Log in


Today will be very squiggly

About Recent Entries

Bored... Mar. 6th, 2005 @ 01:33 pm
Sadly this place has been neglected for far too long, and regrettably, I have nothing interesting nor witty to add right at this moment. Thus I shall add something that has been bothering me for some time.

Only that, given how little I see the sun, how do I get burnt so often?

Sagittarius: (Nov. 22—Dec. 21)
You have an irrefutable message concerning the importance of psychoactive drugs in personal development, but no one will heed your boring, hyper-rational lectures. Mostly because everyone hates you.

Creationism, a short fiction piece by Kier Jun. 18th, 2004 @ 01:43 am
Creationism by Kier

She had never seen darkness like this.

Darkness, as usually perceived, was not the opposite of light, merely its absence. One could not exist without the other. It would be very easy to believe, however, that this darkness was indeed the opposite of light. It seemed so much more tangible, existing in its own right instead of just being the absence of something else. Light would find it hard to penetrate this darkness. It seemed heaver, and of course, the girl thought, it was absurd to think that darkness could have a density, but still she could not help but feel that there was something much more substantial to it that defied the natural laws of science. This was anti-light.

The girl imagined that this was what the darkness at the deepest pits of the ocean was like, where strange and other-worldly creatures dwelled in the slimy chaos; things with more eyes than tentacles and a great many of those all the same. It was conceivable that in darkness like this, the legendary Kraken sleepeth. That it was from darkness like this the universe took form, a bright and shining pebble of potential.

It occurred to the girl to wonder where she was.

And in that moment, or one very similar for the darkness seemed capable of swallowing time, the girl heard a sound. It came as such a shock the girl felt herself jump for she had not realised until then that in that darkness there was no sound at all. What was equally shocking was the sound itself, a quiet, unintruding and yet powerful voice saying, “Testing… Testing…” It was, the girl admitted to herself, the last thing she would have expected to hear, but then just as suddenly the sound was gone and the girl found herself once again alone.

However it was not long until the sound came again, this time louder and more commanding. “Lights!” it said, and there was light. A brightly shining dot that shone all the brighter for the thick, heavy darkness surrounding it. The pinpoint of light burnt into the girl’s eyes, and she might have been staring at a thousand suns.

“Cue music,” the voice said, and the girl jumped again for what came next took her completely by surprise. The noise of a full string orchestra tuning up exploded into being.

“Action!” the voice said, and the orchestra began to play. The pinpoint of light seemed to collapse into itself, and then suddenly explode outwards. The girl gasped as the light filled the darkness and small clusters of shining matter danced onwards, multiplying rapidly, all accompanied by the powerful and beautiful orchestral composition, the greatness of which would never be matched by any composer on Earth. It occurred to the girl that she was witnessing the finest piece of theatre ever created.

The dancing lights eventually came to rest in the darkness, each one a smaller version of the original speck of brightness. The music because quiet and suspenseful and the girl held her breath in anticipation.

There was an explosion of noise and light, as each speck burst as the first had done, creating swirling clusters of what now resembled stars. The music began to build up to a crescendo, a noise so loud and perfect it seemed, like the darkness, to have its own matter, when suddenly and without warning there was a pop and a fizzle, and the music came collapsing to a halt. The lights in the darkness, too, seemed to fold in on themselves like a burning projection until all that was left was the immense, uncompromising darkness.

“Cut!” came the voice, and then, “Damn. And it was going so bloody well.” With a loud thump, the lights came on and the darkness was gone. The girl was standing in a huge room which appeared to be a kind of studio. Against one wall a projector was flicking away uselessly as its broken tape lay on the floor. On the other side of the room a full symphony orchestra was looking on in confusion. In one corner the girl was utterly shocked to see the Kraken, the giant, tentacled sea monster, holding a number of torches and, inexplicably, a small pennywhistle.

Standing next to the girl in the middle of the room was a rather awkward man holding a microphone. On his shirt was a badge reading,


The man looked around the room as he spoke, “Never mind, guys. I’m sure we’ll do better on the night! I want to see you all again on Tuesday, all right? Pretend this is the real thing!” He then turned off the microphone and sighed to himself. “The conceptualisation’s the easy bit; it’s getting it all to create itself that’s giving me so much trouble.”

The little girl coughed a little to make her presence known. The man looked down and said, “Oh,” but without surprise. “My latest work, yes,” the man answered her question before she could ask. “It’s called ‘The Big Bang’, although I’m worried the title’s a little bit presumptuous. It’s a shame it fell apart so soon, I’ve got some lovely preliminary work by Coleridge in the later scenes. In fact we’ve already got writers working on the sequel, ‘The Big Crunch,’ he said proudly.
“Sounds good,” said the girl hesitantly, “Only…”
“Why am I here?” the little girl asked, “In the studio, I mean.”
“Oh to watch, to listen,” said the man dismissively. “That whole tree falling in the forest debacle. If the Universe brings itself into being and nobody’s there to see it, does it still happen?”
“I… I don’t know, sir,” the girl admitted, a little afraid of this strange man.
“Neither do I, but I don’t want to risk it. Shall I see you next Tuesday, then?” the man beamed.
“If you say so, sir,” the girl replied nervously, and started backing away towards the door.
“I do indeed,” the man said, smiling his troubling smile.
“Yes, sir. Goodbye, sir,” the girl said hurriedly, and quickly she exited.

And with that came the conclusion of the first rehearsal of the creation of the universe.
Current Mood: pleasedpleased
Current Music: Frente's Lonely EP

Waiting, Reality Television and other Wastes of Space by Kier Jun. 12th, 2004 @ 03:19 am
(A few editorial notes before I start. I obviously have internet access again so you should all apply NOW. It doesn't take much. A short skit or a clever diagram. You don't have to be an amazing writer to write for Squiggly Today, you just have to be individual or witty. Thanks for adding us anyway. Oh, and don't expect many more contributions of the same length and quality of the following. My English teacher last year told me she wouldn't rest until she saw this published. I got lazy and forgot about it. So instead of being somewhere important, it's here.)

All our lives we are defined by the space around us. Before we can tell who we are as a person, we first look to our surrounding influences. Human Beings exist not in isolation, but as products of our surroundings. It is the awareness of this which causes us to withdraw and create our own space within ourselves. The less space around us, the more space we need to create within us. People in large cities may seem, to an outside observer, cold and impersonal. In fact they are just withdrawn, like the rest of us. Having to face each day the multitude of other people inhabiting our space, we begin to exist in our own personal Universe, of which we really are the centre. The Most Important Thing.

This space inside of us also defines us. It can seem at times to exist independently of our own self. There are places we cannot go, things kept locked from us (such as where on earth we last saw the car keys). As we grow older it can slip away from us, or scramble itself and leave us lost. It is often said that we use only one tenth of our brain capacity . Nine tenths of our mind is left unused, at least by us (it is one theory of mine that the rest is being used to get us to SMS our votes for Australian Idol). This seems, sometimes, like a lot of wasted space.

‘Wasted Space.’ Now there’s a phrase. We consider any space that is not used to be wasted. But then this idea of wasting occurs all too often. Given unlimited space, say a room of immense proportions, a person will take only a small portion of this. A corner. And here they will set up their things, their belongings, and build for themselves their own smaller, easier to deal with space. We do this all the time, with our houses, our countries, our planet, our universe; little homes in big spaces. Evidently we also do this with out minds. Faced with such a large amount of space we take our stuff and set up in a corner.

Writer Douglas Adams once suggested that the other nine tenths of the brain was used for storing penguins. This may not be as ridiculous as it seems. After all, penguins must be stored somewhere. Which raises an interesting question: is a space still ‘wasted’ if it is full of penguins?

It is generally agreed that human beings are very stupid creatures. Or, at least, this is generally agreed by the departments of television marketing. After all we spend most of our lives doing things we don’t enjoy to achieve something we don’t want. We also spend far too much time musing over questions we know we can’t answer, which seems like wasted space itself (or more accurately time, which is very similar). Why is a raven like a writing desk?

My point, if you can believe I have one, is this: if humans were somehow able to gain control over the wasted 90% of their brain (by, say, evicting all the penguins) would this actually make us any more intelligent? Isn’t it more likely that we will simply have ten times the capacity for immense stupidity? That we will be just as stupid, but on a much grander scale?

Perhaps the penguins are better off where they are, after all.

So space is made to be wasted. Whoever created our Universe must have been very fond of space, for we certainly have a lot of it. And most of it, ultimately, is wasted.

Of course there is always the possibility that we have a great deal less of it than we ever thought. It is possible that one day, when we finally master the art of space travel, that our first expedition will only lead us to a sign reading “Under Construction, please check back soon.”

It is part of human nature to keep to small and homely spaces, but it is also a part of us to think that there is, if we ever wanted it, an infinity of space just waiting for us. Would it perhaps alter our consciousness, our very idea of who we are, if we discovered that we really are alone in the Universe, that space is not in such plentiful supply, and that a raven is nothing at all like a writing desk, but quite a bit like a penguin? It is indeed a saddening thought that human beings could be the most intelligent life in existence.

The space around us, as we know it, defines us. It is possible that if we didn’t imagine there was quite so much of it, we might not be so hasty in our waste of it. We might not, for instance, spend so much of our time watching reality television. Imagine what our world would be like if we decided to become productive. To make sensible use of all available space. To cut the crap with our penguins, our falling trees, our search for meaning and our Big Brother controversies, and started putting our time to good use. Life as we know it now, is really just thinking and waiting. Thinking of stupid questions and waiting for answers, whether stupid or not. We may not be, in ourselves, such a depressing waste of time and space if we did not seem to have such a bloody lot of it.

Faced with the impossibly large room, the man withdraws into a corner. Faced with our infinite amount of space we withdraw into ourselves. Our own space. For, while our space may be intangible, often difficult, and all too full of penguins for its own good, it does come in a small, easy to copy with, single-serving size, and is relatively under our own control.
Current Mood: contemplativecontemplative
Current Music: "Too Much Brandy" The Streets

The First Ever Entry by Kier Jun. 28th, 2004 @ 11:58 am
I won't pretend that the only reason this entry is here isn't so that I can make sure the layout looks all right. But I'll also take the time to say "Hi! I'm your friend moderator. Also known, in this context, as an editor."

I have to admit I'm not entirely sure where I want to go with this, but I do have a very basic, abstract idea. But once we get a few more writers, and Emily comes home from Sweden, I'm sure it will turn out to be a good one. An idea that is.

I should also let you know that this afternoon I'm heading off for a short vacation by the beach. Well, near the beach. In a town that has a beach. Wait, I have a point. I don't know if I'll have access to the internet so if anyone tries to contact me during this time, I'm probably not ignoring you.

I think I'm breaking my own rules here, but the first entry is allowed to be a bit... uninteresting. Just for clarifications sake.

Oh, fuck it. Here's a short skit I wrote ages ago. There are three characters, labelled A, B and E for the sake of inconvenience. For any American readers, for some absurd reason you guys call Cluedo "Clue".

(Three people are sitting around playing Cluedo)

A: I think it was... Miss Scarlet in the library with the twist-tie!
B: Rope.
A: What?
B: We lost a lot of the pieces and had to replace them. That's the rope.
E: How do you kill someone with a twist-tie?
A: Maybe you make them eat a whole heap of them.
B: It's not a twist tie it's a rope.
E: ... it's a pretty small rope.
B: It's a pretty small library.
A: Hey, pretty bloody big twist-tie then. (with a grin)
B: (rolls eyes)
E: Well that explains it.
B: ...what?
E: How she killed him with the twist tie. It's just a really big one look (compares size of twist-tie to size of game marker, makes the marker walk around holding the twist-tie like a weapon)
B: Look, it's not supposed to be a twist-tie.
A: (picks up his marker) Your twist-tie is nothing against my GIANT TOOTCHPICK!
B: (quietly) ...that's the knife...
(A and E begin to battle their markers)
B: ... (gets up and walks away)

There. I contributed something.
Current Mood: tiredtired
Current Music: "No surprises" - Radiohead
Top of Page Powered by LiveJournal.com