Spring
July 10th, 2008
Gray clouds coat the sky, rubbing in the dim light of a sun that doesn’t want to shine. It’s industrial spring, a haze of mist coating everything, painting it dully grey. The flowers are supposed to shine in vivid colours, I know it. They don’t. The air, the day, the light, I don’t know what it is; it’s making them look tired, dull and washed out. Worn, yes, worn, like the coat I’m wearing, the leather fraying and ripping against the chilly winds. It’s spring, the season claims it, the last remains of snow are melting in the bushes at the shaded parts of the street. I’m out, camera in hand, trying to get a picture that wishes to stick to the camera. Trying to find something out there that is worth saving, just a glimmer of something. Something I want to save.
I glare at the grass, the moisture of the molten snow licking it to the ground, dull grey and washed out green, unable to protect the dirt beneath it. I sigh and turn the camera down. The flowers aren’t worth the attention, and the trees are still dead, the pale light barely drying their bark out during the day. I growl at the lady with the poor inbred remnant of a dog beside her, her green coat brushing my bag as she pushes her way past, the furry rat on the leash yapping after me as it attempts to get ahead of her.
I walk on, stones making a crushing sound beneath my boots as I stride downwards, turning left and right, eyeing the people as they stand, huddling in the beams of sunlight, trying to consume energy the sun doesn’t have. I sigh, the mismatched crowd of eighties fashion and winter mixing amongst the people.
I glare, meeting the glances of the people waiting for the bus. They know I watch them, they know I judge them as they stand posing for the people, trying to keep a nonchalantly bored look behind the oversized sunglasses, the trendy jackets and cigarettes. I just can’t stand it. Wherever I walk, there is more of it.
It’s just one of those days, where it should be spring, there is sun, there is light, but still the light and the people are stuck in winter. The colours are dulled and grey, faded, saturated, paled. There is simply no spring there. The signs are there, the people pretend it, but it doesn’t work. I sigh and resign myself that nothing will be caught today and head home.
Just a few blocks away from home, my day is brightened up by a shining red coat that’s tastefully draped over a lady. The vivid colour breaks the dull grayness of the day as she’s standing, shifting from foot to foot, her face full of concern as she looks at the bum lying passed out at her feet. She bends forwards, not even casting a shadow across the walkway where the bum is resting his head on his hand, drunk asleep after falling off the bench his friend is still sitting on. She looks around, concerned, moves a bit, back and forth, back and forth. She looks up again, uncertain on what to do in the situation. Her bags are clutched firmly between her hands in front of her, and then she kicks him in the face to see if he responds.
Ah, isn’t spring grand?
Articles in this section:
- Ducks
Ducks are what we are concerned with today. Ducks belong to the Antidinae, or Antinidae, or Antidie, what ever family of waterfowl. Ducks are so anti-die that they’ll even roger a corpse. Even more so, they’ll give no concern to the gender of the corpse either. How do we know this? Because certain things are irrevocably true. One truth is that Ducks, when cooked well, are yummy. Another truth is that homosexual necrophilia is a common occurrence in Mallard ducks.
- Today, I'm going to destroy the Internet
Today, I’m going to destroy the Internet.
Today.
That’s all the cursor was flashing beside when I woke up.
- Letters
See, I reckon that letter writing is alright. It’s the only way in which you can convey a large piece of information without being burdened by having to explain external factors. Half of me jokingly says it’s kinda like being inside that boundary line where quantum physics ends, and regular physics begins. You’re operating within a limited time, where all the events around you don’t matter. They’re still there, but their relevance is limited for the duration of the letter.
- The Either-Or Conundrum
Or “How to Be Everything and Nothing”
What is it about human nature that makes us divide ourselves?
- “Why wait for 1984? When you can panic now, and avoid the rush.”
Well the first thing I want to say is; Democracy my ass.
- Out here, on summer
Out here, we are all turned on by tragedy, just so long as it’s not our own.
- Interview: Anders Banke
While at the Horrorthon, I had the chance to meet and interview Anders Banke, the director of ‘Frostbite’. Who, if impressions from the five days of the Horrorthon are anything to go by is a thoroughly likeable and wise man. There is a short review of Frostbite in the review section of the mountain. It’s also worth mentioning that at the time of transcribing this interview, ‘Frostbite’ has won the following accolades:
- ‘Best Film’ Fantasporto 2006
- ‘Best Score’ Screamfest Horror Film Festival 2006
- ‘Best Makeup’ Screamfest Horror Film Festival 2006
- ‘Best Special Effects’ Screamfest Horror Film Festival 2006
- Iron
We’re talking about Iron. The most stable element in the universe. Everything below iron on the atomic chart is fusible, gathering pieces and working its way up the scale towards iron. Everything above iron is fissible, breaking itself apart and working its way down the scale towards iron. That alone is worth a ponder.
- I, Champion
A hero isn’t a type of person; it’s a turn of events. Someone happens to have the right traits at the right place and time, and ends up saving the day. It obviously follows that the right traits tend to be less common ones, and so the atypical have a greater chance of occasionally being heroes. You’re only a hero at that time and place, however. I can no more save a world - let alone the world - than anyone else.
- Letting the days go by - Letters to a Bad Panda MD #1
My Good Doctor – the naughtiest Panda,
Written in parts when and where I could – bare with the scrawl.
So aye…
Onward – good Christian
soldierchainsaw.So, I’m in Krakow.
- Untitled
Every couple of months.
Now and then.
On whim – or when the addiction scratches through – from my brain to my belly.
I kill someone.
- The Tea Monkeys 'Hanging Baskets of Babylon' (Album Review)
Hey there…
I have something you don’t have.
I’m listening to it right now.
- Stories
“Where’s my story Jonny?” Mad Dog says as he grabs me by the arm. “You said that you were going to have a story for me by the weekend.”
“Chillax,” I says to him.
“It’s not even half six on a Sunday evening. There’s still time. Or even better, is it too late to tell you I lied?”
“Yes, it is.”
- Head First
Were Socrates alive today, he’d be dead, having drunk the hemlock and asked for a refill, just to make sure he never had to hear another imbecile argument over whether or not Britney has to urinate once in a while.
