Hey Kids.
And so it came to pass, on Saturday, the 27th of May, in the year 2000, that there was white text.
You've been capitalised. Appreciate it.
In any way you see fit. Preferably monetary.
So I finally finished the Dr Pepper advert. Those of you who will be at Michelle's on Sunday get to see it then. And the rest of you get to see it as soon as I get round to giving it to Clements to MPEGerise.
A 3MB (aprx.) download? I know you'll all do it!
Seems a lot of the people I know appear to be depressed nowadays. All for various reasons of their own. Question is: If everyone appears depressed, who's depressed for real? And what about those who have been repressing their depression? No. The question is: If everyone's depressed, then is it pointless to be so as well? No. I'm getting muddled up. If teenagers get depressed (as a rule) how can the difference between regular hormones - messing - with - your - head listlessness and actual - real - as - opposed - to - silly - mind - game - reason - for - feeling - like - shit moodiness be told? And if we're so conscious of the fact that we, and the people around us, are feeling this way, does it negate what we feel? Hmm. Too vague. If I know that I'm feeling depressed. And I know that teenagers feel depressed (as a rule don't forget). Does this mean I can simply snap myself out of depression? It would seem to be the case so far. Feeling low? Just remember that you're not special. That you're just another face in the crowd. That your friends are all far too wrapped up in their own lives (just like yourself) to even think about you, except maybe in passing, when you're not around. That you don't matter. That feeling depressed is a waste of time and only makes people get bored of your company (damn quickly) when you're around them. Either drop the show or find a room.
Cheers to those who told me how to spell Durham.
Dark and brooding. Do I pull that off? Some people can. I think I've got the dark thang down. Dark clothes, hair (though not bottle black ^_^ [grease is more than enough]), eyes, eye-sockets etc. And brooding? To think long, deeply and / or resentfully about something? Hmm. Yup again. But does it look good? See, in films, that can look scary / intimidating / mysterious / dramatic and a whole load more. In real life it can simply look pathetic. Especially when the person who, intentionally or otherwise, has that look yet seems to have nothing particularly wrong going on. Dark 'n' brooding for the sake of it. For the look. Not that I care what other people think of me, you understand. Way too tired for that. But... um... buggrit. Lost it.
Where? You know the rest.
Happy Daze. Couple of people having birthdays either side of this e-mail. Rachel (she of the cabbage [apparently]) is now 16. And Michelle is 17 tomorrow. Whoopee. Shall I wish them happiness etc.? I think not.
So this is more of a complimentary white text than last time.
Oh go on then. I'm not really a grumpy old drinker of the Dr Pepper. But I ain't gonna say it here. Ho no. You'll have to be slightly more cunning than the average bear to see me being nice. Or pretending to be anyway.
I'm going to sleep soon.
Yes.
Here's a question for all you kiddies clever enough to have worked out the white text:
It would appear my Internet connection has been axed. Eek! My dad is no longer willing to pay the 30 odd pounds I've been spending a month, so he's cancelled the direct debit thing there was going on with freeserve. Buggrit. Not a problem though. For the next month and a bit I shall simply go on silent running. Just check e-mails and update site(s) etc. Then, when I'm 18, I can use DD myself and use the £15 in my bank to be online for a whole 'nother month! After that? Oh feck...
Would you describe me as gaunt?
The ongoing battle for me to remain online is of little-to-no interest to anyone but me. So I shall cease with the telling of it.
Seems some people do.
I have a dictionary next to my computer. Why? So as I can check the meanings of certain words. That's the problem with the spellcheck in Outlook. It's just that. What I need is an actual dictionary in Outlook, so I can work out what it is that I'm saying without having to look through a silly paper book. Am I the only one who does that? I have an ickle dictionary I carry around in my bag, so if I hear something that I don't know what it means I can find out. Seems people laugh when I get it out. Hmm.
I don't know if that's good or bad.
I'm feeling a story coming on. Been a little while since I last indulged myself. So let's go for it.
That wasn't the question I was originally going to ask.
So although I pride myself on being able to say anything it would seem I cannot.
The cat
Well, not to all of you anyway.
The cat walked slowly across the field. It's left hind leg was shattered from it's last fight with the machine. But it couldn't be late. Every week for the last five months it had come here. To the patch of grass behind the school fence. Every week it had fought for supremacy of the grounds, against the machine.
    At first it had won very easily. The machine was inexperienced. Though it was three times the size of the cat it wasn't as fast and so the cat simply ran behind it and disabled it. As weeks had gone by the machine had become more and more cunning. It had learned to back itself into a corner and outfight the cat with it's greater endurance.
    The cat hadn't won a fight in the last month and last week the machine had tried something new. As the cat readied to make another pounce the machine sped forwards. The cat had not expected this and leapt forwards out of reflex. The machine had extended itself and caught the cat's hind left leg. The cat had screamed in pain, clawing at the machine's metal hand. But the hand had closed its grip. Tighter and tighter until the bone snapped, and the cat, whimpering in pain, pulled itself free.
    The cat was here again. It knew this would be it's last time. The machine shone fiercely in the strong midday sun. The few scratches the cat had managed to make on it's steely surface the week before had been polished away. The cat got weaker and weaker. The machine simply went on as it had before.
    The cat approached the machine and initiated the battle. The machine rolled towards it from the opposite side of the ring. The cat feinted to the left and then limped round to the right. But the machine had expected this and its arm shot out. The hand closed around the cat's neck and squeezed. The cat's neck snapped and it's broken body was dropped to the floor.
    "Well done, Ross. That's the third cat you've killed this year! Here, have some Transmet."
    "Cheers, man. The New Scum?"
    "Sure is."
    "Rocking."
    "Oh! Watch out!" But it was too late. The fuse in the cat's stomach had finally burnt down.
    The explosion raised the entire town to the ground. The flash was seen as far away as California. No one survived.
If any of you wish to know what it was that I was going to ask, you must complete three riddles.
-end-
The first shall be contained in next weeks e-mail. Somewhere.
The next two in the following two.
So that can be dedicated to Rachel, Michelle and Nikki (whose birthday it was last Sunday [sorry about forgetting]). Heh heh heh. Writing a story's way kewl. For writers are expected to be poor. And as such I am not expected to... No.
This'll give me some time to make up a question ^_^
So there weren't any ~s this time round. Juicy.
If you're reading this in plain text then you're going to be confused.
Think I'll purge my mind of some subjects I thought up for some previous weekly spurts, but, for some reason of other, didn't write. It's just like a director's cut! Only not. Hmm.
White text will be black. And thus your mind will probably hurt.
Though maybe not right now.
Or maybe you'll just delete this.
Sleep is good, mm-kay? Slept, on average, about 2.75 hours a night last week (between Sunday and Wednesday night) and it got a bit hairy towards the end. So I slept 10 hours on Thursday and felt worse then ever on Friday. ^_^
Do any of you even read all this stuff that I write?
Speaking of hairy. Shaving is evil. In protest (not laziness, as some of you dissenters may suggest [had you the requisite wit]) I have decided to not shave for the foreseeable future. The result? An overall more Jesus-like appearance. Which is always good. Except, you know, a couple thousand years ago...
Sometimes I wonder.
Talking about how much sleep you've had is one of those things. One of those evil things you don't want to talk about. You know it bores whoever you're telling it to. Hell, it bores even you. Yet, once you start, you find it impossible to stop until you've specified, to the hour, how little sleep you have partaken of. Right up there with the weather. Well, in beds (usually). Actually... that would be so juicy. Being able to sleep in mid-air. Being able to fly full stop. That's one of the few rays of hope that keeps me going; the idea that, one day, we may be able to fly of our own volition. It could happen! Likwid Dreeming.
So I need some feedback here.
Seen Scent of a Woman? I haven't yet. Taped it tonight. Will see it by next time we speak. So what did you think of it?
Though I shan't be as coarse as the Drinkwater and stick that in big letters.
Post-dating thoughts. Interesting.
Nay, I shall leave it up to you to even discover my request.
A request on my part now. Italic, so that it stands out from the rest.
Which is tricky in such a text-rich text as this.
So I want to make some funky toys. You know when you rip off the arms from one toy and stick 'em on the body of another? And heads, legs, scissors etc. Anyway, I have a fair number of bloke toys myself (Ghostbusters, Star Trek etc.) but if any of you have some female dolls you have that you don't want anymore, not to mention bloke dolls, broken tools (screwdrivers, pliers, spanners etc.), modelling paint... if you have any of these things and you don't want them anymore, please could you send them my way? I have some funky visions going on in my head and I want to get started this half-term. But I want to start with a wider range of stuff available to me than what I have now. Oh, and superglue, screws, nails. If you've got any of that lying around I could use that as well.
This week I have been mostly drawing on the white board in R11.
Cheers. Those of you going to Michelle's on Sunday, if you could bring me anything then, it would rock mightily so. And once I have a few models made I'll take some photos and stick 'em on the freaks webshite. So look forward to that. Look forward. Look back and you'll turn to salt. Or so I imagine. I haven't looked back yet...
So long as it's not gone after half-term I'll take a picture of it and send it out.
So I'm going to leave you now. Parting is harsh, I know, but I'm sure you'll get along just fine without me.
Then you too shall know the joy that can be gleaned from a simple board marker.
Later,
Caleb
Who wishes he could simply rest in peace.


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