12/01 Direct Link

His nickname was Pampers.

This was because, although he dealt with all the excrement that office work involved, he was easily disposed of.

It was not a nickname the he enjoyed, nevertheless, he tolerated it with what he hoped was good grace. At least it proved that people noticed his presence.

Filing. That was Pamper's job. Sorting pieces of paper. Well, he was ment to sort pieces of paper.

Instead, Pampers would just place the documents in any place, in any order. He had been doing this for two years, and nobody had realised.

He almost wished that they would.

12/02 Direct Link

'Hello, Mr Wizard of Oz.'

'Hello young man. What do you want?'

'Well, I would quite like some courage please.'

'Really? Well, I'm going to tell you the same thing that I told the lion.'

'What was that?'

'Get over yourself.'


'Your lack of courage is simply your way of coping with reality. By refusing to endanger yourself emotionally, you shut yourself off from any possible meaningful experiences. Rather than face your emotions head on, you act like the poor, innocent boy, who's fear is holding him back. In essence, my dear boy, my argument is this...Grow some.'

12/03 Direct Link
Time, or lack of such a substance, seems to be the greatest worry I have at the moment.

Strange, that this invisible force dictates entire lives. It reminds me of the Seamus Heany poem 'Storm on the island'

'Strange, it is this great nothing that we fear'

Or something like that...

That reminds me that I've recently memorised the Wilfred Owen poem 'Fultiliy'.

'Was it for this the clay grew tall?'

A good question indeed...

That reminds me that I hated pottery. Making jars and plates and so forth.

Jars. Reminds me of honey. Rupert Brooke.

'Is there honey still for tea?'
12/04 Direct Link
I am looking forward to tomorrow.

There will, inevitably, be questions. Many questions. There could even be screams and patronising 'ahhhs'.

And, in order to extract my revenge, I will keep completely silent. I will refuse to answer, and they will become annoyed.

Or, if I am in an inventive mood, I will go off on a creative tangent, talking about how we went into space and saw dragons and fire-breathing ducks.

While all this is going on, inside I will be grinning inside, feeling content and, well...happy.

Very happy indeed. I hope we do it again soon.
12/05 Direct Link
I want to sleep.

I also have an urge to jump of buildings. I'm not suicidal, I just...want to know what it feels like.

Ducks are just like dragons. They both begin with 'D' and both breath fire.

Paint the pavements. That way, when people look at down at them, it's not in order to aviod eye contact with people, it's because there is actually something to look at.

Heights. Bees. Wasps.


Scary stuff.

Oak trees and squirrels and Jesus trying to swim.

Apologies for my 100 words. I promise I'll start making them make sense. 
12/06 Direct Link
His nickname was Pooh. This was because he was a bear of a person, with very little brain.

He wasn't sure what his job description was, so he sharpened pencils. If anybody needed a pencil point to be sharpened, he was the man they went to.

Rather than resent th monotony, he enjoyed it. It meant that he did not have to think, rather, could reach a place that certain spiritual leaders would call enlightenment.

Others would call it 'zoning out'.

Never did it occur to him to leave and try and make something of his life. He liked pencils.
12/07 Direct Link
For some reason, he stopped walking. It wasn't through lack of energy, rather, he had had a sudden feeling that everything around him was false.

Fake. Wrong in some undefinable way. 

To shake off this feeling, he reached out and touched the branch of a tree. His hands were too cold to appreciate the texture, and it only served to highten his suspition.

He hoped that he was wrong, but wished that there was some way that he could convince himself. To engage in an experience so vivid. that could not be denied.

Sighing, he dragged himself home.
12/08 Direct Link
Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep Sleep sleep sleep sleep

12/09 Direct Link

'Hello mr Wizard of Oz.'

'Hello young boy. How can I help you?'

'I was wondering whether you could give me a heart?'

'Why would you want a heart?'

'Because I'm in love, and I want to give it to someone.'

'Really? Well, I'm going to tell you something that the education system has obviously failed to do?'

'What's that?'

'The heart is not the emotional centre of the body. It is just an organ that pumps blood to all the tisses in the body in order to allow respiration to take place.'

'What about love?'

'Don't get me started...'

12/10 Direct Link

'You still haven't told her you love her, yet?'

'Nope. I was planning to, but I just...never got it. You know...'

'Don't you ever hate yourself for being a coward?'

'Not really. I came to the conclusion that courage is for wimps.'

'How so?'

'By conquering your fear, you remove it, so you no longer feel afraid. It takes true courage to live with your fear for the rest of your life, constantly being wary and constantly being disgusted at yourself.'

'You don't honestly believe that, do you?'

'...No, but it helps me to sleep at night.'

12/11 Direct Link
'Are you doing anything today?'

'Nope. Just going home afterwards.'

'That's nice. Doing anything for Christmas?'

'Nope. Just staying at home.'

'That's lovely. What did you ask for Christmas?'

'Look...I know that you are just trying to make polite conversation, but could you just not cut my hair in silence. Or, if you really want to talk, could it not be about something more interesting?'

'You mean like existantialsim?'

'You know what that is?'

'I have a degree in philosophy.'

'Then why are you a hairdresser?'

'It makes me happy.'

...I wish my hairdresser and I had this conversation.
12/12 Direct Link
Her nickname was Eve, because she was the only woman who worked in the office. She also had a great fondness for apples.

Eve could generally be found reading a book. Usually, it was a Mills and Boon, to which she would sigh and look up at the ceiling longingly.

On her desk was a teddy bear called, to the surpirse of all, Arthur Miller. Nobody knew whether this was intentionally after the playwright, or simply a happy coincidence.

Eve photocopied paper. She never understood why, but it seemed to be very important. She took her work rather seriously indeed.
12/13 Direct Link
To some certain unborn children. I am your Big-Band Father (your parents considered me being your Godfather, but they realised that they didn't believe in God).

Now, I'm sure your parents will instill in you a love of science, which is all well and good. However, I am here to tell you to not neglect literature.

Poetry is wonderful. Reading a book will transform your life. There is no emotion so painful that it cannot be alliviated by writing about it.

(Also, sometimes you Big-Bang Father will be short on money. Don't be embarassed to give him yours)
12/14 Direct Link
'Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you look to your left, you will see the pit of dispair.'

'It's smaller than I thought it would be.'

'Funny fact. The pit of dispair traps around two thirds of the world's population, but many seem to be rescued. Normally by others in the same pit. If you coninue looking to the left, you will see that we have just gone past the point of caring.'

'Huh. I go past that on my may to work. Hey, why have we stopped?'

'It seems we are being hed up at gunpoint. Sorry for the inconveniance.'
12/15 Direct Link
'Arm, why are you hurting?'

'Well, it's because you are making me carry your saxophone case and your bag.'

'Could you please try and stop hurting? I mean, we're nearly home and it would be quite nice to walk there pain free.'

'The rain. That doesn't help either. Or the cold.'

'Arm? Stop hurting please?'

'You know what? I have enough of you and your complaning. Do you think I enjoy being in pain? In fact...that's it. I'm going.'

*Arm detaches itself from body*

'Where are you going?'

'Somewhere away from you!'


It's been a very, very long term.
12/16 Direct Link
100 words of comments:

-You're mad. Quite insane. Completely mental. But in a good way.

-That's a really cool bowler hat.

-You remind me of my dad. The quiet intelligence, always gentlemanly, the way you blow your nose...

-I like your hat.

-You're not like other boys I've met. You don't seem to have ambition or any sort of goal, which isn't a bad thing. But it's not a good thing either. It's a neutral thing.

-You look like Stevens, the butler.

-That's a nice hat.

-If you had worn a black tie, you would look just like an undertaker.
12/17 Direct Link

It was, without a doubt, the worst delivery in the world.

Forced out harshly. No silken sentences to match the sentiment. Blunt, like an over-used knife. A hammer. The words having to break down walls that had been erected long ago.

He wished he could go back and try it again. Maybe he should have written a letter. Would that have been too impersonal? Probably.

Nothing would have been right. Nothing could have been right, for perfection does not come instantly. It has to be worked towards, one day at a time.

Neverthless, he had taken the first step.

12/18 Direct Link
'Why so glum, my chum?'

'She's leaving.'

'Is she? Is she going on a cruse?'

'She's leaving. On a jet plane.'

'Oh, really? Do you know when she'll be back?'

'I don't know when she'll be back again.'

'Ah. I can see how that could be a bit depressing.'

'I hate seeing her go.'

'So, is she all packed?'

'All her bags are packed.'

'So she's ready to go.'

'She's ready to go.'

'Did she say goodbye?'

'She stood outside my door, hating to wake me up and say goodbye.'

'You know, you should write a song about all that.'
12/19 Direct Link
I saw the triplets yesterday.

My, how they have grown.

The can crawl now, which means that there suddenly seems to be more of them. You have to be on the lookout at all times, otherwise they might start eating the electric cables...

They also steal toys of each other. There are three balls and three children. Therefore, logic dictates that there should be one ball each, and all should be happy.

Logic is not the real world. They spent most of the time trying to get two balls. Crying was involved, until a sibling let their guard slip...

12/20 Direct Link
I'm volunteering at a hospital. In order to do this, I had to go to a lecture all about health and saftey and fire drills and other such stuff.

It was good. And by good, I do of course mean intensely dull.

They gave us a diagram on how to wash our hands. Not only that, but they made us practise the six different hand washing steps.

The video about how to lift things safely didn't work.

Upon returning home and telling my parents, my mum stood up, shook me by the hand and said

'Welcome to the world of work.'
12/21 Direct Link
His nickname was Stevie Wonder.

This was because he was very superstitious. He was also blind, but only in his left eye.

Collegues would ammuse themselves by making rude gestures where he could not see. Although this seems unusually harsh, they did, in their own mind, have a justification.

He was a health and safety officer, and therefore a spawn of the devil.

Despite, or possibly because, of the disability, he seemed to be more precise and cutting than other officers when inspecting. Nothing could be out of place. Nothing could present a hazard.

He was hated by everyone.
12/22 Direct Link
In order to improve my moral stature, polish up my soul and stop my conscience harassing me, I brought a copy of 'The Big Issue'.

The smallest amount of money I had was £5, but it felt slightly hypocritical to ask for change.

'Here, homeless person, I will give you money to help you survive. But not that much...'

It seems rather interesting, despite the fact that they interview Lembit Opik. Apparently, he broke his back in 12 places when he crashed his paraglider. Who knew?

I think I'll buy it again. If only to make me feel good inside.
12/23 Direct Link
'I want to tell you something.'


'But I'm afraid you won't understand me...'

'I probably won't. I don't usually.'

'Well...the world. just doesn't seem...real.'


'Well, I mean...look at that tree. It's a very good imitation of a tree. The barl feels real, the leaves look green but...'


'Well, look at that person over there. He's walking and breathing and doing all the normal stuff, but...his eyes. His face. It just isn't...right. Not real.'


'Do you understand what I'm saying?'

'Not really, no.'   

'I know. Nobody ever does.'
12/24 Direct Link
'Hello! Do come in.'

'Hello, thank's for inviting me! I brought a -'

'Hey! What the? There's a bullfrog behind you!'

'I know. This is Jeramiah. He's a good friend of mine. Say hello, Jeramiah.'

'Whyst hjezze. frummblet gruuooopler frotie.'

'...What did he say?'

'I have no idea. I can never understand a word he says.'

'Then...why are you friends?'

'Well, I never understand a word he says, but I help him to drink his wine.'


'Yeh. He's a raving alcoholic. I'm doing him a favour.'


This is a true conversation. For a given value of 'true'.
12/25 Direct Link

Santa put the sleigh on autopilot. It was safer that way. He was so drunk, that he thought his sleigh was being pulled by 39 dogs with green noses.

It had been a good Christmas. He'd filled a few stockings. Made a few people happy. Ate. A lot.

Of course, he never got a Christmas present (he saw the wine and mince pies as payment, not gifts).

He always assumed this was how God felt. If a God was in trouble, who did they pray to? If Santa wanted a present, who did he ask?

He sighed and fell asleep.

12/26 Direct Link

For the briefest of seconds, he thought that the whole world stopped.

It was during breakfast. He unfocused his eyes and allowed his mind to wander over old and familiar territory. Just as he was lifting his food to his mouth, he stopped.

For a second, so did everything else.

That was, of course, untrue. For a given value of 'untrue'.

The feeling went. His thoughts went back to wandering, the food continued its course. Nothing had changed. Nothing observable.

Nevertheless, the moment played on his mind for some time. He wanted to harness it again. Capture it. Use it.

12/27 Direct Link
With a final, understated flourish, the defences and barricades that had long been erected fell to the perfumed assault, offering no resistance.
I would say you have planted hooks in my mind, but that is too harsh an image. Rather...seeds have sprouted. Now their vines creep over my mind, spreading pollen and fragrences.

So now even sleep is no escape.

The waking world it tinted. As is the sleeping.

My cynical, sarcatic self is looking at this and retching.
My overly-romantic self is looking at this and sighing.

What do I do?

Wake, then sleep again.
12/28 Direct Link
He didn't have a nickname. He was too forgetable to be given one.

In the corner of the office, he slid into the shadows. Should anyone try and look at him, their eyes would start to itch.

Wherever he went, the smell of sulphur seemed to follow.

Occassionally, he laughed. Quietly, slowly and with a hint of madness.

Of course, these things were only guesses. Nobody knew who he was. Conversations about him flowed to another topic very easily. You could only keep your mind on him for a few minutes at the most.

Just the way he liked it.
12/29 Direct Link
I think I have finally burnt out.

My ability to do work seems to have shrunk considerably. All I want to do is read, listen to music and...well...that's about it.

I don't want to be here. I don't want to get a job. Just let me aquire knowledge at my own pace, in my own time. No pressure. No exams, because, really, they mean nothing.

The worth of grades is fluctuating, like money.

Spirituality stays the same. Consistent.

Upon this rock will something of worth be built. Something must be built. I can but try. I will try.
12/30 Direct Link

It seemed that down some dull, profound tunnel
I escaped clicking of red pens and tut-tutting of examiners.

Yet also here, teenage sleepers groaned 
To fast in thought or electronics to be bestirred
Then, as I probed one, he sprang up
And stared at me with piteous recognition.

'Strange friend', I said, 'Here is no cause to mourn.'

'None', he said, 'save the undone years. The waste.
The destruction of creativity and individuality. I searched for
Originality, but the world will be content with cliches.'

'I am creativity you killed, my friend. We knew each other, once.
Let us sleep now.'

12/31 Direct Link
As a teenager, I'm meant to be having an existentialist crisis about my life being meaningless.

I'm not.

I never understand why people who believe there's nothing after death worry that their life has no meaning.

It's like a birthday party for a one-year old. They won't remember it, so why do it?

You do it, because they enjoy it at that time, in that moment.

Don't not talk to people or take up a hobby because you think that it doesn't matter. That's not the point.

The point it to enjoy it now, no matter what happens after.