Flowers that are potted

The Potted-Flower fields are blooming. Harvest time is going to be GRAND.

Monday, April 03, 2006

People are crappy, and blogging gets boring

I would like to apologise. I have been an on-off blogger since I first took a break, and I have made promises and I didn't keep them. I'm sorry.

I also appreciate that this site is no longer visited, but if it is stumbled upon, please accept my apology. I won't be posting again.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

Flowers that are potted

Goodbye, Blogger.




This time.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Teeth drumming

Do you ever, when strolling home, or sitting on the bus, or generally doing something that doesn't involve talking or brain-power, drum with your teeth while singing?

I love the drums. I mean, I LOVE DRUMS. But I cannot play them because drums are too big, too expensive, and too noisy. So, my teeth are my drums. It now comes naturally to me to drum with my teeth while singing, and I feel like a featherless Arnold when I do not do so.

I will explain the drums:
Front teeth: high drums
canines: medium drums
molars: low drums
Left-to-right swipe: Molar swipe


And in the right order, it really does sound like real drums. Try it. But it does hurt. Unfortunatley. I do it anyway.

Monday, November 14, 2005

" "

You know what? I'm tired. So tired. And I need a break from blogger at the moment, so maybe I'll come back soon.
'Wake me up when November ends'.

Perhaps. So yeah. I will give fragmented accounts of my Bahrain adventure in the future, so hold on. I'm climbing back into bed with Vincent (stuffed animal, people, stuffed animal) and sleep. I'm concocting crap while I do this. Entertaining crap, nonetheless.

Wait with baited breath.

Sunday, October 30, 2005

Holiday: brief explanation

I have been in Bahrain for the last week, hence my absence. Over my next few posts I will tell you of this, but for now, I am very jet-lagged and I am sleeping. Don't wake me.

Saturday, October 15, 2005

Muffled-brain-pop

My screen-saver reads:

'Rabbits are the only reason we have not yet achieved space travel'

Well, this is total and utter crap. Or, is it? If our stubit ancestors weren't running around shooting rabbits for food, we wouldn't be in this predicament. They could've been eating brocolli while scetching their plans for the future helicopter, like Da Vinci.
But no.
They shot rabbits. And this tender rabbit-y food numbed their brians, which they in turn passed down to us, as I have just realised I am demonstrating, because I just typed 'STUBIT' instead of 'STUPID' and'BRIAN' instead of 'BRAIN'. Well, I have proved it, haven't I?

I mean, why aren't I typing this on a titaniuminiumaniministic-supersonic-brain-zooming-space-rod of a computerised system instead of a nearly state of the art lamptop? AND I just spelled 'laptop' 'lamptop'. You see?

Is the whole human race so stupid?? YES! Think about it, there is a whole UNIVERSE out there, AND THEY ARE PROBABLY FLYING AROUND IN THEIR SUPER-ZOOMERSTRATORS RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Yes. And we are crapping up 480284029384 billion pound/dollar/whatever space missions to MARS on a simple maths mistake!!!!!! I mean, who doesn't know the tripodanium-timesed square root of CATRILLION?!?!?!?!??!
Why aren't we giving that money to people like me??

OR, RATHER, ME?!?!?!


I think I have stressed my point. Damn you rabbits.

Thank you.

Friday, October 14, 2005

Its all gone pete tong?


What? Thats not a comedy. THAT IS NOT A COMEDY.

Bug eye


I am perfectly fine with you not reading this. You may skip right to the end, read one of the comments and build your answer upon it, with the result being

"That sure is good writing!!" or "I envy you!"

I don't do this by the way. It's cheating.

'The English Sonnet is a poem form consisting of 14 lines, each with ten stressed and unstressed syllables known as iambic pentameter, with a set rhyme scheme of: a b a b c d c d e f e f g g. The rhymes may be ear-rhymes or eye-rhymes: an ear-rhyme is one that rhymes in sound, e.g. “increase” and “decrease”; an eye-rhyme is one that rhymes by sight, e.g. “compare” and “are”. This rhyme sequence sets the usual structure of the sonnet as three quatrains (sets of four lines) concluding with 1 couplet (a pair of lines). It is usual for there to be a pause for thought in the sonnet’s message at the end of each quatrain, especially the 2nd., in order to add tension, with the sonnet resolving to its objective in the final couplet, just as a song normally resolves to its root chord at its close. To convey the sense of resolution and completeness at the end of the sonnet there are often key-words, or tie-words, present in the closing couplet that are also present in the earlier quatrains. This structuring provides a framework on which to build the words, phrases, themes, rhymes, syncopation, punctuation and rhythm of the sonnet making it, at its best, a self-contained work of art.'

What kind of anorak?


But, this defies the point. I am not going to pick on a bunch of sad little anoraks because I am pissed off, I will stress my reason in the most relevent way.

Don't ask.

Friday, October 07, 2005

The teenie-weenie generation

This is a different post. But, I haven't posted for a while, and I was thinking, 'What should I post?' Should I post anger? Like I did before? Should I post an anecdote? A poem?

No.

I shall post a little something about me.
Now, I was a boring little child. Well, not boring, average.

I was one of those children who had two best friends, a crapped up hairstyle and slippy-off-y shoes. With, as it seemed, a ten-year-long sniffle. I had a ponytail, a gap between my teeth, and a hole for my thumb in my sweatshirt.

But I was thinking. The little clogs were turning. Slowly, but surely. I learned that banana was not spelt bananananananananananana. I learnt that climbing up high walls would result in pain. I learnt that when a five year old haggles with a Turkish market-stall owner, it's seen as cute, not professional. I learnt not to trust the boys at school and type XXX into Google. I learnt a lot of things.

But one. I'm a klutz. I fall down stairs, over my own feet, off my skateboard... I could go on. Perhaps I'll learn. Either that or its genetic. Damnit.

Saturday, October 01, 2005

Stupid-idiot-people


I'm not being stupid, I'm being serious. Stupid tree-man and stupid scary-movie man. Go trip over your brains. And kick them into an incinerator while you're at it.

Monday, September 26, 2005

Fun.

I drew a face on the glass. It wasn't a good face, it was a doodle, with glasses and sticky-uppy hair.
I knew it would stay there for days afterwards, but you can't not draw stuff on misted windows. You have to. Thats why they're there.

I let my eyes droop down to the lock on the door, to check if it was broken. It was.
I turned around to check if he was back yet. He wasn't.
I checked my phone for signal. It had none.
I sighed and turned back round on my chair. There's not much to do in an empty car park on a Saturday morning.

I drifted off for about ten minutes, shivering absently from the un-heated car. The door slammed, he was starting up the car and I woke up.

I drummed a tune on the dashboard, so he turned on the radio.
I sang to the radio, so he turned it off.

Two hours of this.
Fun fun fun.

I leant my foot up on on the dashboard.
'Get me a ciggarette'
'I have athsma'
'Use your ventolin'
'You left it at home'
'No I didn't'
'Check your bag'
'Crap'
'Believe me now?'
'Shut up'
'Put the radio on'
'Will you sing?'
'Yes'
He sighed.

'Fine'

Two hours of this. Fun fun fun.

Fun.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Its me!

I have covered up for too long.


I will show you what I look like... at long last.

here

Saturday, September 17, 2005

Apparently it didn't break America...

Geeeeees. You guys are so undereducated. seriously.


BUTTON MOON, MAN. Who the hell hasn't heard of button moon?! Gees.
Okay, I'll give you a definition. I tut. Tut-tut-tut-tut.

Geeeeees.

Mr spoon? No?

Gees.

Thursday, September 15, 2005

Button moon


Button moon.

I love button moon.

Anyone who doesn't love button moon is CRAZY.

'We're off to button moon, we'll follow Mr. spoon, button mooooooon, button mooooooooon...'

I love it so much I could cry. I am crying. COL. I love button moon.

Saturday, September 10, 2005

The bright green fields of...

*clench hand*

*unclench hand*

Right. Back. Whoa... back.
Anyway, while I have been gone I have altered my template, so it actually looks original... well, kind of... and I have been thinking about blogger, in general.

I am so jealous of bloggers like... lorena, gulnaz, .:a:., avik, transience - to name a FEW, that can write so well. Like, poetry, for instance, they can write and draw you in, and take great photos... and be so arty and rock-y. And the bloggers like corinna, mitzzee, (every one else because my brain is working like sludge today) that just WRITE COOL THINGS; ABOUT ANYTHING!

And then I thought about what I do. What the HELL do I do? What do I do? What?

I am one hell of a crappy blogger. I don't do anything. And yet you COME here. Why do you come here? Is it because I come to your blog? Like you owe me? I don't know.

I have decided to earn your respect as a blogger, starting now. Because my brain is working like sludge today, I will leave you with something that I have already informed you of, yet still is a creation and I think pretty cool. Meet Arnold... again. I know I have had so much time to think up new ideas, but MEH. I like Arnold, so you have to too. Say hi to him some more.