Thursday, March 18, 2010


Before I begin this piece I would first like to take the opportunity to direct your attentions to a blog from not so many months past that shares a similar title and subject matter to this ensuing entry which is surely destined to captivate your immediate conscious. I felt it necessary to make mention of it, for it covers most, if not all the sentiments which I am about to convey, or reconvey as it so happens.

Hamish - my adored and admired comrade and colleague on this little, big hearted blog - expressed his perceived notions of the topic through an array of personal experiences over years gone by. The influence of family and friends; arts and cultures; the stars and heavens above have so impacted my rouge tinted and amply adjectified compatriot, transforming him from persona to persona - each of which I loved and cherished with growing fondness – that I feel compelled to pay tribute to him and his scriptures with a turn of my own.

In the hope of achieving a somewhat varied description of said topic, I have endeavoured to present my argument within the confines and stylings of the text itself. Permit me to explain a step further. At the time of penning this eloquent piece (or typing as the case may be in this modern day, though it does lack a certain grace to name it such), I happened to be reading a book entitled Great Expectations by Charles Dickens; a masterful piece of literature, not unlike some of that found only on this magnificent site, with a gripping narrative and compelling characters.

Now before I mislead you any further, I do not make some allusion to a narrative present within this pretentious ramble that grips; or characters contained inside this elegant entity that compel (though none can deny dear sweet Hamish’s compellation of my affections only moments earlier). Nay, I must disclaim that this is not my intention; it is my intention rather, to highlight the style in which Dickens writes his novel and the manner in which it has so ingrained itself upon my subconscious. His long, expressive and generously punctuated sentences that command the attention of the reader; his liberty to use and abuse the boundaries of his language to further deliver his intentions; his extensive vocabulary and imagery which echoes throughout the mind with a poetic rhythm; all these are absorbed and fall from the immediate conscious only to later return as an unsuspecting influence mid sentence during the day’s conversation or mid thought during the night’s pensive self reflection.

I have found that this phenomenon occurs often: while reading Marching Powder, one man’s recount of a South American experience, I found myself borrowing his mannerisms whilst recounting a South American experience of my own; Douglas Adams' The Hitchhiker’s guide to the Galaxy inspired me to implement a sci-fi element to a story I was ‘typing’ at the time; for the week or so throughout my reading of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein I found myself with a substantially enhanced vocabulary and a penchant for speaking like times of old. As for Dickens and this blog…well the proof is in the pudding is it not? (perhaps not, one may question the relevance of such a saying upon such a pretext but fuck it Im not perfect…

- Eden (while listening to Dark Side of The Moon by Pink Floyd)


  1. Dude you are becoming such a good writer, do you have any short stories that you'd want to give to me?? I'd read them!

    I remember reading Frankenstein; Mary Shelley's words kept a smile on my face throughout the book, the ye-old-style narrative is so addictive... I can't wait to read Dracula.

  2. I am here writing to my readers on something that has recently come to my attention. In the past 2-5 months I have grown quite fondly on my friend and his writing. He has recently, and very quickly, shaped out to be a real amazing writer. A writer so out of the ordinary it makes me smile just to know of his existence so closely. Although during his body of work so far, it has come to my attention that this said writer's shape that is in production is looking out to be no more then a pretentious disfigured work of a pompous and exaggeratively showy artist, with no other thoughts then to over shadow any other person with thoughts of becoming a writer.

    In conclusion I would like to just focus on my newcomers into the artistic world. If it fears you to step out of safe boundary's into a world of this sought's of people, please dont let it get to you. As many great and wise people believe, there is good and bad in everything, as well as the artistic world. Let your thoughts hit the paper, hit the screen, or hit the ears of another man. And don't, not for one second, let any ostentatious fool get the better of you. For in the end, his words will be no more then a guide of how not to be.

    - Luke(while listening to Dark Side of The Moon by Pink Floyd, only to get in the frame of mind that is this said sort of person)

  3. Jokes, love your work mate.

    Oh p,s. Check the time. :p

  4. Cheers, yeah it's fun to write like a 19th century literary. Yours was pretty good El name change loco. I don't even know what ostentatious means but im slightly offended by it.

    as for the 11s - fag

  5. i already told you but this blog was great. And that was an awesome comment el loco, i can get sick of his pretenchus writing style. "For thine own identity's promiscuous lover intends thee to feather your bow instead, alas, before the hangman's crown." - Eden's next blog.

    But seriously, i can't wait for Wrestlemania!

  6. *Pompous English Voice*-- My dear boy, you've done rather whell! However, upon learning you didn't even know what the whord "ostentatious" meant... well, I'm afraid I lost almost all respect for you. When I then learned that you'd shaved your head, like some baffoon from the streets of Londonderry, the last skerrick of respect I had for you all but burned up like whood on a whindy day.

    Now that I have your attention, I have something I must confess. Over the past few years I've been having an ... affair of sorts. This woman fullfils my deepest sexual desires, she whisks me away to lands I never dreamed to have existed, she the most erotic temptress of her time and I whish to make her my whife. Eden... this whench I speak of is your mother. Whould you allow the priviledge... NAY! The honour, of murdering your father... and taking your mothers hand in holy matrimony!

    Eden... please... this whoman is an absolute devil... I can't resist her any longer!

  7. Oh Hamish, my dear boy, you're rebellion towards those who show you love, such as the love I affected upon you in this article is much the same as that displayed by a youth to his parents. I know - better than you yourself knows now - that you only do it out of a confused form of love, and for that I forgive you.

  8. Hey idiot, it's 'your', not 'you're'. Some writer you are.

  9. El what an arsehole locoMarch 19, 2010 at 11:26 AM

    Ohhhhhhh what an arsehole. How embarrasing.

  10. "Well I never...?"

    Now you're not even finishing sentences...