Mattalogue: The Trio of (impending) Fail

So over the past few weeks and blog posts I’ve grown more and more confident with letting people see my ‘stuff’. After all, it’s not used to seeing the light of day or the eyes of people I’ve not paid off to compliment it. At first I thought they’d laugh and judge me, maybe even call me names behind my back.

But innuendos aside, I’m not entirely sure why I’m feeling more confident, if anything the quality of my writing has gone down during these past few months. Perhaps it’s the anonymity of being able to fling my ‘work’ up here and then duck and cover. Maybe it’s the fact that only a handful of people actually read what I put up. Who knows?

Tonight is my last night in Leigh for the foreseeable future. Which is probably why I’m feeling generous and willing to divulge some ‘character info’ from my ‘project’. The previous sentence is perhaps further proof how un-confident I actually am, whenever referring to my ‘work’ I always find myself using ‘’. See? There I went again! Perhaps it’s an attempt to distance myself from what I’m writing just in case people suspect I’m crazy/shit.

But what is this thing your working on? I hear one person ask.

Well, in as broad a sense as possible, it is about the end of our world as we know it (and I feel fine…sorry) from 3 very different perspectives. That of a normal person in highly unordinary circumstances, a sociopathic nihilistic clone and a human hating Dinosaur who’s only in it for revenge.

Wow…I managed to sum up something I’ve been working on for almost a decade in just one paragraph. I’m more surprised than that time I found myself doing a stupid cutaway gag ala anything ever done by Seth MacFarlane.

But onwards! So that’s a brief summary of the lead characters Nathan (everyman/boy) Dephchare (clone/subject of Vicarious Student post awhile back) and Stryka (racist Dinosaur). Of course, there are a few more characters than that. For example, there is the policeman Samuel Carmilie who fills the spot of the only sane man, until of course, he actually goes insane. There’s also the shallow designated love interest who makes Edward Cullen seem like a well rounded likeable character. But don’t worry, it’s intentional.

I’m going to have to admit here and now, I’m quite proud of Dephchare and Stryka. They are two of my most prized creations. Dephchare represents that dark side of humanity, the ruthless ‘kill or be killed’ spirit held within every real life psychopath or businessman, taken to its extreme and drenched in grotesque charm. Stryka on the other hand is much harder for me to explain in just one blog post. Not that I’m giving the characters or myself more credit than they’re due, but it’s quite hard to explain the history of a 700 year old non-human in just a few sentences.

Oh and there is also an unspeakable abomination inspired by experimentation with sleep deprivation, strong cheese and my own mental instability, which takes the form of The Harbinger.

And all this is just in the first instalment! You lucky, lucky folks! So basically this entire post has been an attention whoring attempt to garner your interest when I eventually decide to make some headway on the first of my End of the Road project. Tentatively entitled Land of the Poisoned Skies.

Till next time! Adios!

Extract; No Place Like Home

“Look at the hill on the horizon” Nathan said, tired of giving exposition “I’d point, but…y’know” he raised his hands to point out to Vaughan that he was still handcuffed, in the vain hope that he’d be freed. “Okay, I’m looking” Vaughan growled, his eyes barely focused on the mound that lay a mile ahead of them. Its surface was of a bare black soil and a few trees dotted the perfectly flat peak. He saw nothing else, save the grey sky which stretched far beyond the hill. “You’d better not be fucking with us” he snapped, while in his pocket he reached for the small device designed to activate the shock collar. He also gave a subtle raise of the eyebrow to Carmilie, telling him to be prepared.

“No sir” Nathan replied, trying his best not to stutter and betray his nervousness. He coughed and tried to regain his composure, “now, look back at me” he continued. Irritated, Vaughan turned his gaze back to his prisoner, he fantasized about clubbing him to death right now, no one had to know. The shame and terror of a nation could die right now, in the middle of nowhere. In a pool of his own blood, unable to defend himself. Karma. But instead protocol beckoned.

“I’m going to tell you something, and you need to listen very carefully” Nathan’s voice was barely a whisper above the rustling of the long grass which waved at them from their left, while the stagnant pond to their right did nothing but offend their nostrils with its various smells. “On top of that hill is a large Naval Camp from the forties”

Vaughan smacked Nathan across the face with his shock remote, “don’t waste my fucking time boy!” he spat as his victim fell to the floor. Dust flew up around them as Nathan hit the ground. “Sir! Sir!” he heard Mr Carmilie’s voice ring out above the throbbing in his head and the pain in his chest as Vaughan kicked him in the ribs. His aggressors body eclipsed the sun as he stood over him. Suddenly the kicking stopped as Vaughan was pulled away from Nathan. “Look sir!” he could hear Mr Carmilie shouting, but his head was ringing too much for him to care. He just wanted to lie in the dust and await his execution.

Vaughan was about to reprimand his underling the second he’d placed his hands on Vaughan’s usually immaculate suit and forcibly turned him to face the hill. It was then that he saw it. Sticking high above the tree-line on the aforementioned hill. It was a series of large buildings including what looked like a red brick tower. Even from that distance he could make out the corrugated iron roof, it was semi-circular like a small-scale aircraft hangar.

“There’s no way that was there before” Vaughan spluttered to Carmilie. Nathan pulled himself into an upright position and smirked at the two men’s faces, both wide-eyed and the perfect picture of Hippos at feeding time. He saw the familiar shape of HMS Gosling through the trees and a shiver rocketed up his spine. He knew what lay in the decrepit building, the horror he was about to unleash on Mr Vaughan and Mr Carmilie, deep down he felt it would be retribution.

Mattalogue; Back to the Dark Ages

So a few weeks back our Washing Machine did the dishonourable thing and killed itself right in the middle of washing my favourite shirts. Luckily no one was harmed. Sadly enough, rather than going out like a warrior, in a hail of explosions, blood and bullets, it did the deed a different way. Like a middle class Emo kid whose mother had just refused to buy him a box of his favourite brand of cereal. It simply locked itself and drowned in its own lumpy grey bile.

It was because of this and one other unspoken reason that I decided “fuck it…time to go home”, so I hopped in my time machine, set the dial to 1392 and went to Leigh.

Now, some people don't believe me and my fellow escapees what this genetic cul-de-sac really is like. I've always maintained that if the world were to ever need an enema, Wigan would be the place to insert it. With that in mind, Leigh is the piles of the arse hole of the British Isles. It's so insignificant that it's not even the main subject of a metaphor describing it.

Of course, I don't blame the town, its done well with what it's had (i.e. nothing), constantly robbed of resources and credit by its neighbouring overlords, the pie eaters. We do try though...every so often we're able to gather enough dry wood (mostly stolen from Astley) and construct a giant Wickerman with which to burn a virgin (mostly stolen from Astley) to appease the Gods of the borough council.

Occasionally they give us shiny new benches for our 'parks'. I say 'parks', they're really just Dogging facilities.

It's quite an interesting town, considering there is less facial variation than a PSone game. Which is why I've set 2/6 of my 'project' in this lovely little hovel. After all, where better place for a sociopathic clone and racist Dinosaur to have their first contact with modern day society than this place? Of course, by the time the narrative leaves the town it is some how even worse but that's for another blog post.

I'm spending the next few days in my Grandparents old house, a rather spacious terrace which commands lovely views of the Marsh Playing Field (or as the Wigan town council wanted it to be known, the Marsh Playing Car Park) and the Pataks Curry factory.

Although I complain, I quite enjoy my days in this house, its been in the family for nigh on a hundred years so I always manage to find new and interesting items which have been stowed away in a dusty drawer or plonked precariously on a bookshelf. Before I started Uni I actually found "Fly Fishing by J.R. Hartley". Of course, I realise that reference is probably lost on most people my age, but still. I had a massive fan/nerdgasm.

I'm currently looking out the window and amazed at how nice a day it is, the sun glinting off the corrugated roof of Pataks and ASDA is almost blinding at certain times of day.

As I mentioned earlier, 2 parts of my 'project' (namely, Land/World of the Poisoned Skies and Filling the Void) are set here, which is why I'm planning on spending at least one day wandering the town looking for decent events/places to note down and use. That's the upside of being in this town, never a dull moment.

I should probably leave it at this for now, I can see they've almost finished the legs of the Wickerman. Soon I'll be called up for a raiding party into Astley, better don my horned helmet and box of eggs.

A Disturbingly 'Emo' Post

What is worse than a nightmare?

I can think of only two things;

A good memory forever tainted by the bad times that followed it and the knowledge that you can never have it back.

And the other, is not a memory at all. It is the rampant paths your mind can go down when your all alone. The way you can sit in the dark and torture yourself with all the "what if"'s and "what could have been". The way you can break your own heart just thinking of a rival for that special someones affections. Or the person thats already won them, imagine what that special person thinks of you...and then your 'rival'. Go on, be stupid.

No one can inflict pain on you like yourself. They say the old mantra; "sticks and stones break my bones, but words will never hurt me" to little children when they are victims of bullying. Of course as you get older you realise the truth. Breaking bones hurts, but only for a short amount of time, then where the bone reheals and it is stronger than ever. On the other hand, words infect and fester. They linger like a dormant disease in the system, quietly taking you down from within.

I'm trying to get away from this sort of thinking, I'm trying to instigate change within myself. Become something better and more positive, perhaps even likeable. How is it going so far? I don't hear you asking. I'm exactly the same, but with shorter hair.

A Late Night Sleep Deprived Rambling

Everytime I step back and take a look at my life I feel like I’m standing on a precipice. Something important is always ‘destined’ to happen after I’ve taken those 5 minutes out to criticise myself. I’ll get a haircut, go on a diet, job seek, knuckle down, work on End of the Road or maybe even get a shower.

But I never change.

I’ve looked back at my life in the past decade, I’ve barely changed. Same puppy fat, same dimples, same chins, same untameable hair. Even the same irritating voice, I thought puberty was gonna take care of that! Then I look forward and see…tumbleweed, obscured by a veil of uncertainty, being played out on a stage made out of soggy tissue paper.

I’ve been in love twice, once with an Angel, and once with a Devil. At one point the two even coincided. The smart me would’ve ignored the Devil completely. But if I was smart I wouldn’t be human. Love is certainly powerful emotion, and I don’t mean that in the Disney sense of the term. It can bring great happiness, yet also tear you apart. You can believe the songs, and swallow the ending of Spiderman 3, which tell you love is at it’s most powerful when shared between two people. They’re wrong. Love is at its most powerful when it’s ignored. Unrequited. Spurned.

That’s when love starts getting ugly.

I’ve survived a lot. A lot has moulded me into the misshapen beast currently mashing this into the keyboard today. People aren’t born with damaged personalities. They are earned. Like gold stars in Infant School. And by Jeebus have I earned mine.

And so it is with a heavy sense of irony I’ve come to realised that the final nail in the coffin is not the pursing of lips or the swaying of hips. Not even broken promises or the twisting of knives. It’s something much more insidious…

I’ve been in a weird frame of mind recently. I’ve felt like a detective piecing together the evidence for his greatest case, which has led me to over analyse anything to cross my path. Why? I’m not too sure. This too is a part of the mystery.

An example would be a house on the way to my life. Every time I pass it I see the same window. It’s small. Way too small to serve any real purpose and it looks as though it’s not been cleaned in the past millennium. And yet no matter what time of day, be it dinner time or half two in the morning, the curtain is always open. It has intrigued me for the past month. What is the sweet old lady who lives there keep in that room? Why doesn’t she clean the window or draw the curtains?

But I digress.

I’ve been skating around this encroaching issue like a large piece of lint circling the drain. It’s a habit I’ve got, which I’m slowly turning into an artform. Maybe I should become a politician.

All material contained within this clog is produced from the mind of a sleep deprived fool who has no idea what he's talking about. If you find any offence/disturbance/unease in this piece...write an angry letter and send it to whoever our latest Overlord is to be.

Election Special; cut off in its stride

So todays election day, not that I needed to tell you that. You'd have to be living with Bin Laden to NOT know that. And even he's quite up to date, unfortunately I guess his only source of information is discarded issues of The Daily Mail, which is probably why he's not attacked us in awhile. He thinks we're over run by 'johnny foreigner' and we're all gonna get cancer in a years time anyway for having pentops/metal pipes/owning something made in China. But I digress.

So yeah, up till this year I've made a point of not talking about politics, it's always guranteed to spark ugly arguements, because you see, this comes as a surprise to some people but...we don't all have the same opinion. This is why three things should never be discussed in polite company; politics, religion and Stephen Hawking vs Christopher Reeve.

By the time you're reading this we'll have probably ushered in our new overlord anyway. Hopefully. Although there's been alot of talk of hanging parliament if they don't get enough votes, or something like that.

I -like most people that don't have peerage- am praying to Buddah, Allah and Eamon Holmes that the Tories don't get in. Unlike most people I don't have a grudge against David Cameron, he's good at what he does. Mostly.

Anyway, I'm being forced to go now, so I must cut this thing in half, my dear Wife is telling me it's time to watch House. Hopefully tomorrow we wont all be sent to the Gulag. And if you disagree with me you're probably a southern facist who uses Kittens as slippers.

The Vicarious Student (character monologue; intertwined with pathetic 'teasers')

I’ve seen you all, marching from A to B. Automation turns you into human beings. I hope I never gain that honour. I’ve watched for a long time now, well, it feels like a long time. Just 16 years. All my life. Watching.

I see through the eyes of a boy I’ve never met. Yet manage to see the same world in ways he’s never dreamt of. He’s too busy ‘living his life’ to see what I see. He sees his world. I see the world. All the corruption, disease, you’re like adults confined to nappies. Wallowing in your own shit, waiting for someone or something to come along and change you. There’s no point, you’ll only fill up the next one. And continue Filling the Void of your lives with whatever shit you can grab and taint.

I’m a stranger in my own skin, I don’t know myself, yet know this boy. My host. The one whose privacy I invade all day everyday doesn’t even know I exist. Fuck, even I didn’t know I existed till I was 5. Imagine my face when I woke up and found out all my life was a dream, someone else’s dream at that. I’d imagine it too, if I even knew what it looked like. They don’t have any mirrors up here. ‘They’…I’m not in the mood to address them by their real title. My creators, my captors. The only beings I’ve met face to face, the ones that convinced me there’s Something to Fight For. They want to send me to this nightmare world, your Land of Poisoned Skies.

Imagine the Revelations that the woman you knew as “mummy” and the shadow you knew as “daddy” were not even aware of your existence. Every memory is a lie, my first birthday, that was someone else’s candle I blew out…with someone else’s breath.

By thinking these thoughts have I started Crossing the Rubicon of my own destruction? Or the ascension above and beyond what they know?

Lies built on lies, enriched by my contempt for all of you. Will I have my revenge? Or will I just play your one sided games? I honestly don’t know. Too many treat me like a pawn, they don’t realise that in their desire to prove their power, they made me their equal.

Destroy me. I dare you. Label me a mistake, a skippable footnote. And with that move you’ll brand yourselves failures. And me a Martyr.