February 2011 - David Budd

02/01

I may have inadvertantly made some of my fellow students think of me as 'weird'.

We were studying 'Atonement', when we came across a passage talking about the 'power and colour' of a word. I explained to them that, when I thought of that word in question, I imagined it to be dark purple, with veins of red running throughout.

They looked at me as if I had just told them I collected toenails.

I explained that I sometimes see words as colours.

They asked me what happened if I read a dictionary.

I told them I developed a migraine.

02/02

'Help, help! Someone! This nasty man is stealing my purse! Who is there to help me?'

Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No!

It's a bumbling old man.

'Captain Amnesia!'

'I'm Captain Amnesia! I'm here to...to...Why I am here?'

'Quick, he's getting away?'

'Who's getting away? Why am I wearing a cape? Who are you?'

The evil villain runs away with the purse, and Captain Amnesia goes off to buy lunch, safe in the knowledge that he...well...

...

Someone, somewhere, will think this is a good idea, and produce a comic and cartoon series of it.

02/03

When I am older, I would like a piano.

It would be old. So old, that it would look like, if you played it too loudly, it was crumble.

The sound would not be adolesant, flashy and trying to prove itself. Rather, it would be comfortable and understand how a note really should be played.

I would remove all the ivory and paint all the keys in different colours. Red and blue and green and purple and all other colours, so it looks like it was created by the person who had invented skittles.

That's the piano I would like.

02/04

'I don't think I could be with a woman who wouldn't take my name when we were married.'

'That's a bit...old-fashioned.'

'What do you think?'

'I think they should do what they want. If you force your name on them, then, in my opinion, it seems like you're branding them.'

'Like a cow?'

'Like a cow. It's as if... you need them to be your property. Which is ridiculous. They have their own mind and theur own free-will. They should do what they want.'

'I guess. If you want to be a wooly-headed liberal about it.'

02/05

I imagine my mind to be a ball of green, which ripples.

There are thin lines of red running throughout, and splashes of blue and orange.

When I do maths, it starts to turn grey, become more solid and make a whirring sound, like if you over-rev and engine.

For reading, it becomes fluid and sliver-white. It looks like you could dip your hand in and run your fingers through it.

When I'm sleeping, it purrs and snuffles.

When I'm angry, it's purple and emits harsh, hateful light.

And, if I was a shade of blue, I'd be light.

02/06

She flashes me a smile, and doesn't know how much it means. Doesn't know the feelings it creates, the effect it has. How can she know? She cannot read my mind, or see through my eyes, or think with my thoughts. She cannot hear her voice through my ears, cannot even begin to understand my perception of the world. What does it matter? She could say the same about me. I cannot know what she thinks when she sees me. The question is, do I want to? Or is the mystery, the understanding, half the fun?

02/07

'What do you reckon a rock dreams about?'

'Becoming a diamond.'

'What is perpetual motion?'

'A man stuck walking on an infinity sign.'

'How many angles can dance on the head of a pin?'

'Depends if it's disco or waltzing.'

'For waltzing?'

'19. For disco, it's 21.'

'Do I exist?'

'I suppose so.'

'Why?'

'Because.'

'Is there anything faster than light?'

'Ignorance. It seems to be everywhere.'

'How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?'

'A woodchuck would chuck all the wood he could chuck.'

'Why does she like you?'

'I have no idea.'

02/08

'You know what?'

'What?'

'I have come to the conclusion that I am dull. Very dull indeed.'

'Is that so?'

'Yes. I don't understand why anybody would want to be around me. All I do is stare, force my way into a conversation, wreak it, leave and start staring again.'

'Really?'

'Really. And my ideas. They're just dull. Or weird. Or weird and dull.'

'Do you know what's really dull?'

'Me?'

'No. People who complain about being dull.'

'Oh, what do you know? You're just a rock.'

'Or am I a metaphor?'

'No. You are just a rock. That's all.'

02/09

I looked down the bell of my saxophone in order to try and find meaning.

There was none, only slightly rusty metal.

Trying to find meaning in words, and reading too much into them. Or, am I reading the right amount, and just don't want to admit what they can mean?

I feel...inadequate.

I would like to be...more than adequate.

I'll try. That's all I can do.

I never realised I was on a swing. Up and down.

Meaning was nowhere. Nowhere that I looked. I should look harder.

I need to speak to my rock. He'll help.

02/10

'Hey rock.'

'Hey David. What's up?'

'Well...you know.'

'I don't, actually.'

'Life. The universe. Everything.'

'Tell me. I can help.'

'Well...it seems all...awkward.'

'Right. Awkward.'

'And...it feels that it shouldn't be awkward. You know? Other people just...do it. But I can't.'

'Carry on.'

'Well...I played her a song.'

'That was an idiotic thing to do.'

'You're not being very helpful.'

'The thing is, you know each other's hopes and dreams before you know each other. You need to become friends first. Then it will get easier.'

'Rock! You are a genius. What would I do without you?'

02/11

You were sitting there, with your face to the ground, looking worried and sad and confused.

I wanted, more than I have ever wanted anything, to help take all that away. To replace it with a smile and a laugh.

All I could think of was silence. A crushing void of hopeless nothingness.

So you continued to sit there, looking sad and confused and worried.

All I could do was watch on, trembling words falling out of my mouth, failing to do anything. Falling to the floor, as if dead.

You looked confused and worried and sad.

I felt pathetic.

02/12

For a moment, she understood the loneliness he endured.

Understood how he felt like the only mind in the world. Like he was the only one who had these thoughts. Thoughts that he thought were strange and beautiful, but was terrifed that no-one else would ever be able to comprehend.

It was crushing him. The horrible loneliness, that couldn't be understood, because if you could, then he would no longer be lonely.

It lasted but a second. He smiled, made a joke and kept the pain behind his eyes, just out of reach, but observable to those who cared.

02/13

I went skating yesterday. I must admit, my skills in this department are rather lacking. Especially when I saw someone do a triple spin in the air, land perfectly and then 'shwoosh' to a stop.

I wish 'shwoosh' was a word. I digress...

After a while, I decided to talk to him.

'May I say, you are amazing at skating.'

'Thank you.' He turned away and looked depressed.

'What's wrong?'

'Oh...nothing. It's just...well...I was cursed.'

'Cursed?'

'By a witch.'

'What was the curse?'

'Whenever I start something new, I am an expert at it.'

'So, what's wrong?'

02/14

'The thing is, I start of perfectly, and get worse and worse at the skill until I can no longer do it.'

'Which means?'

'Which means that I can only ever do something a few times. I develop a love of it and then have to stop.'

'That's really...mean.'

'Yes. It is mean.'

He sighed and skated off.

I sympathised with him to a point. Losing something you love is horrific. However, at least he had the opportunity to love, to enjoy, to savour a special moment.

Some of us are not even allowed this privilage. Not even once.

02/15

My head is really itchy.

With bad thoughts, I would assume. Prickling my skin. Irritating. Annoying.

Scratch them away. Better, but not better. Slight relief only.

Too many bad thoughts, too many bad ideas.

Scratch harder. Harder still. Remove the itch. Fight it. Force it to flee.

It's still there. They are still there. Taunting me. Mocking my inadequacy. I'll show them.

Harder and harder and harder.

Blood on my fingers. This means I'm winning. All I have to do is scratch harder and harder and harder.

The thoughts are still there. Flaunting themselves at me.

Harder and harder.

02/16

Hello.

Aaarrrgh! Where did you get that spaceship???

Ikea. It's cheaper, but you have to make it yourself.

It looks like a giant saucer and smells like cheese.

It is a giant saucer. It smells like cheese because the milk that I keep in it has...matured.

Someone threw a piece of cheese at me this morning... then I thought to myself, "That's not very mature".

...You disgust me.

Your lack of humour disgusts me.

Coming from someone who makes a cheese joke.

...because they're mature and you're not?

You're the immature one.

Fine.

I'm glad you agree with me.

02/17

I imagine power to be a small child.

Something to obtain. To cherish.
Something that you would refuse to give up.
Something that you would fight for.

There are those who might not enjoy the burdern.
Others may love the feeling of importance that it bestows upon them.

It is something that everyone can have.
It is something that other people may think you should not have.

And it is something that can be found alone, hiding in the corner, crying into its shirt with a red face and hot skin. It is something that could be horribly, horribly abused.

02/18

There used to be so many of us.

Well, I say so many...

Now, it just seems to be me.

Well, I say just me...

My friends on 100 words have left. Not, I hope, for good. Nevertheless, it is somewhat more lonely. All around me are unfamiliar words.

So. Here are to those familiar words. The ones past and present. Those who will rejoin, and those who won't. I would just like you to know, I loved and love reading your words. I honestly do. I look forward to reading them again, someday.

Until that time. I'll be waiting.

02/19

'How's the essay coming along?'

'I made a list of all the things I would rather be doing than my essay. Have a look.'

'Let's see...experiment with arsenic soup. See if I can breathe underwater. Put my head in a lion's mouth and shout 'echo'. Move to Iran and set up a Christian Church. See if it is possible to fly without wings. Try and obtain as many near-death experiances as possible. Huh.'

'Yeh.'

'You do realise that you could have written the essay in the time it took you to compile this list?'

'Yes. Yes I do.'

02/20

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02/21

you there place can in and grow? love so. have to and passport would simplicity equal of Dreams in like by sing with and would the everyone You able the a would blue or the makes. melt that into would earth mould making and be of piece If stuck you able open skull, would lid lunch peer brain, the around of gold Lifting hand, be pick hold finger like and for would for would or or the change better ceased part No, understand were a like or and none would if rather, missing. love to come. didn't be honey buds.

02/22

think is where plant the watch I to You to get the of be of to a would the clouds, winds in the ballooning cascade landscape to would to world glance. understand smells what word Buildings into would rivers flow that into everything seem sculpted a of you for would to someone as do of box, into looking thoughts in red and up you able one it and a examine yourself. shout joy get feel wonder world for if to of everyone that part natural a whirlwind uncontrollable of be something, someone, I for like If it like without Honestly.

02/23

I hope someone has tried to assemble my story. Otherwise, I just wasted a not unsubstantial portion of my life.

Sometimes, I can see the hours slipping past my eyes, like seeds being blown off a dandelion. I would like to be able to say that these precious droplets of time are not being wasted.

Sometimes, I feel they are. Not reading, or playing my instruments, or revising.

Nevertheless, there are times when I think that I am spending my time wisely. These times are rare and beautiful.

Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock

02/24

Back in primary school, when I still thought that if I ran fast enough, I could walk on water, my teacher told us about a 'memory bank'.

It was a place where you could deposit your most precious and wonderful of memories, so that they are never forgotten and can be called upon at any time.

Today, I believe, is such a memory.

African buskers, who never seem to be depressed.
A man with a stutter, but who can swear fluently.
A moment of contact, where I could feel you breathing.

A warm bundle of vitality, melting the ice.

02/25

'Hey rock.'

'Hello David. How are you?'

'You know what? I actually feel quite good in myself. More positive. I mean, I fully expect that this feeling won't last, but while it does...I'm happy.'

'That's wonderful.'

'How are you?'

'I, too, am good. Actually, I want to introduce you to my girlfriend. Her name is Roxanne.'

'Hello. Nice to meet you. Hang on...can rocks have girlfriends?'

'Of course we can. Just because we are not human does not mean we can feel emotion.'

'Oh.'

'If you cut me, do I not bleed?'

'...No. No you do not...no.'

02/26

There was a man who could hear music in his head.

New music, as yet unplaced upon any score. All the time, during waking and sleeping hours, the most beautiful of mew music would float and dance its way through his head.

It was mostly classical, full of violins, flutes and big brass sections. Sometimes, a swarthy jazz melody would saunter through, treating the classical music to a slight smirk.

However, the man could never pin the music down. He could not force it onto a sheet. It never sounded the same, only a cheap imitation of the actual artwork.

02/27

Heartache.

It really is like that. It isn't some metaphor, or just a couple of words knocked together in the hope it they would fit. Your heart does actually ache.

It's as if it's being squeezed slightly, rubbed with sandpaper and then someone lights a match right in the centre.

Uncomfortable, but not unpleasant.

Often, it is used in a negative way. I don't think this should always be the case.

Sometimes, you just find someone who is so beautiful, in both body and soul, that your heart aches from simply being in their perfect presence.

02/28

A boy and his rock are sitting on the edge of a cliff, looking at the sunset.

'I knew this would happen.'

'What would happen?'

'It was all going too well. I was feeling happy.'

'So?'

'Life has been keeping score. If things go too well, it has to kick me back down.'

'...'

'Did you know I cried last night? I don't know why. I just felt...alone. And useless.'

'...'

'Then I thought how arrogant and pathetic it was to loath myself.'

'...'

'...I could jump off. Right now.'

'...'

'Who would care. I mean, honestly?'

'...I would.'

'You're an imaginary rock.'