Saturday, 29 December 2007


I have recieved an e-mail from the guy that I sent an e-mail to. I have recieved a reply from the guy who runs the six sentence story blog. The reply tells me that my Six Sentence Story will be published on his thing on new year's day. I am terrified. Why did I send in the story in the first place? Self-publicity. But what's the point of getting people to know me. I am ill. I can smell the ingredients of a Fisherman's Pie in my oven, cooking until Golden Brown. Prime cuts of pollock, creamy taragon sauce and piped maris piper potatoes with a crispy coating. I peep into the oven and notice in delight that the pie looks nearly ready. I notice something. It is on top of the pie. It is a fish shaped piece of pastry designed to add character to the pie. I remember what my six sentence story is about. I feel sick. In a sudden crazed movement I open the oven take out the pie rip the fish shape from the pie and shove it in a glass of water. I put the pie back in the oven. My hands are badly burnt. I put some E45 cream on them.

Want to solve the mystery? Wondering what my six sentence story is about? I bet you are you impatient swine. Then check out the on new years day. It's like some kind of mystery. What would drive you to put a fish in some water? What is your terrible secret etc? Well get over it. Stop thinking about it and get on with your life you LOSER. But don't forget to check the site on new years day.

Saturday, 22 December 2007

Early 08:29am GMT

I have already had a cold shower. It's freezing outside and I have been for a ten mile run which finished ten mintues ago when it was even colder. I've eaten a bowl of porridge with salt and sugar in it for an oriental feel. I have had a shave and cut myself by accident while shaving; I am not a self harmer. I daubed scented after shave onto my facial wounds to stop them bleeding. I went toilet. I have watched the breakfast news and listened to some of the today programme on BBC RADIO FOUR. I have cooked some kippers and had marmalade. I have fed my surviving fish.

I am writing a list of morning things. I never do any of these things. Here is the result of my inactivitity.

I am caked in three years worth of filth. I have problems with my ticker. When people see my face they think that my face is some find of furry hat. I have a terrible aroma. I wear adult nappies. I don't know what's going on in the world and can no longer talk. My fish is totally dead.

Tuesday, 4 December 2007

The Future

I made a short film today. It is a futurmentary.

Sunday, 2 December 2007

Gok Wan.

I am starting to worry that I lack self discipline. I keep indulging in new things. Fads are what I like to indulge in. I am drinking some probiotic yoghurt. It's packed full of good bacteria. I can feel the good bacteria patrolling my veins. There are three types of good bacteria. There are traffic wardens, who make sure that there is no illegal parking inside the tender parts of my body. There are comedians, who stand atop the cholesterol in my arteries and tell jokes to relieve the pressure. There are librarians, who get angry when there is any noise inside me. I had a book when I was a child that has diagrams of the inside parts of bodies in it. I imagine where the good bacteria fit into it. I feel aware of my body. I touch my stomach. Things are not going according to plan. Some music plays. Someone starts singing. It is Gok Wan. Gok Wan is dressed as good bacteria. He looks fabulous; his eyes dart coquettishly from side to side, his lips are pursed into a pout, his bum is pert. He is teasing me. There is a 60ft projection of my naked body plastered against the side of big ben. Gok Wan dances around big ben whilst an elephant gives birth to another smaller elephant. It is terrifying. Gok Wan.

Saturday, 1 December 2007


There is a pair of tweezers. The tweezers are in my hand which floats near my left eye as you look at me. You are not looking at me. Left eye as you look at it. I am tearing out eyelashes. It hurts. We don't do things because they are easy. The light flashes from the sun to my tweezer into my eye. My eyes are bald.