Sunday 26 May 2013
Saturday 25 May 2013
Writing: An exercise from The Write Practice
Today's Practice from the lovely The Write Practice is to a pick a random quote and to write about it on your blog, so here we are.
I might have slightly cheated with 'random' -- there is some absolute rubbish in the Net, let me tell you -- but here you go, the quote I (eventually) found:
And this is what I am going to write about it on my blog (simples, yes?):
Nobody gets out alive.
That's what they told me from the beginning. Don't take it seriously. Live like you're dying, because you are.
So I did. I lived a short life full of pain, suffering, beauty, hatred, desire... anything I could conceivably feel, I searched out. I talked a man off a ledge, I kissed a hundred people, I started a dozen fights. I took drugs, I went to AA meetings, I met a girl. I met a boy. I created a new life and I left it to waste away. I sold everything I owned and lived on the streets, and then I became a banker. I did everything, I was everything, I saw everything.
But somehow, I was still empty. What I felt was a joke, even the desperation that began to grow as I found the black hole inside me growing and thriving. Nothing was real. Nothing was important. Nothing was worth it.
Nobody gets out alive anyway.
I walked out in front of the 12.15 bus to Skipton and told death that I was coming to get him, ready or not.
It turned out he wasn't.
Nobody gets out alive? I did.
"Sit up for me," the nurse saidwith that impatient tone that told me that he'd do it for me if I don't get the bloody hell on with it. I did as I was told, even though I'd learnt lately that it was a shit idea.
I stared at the white wall that was part of the hospital that my daughter was born in and wondered if maybe I shouldn't have put her in that basket and sent her down the River Aire like Moses on the Nile or whatever the river was that he was on. No one had said so to me, but then this was the point of the experiment, wasn't it? To see what it was really like to live like you're dying -- or rather, to live however the hell you want with no repercussions, from outside parties or from yourself. The company that run it, that run me, want to see if Anarchism is truly possible, and what kind of people and mental conditioning they'll need for it to work.
"Can you move your legs?" the nurse asked. I kicked him in the face, and he frowned but said nothing.
"I think you're ready to go," the doctor at the other side of my bed smiled. His face was dark both in colour and in expression, even with the smile. I nearly asked him if he'd been mentally conditioned, but to ask would be impolite and a waste of my time. Instead, I let myself say what I really wanted to say. After all, nobody gets out alive.
"Why didn't you let me die, you worthless pieces of heartless crap?" There's no tone to my voice. I didn't't need to put on a show for these people.
The doctor smiled again. "There have obviously been a few teething issues in the work we've been doing with you. We want the chance to fix it."
A thought struck me, rare as lightning hitting twice. "I don't want to be part of the experiment any longer. I want you to let me out."
The smile dropped. "We can't do that."
"I was told this experiment was about doing whatever we wanted. This is what I want. To leave."
The nurse snorted. "Oh, lord, they didn't say a thing. They lied. The experiment isn't about anarchy. It's about immortality."
Sigh. Another story that I don't have time to write. But I kind of love it.
Thanks for reading,
Charlie out!
I might have slightly cheated with 'random' -- there is some absolute rubbish in the Net, let me tell you -- but here you go, the quote I (eventually) found:
"Never take life seriously. Nobody gets out alive anyway."
And this is what I am going to write about it on my blog (simples, yes?):
Nobody gets out alive.
That's what they told me from the beginning. Don't take it seriously. Live like you're dying, because you are.
So I did. I lived a short life full of pain, suffering, beauty, hatred, desire... anything I could conceivably feel, I searched out. I talked a man off a ledge, I kissed a hundred people, I started a dozen fights. I took drugs, I went to AA meetings, I met a girl. I met a boy. I created a new life and I left it to waste away. I sold everything I owned and lived on the streets, and then I became a banker. I did everything, I was everything, I saw everything.
But somehow, I was still empty. What I felt was a joke, even the desperation that began to grow as I found the black hole inside me growing and thriving. Nothing was real. Nothing was important. Nothing was worth it.
Nobody gets out alive anyway.
I walked out in front of the 12.15 bus to Skipton and told death that I was coming to get him, ready or not.
It turned out he wasn't.
Nobody gets out alive? I did.
"Sit up for me," the nurse saidwith that impatient tone that told me that he'd do it for me if I don't get the bloody hell on with it. I did as I was told, even though I'd learnt lately that it was a shit idea.
I stared at the white wall that was part of the hospital that my daughter was born in and wondered if maybe I shouldn't have put her in that basket and sent her down the River Aire like Moses on the Nile or whatever the river was that he was on. No one had said so to me, but then this was the point of the experiment, wasn't it? To see what it was really like to live like you're dying -- or rather, to live however the hell you want with no repercussions, from outside parties or from yourself. The company that run it, that run me, want to see if Anarchism is truly possible, and what kind of people and mental conditioning they'll need for it to work.
"Can you move your legs?" the nurse asked. I kicked him in the face, and he frowned but said nothing.
"I think you're ready to go," the doctor at the other side of my bed smiled. His face was dark both in colour and in expression, even with the smile. I nearly asked him if he'd been mentally conditioned, but to ask would be impolite and a waste of my time. Instead, I let myself say what I really wanted to say. After all, nobody gets out alive.
"Why didn't you let me die, you worthless pieces of heartless crap?" There's no tone to my voice. I didn't't need to put on a show for these people.
The doctor smiled again. "There have obviously been a few teething issues in the work we've been doing with you. We want the chance to fix it."
A thought struck me, rare as lightning hitting twice. "I don't want to be part of the experiment any longer. I want you to let me out."
The smile dropped. "We can't do that."
"I was told this experiment was about doing whatever we wanted. This is what I want. To leave."
The nurse snorted. "Oh, lord, they didn't say a thing. They lied. The experiment isn't about anarchy. It's about immortality."
Sigh. Another story that I don't have time to write. But I kind of love it.
Thanks for reading,
Charlie out!
Friday 24 May 2013
Review: Heroes by Robert Cormier
So this one was for my ENGLISH LIT EXAM! You'd think that meant I hated it, but no, so therefore I am reviewing it.
PS, this review will be just edging on the spoilery, especially if you're good at reading between the lines.
Francis Cassavant has just come back home from the War and he has no face. But that's how he wants it to be. The War -- and the events that occurred before he left to fight it -- have taken their toll, and he doesn't want to be recognised. Not before his final mission is complete.
PS, this review will be just edging on the spoilery, especially if you're good at reading between the lines.
Francis Cassavant has just come back home from the War and he has no face. But that's how he wants it to be. The War -- and the events that occurred before he left to fight it -- have taken their toll, and he doesn't want to be recognised. Not before his final mission is complete.
Monday 20 May 2013
Review: Angelology by Danielle Trussoni
Yes, I am back. But only because I need to vent/procrastinate/...alright, I'm too scared to go get the revision book for Physics back off my twin brother because he's an arse, okay?
But really, I needed to vent about this one.
Evangeline has lived at the convent for half of her life, but soon it will no longer be safe: her meeting with a seemingly innocuous art historian, Verlaine, have started wheels turning that should never be turned. A treasure will be unearthed, and life might just go to Hell. Literally. Sort of literally.
But really, I needed to vent about this one.
Evangeline has lived at the convent for half of her life, but soon it will no longer be safe: her meeting with a seemingly innocuous art historian, Verlaine, have started wheels turning that should never be turned. A treasure will be unearthed, and life might just go to Hell. Literally. Sort of literally.
Thursday 16 May 2013
Writing... no, wait, exams.
You may have noticed I've been (un)suspiciously quiet lately. This is because I have exams. Hurray. In fact, I should be revising for my RE exam tomorrow, but instead I'm writing this and watching Ten O'Clock Live which is very funny.
Yes, my brain is currently slightly fried (you do not know how many times I had to re-type this sentence).
I am planning posts, so you will see me soon!
Charlie the Exam Girl out!
Yes, my brain is currently slightly fried (you do not know how many times I had to re-type this sentence).
I am planning posts, so you will see me soon!
Charlie the Exam Girl out!
Tuesday 7 May 2013
The Little Engine that Couldn't Blog Party: Zombies vs Unicorns
Yes, it is time for the question that you all want to know the answer to, the question that this guy here finally dared to ask: which is better? There's only one way to find out... FIGHT!
Sorry, unfortunately I couldn't find and zombies or unicorns to battle it out live for your entertainment -- and besides, Harry Hill probably copyrighted the whole thing already -- so we'll just have to have a discussion about it.
Sorry.
Sorry, unfortunately I couldn't find and zombies or unicorns to battle it out live for your entertainment -- and besides, Harry Hill probably copyrighted the whole thing already -- so we'll just have to have a discussion about it.
Sorry.
Friday 3 May 2013
NaNoCritMo: Welcome to NaNoCritMo!
Look look look! A thing, a thing!
In seriousness, this is gonna be really cool, and a chance for the more shy, scared of their novels being out there types (ie me) to find a lovely CP who will shred your manuscript and ask for a new, better one. Huzzah!
NaNoCritMo: Welcome to NaNoCritMo!: Hello writers! Welcome to NaNoCritMo, short for National Novel Critiquing Month, an event in which writers gather together to critique eac...
In seriousness, this is gonna be really cool, and a chance for the more shy, scared of their novels being out there types (ie me) to find a lovely CP who will shred your manuscript and ask for a new, better one. Huzzah!
NaNoCritMo: Welcome to NaNoCritMo!: Hello writers! Welcome to NaNoCritMo, short for National Novel Critiquing Month, an event in which writers gather together to critique eac...
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