper.
One waist deep in the surf.
Closer than they think.

Things you should know.

]]> ~SirCellophane Mystery Letters http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/12385763/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/12385763/ Fri, 30 Mar 2007 07:35:42 PDT
I think you're fantastic. I have been thinking about the story I need to write about the trinkets, but nothing has struck me as worthy of them yet. Plus I'm kind of covered in work to do at the moment. I'm going away for the easter holidays though, to a pretty house near noosa, and I'm going to spend most of my time there writing. Perhaps there will be a good thought then.

]]> ~SirCellophane Genocide (cont'd) http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/12213353/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/12213353/ Fri, 16 Mar 2007 23:32:12 PDT
On the way to the bus stop, a group of drunks pass by on the opposite foothpath. One crosses to us. An aboriginal, who swears oddly, sways a little and smells like the stereotype.

She's made a decision. She has decided that Peter, Josh and I are rich white yuppie children whose parents pay for everything. So far, she's right. But she's also decided that tonight she is going to fight someone.

We are not the reasons for the spirals of her life. We aren't the ones who took her childhood away, gave her a baby in the 8th grade. We aren't the ones who kicked her out of the school, who made her hate everything about it. We're not the reason she's going on thirty, living in Inala and still coming back here Friday nights because she can never really leave. Not completely.

But she's looking for a fight. She keeps asking the same questions. Her equally drunk and increasingly agitated friends are crossing the road. But I'm fascinated. Mesmerised. There's nothing I can do. For her. For them. For any of us. Anybody.

This

is why I need to get a driver's license.

]]> ~SirCellophane He's just wearing the trainee badge to scare peopl http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/11904153/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/11904153/ Wed, 21 Feb 2007 05:06:40 PST Praise be to Gavin for new friends and innovative confectionary. On the house.

We bid welcome to the Double-Choc-Iced-Tim-Tam-Dear-God-I'm-Drowning-In-Sweet-Sex-And-Oreos-Ecstasy Shake.

With Caramel.

Or, for the sake of Brevity:

The Trainee

]]> ~SirCellophane January 26 http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/11571536/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/11571536/ Fri, 26 Jan 2007 00:59:17 PST
All haughtiness and false superiority aside, I can't really think of anything we have to be proud of right now, off the top of my head.

My best memory of the 26th: Walking through a storm with my older brother, a few years ago. It started raining and we just stayed outside. We had our own invasion day parade, wandering around the neighbourhood. Soaked to the bone and screaming at the lightning.

I wish it rained more often.

]]> ~SirCellophane Dreaming: On the field. In the mist. http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/11561487/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/11561487/ Thu, 25 Jan 2007 06:27:29 PST Melancholy Reminiscence.

Our uncertainly identified box begins to move. Looking out the window behind us, I see thin people in red fall from the sky. Acrobatic. The graceful, joyous dance or the proficient ninja.
And then they turn sideways and disappear like tigers in long savannah grass, only we're probably somewhere in the British or Irish countryside, judging by how damp everything is.

I'm outside now, far out on the field. Trees on either side, lining the estate. Explosions. Fireworks in the morning mist. Can't really see them. They're all around my peripheral. Just noise, flashes, sparks and muddied upset turf.

There is a man, blonde beard, in viking fur. He leads me to the left, through the line of trees to a great rectangular pool of blood. And I mean like a swimming pool. The earth slopes down into it and there's just 25 meters of blood. I don't know how deep it is. Bright red.

He points to it with his axe. I'm meant to be doing something. I don't know what. I don't know what the blood makes me feel. I can feel the red people approaching, although I can't see them until they are standing at the other end of the pool.

And then they are here.

]]> ~SirCellophane It's been said before. http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/11524510/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/11524510/ Sun, 21 Jan 2007 23:40:21 PST And I don't think I'm at all capable of living it.

But:

If you try your hardest to have no enemy, to love every human, or at least to treat them as some kind of ally, even when they task you, hurt you, hate you, then you are free.

Places only have names so you know where you are, not who your enemy is. You're above the global governments, who wage war on each other and themselves, endlessly. Beyond the raging social cycles of our not so modern times.

And jealous, angry people will cut you down because you are more capable of love than they think they could ever be.

But you'll love them anyway. Because that's what you were born to do.

Try to be nice.
That's all.

If you can you've got more patience than I do. Among other things.

It was just a thought. Not a law. Not even a theory. Hypothesis. Don't even know if I agree with it, let alone if it works. It would be nice though, wouldn't it.

I haven't slept well lately.

]]> ~SirCellophane Let go. http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/11080437/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/11080437/ Sat, 16 Dec 2006 05:29:29 PST Let words have no meaning.

Let nothing be made.

Let all be begotten

and Breathe.

]]> ~SirCellophane Memories - In between the education http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/10782377/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/10782377/ Sun, 19 Nov 2006 20:18:48 PST
I'm not even graduating, but when I stand on the foothpath by the school with them that have, I smell moss, wet earth and dirt under fingernails. I smell the little water bottle ant-farms we collected in grade four (Ascot State School, '99).

I smell the day the kids turned colony five upside down. I smell the grass on the oval. I smell the fights behind the cricket nets. The booby traps we set up on the path between the trees.

Further back. (St Agatha's, '96 and '97)

I smell the hill below the tennis courts, the jungle that it was. The giant wooden playground. The seeds and pencil shavings we collected. We were scientists.

The rocks. The mud I slipped in at St Agatha's. I hit my head and lay there crying in the sun, until an older girl came and helped me up, took me to a teacher.

I sat in my classroom with an ice pack on my head, waiting for my mum.

Always running. The world was too big to walk anywhere. Too much ground to cover. Lunch time was never long enough.

]]> ~SirCellophane His Favourite Shoes http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/10763115/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/10763115/ Sat, 18 Nov 2006 05:16:12 PST
But every time I see the ad I can't help thinking:
"He's barefoot right now."

Just wandering around, showing people his shoes.

]]> ~SirCellophane The Stage http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/10407753/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/10407753/ Mon, 16 Oct 2006 01:21:25 PDT
The "reflections", often mistaken for a lacquer, varnish or sheen or normal wood, are gatherings of particles in the misty expanse below the stage, like fish below a glass-bottomed boat, more clearly seen on the shiny stages.

If you must think in terms of reflections, then both are reflections of each other, in mutual symbiosis. Neither one works without the other. There is a power source, an alternate dimension in the blur below the stage. It exists because the audience see it (the stage) and endow it with power. Once tapped, it is practically inexhaustible.

As you enter and connect with the audience and the space, they recognise you as a part of this power source and if you also recognise that, then you can more easily access it, giving you the catalyst for the following reaction: The audience feeds you energy as you expend it and the energy of the space, feeding the audience in return. It goes round and round, increasing in speed and intensity until it bursts at the show's end and everybody glows.

]]> ~SirCellophane Lightlines http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/9995497/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/9995497/ Thu, 07 Sep 2006 05:20:22 PDT in curving beams and threads,
escaping,
sparking messily.

Little fireworks.

They leave me and I sleep. ]]> ~SirCellophane Dreaming: Freaky old zombie lady http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/9657319/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/9657319/ Tue, 08 Aug 2006 23:49:25 PDT
It was dark, looked like she was lit by a torch. Her grotesqueness looked like some horrible genetic experiment accident, but she said she'd had it done, like cosmetic surgery.

It was the head on her arm that was speaking. The head on her shoulders was dead. It stared.

It hadn't been a clean cut. It was obvious that the skill and brain had gone with the half of the face that was talking and the rest just drooped there, ragged and limp.

There wasn't any blood. It must have happened a long time ago. No blood from her arm full of darts either, like the wicked witch of the west, green, gross and pretty much bone-dry.

No story to this one, just a freaky old woman. ]]> ~SirCellophane Why is it always buses? http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/9530405/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/9530405/ Sat, 29 Jul 2006 06:14:40 PDT So Ill just describe her.
She had a stick and a sign saying which bus she wanted to catch.
Her eyes were wandering, the way blind eyes do.
She had her fingers in her ears.
She was trying not to eavesdrop on everyone around.
The logo on her shirt said she was an actor and a singer.
And a good one, to boot.
She was smiling like Mona Lisas mother.

Enough to get me home. ]]> ~SirCellophane I can't believe I'm doing this. http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/9350033/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/9350033/ Wed, 12 Jul 2006 01:59:23 PDT
"Open your choice of music (itunes,limewire,kazaa,etc) and put it on shuffle. Press play. For every question type the song thats on. And when you go to a new question press the next button."

Opening credit: David Bowie The man who sold the world

Waking up: Moby - Rushing

Average day: Queens of the Stone Age Feel Good Hit Of The Summer

First Date: Kurt Elling The Uncertainty of the Poet

Falling in love: George Falling inside

Fight scene: Nirvana Smells like teen spirit

Breaking up: Silverchair Do you feel the same

Getting back together: Muse Stockholm Syndrome

Secret Love: Moby - Everloving

Lifes okay: Fleetwood Mac Dreams

Mental Breakdown: Ray Charles Shake a Tail Feather

Driving: Frou Frou Let Go

Learning a lesson: King Crimson 21st Century Schizoid Man

Deep Thought: Delerium Window To Your Soul

Flashback: Feist Gatekeeper

Partying: Korn A.D.I.D.A.S.

Happy Dance: Pink Floyd Eclipse

Regretting: Audioslave Like a Stone

Long night alone: Tool Forty-six & 2

Death Scene: Tori Amos Winter

It passes the time.

This just in: I have a beard.
Oh and I'm at a new school ]]> ~SirCellophane 1999 http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/9034436/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/9034436/ Sun, 11 Jun 2006 06:41:38 PDT
SirCellophane
Captain Of The Guard
is a Wannabe Poet
is Male
is a deviant since Dec 13, 2004, 1:08 AM
has 1,999 pageviews
is located in Australia
is online
is currently

This is me saying watching 1999 pageviews click over to 2000.

Thanks to the hundreds and hundreds of people I don't know who visit my page once and only once and thank you even more to the people who return. My friends.

2000 is a big number for a little poet. ]]> ~SirCellophane Nobody wants to publish poetry anymore. http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/8917263/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/8917263/ Tue, 30 May 2006 02:56:37 PDT

Nobody wants Poetry or "Unsolicited Manuscripts".

Penguin don't.
Pan Picador don't.
Corgi don't
UQ press don't
Harper Collins gave me porn.
Angus and Robertson don't.

Volumes on volumes of celebrity autobiographies, Matthew Reilly books and those teen romance/sport/riteofpassagegameinthewildernessgoeswron g stories and books by people who want to be David Eddings who wanted to be Tolkien anyway where the sex scenes are ALWAYS EXACTLY three quarters of the way through the book get printed every day.

Spike, Walt, Will.
If you can hear me:
Help me out.

It's not like I want a best seller or anything. I just want to change the world. That's all.

]]> ~SirCellophane The sky is low and the river is rising. http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/8755074/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/8755074/ Sat, 13 May 2006 01:16:03 PDT
Slimy to the touch. No light gets in from above. If anything lives down here it's slippery and blind.

Still, doesn't stop it all being beautiful somehow. In a weird way. Like a tidal wave or a solar eclipse. Like someone's darkside, burning in their eyes. ]]> ~SirCellophane "What has it got in its pocketses?" http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/8280843/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/8280843/ Mon, 27 Mar 2006 03:31:07 PST
I lost it in January. I found it on the 26th of March.

It was in my pocket the whole time.

I rarely wear those pants. ]]> ~SirCellophane You don't deserve an Oscar http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/8145787/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/8145787/ Mon, 13 Mar 2006 04:09:31 PST

Whereas for the hooker, it's a breeze.

]]> ~SirCellophane Autumn http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/8069604/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/8069604/ Sat, 04 Mar 2006 22:20:26 PST
It has been beautiful. It has been cold.

I wish I could do the world justice. But I'm not that good a writer, even on my good days.

I've put together a book of my poetry and prose. It's called Grey Matter: Rainbow String. Hopefully the first in the Grey Matter series.

Still no peace. Nothing is constant and yet the Chaos spins in a cycle. I don't now how it works. Let's not get stuck on the subject. It's boring.

Getting worse. High points aren't so high anymore. The low bit's getting really low and lasting. Coping methods become procrastination. It's fascinating, all of it.

Slowcommotion.

I'll keep you informed. ]]> ~SirCellophane Amadeus http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/7748006/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/7748006/ Mon, 30 Jan 2006 04:24:46 PST
January 27th.

Exactly the right amount of notes.

Here's to music.

My maths teacher's birthday too.

But he's bald.

I wonder if he knows? ]]> ~SirCellophane Dreaming: Quiet! You'll wake up the war! http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/7681924/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/7681924/ Mon, 23 Jan 2006 03:35:40 PST
The walls are crawling with graffiti. Im at one of the tables, waiting with a friend. I dont know where our bus is going to go, but it has to pass through the centre of the fighting.

And theres a stewardess. Shes dressed like a military air-hostess, only for buses, and with hints of bright colours here and there. Shes walking around the groups and tables, saying shes looking for optimism. I hear her coming and I think I understand what she wants.

When she comes to us, we are talking noisily and laughing.

She comes up to us and asks: Which one of you wrote My Optimism?

I say: I did.

She tells me I need to write another one.

As it turns out Id sprayed My Optimism onto one of the walls amongst the graffiti. She says its helping people and I need to write another one to keep morale up.

I say: Ok. Lets do it.

But suddenly, our bus is there. She gets on with us and we start to talk about it all, until we get above ground. Then she stands up and starts spraying the windows with dark green paint, so that the people shooting at us and each other wont be able to see inside. Tension builds.

People always panic in these situations. My friend and I wonder who will be first.

Outside, the guns open fire. ]]> ~SirCellophane Odditorium http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/7599412/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/7599412/ Sat, 14 Jan 2006 07:34:11 PST
I knew few of you personally, but loved you so entirely, that I could quite confidently wander through the cabins, singing in my boxers.

This is the first time in a very long time that the discomfort of life has been more than worth it.

Thank you, my many many loves.

I had a rainbow coloured piece of string, that I had with me always, like a safety/survival blanket. I lost it on the first day.

My theory is that it exploded quietly, spread like an invisible shockwave and buried itself in you. That's why you liked my poems so much. I very nearly cried when you stood and clapped for me.

Now I'm at home again. Sleeping in a bed that's comfy but cold, in a room that's cluttered with things but empty of you. And the pictures won't stick on the walls.

I feel like waging Love on the world, because I'd like to keep the "Indigo" concept fresh in my head.

I'd like to love the world because it will love me back.

Is that selfish? ]]> ~SirCellophane Christmas Day: Contract Fulfilled http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/7410762/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/7410762/ Sun, 25 Dec 2005 07:05:20 PST
I can't stop laughing.
It all seems sillier than usual. And that's saying something.

None of the people in charge now were the people in charge in the first place.
I will not miss much, save some of the Music and those who have already left.

The original music master, who taught me how to sing. I owe him, eternally.
And the great old organ orangutan, or maybe howler-monkey, who helped, though I fear he may have died since then.

IDIOTS!
The Cathedral is too hot in Summer, to be wearing these old british robes.

And that curvy Christmas miracle, whose Sunday best (god bless her) is a slinky scarlet dress: Not helping.

...Well, not with the heat anyway.

You! Choirboy! Your sister is choking me.
Or maybe that's the incense.

Anyway:

Danced down the church steps, got rid of the robes and went home.

From now on, I can sleep in on Sundays. ]]> ~SirCellophane Somewhat out of place http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/7093490/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/7093490/ Sun, 20 Nov 2005 02:41:48 PST Silly questions! Can't you see the spider's busy?

Don't fret, my tiny friend. Don't hide. You're intricate and new.
I think they're after you. But don't curl up or run away. I won't tell them you're here.

Sit with me and tell me of the world. Where are we, really? ]]> ~SirCellophane I DEFINITELY spend too much time on buses. http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6911722/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6911722/ Mon, 31 Oct 2005 00:24:24 PST The buses are full of Old Jokes.
Meet the nation's future.

Thank you for the headache.
No, really.
You and that fucking broken door SLAMMING open and shut.

The bus rattles on to the usual stop.

It's funny.
In all of these games replayed through the ages, it's they who all get to be children and I am the one feeling old.

I'm trying to write a story. It's not going well. ]]> ~SirCellophane I spend too much time on buses. http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6824972/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6824972/ Fri, 21 Oct 2005 04:49:09 PDT You can see it in their eyes if you know what you're looking for.
To an idiot it just looks like a blank stare, but if you understand you'll see this girl is watching, wondering, studying, being thoughtful.
Just like her mother.

Sometimes the world makes them sad. In most cases life continues, regardless.
And sometimes it is beautiful.

They have love.

The bus stops. Mother and daughters step off and into their little blue house.

Have the greatest life possible.

And thank you for probably thinking.
Thank you for hope.

You know what?
I have no idea where this bus is going.

I laugh at the strangest things. ]]> ~SirCellophane Modern Shopping Centres http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6595906/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6595906/ Sun, 25 Sep 2005 05:32:29 PDT Walk
And
Talk
And
Sit
And
Wait
And
Think
And
Write
And
Wish
And
Wallow:
I feel I'm a bit of an idiot.
But I say that a lot.

Should keep moving. Didn't sleep. Not sure why. It's bound to catch up with me anyway.
Would very much like that not to happen until I'm quite secure or at least tied down to something.

The architecture doesn't help. It's Escher's pastel playground. ]]> ~SirCellophane The weeks are getting longer http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6419302/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6419302/ Mon, 05 Sep 2005 04:18:57 PDT
I think time is slowing down, because the universe is losing momentum.

This happens periodically. The world just gets bored.

We need a phenomenally interesting and/or exciting event to happen to kick start the cosmos and pick up the pace. While all these wars and disasters are, in some ways, fatally interesting, to the majority of the people of the world they are either face-gratingly constant and commonplace or, to us in the "lucky land", too distant to affect or be affected. That's what we tell ourselves anyway. And our own perception is enough to clog the drain-pipe of time because what we perceive is what we believe.

It needs to be something incredibly shiny for it to work. An obscenely happy happenstance.

Ha.

A Momentous occasion.

Doesn't even have to happen on this planet.

Although that would be nice.

When I first wrote this theory down I followed it with something sleepless like:
"Sometimes I wonder if it would be better if nothing did happen and time and existence and all life's burning respiration and recycling situation would just Stop."

I hate being like that. I realised what I'd written and I stared.
Then it started raining, probably for the first time in weeks. I melted and finally went to sleep.

I don't think existence can end. ]]> ~SirCellophane Dreaming: Entropy http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6256296/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6256296/ Wed, 17 Aug 2005 21:06:09 PDT
An invincible virus.

It starts, I think, in my eye. I'm not sure where I get it from. I'm unaware of it at first. I go to bed and overnight the image of the eye fades to the same eye, but the skin all around it is being eaten away, decaying, bloody and bubbling, losing all form and shape.

The whole world soon has a similar change.

(I'm not actually sure if it's my eye, but I don't know if it matters.)

The virus spreads. Everything is infected, living or not. Even walls are corroded.

There's no way of stopping it. It spreads and acts quickly.

Things are eaten away horrifically by this blood red bubbling. Everything is dying. This decay will never stop. It might have spread beyond the planet if the dream had gone on.

There is an image of a damp, dank room with peeling wall paper. This must be what all the rooms in the world look like now.

I leave the house, walk out into the street, look up at the sky and know - possibly more than anyone - that everything will die soon and that most of the world is probably already dead.

I feel sort of peaceful.

It's like Ice-9 only very ugly. The decay is like the virus in that "Alien Hunter" movie (with the guy from StarGate in it. The StarGate movie. Not the series. The series is bad.), but it's got the colour of those vein-like plants from War Of The Worlds.
In fact the whole dream has a War Of The Worlds feel to it: Up against an invincible killing force. Hopeless situation. It's only a matter of time.

Everything is rotting away.
Feels like I saw it start.

And the dream felt like a replay, like I was remembering it.

And with those happy thoughts I'll say farewell.
Sweet dreams. ]]> ~SirCellophane Cradle http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6185181/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6185181/ Wed, 10 Aug 2005 05:37:22 PDT
Inside looks comfortable, shiny and soft.

I want to curl up in it. ]]> ~SirCellophane Dreaming: Holidays http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6164976/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6164976/ Mon, 08 Aug 2005 03:17:53 PDT
First bit I remember was of my big brother lying on the floor of a big empty old room with a polished wooden floor and aging creamy white wood walls. He looks sick. He's lying very still and he looks sickly. Some of my family are standing around him. Apparently he was on his way to his Stradbroke Island holiday (real) with his friends, but his "Reflux" suddenly got really bad and he'd been brought back.

Later I was on some sort of trip myself with a large group of people (I think they might have been AAA people?). We're all outside a church by the beach. There's a scruffy old man with a beard up before us making a speech. No one likes him. He represents something we are opposed to. He speaks quietly and nervously. There's a very Ballad Of A Thin Man feel to the scene.

A guy I know from AAA starts bleating like a sheep at him to put him off. It works. The man gets confused and stutters more. More people start making fun of him and he becomes increasingly distressed.

I don't agree with him. I don't even like him, but I don't like what the others are doing. I tell them to stop, but they don't. Things escalate to the point where (I think) someone else calls for something to be done.

So I stand up and in a big, angry, commanding voice I yell something about Courtesy and "Never Interrupting People And Listening To What People Have To Say No Matter What!" as I stride towards a small panel of buttons on a short pole about letterbox height. I stride towards it like it's a microphone.

Manners. Not a particularly epic speech, but in the dream it had the crowd effect of something big. Can't remember if it was a good effect of a bad one. Cheering or angry crowd.

Another skip. Inside the church now. This is a sort of wierd blurry section that I don't remember very well.

Something about locking a Dalek behind 4 or 5big safety doors that for some reason are really easy to open from our side.

Then a dark room with candles and a projector screen and an announcement of finishing watching a movie we hadn't finished previously.

Then something frightening, as some of the travelling group get into a violent frenzy and start pillaging the church.
They're running down a wide set of stairs towards something whoever lives in the church believes is precious. And I am between them.

I'm not even really a Christian in faith, but I'm protecting whatever it is. I don't know what it is because it is behind me. I don't think it's a cross, but it probably doesn't matter.

With a handheld weapon (probably a sword) I stop the attackers as they reach the bottom of the stairs. I kill them, slicing some of them in half. People I knew. I remember the looks on their faces, although I can't remember much about the faces themselves, only that I knew them. The looks were of shock and pain.

After they died in the dream they were to turn into these weird modern-abstract-art-sculpture looking spirit creatures, continuing on with the group on whatever it was we were doing in this dream's story. Sort of like Familiars in Dungeons and Dragons.

But they weren't sure their designs were quite right yet (each individual spirit thing was unique) so they came up and asked me of all people to help them with the blueprints. One of the people asking - The only one whose face I can vaguely remember - looked sort of like a mix between my little brother and my best friend.

So I sat on the stairs with the people I'd killed and with them I went over their schematics.

That's all I can remember. ]]> ~SirCellophane I've been recording dreams. http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6164448/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6164448/ Mon, 08 Aug 2005 01:16:10 PDT
Then, a little way off behind them I notice a girl I know. I haven't seen her in a while. She looks beautiful and so much more... I don't know... grown up, than the others.

In the middle of the conversation with the other girls I just stop and move over to her.

There is a rushed greeting, saying we missed eachother and then suddenly we hug. It's not like a usual greeting hug. It's full of motion and emotion, our hands moving, searching all over, making sure we're both really there. This continues as we slowly sink to the floor.

We sit there for the rest of the dream.

The shopping centre beings to empty.

People start to leave.

It's getting late. ]]> ~SirCellophane Bob Dylan Songs I Like More Than Like A Rolling St http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6145431/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6145431/ Fri, 05 Aug 2005 21:25:27 PDT
All Along the Watchtower
Masters Of War
Blowing In The Wind
Subterranean Homesick Blues
The Mighty Quinn
Not Dark Yet
Tangled Up In Blue
The Times They Are A-Changing
Tambourine Man
I Shall Be Released
Ballad Of A Thin Man
Highway 61 Revisited
Tombstone Blues
Shelter From the Storm
Rainy Day Women #12 and #35
Valley Below
Things Have Changed
Lay Lady Lay
Everything Is Broken
Don't Think Twice It's Alright
A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall
Hurricane

Don't get me wrong. Like a Rolling Stone is a good song and all. His rhythmic delivery is unique. But people make such a fuss about it being "the best rock and roll song ever" and I just don't see it.
Besides: there is no such thing as the best rock and roll song ever. Such a title is a repugnant to me.
That's a funny word. Repugnant.

"You keep saying that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

Guess the movie and win a prize. ]]> ~SirCellophane More bus stop things. http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6001201/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/6001201/ Fri, 22 Jul 2005 02:35:27 PDT
CLAP!
I jump.
Jack What's-his-name grins on past me, pleased with himself.

"Fuck you, Jack," I call unimaginatively after him.
"What?"
"I said fuck you."
He returns.

"You caught me in a bad mood," I say through the gap in the bus shelter wall.
"How can you be in a bad mood? It's Friday"
"It's just another day, Jack. They've just stuck a different name on it."
"Yeah, but you get two free days now."
"True."
"Aren't you happy?"

"... I'm relieved."
"That's a good word..."

"You gonna sleep in tomorrow?" says he.
"Yeah," says I.
"And on sunday?"
"Probably"
"I can't," he says and I ask him why not.
He says something about bullshit and someone always waking him up at the crack of dawn...

Questions continue.
Yes, Jack I'm probably going to the dance. I'm not looking forward to it, but I won't say that.

"Might catch you there then," says he, clicking his finger guns.
I do the same halfheartedly with one of mine.
Then, "In case you don't," I call after him, "Have a good weekend."
"You too."

Cars rattle past. The sky's been swept messily with a cold wind and it's discomfortingly open. I don't much like the colour.

Seemed like a conversation I should write down. Not sure why. ]]> ~SirCellophane Letters http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5833813/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5833813/ Mon, 04 Jul 2005 00:28:13 PDT Mood: Reading

Reading good things
Listening to: PushIt (live) by Tool
Reading: Letter from Birmingham Jail
Watching: Firefly (tv series)

I found an old university reading book, full of short pieces by different people. There's one from Martin Luther King, to fellow clergymen who had written about him, displaying distaste at his and his fellow's actions and demonstrations in Birmingham.

This stuff beats the shit out of anything "St." Paul wrote.

]]> ~SirCellophane I don't remember subscribing. http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5806784/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5806784/ Thu, 30 Jun 2005 22:41:18 PDT
Mood: Bored

Waiting For Godot
Listening to: King Crimson - 21st Century Schizoid Man
Reading: The Long Walk To Freedom

I'm subscribed for a week.

Not writing much lately. I've been reccommended some books (The Long Walk To Freedom being one of them) and I want to get started on them as soon as possible.

I've been having wierd dreams and mood swings. Nothing out of the ordinary. When I'm awake I'm mostly just bored, which is sad because the holidays are infinitely better than school time and I don't seem to enjoy them.

I had a good idea for a story/spin-off series for Doctor Who, writing the Master back into the scene as protagonist. Initially amnesiac, but then insane and self loathing when he remembers his previous lives, longing for death or atonement. He searches for the Doctor (who sensed his rebirth), using the high-tech new TARDIS he was reborn in.
Strange ideas come into his mind. He learns more about the Time War, finds that he and the Doctor are the last Time Lords and that he has a purpose. But first, he wants to find his real name.

Doesn't sound very good there, but I didn't explain it very well. Also even if I did explain it well , you'd have to be a big Doctor Who fan to give a damn. If you are interested, ask me about it and I'll tell you then. Right now I feel like writing. It will pass the time.

Footer. I get a footer. That's moderately exciting. ]]> ~SirCellophane Tired. http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5742408/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5742408/ Fri, 24 Jun 2005 08:20:51 PDT
Yesterday- Whoops, it's 1am. It was the day before yesterday now.
Anyway, that day I had an afternoon like one of Dad's dreams.
Trying to get home, I was losing my mind and my way, getting so confused and feeling so exhausted, wanting to collapse, break down.

But I finally got to the last bus station I needed. I sat and waited for the last bus I would take that day. Under Queen St Mall at the end of the underground busway. Thursday night. There were thousands of other people, queued.
Funny. All the train stations had been empty.

They all wanted to get home. There was not one among them who was not anxious, angry, worried, confused, afraid, in the dumps or exhausted. Each of us had at least one of the above.

There was a bus at the terminal, but no one knew if it was the right one.
So no one got on.

Then I realised it's like this for everyone. It's not just me, it's most of the world because this is what the world is like.

So I thought: "What's the fucking point?"

I feel guilty. ]]> ~SirCellophane Audio http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5710346/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5710346/ Tue, 21 Jun 2005 02:33:10 PDT I've recorded audio readings of my poems on my computer. Subtle emotional vocal style (well that's what I was going for but in the end I just sound bored) and minimal sound effects (added echoes and a clock ticking or something).
I don't really have a good microphone or any skill with sound editing but it passed the time. I wanted to hear what they sound like when they're read aloud. They're not bad.
ANYWAY I should get or borrow a camera. It would be interesting to make little movies of my wordy brainkids.

I've already got a script for a Desert Storm Dreams art film. I think I'll also make a bit of a screen play (shot by shot) for it and see where I can go from there. Could be good, if I can find some people who are interested and talented at this movie making stuff.

Not a very interesting journal but I felt like typing something. ]]> ~SirCellophane "Your Worst Nightmare" http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5689744/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5689744/ Sat, 18 Jun 2005 22:03:00 PDT
New Batman movie is good. Makes up for the last one. George Clooney is cool and all and he's a good actor, but he is NOT Batman.
Bale is good though. Properly puts across the fact that batman is a raging psychopath.

However I was disappointed to see that someone asked who he was and he just said "I'm Batman", rather than "Your Worst Nightmare". I mean he had so much trouble saying "I'm Batman" in the other movies. ]]> ~SirCellophane Hate Week approaches http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5565848/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5565848/ Mon, 06 Jun 2005 00:24:57 PDT Fear and loathing of an entire nation.
Street marches, calling for some vague enemy to die, searching for the perfect goat.

Who'd have thought this would start so soon after the holocaust?

Busy preparations for Hate Week. Working doubleplushard. Doubleplusgoodloyalty to Ossoc.
We can burn Indonesian brochures, then books, then effigies of people, then the people themselves on the road to the land of registration, fat-wax candles, strange-fruit crops and piles of empty clothes
BECAUSE IT'S HATE WEEK!

I AM ASHAMED OF YOU!

We must not forget what we are capable of. We can't let it start again. ]]> ~SirCellophane Surplus http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5565738/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5565738/ Sun, 05 Jun 2005 23:58:57 PDT SORRY!
Deleted them all.
Apologies if there was a "one last cry for help" journal in there but really what were you thinking putting that kind of message on dA and ONLY on dA? I refuse to be held responsible.
No. I'm not feeling guilty about it. Not at all.

Damn you. ]]> ~SirCellophane further sketches http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5527091/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5527091/ Thu, 02 Jun 2005 00:51:46 PDT
Hope my machine isn't bothering you.
It does make those odd clicky noises.

Babbling descends to gibbering.
Yes. They have a scale of incoherence. So from 1 to 10 you know exactly how little sense it makes.
It's the best joke in the world.

Politics is up there with teenage minds and the English language.

Excuse me while I destroy my eardrums.
(CLIMACTIC INSTRUMENTAL BREAK!)

...

There's half a tree hanging out your window.
The splintered wood is pink.

Three journals in about ten minutes. Had to get them done or I'd never have gotten around to it. ]]> ~SirCellophane Creeper http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5527057/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5527057/ Thu, 02 Jun 2005 00:43:21 PDT
I don't know what kind of plant it was to begin with.

But now it's a tumour.
A weed.
Searching.

I just saw part of it as a glowing bruise on my vision and a minute later I was writing.
In my handwriting, "writing" looks like "writhing".

I'm rather messy. ]]> ~SirCellophane Sketch Book http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5527044/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5527044/ Thu, 02 Jun 2005 00:39:22 PDT I've done sketches though. Writer's sketches. Words etc.
________________________________________ _____________

swings.

I pretty much destroyed the drama room this morning.

Not in a frenzy.

Just walking around, calmly launching chairs across the room, tipping desks over etc.

It was strange. Normally I just watch.
I don't really understand.

All together now: "Don't worry, it's all going swimmingly."

shhhhhhhhhhhhetc ]]> ~SirCellophane The Sceptre: Rock Renewed http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5242899/ http://SirCellophane.deviantart.com/journal/5242899/ Sun, 01 May 2005 23:20:26 PDT I bring a tale of glory. I bring a tale of hope. I bring a tale of remaking in the world of Rock and Roll.

My father's 40 year old Ibanez guitar has been renewed.
It is black, lined with white and brass. Its golden machine heads crown both sides of its head. Its neck is a thing of magic, as has not been seen for generations.

For years it has been laid in my garage, sleeping, waiting for its time. When first I opened the case I looked upon it in awe, for though it was stringless, its pick-ups rotten and its glow darkened by the grit and grime of ages, I could still feel its power calling unto me.

It was sent to some workshop master for awakening. A month or so passed, maybe more... and then my father with it came galumphing back.
I was sleeping, for I was ill that day, and was awakened from an unsettling dream by the Sceptre's voice. The Sceptre is what I have called it after told was the story of its making. But I am weary. I cannot tell you now. I want to savour the tale and in my current state I would make it not as great a tale as this dear creature deserves.
Suffice it to say that on its ancient scabbard printed are the words "BEN SCEPTRE".

Magic and music are more than afoot. They canter and dance and renew us, for it is time to sing... ]]> ~SirCellophane