Whilst it is a work night and I should be in bed, I have found myself not being in bed. I’ve also had a bottle of 2011 merlot (very good year, I think discovered the joys of shopping at Lidl on a budget). I shall be going to Cardiff this weekend for some masters classes. I’ve had to completely re-write my story, from the ground up and I’m still frustrated with the characters who are mostly flaccid and one dimensional, not unlike my penis. The stories ending is quite shit and it feels like a bad Welsh version of Billy Elliot written by an emotionally stunted sociopath. On the bright side I’ve re-drafted the treatment and hopefully my tutor can quantify just how shit I am and where in life I went wrong, whilst I weep bitterly into his accomplished, smug lap.
It’s not all bad though, I am writing a lot and shall shortly be posting a couple more short stories which I’ll be entering into competitions, and if all goes to plan I will be moving to Japan at the end of summer to start an amazing new job in an amazing place. If that doesn’t inspire me to write something worth reading then I may just go back eating pot noodles on my piss stained mattress to pass the time (hopefully they have absorbent mattresses in Japan).
I’ve been writing a lot of poems so to further my smoke and mirrors approach to script writing, here it is in all it’s pretentious bullshit glory. It’s called ‘The Empire’ because I sometimes imagine Western society as the baddies in Star Wars, often whilst I sneer maliciously at old women on the bus.
Please let me know what you think if you have the time.
We are the broken
Struggling to exist in this cold reality
But refusing to live in the peace of banality
When we brake
We are found wanting by standards set by the mighty
What road do we take?
When our means to walk are stolen by golden hands
Blood from black lungs filled with oil and sin
My broken cup
Leaks the liquids and lies you pour on us with impunity
Deep in all of our hearts as we watch you lie
As we see that we have eaten everything we’ve been fed.
We are the broken
Lying hopeless at the bottom of this pile of bones
From the wars you sent us to with cold golden hands
We are a husk
A living sack of skin stretched thinly over a wispy soul
Holding a tusk
Of the last living thing we sent into extinction
We are the West
A living breathing empire of greed and hate
We are the tiny cogs that drag our hearts away from salvation