Tuesday, 29 June 2010

Personal Statement

I'm applying for a post graduate placement scheme thing, hoping I will get a work placement as a graphic designer. As such I have rather tentatively produced this thing as a kind of personal statement. I imagine it is more than a little crude to the eye of a graphic designer and that I only think it looks good because I know so little about graphic design.



And, after a thought, here is another version with, of course, some old paper as the background YEAH!

Saturday, 26 June 2010

I’m at my window, trying to get the cold air to un-knot my stomach, which knots itself when I do nothing and feel like doing something but have nothing to do, and I remember my appointment tomorrow with the bank, which I’d hoped I’d forget by now. I’ve forgotten the time, but not the appointment, and I want to entirely forget it, but haven’t.

Friday, 25 June 2010

not for the faint of heart, or fans of Whitney Houston

an idea

Rock music, old school stuff: KISS, Twisted Sister, Black Sabbath, should come with no volume control. I opened up "I wanna rock" by Twisted Sister in youtube. It was very loud and I turned it down then realised I was going against everything that song stands for. Rock and roll should be impossible to turn down. Amen.

Tuesday, 15 June 2010

bad boyfriend

She wouldn’t have called him her boyfriend by the time he did what would make her, which was save our mum’s life, and she, that is my sister, didn’t know he’d done it.

She, my mum, didn’t stop on foot and the man didn’t stop in his car until they both stopped and just me and my sister’s boyfriend-to-be were moving.

“I can stop this from happening,” he said to me. So nearly were my family, and this not-yet-boyfriend, at the park. Everything had gone wrong at the last crossing.

“Oh God, yes, stop it, please,” were among the things I said to the almost-boyfriend who stood now twice as tall, naked, looking like something from a Marilyn Manson video with, crucially, two horns at the top of his head(1).

“What the fuck?” I said.
“I beg you’re pardon?” Said my mum, from the other side of the road. The car had disappeared.

My mum had a nosebleed that no one mentioned, and the blood disappeared when it fell onto her clothes. She seemingly couldn’t taste it as it streamed onto the sandwiches she ate. She started to make a grinding noise when she walked.

A man was found in his car in a field with his body turned inside out.

“Shrug,” said the basically-boyfriend when I asked him about it, I mean that is literally what he said.

My sister asked eventually if something happened between us, either because he always mentioned to her inviting me to the pub, or because I never went.

Eventually I did, the same day I woke up and my mum’s fingers had no skin left.

“Don’t worry about it,” said my sister’s boyfriend when I asked him about it, in a way which made me actually worry more.

He offered me a drink which cost him £2.65, but me I have no idea how much.

--

(1)
“If you ever mention this to anyone I will fuck you up in ways you can’t comprehend with a body,” he said to me, “but, I mean, this isn’t a big deal, or anything. Think of this conversation as, like, a footnote in this moment, yeah?”

Monday, 14 June 2010

computer shop review

My computer got a virus, I sent it into the shop to be fixed.
“We’ll,” they said, “have to wipe everything and start over.”
“Ok,” I said, “just back up my internet bookmarks.”
They said sure, but when I got my computer back: no bookmarks.

“What?” I asked.
“Bring it back in,” they said.

They recovered the hard disk or, as far as I was concerned, cast a spell, and gave me back my bookmarks, which turned out not to be my bookmarks, but a collection of random ass bookmarks for websites like 5mins.com, and dolphincrap.com, along with some bondage websites, for maximum embarrassment.

“Not my bookmarks,” I explained.
“What?” Asked the shop.
“NOT MY BOOKMARKS,” I said again.
“Ok, ok, we’ll fix,” said, again, the shop.

Having had my computer for another week, totalling three, I call again. They tell me it’s fixed.

“Your bookmarks,” they say, “we have restored them.”
But this is not true. What they have done is found a file I made about five years ago, containing bookmarks I put in there, which are, in terms of relevance to my life, five years old. They have done, in the three weeks they’ve had my computer, nothing. And they have charged me for work I did.

They either deleted the bookmarks themselves, like fools, or the virus corrupted the bookmarks and there was nothing the shop could have done.

“Look, sorry, there’s nothing we can do,” is one of the things they never said to me.

It looks now like I have a vibrant career ahead of me, working for a computer repair centre.