Steel Panther and SB6.

  I haven't been posting much lately for a main reason - assignments. I've had so much work to do that I don't do much interesting and therefore have noting interesting to write on here. But this week I did do something mildly cool, so I figured I'd tell you about it. :)

  Basically, I went to two gigs in two nights. In Bristol. Travel costs are large, but you might as well enjoy yourself if the ticket is booked. So I crashed at a friend's place and spent most of my time wandering around Bristol.

  The first night, I went to see Sonic Boom Six. A Manchester based Ska/Punk band. It was in a small pub-like venue, you could basically touch the people on stage. There was a ska band supporting and mainly you got a drink and mingled with the people around the entire pub. The support act was actually kinda good - which is surprising as they all generally suck - and there was lots of movement and sweating involved. The Sonic Boom Six came on and everyone goes mental. There was loads of audience interaction and it was generally a fantastic gig. It was a really comfortable atmosphere and I don't think it lasted nearly long enough.

  The second gig was Steel Panther. A hair metal band with humorous lyrics. That was awesome, they did loads of talking and the lead guitarist (Satchel) and singer (Michael Starr) are hilarious. They made much more of an effort. Girls got on stage, guitarist did an epic solo, they played some fantastic songs that everyone knows the words too, made a few racist / sexist jokes. All in a days work. The strange thing about this gig though was the show put on was fantastic, but with the type of people that went were less my kind of people. They were awesome, but all the tall people stood in front of me and it was a lot less active. Bigger rooms are not quite as good.

  All in all, both shows were as good as each other. I had a laugh with some good friends, some of which I haven't seen for ages, and mainly was knackered. I was really glad I didn't do a third night. That would have killed me. I already busted my foot jumping to SB6's first song - how I made it through the pain was just adrenaline. :D

  All in all, best couple of nights I've had in quite a long time!

Creative Writing Excercise 2

Merging something I did in a lesson with my 'Solitude' story I wrote before, it came out like this:

Pacing is a common sign of madness. That being said, pace is what he does. In his room. Procrastination is a sign of being disorganised. Pacing is what he did to procrastinate. Spending so much solitary time is very ill advised.

He cannot leave the space. There is no need to get dressed. Pants all day long. Laziness brings no joy. Things to do, things to do. The only sound he gets is his own voice when he coughs or sneezes. And an occasional boom of the pacing feet; storage and back to get basic food or water.

The silence is lingering and horrid. If you listen to the silence close enough, you can hear the lack of hearing. A faint ringing that doesn't exist is the sound of a million little voices whispering words against him. The closer he listens, the quieter they get as if taunting his very marrow. What do they say? “They hate me, they hate me” The repetitive thoughts hang from the rope. Rhythm in line with repetitive rocking.

The pain of the stinging eyes becomes normal and the eyelids stay static for longer. Dishevelled is the hair on every part of his body and the sunlight beams through a hole in the roof. If anyone else is alive, they hate him as much as the ringing voices of nothing. The ringing, the ringing, the cringe and the sting.

The only thing missing is a distinct lack of smell in the rancid room of a jaded nose. He would count the days, if not for forgetting the existence of numbers.

What are they saying?

They hate me.

It's almost as if you can still feel him inside the place. Everything is left the way it was in the front room - jars of wilted flowers; television on static in the corner; dull-green peeling paint clinging to the smoke-stained walls. A small table sits cracked beside a worn armchair marking the only change in the room. A short rope hangs from a beam on the ceiling - coiled into a noose.

Thanks, view my other writing in the right hand column.