Saturday 10th May

Well, I thought it was funny...


I'm feeling far happier today and tonight. I got a new DVD player yesterday, and today I started writing a treatment for a remake of my favourite old time sc-fi film, THE BLACK HOLE. You know, things to do to pass the day...

I also wrote up a scene I'd written in longhand the day before, about some tramps. I don't know where it will lead, but it might do somewhere.
Did that come out right? I don't care.
Here it is.


Three bums sat perched like city pigeons on a wooden bench at the edge of the park. The sun baked down hot and hard on their heavily sun-soaked faces, brown with dirt and dried sweat. Mumbling, they chatted about things; life, love, lost moments in the time of their timelines, and lost opportunities.
They had many. They had had many.
Randomly they exposed the yellow glimmer of decaying teeth, as they laughed at their own jokes and the jokes of each other.
They laughed at themselves.
It was sickening to see that such a trio could laugh when put in context with the predicament that they were in. One of them lit a half finished fatty, and passed it along. They wouldn't get totally high on it; just some of the way there.
It was the luxury of it that they craved inside of their stomachs and their hearts; not the result it had on their brains.
The stool pigeon who had provided the smoke from an inner pocket hidden away somewhere, wore a long, brown leather jacket that hung on him lie a trench coat. It was a physical reminder of everywhere the pigeon had been, and everything that he had done in his time living not on the streets, but actually living the streets as they really are, against all public misconceptions.
It carried it's own smell. As did the body beneath it.
In the hot air, cooking slowly under the high sun, it only added to the spicy aura of smell surrounding and wafting up from the three on the bench. It wavered and drifted in the midday heat like vapour at the end of a road.
Two members of the trio sipped from cans of warm lager that they were taking out of a yellow carrier bag, which they had placed affectionately aside underneath the bench.
It was marked SID And Co. and the contents were cheap and as sweet as acid.
The pigeon in the middle of them; his greasy dreadlocks, his almost black face through grime and rain and sweat, his eyes, which were the only bright part of his appearance, drank from a bottle of wine.
When the divine beauty of every smooth sup from the bottle was done over, he smacked his lips together and the dull twinkle of a hearty smile broke on his face for a short while, as if there could be no other joy in the world.
Not one of them wore a watch.
By the place in the sky that the sun adopted they managed to count the day ticking itself away; edging down towards the horizon.
Most don't know it; most are just too damn ignorant to want to know it, but it's a busy life.
Being a city pigeon.


I have put my proposal to that guy over at WWDN, so I'll see what he says.
Even IF it is no, then hey, at least I've tried once, haven't I?



"Again with the Klingons!"


Here's another picture. I never can get my sisters friend to turn around...

Well, here's a kid with a big afro, my sister, her friends back, and my sisters boyfriend who coincidentally is my sisters-friends-brother.
Get that?

Well... my sisters boyfriends feet.

Good view? My photography qualifications (I'm not kidding I do have some) not withstanding.


A big hello to Uncle Barry who no doubt is reading this right now.
I hope you and the kids and Tash are doing well.
And that your machine (PC) is holding up to the task of handlin all of these shitty pop-ups. It's because I use Tripod.
It's not worth the screen it flickers on...


I'm on page 100 of The Grapes Of Wrath. I started it last weekend. And I'll tell you all why its been slow going; I can only read with noise, and most of the time I can only concentrate on the text when I'm on the move.
Ever feel sick reading a book whilst in a car?
Not me.
I can read walking around.

That's just the sort of fucked up prick that I am.


Here are the two book covers I promised for the bunny girl whose name I cant even remember fully, who posts on WWDN.

And here is version two.

They're just two very simple ideas of the kind of style I like to go for.
I did them in ten minutes using old photos, images found on the web, and pain shop pro 7.

Right click and stick, Coolio!


Well, not really much more to say tonight. I'm going to watch BODY HEAT in half hour on TV. I just love Lawrence Kasdan films and the reasoning and mentality behind them.
Yep, he's a man of my stock, that Kasdan.

Does a bear live in the woods?
No. It's does a bear SHIT in the woods.

If you've seen THE BIG CHILL you'll know what in the hoot-and-andy I'm going on about.

Until I next report,

Look after each other.