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Show & Tell
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Today's Document
Kiana Khansmith
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@pencilboxcrater
Sam's on a bridge
Sam’s on a bridge
(Quick thing, this blog hasn’t been updated regularly, I’m trying but it’s hard, there is a lot going on, I’m sorry) There are many reasons for somebody to find themselves on a bridge. Perhaps they can’t swim and need some way to cross a river. Perhaps they can swim but they’d really rather not, because it’s just too late in the afternoon for that sort of thing. Maybe they can swim and they want…
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Things are bad :(
My loyal fans (of which there are none, of course) may have noticed a pretty big drop in quality over the past couple of weeks. I’ve started writing once a week instead of three times, which should give me more time to focus on each piece, but the truth is a lot’s going on in my life at the moment and it’s getting to me. First off I just started university, which is terrifying and exciting and…
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Weird World: Yesterdays future, today!
Weird World: Yesterdays future, today!
A (possibly) weekly presentation of badly researched and (in my opinion) peculiar facts (if they can really be called facts, which they can’t), stories (retold by me, only worse), or news (which will all be old and no longer interesting). This week, yesterdays future, today! It’s November the 30th, 1944, and The Catalina Islander reports on a terrifying possibility. There is a very real fear,…
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Peculiar Planet - The Hopkinsville Goblins
Peculiar Planet – The Hopkinsville Goblins
A (maybe) weekly presentation of (badly researched) and (in my opinion) peculiar facts (if they can really be called facts, which they can’t), stories (retold by me, only worse), or news (which will all be old and no longer interesting). This week, the story of the Hopkinsville Goblins! Hopkinsville police station sits in a rather ordinary looking town, which only makes it that much more fitting…
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The North Pole Tunnel - A Family Fable
The North Pole Tunnel – A Family Fable
There was once upon a time a boy who loved Christmas, and he loved it more than life itself. He loved the snow, and he loved the presents, and he loved the cosy warm fire that his grandma always kept alight through the winter months. But the thing about Christmas that he loved the most, and the thing that was, in fact, the little boy’s most favourite thing in all the world, was the North Pole…
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The Breakfast Club
I wish I was alive in the 80s. Or at least, I wish I was alive in the world of those 80s films, so knowing and righteous in their manifestations of teen problems. The Breakfast Club is a film I’ve watched partly on the recommendation of a friend (a recommendation he gave me at least two years ago) and partly because of its importance in that much more modern study on conformity and kinship, Pitch…
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I remember now, why I hate my sister
It’s not because of the big things, Although they don’t help. It’s because of the static, unmoving rigidity Of her will And her ire And her farce. It’s because of the intensity, And the consistency, Of her reactions to it all, And her complete inability To learn from what people like And hate About the way she carries on. And the way she’s talking about me, Right now, On the other side of the…
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The house on the hill - One further poem
The house on the hill – One further poem
I came to the house on the hill when I was eleven, And I was left there shivering and unsure. My mother never loved my father, A man who even at the best of times was a drunk and a gambler. Whether she loved me was a question I thought of habitually And to some great extent, But with little in the way of conclusion. She would often smile at me, and give empty little hugs. She would even press…
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Various failed attempts to begin a script
INT. STUFF AND SHINE COUNTER Two teenagers are leaning back against a wall, bored, day dreaming. It’s JACK and LIZ, tired, grumpy, and for a good few moments silent. A customer waddles in, his default face a furious kind of snarl. Liz Uh oh. You know, I think you can take this. Jack What? No, I did him last time. Liz I have jobs to do. Liz grabs a broom and heads out round back. Before she…
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WWE, Breakup Medicine
When I was little, I used to love WWE unashamedly. Now I am older, and I have dipped my toe back into that messy pool of rippling muscles, I can appreciate the beauty even more. I think, in a way, this newfound adult shame actually makes it better. The reasons the show is so unnaturally entertaining are endless, ranging from the brilliantly melodramatic monologues to the seamless, dance like…
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Getaway
I’m sitting on a rough ledge, dusted white and overlooking a sheer drop. The sun is warm against my back, which is a truly unexpected kind of hug, especially here in the U.K. Wind roars past in frantic gusts, drowning out the periodic buzz of the crickets. When I catch the sound, like the spokes of a bicycle spinning as they catapult someone across the world, I think about the twisting roads that…
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there’s like…no way in hell I just watched this
i very literally do not understand what just happened.
ENOUGH.
i love it when video games give me meaningful dialogue choices that are going to influence the story
Rainymood
The website Rainymood is a recent addition to my arsenal of heavy duty anti-sadness firepower. It has a simple function; it merely plays realistic sounds of rain outside. Despite this, it’s easy to access and immediately effective, nutralising many of the most extreme feelings of panic through its healthy dose of rhythmic pitter patter and thunderous rumblings. I use it mostly to help me focus,…
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I was in love once. Now I am again. This love feels so much smaller, though, Than the love I felt back then.
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Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, in motion
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, in motion
An interview with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle He walks with a peculiarly relaxed kind of purpose, taking the time to glance back at his dog and let out brief, regal mutterings. He puts down his book, takes off his hat, and reveals a distinct lack of any meaningful hair on his head. ”I’ve got to speak one or two words, and just try my voice I understand?” He sounds like he’s calling out through time,…
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A postcard Dear Father McAlister Yes that's a star fish on my head. You know, those five fingered flesh lumps you were so eager to call 'nonsense' and 'propaganda'.
