I write. I've done it for a while, it gives me solace when nothing else can.

My latest work. Enjoy.

Set in a gritty future, this story takes place in a suburban jungle of glass and mortar where the predator is finance fueled organisations and the prey the desperate working class who seek in the words of Brad: “…like our not long past childhood, the candy shop where we bought our much meagerly anticipated 50p candy sticks. How our minds would ravel at the many different delightful dreams encompassed into a small caramel encased chocolate cover, neatly held together by the wrapper of our unfulfilled desire for love. What we wanted was a decent life; a lasting love. We wanted our candy store.”

“When the sun sets I escape the concrete paved streets, carefully guarded by the rusty iron lampposts, where every renegade leave his mark. Every day the police would sweep by like a hungry bird of prey seeking the fear riddled mice who scurry to and fro through the cracks in the pavements and the foul girders of the sewers, we would run through streets that spoke our names from every wall and every street corner, it screamed anger and frustration. It screamed revolution.

Of course this was not the dream that gently graced my mind later on when the darkness smothered the dusk and the sun bids a graceful farewell to a selfish yet sleepy city. Instead I speak of the strange yet abrupt realism that night brings, where fascination overcomes even the most blind of men and people seek for something that might hide behind that mysterious shroud. The night powerfully sways the body into a rhythm of self defiance as the body fights that essential need for sleep and instead the clear cut line between dreams and reality slowly begins to fade away into a not so far yet impossibly out of reach horizon.”

And I guess that's why they call it the blues.

12, 12, 12, what happened, what happened, what happened.

Do you know what? I know what happened.

I don't understand people who write such statements as "I wonder if anyone even reads this?" in their blogs?

Is that really your sole motivation for using it? If so, what the hell's the point? Why not just go tell someone how you feel, geez.

Actually, I've came to the conclusion that a person can probe at life, matter and the make-up of the universe all they like, and gather an accurate picture of it all. Yet they can still misunderstand and badly interpret the actions of people.

Yes sir, no matter of books or knowledge can help you there.

It's the nature of the human mind to build barriers to thing we don't understand. Just like it's a common standard for humans to assume they're superior to someone else. Ironically it's called an "inferiority complex." Take the issue of race for example. For countless centuries it has been the way of humanity to persecute on grounds of race, and even today people moronically still do it.

However, as a matter of fact, humans all share 99.9% of the same DNA. It was once believed that the human races split over a millennium ago; today we know it was only around 700,000 years ago. Determining that we have more in common then we once thought. Of the remaining 0.1% variation, there is an 8% variation between ethnic groups within a race, such as between the French and the Dutch. Only 7% of all human genetic variation lies on average between major human races such as those of Africa, Asia, Europe, and Oceania. Eighty-five percent of all genetic variation lies within any local group. Thus there is more genetic variation within a race than between the various "races."

Yet people are still morons, why? Will we ever evolve beyond this? I somehow doubt it. We kill, lie, hurt and maim because we do not understand.

I love literature. It's sad, but I do. To be quite honest with you, it wasn't entirely my fault. Pushed when I was young I've often resorted to books as some sort of release from a rather dull and boring world.

People go on and on about the style and imagery used in books and it's all very relevant. However, I think people forget that books are supposed to provoke feeling. Sometimes it's more useful to consider what lasting impression the book leaves on you. Trust me, you'll remember those chapter notes oh-so much better. It doesn't even necessarily have to be a novel:

"Down here it was still the England I had known in my childhood: the railway-cuttings smothered in wild flowers, the deep meadows where the great shining horses browse and meditate, the slow-moving
streams bordered by willows, the green bosoms of the elms, the larkspurs in the
cottage gardens; and then the huge peaceful wilderness of outer London, the
barges on the miry river, the familiar streets, the posters telling of cricket
matches and Royal weddings, the men in bowler hats, the pigeons in Trafalgar
Square, the red buses, the blue policemen--all sleeping the deep, deep sleep of
England, from which I sometimes fear that we shall never wake till we are jerked
out of it by the roar of bombs."

- Homage to Catalonia by George Orwell.

Good book by the way. If you have a political conscience or a mere interest in past world events, then you should almost certainly read it. Most people won't see the emotive tone or the passionate yet subtle expressions contained in that block of text. I wished they would.

On a more mundane note, I can't believe how many cigarettes I went through today. Stress sure can get the better of you. Still at least it was mostly Regal.

I really must stop smoking. It's such a disgusting habit, I suppose.

However, I like the feeling and the general thoughts of "I need a cigarette" springing to my mind. A small fix, but worth it.

Still. I really should stop.