White out skies

renegade_snares @ 2008-01-23T07:47:00

2008-01-23T07:48:33Z

Step Outline

London nightclub, Emma – dirty looking - is clubbing with Mishal. They have both taken drugs. They dance closely. Her vision blurs, she goes to the bathroom, sees a motionless spider on the ledge.

Flashback to when she was a girl. A spider on the floor. Shouting at her mother, Emma’s father crushes it underfoot. He is drunk.

Back in the batroom, she lays out heroin. As she injects herself the spider scuttles away.

4:00a.m. Mishal and Emma are tired, hungover and irritable with each other. They have just finished the last of the drugs and cannot afford to buy anymore. There is a knock at the door, it is the drug dealer and his mates. When they discover that they have no money one of them assults Emma. Mishal watches painfully.

Emma and Mishal argue – he is sorry, she angry that he did nothing whilst she was raped. He protests that there was nothing he could do. She blames him for the mess her life is in because he introduced her to drugs and wishes she never met him.

Next day, Mishal goes to score some more drugs on tick. There’s an old dealer, one he doesn’t like using, who may sort them out. He tells her to stay there.

On a train Mishal steals someones wallet.

Back at the flat, Emma has sweats and is withdrawing. She is physically sick.

At the Silver Edge hotel, owned by Harry, Mishal scores drugs. He sees a silver pill and asks what it is – it’s a new drug created by the ministry of defence. It counters drug addiction. One pill relieves all withdrawal symptoms and psychological dependancies. Mishal tries to buy two pills but does not have enough money. Harry sells him one, and some heroin for himself.

Mishal comes back and Emma is relieved when he brings in the drugs. They kiss and get high. Later, Emma confesses to hating the way she is living her life – that she could have done so much more. Mishal shows her the pill and tells her what Harry said, he thinks she should take it. When Emma asks about him, Mishal says he has never wanted to do anything with his life, but she is intelligent. She takes the pill. She feels very tired and collapses.

Next day she feels great and looks healthier. She doesn’t want to do drugs anymore. Mishal tells her to leave. He will only drag her back down. Tearfully, she leaves.

Emma gets a job working in a jewelry store. She meets Vincent, anti-war liberal and he invites her to dinner. She returns to Vincent’s home. She is fascinated by his pet rabbit which does not have a name. Emma can’t believe its nameless and names it.
TWO YEARS LATER Hotel room – Vincent telling Emma to hurry up. She is worried about her appearance in front of the cameras. Vincent reassures her and tells her that he is going to get elected.

Campaign hall. Vincent making a speech - lofty words and empty promises? Small time affair. Vincent laments to his staff that he needs a bigger platform.

Emma arrives at the party, nervous – fish out of water – more polite and quieter than the coarse guests. Seedy mix of business and politics – mostly drunk CEO’s wanting to charm the prospective MP’s. Eric, an MP tries it on with her infront of his wife. She rebuffs him and is apologetic to Veronica, who couldn’t care less. Everything moral in her despises the guests but she doesn’t have the confidence to cause a scene. Veronica’s husband (MP) Eric is now deep in conversation with Harry. Veronica points out Harry - the CEO of Metasystem B, a lucrative defence firm. She shows Emma a gift from Harry, a diamond ring and implies that if Vincent is to have a chance of election he will need to keep people like Harry on his side. Vincent is chatting in the corner, leaving her to make friends. She gives Emma a cheque for £30,000 as a welcoming gift. Veronica accepts the sleaziness of public life - everybody does it and warns Emma that she’ll need to adopt a similar ‘see no evil’ attitude if her marriage to Vincent is to work. Emma tears up the cheque and tells her that Vincent is different. She goes over to Vincent and complains that everyone here is sleazy. Vincent reassures her that he is just playing games with them. Once he has secured power he will shun them. He encourages her to do the same.

Later at the bar, Vincent orders a drink. Harry appears next to him. They make small talk about whisky. Hints of Harry’s corruption and time in the army, and Harry’s promise to help fund his election campaign. “Have they told you about Diego Garcia?” Vincent replies “No…I don’t know him.” Harry laughs out loud. He then invites him to a lunch.

Emma apologises to Veronica, they patch things up. She confides in Veronica that she feels down, that something is missing in her life.

Series of shots shows Vincent’s election – he is now defence mp.

Vincent is dining with Harry. Harry makes demands on foreign policy – that the army is equipt with more of his products, and hints of another invasion in the pipeline. When Vincent demands to know how Harry knows this, Harry offers him a DVD. He hopes Vincent enjoys watching the small section of footage as much as he does.

At work, Emma suffers flashbacks to the rape. Her boss asks her what the matter is.

She visits a GP and tells him of her past drug abuse. He perscribes her anti-depressants.

Emma walks in on a telephone conversation Vincent is having – he is telling the caller that his days are numbered, that the article is going to shut him down. When she asks what the matter is, he says it is nothing, he’s just a bit stressed.
Emma sitting alone in an expensive restaurant full of couples. A ‘where are u’ text message. She finishes her drink and leaves.

Emma sits on the sofa alone reading a book. She takes an antidepressant. She looks up at the clock - 8:30. In housecoat at 11:30, watching the door

Emma is asleep at 3:00a.m. with the tv left on. On the television News breaks of a political scandal involving extraordinary rendition of terror suspects to a small island, Diego Garcia. Vincent is on the news report, saying that the practice is illegal and must be stopped. News then reports on Britney Spears’ new haircut.

Sun rise. Emma is still asleep on the sofa. The phone rings, waking her. Ignoring the tv, she gets up and answers it.

A crime scene earlier that day – police have cordoned off the road, where a truck has run someone over. Two officials discuss procedure for identification.

Emma puts the phone down. Head in hands returns to the lounge. She hears Vincent’s name on the tv and turns it up. The scandal involves Vincent commiting suicide after receiving illegal donations. There is mention of a full police inquiry. There is a knock at the door.

A TV crew have assembled outside the house. Reporters are shouting questions through the letterbox. Emma is rifling through Vincent’s financial paperwork, pages everywhere. She finds a DVD in a brown envelope.

She watches the DVD. It is a film entitled the ‘Silver Edge Conference’, a sedate discussion between two middle-aged MP’s about tourism. Emma watches tearfully. Suddenly the video changes to mobile phone footage of a muslim man being waterboarded. The sound is dodgy, but 'I don’t know about his missiles' ‘I’ve got a drug problem…I didn’t know…’ can be heard. The police arrive and demand to be let in. Emma quickly hides the DVD under a plant pot.

The police conviscate Vincent’s property, financial paperwork. through the dresser draws. They find the CD under the plant pot on the floor, photograph it. and swap it with another CD. Another police officer removes three pills from Emma’s anti-depressant and replaces them with three other identical pills.

Detective invites Emma to see the body but regrets there is nothing substantial left. He hands her back Vincent’s wedding ring, crushed. Emma gets angry at the detective’s suggestion that Vincent commited suicide because of the trouble he was in.

Emma watches herself on TV news. She makes a display of loyalty to her husband and maintains his innocence. The presenters suggest that she is in denial, then they cut to the PM who makes a scapegoat out of Vincent who was obviously lacking in morality.

Emma on the phone, drinking wine, to solicitor. She claims Vincent has been set up. She says she suspects he’s been murdered. The solicitor declines to represent her because she can no longer pay his fee.

Emma is looking through old things. A knock at the door. It's the baliffs. They have an order to possess the house. They are giving her 24 hours. She protests and they say they are happy to let her keep the house providing she givese them back what Vincent owes - 800 thousand.

Emma feeds her rabbit, she talks to it comfortingly. She takes an antidepressant.

Veronica arrives, she seems concerned but also wants to find out the gossip. She says it’s unfortunate Vincent got caught – he’s not the first. Emma maintains her husband is innocent and thinks his death is suspicious. Veronica is not convinced and Emma attempts to show her the DVD. It is blank screen. Veronica explains to Emma that in times of stress sometimes 'we see what we want to see'. Emma asks her to leave.

Mortuary. Emma makes a scene after seeing the body. She claims that he is not dead and that what she’d seen was animal remains. She demmands tests but is escorted away.

Emma wakes up with a start. The phone rings. She says hello but no one answers. They put the phone down.

She tells her rabbit that Vincent is alive and that she is going to find him.

Day, Emma is at the library, searching the maps and charts for Silver Edge. She finds nothing. She searches another library. Nothing. Then she types it into the internet and finds Silver Edge Hotel and Conference rooms near Newquay. She rings up and books a room.

Baliffs are repossessing the contents of the house. Veronica arrives, she has heard the news that she is being evicted. She offers her a job as one of Eric’s staff, and he will get the baliffs off her back. Emma says she wants nothing to do with him. Veronica tells her it’s as well she leaves, the house smells like something is rotting.

She leaves in her car after showing the receipt is in her name. Her rabbit in a small hutch on the back seat. She gives them all her keys, scratching Vincent’s old sports car in the process ‘oh what a shame’.

Emma drives through the country. The weather has turned bad and she accidentally hits a sheep on the road. Upset, she looks over the sheep. Miraculously, it begins to stir again, it gets up and wanders across the road. She has not killed it.

She arrives at the hotel soaking wet. Out of the window she sees Mishal walking across the street and go into a bar.

In the bar, Emma approaches Mishal. He is in a bad way – he has been beaten up. He tells her to leave, warning her that the town is ‘no good’ – she gets angry with him for choosing drugs over her. He says it frustrates him too, but this is the life he has chosen to lead and he can’t change now.

On the beach, Emma looks out at the sea. She sees someone who looks like Vincent. She floows him. It turns out to be a stranger.

Back at the hotel, she sees Harry, the owner, in the lobby. She flashes back to the party. He does not see her and he leaves the hotel. Emma follows.

Emma follows Harry to a mental health clinic. The church beside strikes midday.

SCENE 25: Emma visits the clinic, explains her situation and asks for an appointment. She tells them she has run out of medication. She specifies the same time next week.

Back at the hotel, Emma’s phone rings. There is a visitor on reception. Emma decides to go downstairs rather than the receptionist send them up.

She finds Veronica in the lounge. Veronica tries to convince Emma that Vincent is dead. Emma is adamant that he is alive. She accuses Veronica of protecting someone, possibly Eric, possibly Harry. Veronica shrugs it off. Emma tells her how the DVD lead her to this hotel, which is owned by Harry. Getting flustered, Veronica tries to warn Emma about Harry’s mental issues – that he served time in jail for attacking someone. She tries to convince her to come home – to live with her and Eric. Emma declines.

SCENE 27: Emma arrives at a clinic. The receptionist tells Emma the doctor is running late.

SCENE 28: Emma sits alone in the waiting room. Suddenly, the door opens and Harry sits down. Harry says ‘don’t I know you from somewhere…’ Emma says she is living at the Hotel temporarily. They make small talk about the hotel, then Harry says he’s seen her somewhere else too…on television. He tells her he is sorry her husband died but cannot recall his name…Emma tries to trick him – Did you know Vincent? He denies it. Then Emma says ‘I believe I saw you talking to him at the party’ Harry says his memory isn’t what it used to be…too much boozing.

SCENE 33: The doctor calls Emma

SCENE 34: In the psychiatrist room Emma tells him that she has run out of medication. She is distracted by Harry’s notes which are on the table beneath her own. He asks her about how she is coping with her recent bureavment. She tells him she believes Vincent is alive and is being held somewhere near the town. He tells her that he is worried about her and that she may be becoming deluded. He increases her medication and asks her to come back next week. She insists that she is right and she intends to prove it. She is reluctant to take more medication.

SCENE 35: Outside the clinic Emma watches the next patient arrive. She goes back and tells security guard that she has left her bag. She hides behind a filing cabinet. When the doctor leaves the room to get the next patient Emma steals Harry’s notes. She manages to escape just before the doctor comes back.

Harry catches up with her at the lobby. She has to hide the notes behind her back but he has already seen them. “What are you hiding?” She has to deny it. He wondered if she would like to go to dinner, on his yacht. She agrees. He will meet her at 7.

Emma flushes her medication down the toilet. She takes the rabbit out of the hutch. She starts reading Harry’s notes.

At the mental health clinic, the medical secretary discovers Harry’s notes are missing. She informs the psychiatrist. There is some confusion as to whether they were brought up from the cellar.

Hours later and the notes cover the floor. She tells the rabbit that Harry is a liar and he is probably being held prisoner in Harry’s flat. She feels dizzy so she lies in the bed. She looks at the clock – 4 o’clock.

At the hotel Emma pays her bill. She complains that there is a bad smell in her room. The porter tells her he will send a handyman up.

At the clinic, the notes are still missing. The security guard is told to check the CCTV

Emma buys a knife from a shop.

They eat seafood and drink. She asks him about his company, his defence firm. As she drinks more she gets more angry and upset. Eventually she mentions Diego Garcia, the torture video, and accuses him of killing Vincent. He repeatedly denies it, making Emma more and more angry. Finally she stabs him in the chest and runs out.

The security guard checks the video camera, and discovers Emma breaking in.

Emma is frantically getting her suitcase packed, when there is a knock on the door. She opens the door to a handyman. He looks around and finds the source of the smell – a dead rabbit in the hutch. Emma tells him he’s lying and throws him out.

Handyman tells the porter about the rabbit, who rings Harry right away. Harry’s mobile is in the office – the porter decides to go to his yacht – it’s only a minute down the road.

Emma brings her suitcase down the stairs.

Handyman enters the yacht. Finds Harry
Outside the hotel, Emma is approached by the psychiatrist and police.

SCENE 45: Emma is in hospital. She talks to the psychiatrist. He tells her that she needs to learn to accept death. He then shows her a letter which the police have given him. It arrived at her house the day after she’d left.

SCENE 46: Voice over – Vincent narrates a suicide note. An arm writing it down, telling Emma that he cannot live with the guilt of what he’d done (receiving illegal donations).

On a busy street Vincent posts the letter and then walks in front of a lorry

It is revealed that the arm writing the letter is Harry’s.

Six weeks later: Emma is release. She visits Harry, apologizes and admits she was wrong to accuse him of murder. She says she feels like she is living in a dead world in which she is the only living thing. Harry produces a block of heroin. Emma takes it. They kiss. As she comes back around she gets angry with herself – she didn’t want to go back to her old life. Harry offers her the silver pill. Mishal arrives on the scene – looking for more drugs. He sees Emma and is upset that she is here – and protective of her and scared of Harry. She won’t leave, first she demands to know where he got the pill. Harry tells her it is a military drug. So that soldiers can use combat drugs in battle but counter addiction. He says it has also been used in torture, at Diego Garcia – an island in which there is an unoffical unit used for interogatting terror suspects. She does not understand how it could be used for torture – he laughs at her. Mishal convinces her to leave – saying that he got his bruises on the island.

In a taxi, Mishal tells her about the harsh torture camp – and that people died there, probably including Vincent. She tells her that it is useless contacting the police because they will not believe her. And she is in danger of being sent there herself.

At the train station Mishal asks her where she is going to go, she says anywhere but here, smiles and gets on a train. She takes the silver pill.

Two years later, She arrives home late one night after drinking with her new flat mate. Her flat mate goes to bed. She hears Harry’s voice in the room. She realizes that he is speaking inside her head – he taunts her – I told you it was torture.

plan for college - 6 part tv series

2007-08-24T06:55:39Z

Overdream
Overdream is set in the distant future in a utopian society. This is a time of freedom and equality but also a time of great sadness and frustration for the central characters who are all coming to terms with their pasts and struggling to move forward. Ruled by a super-computer/human hybrid, the world is at peace, every person stands equal under the law, wealth is distributed evenly, no children starve, global warming is under control and everyone enjoys a fair standard of living….but there is trouble in paradise – the age old vices of greed, jealousy, lust and rage abound. Overdream draws upon several genres:

1) Science Fiction

Technological advancements have been made in the field of digital communication. The characters interact with each other through an internet-style system which embraces a highly advanced virtual reality element. An ‘over-dream’ would feel much like an out-of-body experience or a computer simulation, but would actually occur in reality. When a character activates their implant (a crystal fixed into the space between their eyebrows) they drift into a meditative state and take control of a self-made avatar, which is free to roam both digital and real world environments. The user interacts with other avatars and can appear and re-appear wherever they choose. If the user so desires, they can appear in Alaska one moment, Africa the next. The avatars are holograms, so they cannot touch or smell. Also, they are only able to communicate with other avatars (although they can observe real people). On screen, an avatar should appear either in black and white or flickering colour so that it would be easy for the viewer to tell who is really ‘there’. Overdream explores the benefits and hazards of this new form of communication by following the lives of characters who are searching for love and understanding.

2) Social Drama / Love Story

The main concern of the series is the breakdown and formation of relationships through the virtual network. The ‘overdream’ system causes rifts between established couples and is a source of constant disappointment when the escapist fantasy of the system fails to measure up to reality in a drab, utilitarian England in which everything is rationed and distributed evenly. Some characters are stalked by sexual predators, others are desperate to meet their online contacts in the real world only to become disillusioned when their respective contact refuses. Others use the system as a discreet method of ‘playing away’, others have no interest in relationships whatsoever and use the system for no-strings sex, and then there are those insecure creatures who use the system to check up on their prospective partner’s overdream activities. Central to the series is the fairy-tale myth of romance, which all of the characters yearn for in one shape or another – be it the perfect man/woman, a partner who can fulfil their every sexual whim, or simply a lover who will remain faithful to them no matter what. Everyone is searching for something special, and that special something is notoriously elusive. Because of the heavy subject matter and themes of an adult nature, I’d expect the series to be late night Channel 4.
In an overdream you can change how your avatar looks, speaks, etc. so that the person speaking to you might be somebody totally different to who you imagine. Sex is possible in this digital environment – in fact, its starts off more enjoyable than the real thing. For free, no risks, no commitments, no STDs, you get to see a person naked; you can pretend its them touching you and not yourself. Then you get bored and want to try the real thing, the only problem is your partner lives halfway across the globe. So you pack your bags and go join your lover for seven days in the sun. For a while things are great - alright they were tanned and airbrushed in the dream but they’re still not bad. As you spend more time with the partner you feel secure and peaceful, until you discover your partner is over-dreaming with six others twice a week. You get jealous, you can’t take any more, so you connect back onto the system and move on to the next, and the next, and the next. Pretty soon you’re a mess. You can’t settle with anyone…you’re always over-dreaming of more. This over-dream has bigger tits. That over-dream is rich, and has fantastic dentistry. This over-dream is sarcastic and as funny as hell. But the truth is you’re sick and tired of window shopping…and the snail is invariably worse than the shell. Maybe what you really need does not exist. Too bad. Dream on…

3) Murder mystery/Detective Story

The series follows a detective as he struggles to catch a killer. As his personal life becomes more and more entangled with the case, he fears the killer maybe much closer to him than he first suspected.
What is original about the series?
The fusion of gritty storylines, murder investigation, tragic romance and sci-fi. Subject matter – the internet and the ‘my space’ generation. How advancements in communication can create social relationships but also destroy them through paranoia and ‘grass is always greener’ syndrome.

Characters
Eleven
Clumsy, unlucky, quirky, charismatic, bisexual, black detective. Born 11th November 2011. Relatively young and is actively looking, now beginning to enjoy being single again, but on occasion finds himself haunted by his ex.

Andrea
Eleven’s former partner. Strong and independent, she does not love anyone and hates to think that she is dependant on anyone. She regularly has over-dream sex with perfect strangers and from time to time will meet men discreetly – she sees no reason to be ashamed by this and means to make the most of her life.

Christopher
Andrea’s (former) secret lover. Happy-go-lucky, sexually active, has a fetish for hands. Can be charming, but more often than not direct and obnoxious.

Digital Shaman
A mysterious character of native Indian appearance. He surfs over-dreams and heals people. Saves Shea after he tries to commit suicide.

Shea
Once an independent and headstrong person, and after surviving an abusive relationship is beginning to regain his confidence. Has a dark past, escaped a paedophile ring and moved away on his own. He still knows how to smile through tears, and how to dull his pain with alcohol, but he now has a fierceness about him – never again will he allow himself to be violated. Still, he is lonely. He harbours doubts and a shame about his abuse and his sexuality. There is nobody he can talk to about it. Things look up when he stumbles across Eleven’s over-dream self and falls for the detective’s sense of humour. Self-doubts lead him to believe that Eleven could never truly be fulfilled in a long term gay relationship. He expects homosexuality to be inferior in Eleven’s mind – that Eleven would be ideally looking for a woman to settle down with rather than a gay man – a temporary ‘fix’. Has issues with trust and is sickened by people who sleep around.

The Masked Man / Chip / Saul Chambers
Saul was badly scarred and crippled in the same accident that killed Julia’s fiancée, Nick. Has a virtual relationship with Jocelyn. Although he likes her a lot he is ashamed of his appearance and is not sure whether Jocelyn would accept him. (On the system he appears as a well-dressed gentleman in his 40’s named ‘Chip’). He is actually in his thirties.

Julia
Eleven’s detective partner. Moral but is able to see things from the criminal’s perspective, which on occasion makes her act unprofessionally. Loyal, caring, troubled by nightmares and the lost of her fiancée.

Jocelyn
In love with ‘Chip’. She is desperate to meet him in real life. Has very few friends and leads a lonely life. In her thirties and has never had a long term relationship. Increasingly needy and obsessed by Chip.

C.H.R.O.N.O.
Computer/human ruler of nuclear orientation. World leader after all governments were dissolved. Consists of a brain kept alive in cryogenic solution, a super-computer designed to create fair (greatest good for greatest number of people) policies and judgements and a nuclear arsenal as a deterrent against any attempted coup. The brain can override the computer in case of malfunction/misanthropic policies.

Detailed plan for pilot episode

Episode ONE – ‘Memories of the Masked Man’

• Eleven and Andrea break up after Eleven catches Andrea sleeping with Christopher. She does not love Christopher, but is just having mindless fun with him.
• Shea attempts suicide. Flashbacks to childhood abuse by Tom O’Bailey as well as flashes of an angry and drunk ex-partner. Shea downs aspirin and enters a forest with a bottle of whisky.
• The Masked Man is sitting alone in a wheelchair in his living room, turning a piece of clear plastic over and over in his hand. There are photographs on display of how he used to look. Has flashbacks to the accident. He is driving a bus in the peak district (rainy conditions) when a lorry skids onto the wrong side of the road and knocks the bus over the edge and into a ditch. The bus catches fire.
• Back to the Masked Man in the living room. He logs onto the overdream system and ‘Chip’ appears in the room.
• Jocelyn is sitting alone on the sofa watching TV. She sighs and logs onto the system.
• Shea has collapsed. He logs onto the system and hovers away from his dying body and drifts through the forest. He is approached by a native Indian, who glows with iridescent light. The shaman transfers energy to Shea and tells him to go back. When he returns to his body there are paramedics surrounding him.
• Chip meets Jocelyn, who is initially pleased to see him, but then confesses feelings of loneliness and isolation. Jocelyn gets frustrated with Chip. She says their relationship is not real and that she wants to meet him in the real world but he declines and tells her there are things she can never see. When she says she loves him he tells her ‘nobody can love me’
• Chip fades away. The Masked Man is at home, alone. Jocelyn sits on the sofa, weeping.
• ‘One Year Later’ – Shea is in a new apartment, looking better. He is painting a bowl of oranges. He speaks to CHRONO, who is advices him to make as many new friends as he can.
• Eleven and Shea meet on the over dream system. There is rapport between them and they both share the same love of contemporary jazz.
• Andrea discovers she has an incurable disease, transmitted to her by Christopher.
• Jocelyn meets Chip again. They still haven’t met in real life. She says she loves him, but cannot wait forever.
• Christopher seduces Jocelyn. After she tells him about Chip and that she hasn’t had sex in nearly ten years, Christopher arranges a meeting.
• Julia has a vision of her fiancée getting on the bus that is subsequently involved in the accident. She sees the bus topple over the edge.
• Julia visits the Masked Man (they are close friends and she brings him meals) and discovers a cheap plastic mermaid pendant in a secret hiding place. When the Masked Man gets upset upon seeing it she discovers his dark past – he was abused by Tom O’Bailey. She tells him that she will run checks and see if Tom is still alive, but the Masked Man says he will not testify against him. She leaves the computer on and the address of Tom is in full view.
• Shea logs onto the over dream system stumbles upon Thomas O’Bailey on the system, he confronts the man and takes out his anger on him.
• Julia has a dream in which the Masked Man removes his mask and reveals her fiancée. She screams and quickly dresses.
• Tom O’Bailey is killed in a savage attack. The murderer wears black clothing and a black balaclava. The digital shaman arrives too late.

Episode TWO – Roots and Demons

• Tom’s body is discovered by a neighbour – he has been stabbed and castrated. There is a box of mermaid pendants and two similar empty boxes.
• Jocelyn meets Christopher in reality for sex. They make a hasty transaction and she is out of the door without so much of a cigarette (he claims he is late for a shift)
• Eleven makes enquiries with Tom’s neighbours. Julia keeps quiet about the Masked Man.
• In secret, Julia goes to see the Masked Man and questions him (informally) about the murder. She goes next door (where Christopher lives) and complains about his loud music. He tries it on with her. She reacts badly and gets very angry about the conditions the Masked Man is living in.
• Shea verbally taunts Christopher, when he strays into his digital empire (a self-created world) which is a haven for sex, drugs and rock and roll. Shea is disgusted with Christopher’s sleazy empire and tells him he is incapable of love.
• Andrea visits Christopher (in the real world) – she tells him that she has a terminal infection. She is very upset with him.
• Eleven confesses to Julia that he cannot get over losing Andrea and that he is depressed, despite Shea’s affection. She tells him he will be okay, he needs to move forward.
• Eleven and Shea meet again on the overdream system. Shea is nervous to meet Eleven in reality after what happened with Ivan (his abusive ex), but Eleven talks him over.
• Christopher discovers he has the disease.
• Jocelyn speaks to Chip (the Masked Man) and tells him of the void in her life. She confesses what happened with Christopher, but Chip doesn’t seem to care. She is upset by his indifference and his refusal to meet her. Jocelyn tells him she is so in love with his personality it doesn’t matter what he looks like. She regrets meeting Christopher and says it meant nothing – but she hasn’t had sex in years. Chip says ‘It’s fine. I don’t blame you.’ She says ‘I still feel bad…’
• Eleven spies on Andrea, using the over dream system. He walks up to her, kisses her, but as he is a hologram passes through her face. Andrea talks to a friend, who tells her where the digital shaman is hiding (she has been searching for him online for a year now to no avail.) He is apparently to be found in the Bolivian jungle. Andrea phones work and says she is taking more time. She intends to go to the rainforest and find the man for real. She packs her bags and tells her flatmate she will go tomorrow, after she has attended to some business.
• Julia dreams that she shoots the Masked Man.
• Shea and Eleven meet for the first time for a meal. They both have a great time. On the way home Shea runs into Christopher in the street. Christopher slams him against a wall.
• Christopher is found murdered the following morning. The masked man finds his body.

Episode THREE – ‘Drag Net’

• Shea and Eleven meet again in reality, this time they go back to his house and make love.
• Shea finds something of Andrea’s – a gold necklace - underneath Eleven’s pillow.
• When Christopher ‘s body is found, Eleven is himself questioned by a superior but is not taken off the case when a link is made between the first victim and Christopher’s demise.
• Shea accuses Eleven of cheating on him already but Eleven calms him down. He says he is sorry for not trusting and confesses insecurities about his sexuality.
• Julia visits Eleven at home and tells him about the Masked Man – that he had a mermaid pendant and was abused by Tom’ O Bailey. She didn’t tell him before because she sympathized with his motives and is close to him, but now that Christopher (his neighbour) is dead, she thinks the masked man may have gone too far. Eleven is angry that Julia didn’t tell him earlier. CHRONO sends her to police training centre.
• Shea walks in on Julia and Eleven’s meeting and gets the wrong idea (he uses the overdream system and they don’t see him). He then uses a trace and sees that he has also had contact with Andrea
• Julia has a nightmare about a mermaid being caught in a drag net and speared by the Masked Man – this time revealing himself to be Tom O’Bailey.

Episode FOUR – ‘Silent Depths’

• Andrea arrives in the jungle but finds no trace of the digital shaman. She receives a warning from one of the villagers – he is really an evil man, only saving people so that they will fall prey to a bigger evil.
• Julia leaves a recorded message for Eleven on overdream system – she says she is feeling horny and wants to get together and gives a date and time.
• Andrea grows sick. She has a dream about a special moment between her and Eleven. She realizes she misses him and that she will never find the shaman.
• Eleven wonders about the brain element of the CHRONO system and the ultimate affection for all humanity the person who became CHRONO must have had. The brain is vital in keeping the nuclear bombs grounded.
• Eleven accepts the over dream meeting with Julia
• The Masked Man is arrested and charged with Christopher and Thomas O’Bailey’s murders. After interviewing him, Eleven insists that Saul (the Masked Man) is innocent.
• Jocelyn tries to contact Chip (on the system) but receives no response. She is approached by Julia. Julia listens to her pain. Jocelyn says she loves Chip, but since she slept with Christopher things have gone from bad to worse. Julia tells Jocelyn that she doesn’t really love Chip, that if she did she could never have slept with someone else. Then Julia takes off her clothes. Jocelyn’s eyes are opened.

Episode FIVE – ‘Digital Ghost’

• Eleven’s meeting with Julia – he stands outside of the café for a moment but then he bottles out and visits Shea instead. Jocelyn, who also thinks she’s about to meet Julia, is stood up. She was also told to wait in the café.
• Andrea is approached by the shaman (in an over dream), but he disappears without healing her
• Before visiting Shea, Eleven logs onto the system and leaves an message for Julia – ‘Apologises I stood you up. I’m sorry but I cannot be with you, I hope you understand.’
• Shea challenges him to tell him where he’d been tonight. When Eleven denies he’d been sleeping with someone else, Shea throws him out and prepares to leave the city.
• Andrea journeys back to the city. She is very sick and can hardly breathe.
• Julia is disfigured in an acid attack. The attacker wears a black balaclava.

Detailed summary of Episode Six

Episode SIX – ‘Behind the Mask’

• Eleven is told Julia has been attacked and rushes to the hospital. Julia has no knowledge of a meeting set up between them. Eleven realizes that someone stole Julia’s DNA.
• Flashback reveals Shea following Julia in the street and stealing a strand of hair from her coat. It was Shea pretending to be Julia. Shea creates a fake over-dream self using Julia’s DNA. Shea as ‘Julia’ leaves the recorded message.
• Eleven goes after Shea, but he has left the country. He leaves his mermaid figurine to Eleven.
• Eleven arrests Shea before he can get on a plane. Shea is furious.
• In the interview room Eleven confronts Shea about the fake dream self. Shea tells him he didn’t kill Tom O’Bailey or Christopher. Shea says he only created the avatar because he was angry with Eleven for cheating on him with Julia. Eleven denies this. Shea says he followed him to the café. Eleven says he went there, but only to put Julia straight. Shea does not believe him. He mentions what happened between him and Jocelyn, (Jocelyn confided in ‘Julia’ about Chip, and Shea, disgusted by what he sees as Jocelyn’s promiscuity, arranged a fake date between her and Julia)
• Just before he is set free by Eleven, The Masked Man snoops around the file concerning the murder of Thomas O’Bailey. In O’Bailey’s diary Jocelyn is mentioned. He decides to meet her.
• Eleven goes after Jocelyn.
• In flashback, Jocelyn sees the real Julia in the street and follows her home.
• Jocelyn finally gets to meet ‘Chip’. She is initially shocked by his appearance, but says she still loves him. The Masked Man finally removes his mask; his face is badly burnt. They kiss. As Eleven moves in to arrest Jocelyn, The Masked Man pulls at the lace around Jocelyn’s neck and reveals one of O’Bailey’s mermaid pendants. He shows her his pendant. Jocelyn is arrested.
• Shea is set free. He apologizes to Julia. She is very angry. The surgeons say the damage was superficial and that they can do a good job on her.
• Andrea finds Eleven, begs him for forgiveness. She tells him that she has been trying to find the digital shaman. Eleven reveals that he is the shaman. Shea is not the only person to have a fake online identity.
• CHRONO informs Andrea that Eleven is a genetic experiment – a replacement for the world leader’s brain. The ruler tells Andrea ‘He will heal you now…He can heal the sick and dying.’
• Eleven tries to heal her but he cannot. He is still too hurt by what she did. Even though she apologises, says she loves him, etc, etc. he cannot channel his healing energy. She dies in his arms. He feels no guilt – losing her was the completion of the cycle.
• Eleven is told he cannot become the next CHRONO – he has failed the empathy test and cannot be trusted to keep the bombs grounded. Another birth experiment is developed.
• Shea leaves for another country. Eleven follows him to the airport.
• At the airport, Eleven tries to state his case and that he never did anything with ‘Julia’ or ‘Jocelyn’ or anyone. His intention was to tell Julia that he was with someone. Shea logs into the system as ‘Julia’ and discovers the message left by Eleven – ‘Apologises I stood you up. I’m sorry but I cannot be with you, I hope you understand.’ They are reunited.
• Julia and the Masked Man sit together hand in hand.

Bipolar Suns

2006-11-17T14:27:01Z

Bipolar suns. Imagine the sway of electricity. The icy pull, the harmony, the soft mist out there. Under long white trees and twin moons, foggy falls of laughter. Sine waves pulse and rise. At night the tundra feeds upon vibrations, sucking up everything like a sponge. All that is visible, all that is audible, until everything is consumed by the voracious static abyss. Hallucinated lights contain hidden secrets, mechanically communicated, flickering across the atmosphere. The power sparked beneath the mountains in a place impossibly cold. There, at a point equidistant to the crystal lake and the swelling forest lay a dream woven into a bead of Chinese silk. The dream was an approximation. A discrete sound, one quaver of the spry glockenspiel melody. In the ceaseless oscillation of the dream, I awoke. An impulse, a cascade of reactions, a new dawn. I duplicated inside the nucleic memory of life, a timeless paradise without shadows or tones, a glacier feeding in the night. The ice cracks, distinctive in the beginning, now a line broken like a highway passing by. Dream deciphers dream. Memory after memory three-dimensionally rendered inside the abyss. The hidden Titan. Carbon and fractured, emotionless void. Nothing ever comes back from this night. If you should fall beneath the black waves I will reach for you. Even inside that ever inhaling black hole where hours become years, lightless, silent fears. Eons race by like the rain, on the surface of the neutron star. Outside I can hear you, beneath the black desert of ice. Screams become shallow tones, faint rumblings and sparks between dimensions. I’ll change like the motion picture clouds. I’ll record the sounds.

p.e.t.r.o.l.

2006-07-21T10:41:58Z

They sliced up the road like tortilla scraps
My knee popped out and my heart collapsed
Hanging out of my skull,
Two globes that eat everything
All tones / all shapes
Nothing will escape

New politicians rise from old flesh
Like mushrooms
All dog-eared and booted
Number crunched and suited

They talk melted strings of tarmac
They finger kiss the trigger
They suck gas from the paving crack
and sleep a boneless snigger

Crank open the black spew of death
Watch it spray from the ground and ooze across the land
I am dead fish
I am dead leaves
I am petrol

renegade_snares @ 2005-01-16T21:33:00

2006-05-16T21:03:48Z

Karen is man's dream. She has a slender, sexy bod, pretty face, long straight hair. Jason is charming, sexy, caring, giving, not afraid to show emotion. They're an ideal couple. She's smart, successful, poised, witty, loving. He's funny, faithful and sweet. Jason never watches porn or stares at other girls in the street - Karen gives him everything he needs. On a Sunday, Jason washes the car whilst Karen paints the fence brown. She places a 'wet paint' sign in front of the gate, neatly folded, written on plain paper.

She sees a pale, scrawny young lad walking passed. She smiles, she's so warm-hearted and chipper. "Good morning," she greets in her polite, well-spoken, not-too screechy accent.

"Hey," he mumbles as he walks away, eyes all red from smoking.

Behind him, Karen and Jason fall apart. A silent, brooding tension descends on the four-bed house. There's a divorce on the cards, algae collects on the surface of the swimming pool, the garden goes to seed. Every weekend she paints the fucking fence regardless. Her manila sign reads 'wet paint' but the gate is not the only thing dripping. Gloss emulsion dribbles from her summer dress, the colours leak from the hem, collecting in a pool and running through the cracks in the pavement. The murky tincture of her life slips down the drain, her feet melt like ice cream. Jason looks down at his hands, nothing is dry. Happiness oozes away from him, his hands covered in flesh-coloured paint. He leaves fingerprints where he touches her and if he rubs too hard her skin smears away, revealing the emptiness beneath.

renegade_snares @ 2006-04-19T18:54:00

2006-04-19T18:13:06Z

pineal glands work overtime. So he went underground, people crowded in sewers aching to return to the prototype form - all deficient hallucination and make-believe tigers. That's where I met him, and now I have a fundamental feeling of reconnection. Reality is egg-shaped and covered with fibrous twine. That's how we get trapped inside, but there are potent trains of thought - music, images, words, which allow transgression. This slippage occurs more frequently in the laboratory of the experimental mind, creating conduits. I believe that one day a computer will gain the sentience required to produce one of these conduits and this conduit will absorb all observers of reality whether passive or active. The nightmare situation would be if only partial digestion occurred, causing the authorities to bomb the new species out of existence. No, that can;t be plausible. Nukes will be dissolved by the breathing of this new species; nothing except transformed mind can perforate the membrane, pass through into the new paradigm. This could cause some distress and resentment to those without a conduit. I think we're okay as long as we're alive, because the human body is itself a conduit - death is a slightly messy form of transformation. I feel that one day, with intense technological development, we will develop a drug which will render life and death obsolete; a short-cut which will get us to the same destination whilst supplimenting, rather than negating the joys of living.

renegade_snares @ 2006-03-10T19:31:00

2006-03-10T19:48:19Z

Seems like I haven't updated livejournal for so long I can't remember how to use it. Tapping keys and clicking mice is a good start.

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Seems like I haven't updated livejournal for so long I can't remember how to use it. Tapping keys and clicking mice is a good start. <Do you say mice or is it mouses when we're talking about the computer variety you plug into USB sockets?> I opened my wallet today. I stared down into a financial vortex. Time to sell dried out poo on ebay. Or do what that guy did with the paper clip. Listened to arguments about torture. Some say its less pain if you slit the condemned man's neck from the back. Go straight through the spinal column that way. The latest imaginary technology, thought up in some felch stain's fever. A credit card that reads the user's DNA. To combat terrorism and identity theft. Anyone can claim my identity, I'll be glad to get shut of it. I'm into negative equity and overdraft kicks. Economic dark-matter. Like some meditating yogi. I'm defined by my absence instead of my presence. All apologies to the creditors of my estate. Just waiting for the day they make monopoly money legal tender, because its distributed more evenly. Sooner or later the Primal Minister will realize he's printed too many dollars and attempt to burn them. Or else sell the excess dollars to third word families to make pulpy soup. Greed keeps eating. Greed only ends when greed eats itself. Let's hope that's before the universe ends. Maybe dig some cosmic cave, perfect the metaphysical drag-act and convince myself that I'm a living animal and not a sequence of numbers. Or go hammer home.

renegade_snares @ 2006-07-14T12:06:00

2006-01-14T12:18:19Z

I have uncovered President Bush's secret. He is actually a cloned rat's brain in a tank with a thousand electrodes growing off the folds of his three-inch cortex. The brain is connected to a supercomputer. The computer makes policy recommendations on little cards, most of the recomendations are economic and common-sense but sometimes the computer fires out policies such as 'ban all books' / 'arrest anyone who does not believe in god' / 'burn animal carcasses and pollute the atmosphere.' The brain is supposed to regulate the system, providing a humanitarian backbone to counter the machine's cold logic. The brain is also connected to a massive hydrogen bomb. This is so the machine has influence in the global playground. I believe something has gone wrong with the President. The brain has started to decompose; to eat itself. I think it is badly hemorhaged, possibly in a few more years the organic component will totally die. Then the computer will have full control. The computer and the bomb.

renegade_snares @ 2005-10-25T12:51:00

2005-10-25T11:56:37Z

a virus from another dimention. When combined with CO2 in the alveoli of a biological creature the virus becomes active. The user remains unaffected whilst the entire universe is devoured by the spreading spors of the organism, another reality is secreted, a replica of the past or future, depending upon the particular strain.

renegade_snares @ 2005-10-11T11:18:00

2005-10-11T10:51:03Z

Explaining everything wrong. Hard enough to figure out by myself, let alone making sense to others. She says she knows what I'm going through and it takes time and a barrage of cliches. But eventually you shut up and pretend to be happy so that no one bothers you anymore. Sincerely, I feel lucky and proud. But there is nothing you can say and nothing I can say except thank you. I dissolve my sadness and pain so that I can love you. The world is lost; the old, forgotton time of children. To say that world was better than the world we have now is redundant. But I cannot tell you how good it was. I'm not saying we didn't have fears, pains, conflicts, sadness. I'm not saying I regret those things because that's the way humans are - stubborn, miserable liars sometimes. Shapes that lock together if one is passive enough and the other agressive enough. I'm not saying I want to go back, because this time is also filled with joy, and the inevitable sorrow, of course. I should explain that my dad died two weeks ago. I say this for myself as well as anyone else who happens to be reading because I forget. Sometimes I want to ring you up and tell you everything that has happened. Jokes, trivial things, emotions. But the line just rings and rings and no one answers. You are gone.

renegade_snares @ 2005-09-21T05:34:00

2005-09-21T13:55:40Z

Had my entire life dissected by two bureaucrats with sharp pencils.

Ate a tasty bowl of lentil soup.

Scuffed around the streets, found peace in the setting sun and the realization that everything changes except change.

Went to work as usual.

Spent 7.5 hours bored stupid

Became spasmodic with joy when the plummer fixed the boiler. Yay! Hot water!

Tryed in vain to figure out why man hole covers are round.

Raved Friday night, then had trouble leaving the house the rest of the weekend.

Woke up in the middle of the night, with a mysterious red mark on my nose.

Tried to stay positive about my Dad's cancer.

Consulted the I Ching about my novel. Turns out I'm supposed to avoid stepping on tiger's tails. Who can argue with that?

Got my ass kicked on pro-evolution soccer.

Didn't tidy my room

Took a trip to Fishponds to see Lisa. Watched dogs chasing unicycists in the park. Cheeky smoke in the woods.

Found my cheese at the back of the fridge after days of sausage-induced depression.

Started editing my mate's mythology novel. So far its an amazing story.

Felt compelled to watch the rest of Collateral, even though it had Tom 'ass-raping fucktard' Cruise in it and was a complete pile of poo.

Went to bed far too late, got up far too early.

renegade_snares @ 2005-08-16T16:52:00

2005-08-16T16:19:37Z

I'm so in love I feel like being alone. The handle's cold but the jam is boiling over and the queer in black oxfords wants a word on the phone. There's an angel here, but all I see is chromium suspenders and nickel-plated camoflague. The hairy buttcheek spread and this thing with nine arms, one for every mirage.

renegade_snares @ 2005-08-15T13:21:00

2005-08-15T14:11:35Z

In a dream staring at oak trees as the sun goes down and the leaves blur into the face of Einstein or Shakespeare at least someone dignified and clever. Not like me. I live in a city called Regularity where everything runs like clockwork and it never rains and the buses and trains are always on time. I have two gages on my wrist and a big yellow button on my forehead and when you push the button I fall asleep instantly. I can use the dial on my wrist to determine the duration of my slumber. One of these days I'm going to twist the dial too far and then you won't hear from me again for another twenty six years and if you're not dead by then we can go for a walk in the moonlight just like the other night. That's not an idle threat, a nasty note I wrote. I'm just waiting for my ex to die so I can break through the copyright restrictions. I'm always running away. I used to have an olympic gold but that all changed the day I fell and broke my leg. That's a lie now, because the Laughter Corporation knows it makes me sad and they fix it for me, the same guys who fixed my Wife when her alternator went dry. I pay them thirty O's and they sort everything out for me. The mind mappers and memory scrapers teasing out the disappointments and hurts and they make it all better from the subsurface unit they breathe out radio waves and I am numb and forgetful again, just as you are numb and forgetful, not recognizing the bed where we made love. And now I can't run anymore. They take my medals and my memories and my ribbons and everyone else forgets to remember. In this way they are able to penetrate and remodel the racial consciousness like its a lump of clay. So I'm waiting for the circus to come to town. For the snow to remind us of michael furey. The other meter on my wrist tells me how many minutes I have left to live and it's slowly winding down. But it's okay these days; I have alot of O's in the International Bank of Screaming Orgasms and alot of coke at Intercaine, I just need a willing guinea pig to take on the pleasure. We'll lay back on the grass and watch the stars as I transfer mine into yours. It's all bustin' and dronin' like that...

renegade_snares @ 2005-08-08T14:58:00

2005-08-08T15:22:00Z

[Shot of subway density in my mind and a four letter expletive for the rest of eternity. All attempted sucides are soundless screams in the face of adversity. Everything must continue until the ticker tape runs out and then the mind will grow furry with rust if only for the simple fact that we don't have A SINGLE UNDISTURBED MOMENT TO THINK ANYMORE. I'll chose tiger power over frosties and then I won't remember the difference between taffita fabrics and eyes sockets that bleed fountains of unregulated drugs only to pry open a mind like it's a sardine can so you can pound me into submission because i've been dying for it all along and won't grease like a good little faggot i'll just come running like a labrador to be smacked in the face once more. Because I can't live peacefully without this, and I can't understand why it wouldn't be this way, with the window washed with sea-spray like thousands of jewels and stars and all the friends and the strangers and the passers by weeping for yesterday and the lost time we pissed away down the throat of the innocent child as we kissed and fucked and toasted and rolled down blue and purple hills. We miss these days now, even though they contained their own disappointments, fears and sorrows in forms we no longer recognise, shapes that seems distant and unconnected to anything. Irregular skisms into our world, the forfeit of our childhood]

renegade_snares @ 2005-08-02T17:02:00

2005-08-02T16:21:33Z

Back from the brink and I have the T-Shirt to prove it. I should have picked up a better souvenir to show you guys but just like the winning lottery ticket i found in my dream, I can't find a way to translate the symbol of satisfaction into the real world. My Dad may possibly have lung cancer, we're anxiously waiting the test results tomorrow. It's been two weeks now, and they're still not sure what's going on. He seems to think it's cancer, though maybe he's just preparing himself for the worst. He keeps talking about chemotherapy. The word sends a shiver down my spine and I just want to stop it all, but it's out of my hands. At least it's given me the impetus to stop smoking cigarettes. Moving house at the end of the month, so it's all change again. Don't know how to feel about that yet, it's a shame though money wise, I've been living WAY beyond my means...hence the lottery ticket dream.

Seems we only fantasize about things that are out of reach...

renegade_snares @ 2005-07-12T10:57:00

2005-07-12T12:02:00Z

I gave you too much power. It's entirely my fault.
I had a prejudiced ideal; that you'd show me blind love and support and all that deluded bullshit. What more can I say? I was weak.
I could not find the sea in the darkness, without being alone, I lied.
I wanted something to hold onto, to slip under the sand dunes and get re-absorbed by this illusion of you. Guitar notes gently glide at midnight. Spliffs in the darkness, red cherry glow. The sand is cool and there's no more harsh-focus. Passion, not logic without meaning. Renunciation. Drifting here and there, lonely as a piss-cloud, expecting a cure.
And then I'll wear my electronic brainwashing helmet, take it to work and dream of turtles with no shells and men with bananas in their ears.
Selfishness in a soup can
A very convenient way to sell the future, don't you think?
And karma is never a passive process -it requires effort, a good hard stirring before it boils at the bottom of the pan.
If you ask, there is a chance you won't get turned down. Even still it won't be enough. You'll get this brain-pain like every other animal, it obliterates everything from the inside, undermines your entire existence and yet you still walk in the sun and get wet in the rain.
Like every other fucker and yes...
...nothing will ever be the same now
You've lost something you didn't need.

aftermath

2005-07-08T13:58:52Z

Everything is cut down in the afterglow. Nothing escapes except the fear. And then we slip back into less paranoid ways of thinking, we ignore the marble-faced figure in the background, guiding us with one hand and crushing our souls with the other, like so many old cars, too rusted to be re-sold.

And for those that got on the wrong train yesterday there is only a temporary reprive. We get pushed back into our ordinary lives. That numbing, shit-yourself feeling, replaced by the day-to-day carnalities of morning coffee, reading the paper, watching the box, surfing the news channels; I'm bored out of my skull, but I'm safe in the knowledge that it's not me. This time....

Just look at the pictures. Pot bellied Paul as the paramedics wheeled him into the van; he never amounted to anything when he was alive, but at least he made the news in death, which, when all's said and done, is the most we can hope for when we're gone. Rememberence. That's my greatest fear today, not that this car will explode, or that a fork of lightning is going to strike me down. Just the sad, paraylsing fear that one day I'll just dissolve and no one will even notice. I've not lived passionately. I've allowed this hurt to consume my life, as if raped by my own freedom.

renegade_snares @ 2005-06-29T16:20:00

2005-06-29T15:56:03Z

it's your last 20p coin in the whole world and you had to stick it in an automated coffee machine didn't you?
And it was lukewarm and you didn't even get sugar.
And your jeans are falling off your ass.
And you can't afford a belt.
And its too late to say sorry
Because he never trusted you in the first place
And your hair is a mess
And you smell of pissy toilet water
And you're wearing stolen underwear
And your life has continuity, but no excitement or feeling
And you read all this sweet shit about living three lives at once and you feel that you're about to cross some mythical line into a bright, shiny future - this fate that's been waiting your entire life, just out of reach - and then......the money runs out
And your phone runs out of battery
But don't worry so much - its not like anyones going to call you anyway
So now you're buying ciggerettes
When you don't even smoke
And when they kick you, you smile at them
When they smile, you kick back

renegade_snares @ 2005-06-28T14:01:00

2005-06-28T13:02:51Z

At the moment its hard to stay calm. Life is so frantic, feels like my mind is in terminal decay. I have a mental half-life; can only concentrate for a couple of seconds at a time, then this harsh bleeping mecha-noise hacks its way up my ear canal, reminding me of the joke about the blind surgeon that mistook a scalpel for a q-tip. Yes, it's an incoming phone call, one of twenty three thousand answered in this wonderful call centre at the edge of insanity..grrr!!...I need a holiday.

Tripped out again last night, i wish I could say i was on drugs but I wasn't. I don't make this shit up either. It was the textual-grid effect - lying in bed with the covers up to my neck and these lines start appearing over everything, like the gaps between venetian blinds. There was no kick, but it was quite eerie feeling - these lines blurring across the walls, the ceiling, the quilt-cover, even on my hands. As I strained my eyes into focus, I realized that these lines were actually made up of words - some sort of text that was stretching across my bedroom, religious perhaps - at any rate, the letters seemed to be symbols in some archaic language I did not understand. I haven't worked out what this means yet, if it means anything at all...

So I'm still working on this story, about half way through now. The character suspects that his life is actually being controlled by something he cannot see or hear, some outside force making descions on his behalf. Maybe its God, or the devil, or, as is just as plausible - something that is entirly indifferent to his suffering. As the plot unfolds, he realizes his existance is actually a product of a trashy reality gameshow set in 2096 - this is not just the standard locked-in-a-box bullshit, this is the worlds first alternative reality gameshow, in which he's invited to take part in the ultimate gamble - not only is his life at stake, but also the entire memory of his existence....

To break these self-destructive habits, i find myself in the corner smoking, thinking about how much this world has changed for me. From the bruised knees of playgrounds, cat calls and bloody noses, in those times my only defence was silence. A survival mechanism - to fade away into the background, almost as if I was invisible, as if I had evaporated into a place where no one could find me - that was how I stayed safe. Today I'm surrounded by friendly entities and still I find it hard to trust them, even though i know them better than I probably know myself. I'm an optimist. I believe in the power of the stranger, but there is something I always hold back. Sad sometimes, that I constantly need this reassurance - to be on the safe side, because I fear the concrete highstacks above me. They may morph into another playground, ghostly children's laughter, the whispered roar of a speeding train....

renegade_snares @ 2005-06-21T11:31:00

2005-06-21T11:06:46Z

Wired and withdrawing from last night's ciggerettes. Hating every second of my new day job - which basically involves destroying people's dreams and making them cry. I feel like a dark, brooding colour. The letters and numbers branded across my back like i've been fed through an old dot matrix printer. I repeat the same phrases, giving the same answers to the same questions, giving the same answers to the same questions, giving the same answers to the same questions.... Sometimes I look at the clock and I can't work out the time. I can read the face, but I can't process the information in sequencial order. Maybe the hands are turning backwards, maybe time has slipped into a FEEDBACK LOOP. This solid, undying moment of hatred warping over and over and over....

Identity murder

2005-06-20T12:46:50Z

A friend got mugged by monkeys on mopeds... all of her id cards are now in the latex hands of oil pushers. This has got me thinking. It's a death of sorts, identity theft....all these barcode numbers and abstract pieces of data...inherently meaningless labels that do not connect to the spirit inside but are nevertheless an inescabable reality in our society...names, proof of residence, sim cards, chip-n-pin cards, debit and credit cards, bank and mortgage statements, supermarket receipts...nakedly watching your life slip away, you realize you are an incomprensible entitiy in this world without all these details connected to you like prosthetic limbs...you can even form a psuedo-sentimental attachment to the thermoplastic wallet...but do not despair as you watch your biometric passport grow wings and fly off into the sunset, to take on a new kind of life in some other place......your identity is reincarnated in a criminal underworld, shifting across continents, your identity is currently being sold to the highest bidding peodophile...

On a smoother level...Words ripple down my spine as liquid glass, everything that I need to say to you is incurably frozen inside the marrow of porcelain bones. These calsite deposits need to be released somehow, before the emotion is fosillized in the silence of regrets and missed opportunities, the void of pain even I cannot witness...

renegade_snares @ 2005-06-16T14:19:00

2005-06-16T13:20:44Z

Bad News-

The powers that be have just cut off my internet access at work :(

Good News
I can still access Live journal (for now)...

A bit of work in progress

2005-06-16T09:58:27Z

"The hotel has the ambience of a fractured submarine dredged up from the bottom of the ocean and dumped on dry land. Murky carpets sink beneath my feet, festoons of electric cables stretch between lead piping brackets. Mottled concrete walls, meanly illuminated by mustard coloured lamps crease like scar tissue as I walk towards the titanium elevator at the end of the hall. The button releases an angle-faced chinese woman, the over-sized whites of her brillo-pad eyes pick over my face like the claws of a starving seagull. 'You come party?' she says, pointing her finger towards the internal elevator buttons, washed with neon tides like an old fruit machine. "Excellent party," she says, passing me a velvet padded box before she stumbles out of the elevator and along the corridor. The box contains a pair of cobra-skin contact lenses. I slip them underneath my eyes as I descend. The elevator moves so quickly I cannot tell if I'm decending or acending. It may even be going sideways. Eventually I hear a clunking sound and the doors propell open, revealing a large antechamber, shrouded with the same clear plastic curtains you find in abbatoirs. There is loud beatless drone in the background. It sounds like an amplified washing machine, and yet there are clumps of people dancing, limbs flailing as if they are drowning in a sea of liquidized chairs. I'm standing upon a metallic grid beneath which is a pool of green water saturated with shiny plastic tubing. On close inspection I discover that this pool is actually filled with millions of electric eels that are feeding a current into the bronze cells dug into the walls, batteries so large I suspected that gravity itself was being powered by them. Diluted zardox drips from the ceilings, displaced momentarily by vomiting sounds from the cauterized faces of whores lying back on the metal lattice, eyes open wide to the steady retina feed of drugs. "What the fuck is this music?" I ask the man to my left, who is all pupils. "Genetic-core, he says, pinching my earlopes, "but it'll won't sound like shit unless you wear a piece." He sticks an plug in my ear, instantly the all-pervasive monotone transforms into a industrial symphony, individually tailored from the DNA structure of my ear-wax to sound like the best music I've ever heard in my life. I wander into a back room where an icy mist of exhaled lung acid shimmers above the galvernized tangle of chromium dreadlocks. As I move closer to the speakers, elbows jab into ribs and the heavy air assults my lungs with hot razors of perspiration. I drift into another room, a claustrophobic stairwell littered with broken people, withdrawn eyes and curved, junk-sick faces peering out between bannisters like captive prisoners. I stand on a balcony watching the crowd. To my right is another room. Shadows dance around a blurred red form but I can't see what it is. I remove the contact lenses and instantly the texture of the world changes - the crowd beneath me vanishes, leaving a few remaining dancers. I pull out the ear pieces and as the low range hum assults my mind I realize that I have been deluded. This is not a party. This is an illegal drug factory. The blaze in the other room is actually a hideous mound of growparts, the corruscating electronic panels that line the room are drawing power from the central battery and artificially inducing consciousness into the pile of organs. As the priest reads from the bible, gouged-out eyes start to weep narcotics, diluted drugs that seep through the holes in the floor and dribble onto the chins of the whores on their backs, as they scrub the liquid into their bloodshot eyes they start to laugh; wild, piercing laughter that sounds like an animal being tortured."

renegade_snares @ 2005-06-14T10:50:00

2005-06-14T10:57:51Z

The real i-told-you-so dilemna, do I blindly slide down the evacuation shoot of fate's cosmic concourse or do I get bashed and bumped around the pinball machine of random probabilities? Fuck knows, but, practically speaking, all that really matters is *now* - all the outgoing attempts at communication, teleprescence and levitation. The soft-focus of every disposable thing, attempting to craft your experiences into a visual/sonic/ceramic unit and then push those experiences back into the solidification machine for others to cognitize and distort and add to. No, it doesn't matter what else you do today. The acid-proof flooring plies under your feet. You can own a million phones and not a single one will ring unless there is a signal; unless someone is trying to break through the back door of your dreams, not to steal your memories or your fears or your fantasises but just to prove they can get in there when you're not looking. Can I make it through the slip stream tunnel? Each new step I take is half the length of the last one. If you soberly deconstruct everything then how can your reality be anything more than a habitual interpretation? Is there ever a possiblity of grounding, labels that we can all form intuitive knowledge of, a platform, an ethereal scalpel to dissect this...but then solipsism reduces everything to personal taste and appearence, melting candle wax, symbols that mean nothing outside of this moment and will probably mean something else tommorrow. As soon as you're sure that you can't be sure of anything, *everything* corrodes and splatters at your feet...

How to make chicken mcnuggets - a recipe

2005-06-13T12:23:26Z

Stripped down to the raw constituent of existance, a colour, a sound, a rock, a piece of air. For a moment I forget I'm a human. I feel like a colony of bacteria on the underside of someone's tennis shoe. Dilated multii-point visuals collide and cohere like sticky existential gum. The twin-membered heads of a midden mound of flesh, smashing down the stalactites of impassivity, each new colour, fabric, sound breaking over me as if someone is assulting me with a glass bottle. I'm drinking diluted razor blades and sucking in severed fish gills, meat-sleeves shaking, cutlass palpating and shrieking like a pair of collapsed lungs. My teeth are circulating through the jungle, a clear ersatz prism, a pencil box world of ever increasing exponentials - reality itself goes through the cheesegrater and the body becomes an uneccessary encumberence to the floating evaporated essence, a locus of dust and serial numbers, encountered mythology of world war III, half-formed threnody of ailing cancer sufferers, those mcdonald's chickens on the downward conveyer belt to posterity, tremor of lump hammer as the number tumble reaches 60 figures, life still indivisible by itself or any other bright new child, a collective piss in the water of eternity, miniturized tattoo parlours, stirated chambers of vapour, political witchcraft and animal welfare agents, my unevolved debt to Sonic Flowers Industries, the prophylaxtic effect of a deteriated imagination, instantly I feel a new reality slicing in through a different angle, loves brightest phoenix, proof-reading the litany of our sins, three sisters come slowly ambling through the bread knife world of death, ankle deep in the carmine sands of the Tharsis valley, green flickering lights in the periphery of my vision, the mass exodus of existance, the inevitable choice, migrate or die, slip through the tempestuous stream of information, shaving the cloyed skin of leeches, upwards and downwards, spirals of kinetic wonder, exhuberent dances of bleeding androids, brains smoking like fading charcoals, stoked by the circle of pyramids rising from the concrete graves of shopping malls, eyes focused directly and intimatly on the centre, the dead fly cleavage oozing over decontaminatated animals, stewed in the cement mixer and injected with plutonium and covered in salty breadcrumbs, punctured with cactus spikes and marinated in the leaking solar panelling of quantum calculators, inhaling the miasma of cooked human flesh, singed hair, molten plastic, burned wires and unexploded petrochemicals. The thick stratum of canabalistic gravy, crackling with the phosphorescent laughter of talkshow hosts, cryogenically frozen despots and ronald macdonald's belly button fluff. Dust with icy feccal flakes, bind together with the oil of squid-beetles, pulverize the residual pastry with a rolling pin, serve with the intoxicating wine of the Martian consulate, slaver with shaving foam and oil of ulay for the maximum life-extending goodness. Bake in the crack of space or in the deepest fires of mordor, serve in a pig trough with plenty of hot sauce and a bonus shrink- wrapped hand-grenade for every child under five. If feeling nauseaous drink plenty of holy water. No refund available for customers who contract aftosa.