Please excuse the probably inexcusable mistakes in the grammar of this, but i’m writing this more to get these things out of my head and on to the computer, so that maybe, MAYBE they leave me alone and let me sleep. 99% of this is based on my experiences pretty much every time i try and sleep these days, bear that in mind. They don’t like me telling you about how they work, i can feel them watching, but i’m going to take that as a sign that it will help me somehow… so here goes.


It starts off pretty much the same way every night, i go to sleep at a reasonable hour for any teenager after a suitable fill of the internet, adventure time and psychological literature, with the red light of my clock flooding the room with a quasi light, allowing me to discern shapes and outlines, but no details. That’s where the relative normalness ends. I usually ‘wake up’ again after what feels like seconds, but i can’t really tell, i look at the clock but it just seems to be displaying lights, no actual numbers that i can gain some form of bearing from, just staring over the room like a dead eye. Not only that but my matress feels like it has been filled with wet cement, I can move, but only just and it takes a great deal of effort. Even i know what is about to happen i wear myself out simply from trying to get out from underneath this gelatinous weight pressing down on my whole body. I start to panic, it feels like some sort of horrific reverse ketamine trip, rather than being out of my body, but able to control myself, I can simply watch from behind my own eyes as I struggle uselessly,, then i begin to look around the room.

They don’t like me  doing this… it’s scaring them for some reason, i can’t see them, but i can feel them, scraping and clawing at my neck, whispering in my ear.

The shadows in my room are usually abstract and indiscernible, like all shadow, but when i am in this state they just feel wrong for some reason, they seem too abstract, too unshapely. then i realize they are moving. Not fast to begin with, but just enough to be noticeable, changing shape slightly, seeming to be trying to break out of whatever is constraining them, i assume light levels or something but I’ve never thought about it too hard. Then one ‘breaks free’

they’re inside my head, tugging at my body from the inside, i don’t feel in control of myself any more but i know i have to keep fighting. for my own good. Its gone too far now to ever think about ending this. Unless I end everything. End my existence. And take the shadows with me.

Its small, like from a lamp or something on my desk, but it scuds across the wall to a large clean patch and just hangs there, undulating. Not just laterally anymore, but pushing in and out of the wall. Warping plaster and paint, and other shadows are being drawn towards it, like the dead heartbeat of a scepter. well, i say like. Others also begin to break free. Small still at this point. They form three, sometimes four or even five more of these hearts. They beat out of time for a while, before stopping and restarting in synchronization with each other, and twice as powerfully. Reaching out to me and cracking the paint as they push through from some other place.

That sounds like the best option at the moment. But they still wont let me. my clothes are the things filled with cement now. I can hardly move anymore., I am afraid to turn for fear of what is behind me, crawling over my skin. Breathing down my neck. I can’t reach a knife, or rope, and the window to jump from is completely out of the question. oh god i can’t move. I can’t move. no. I have to keep going.

the hearts are like little planets now. The pulsating permeates through the walls and i begin to see larger objects dragging at their restraints. breaking out and engulfing one of the cores, expanding it and giving it a more meaningful shape. After just a few seconds I realize what shapes they are creating. And I can do nothing to stop them. As more and more shadows drag across the wall, chipping paint and flaking plaster as they go, joining with the others it becomes clear that they are not just shadows anymore, but parts of a collection of wholes. They shape up as (usually) three black, human-esque figures, but only loosely. They have a distinguished top and bottom, a head and presumably something that could be called feel, but it looks more like the bottom hem of some sort of cloak.

I can hardly control them anymore. They are inside my whole being now,  not just my body but my mind. Images distort and memories shatter as i try and cling on to whatever is keeping me here. Keeping them from truly taking me to the other place.

Those are the only features i can work out at this point, everything between is simply a mass of darkness. Not a shadow anymore, but something else entirely. Shadows still have some sort of radiance to them. They are really a dark shade of grey. But not these shadows. They are not simply the absence of light, but the absence of any sort of substance at all, they seem to trap any passing light and hold it behind them. They have gone beyond darkness now to something much, much worse. Something i can’t understand, let alone describe through simple words. And still they are pulsating. Pressing. forcing the facade holding them back crumbles to dust, not in a dramatic manner, but completely silently. It seems as if these things can control anything, be anything, do anything they feel needs doing. They begin to walk towards me in long, stalking strides, covering the best part of two meters with every…

they don’t like me describing them, but it seems to be doing them harm somehow, their grip around me is loosening  the inky tendrils still stretch deep into my psyche, but their ends are beginning to fray, to release their grip. I think I may be OK soon if i can just. Keep. Going.

…step they take, until they have surrounded my bed. A solid wall of impenetrable darkness descends over my body as they lean in. I still don’t know what they are intending to do with me, but i know that death would be a true release from this terror. This unknowing horror of what is to come, but i find out soon enough. They lean closer and closer, at impossible angles now. But these creatures don’t function by our laws. They keep coming until they seem to be laying on the air just above me, all of them separate  yet somehow all in the same place, parallel with my body and directly above me. And they begin to descend.

they are LEAVING. their grip is relenting. slowly. but they are giving me back my life. the tiny kernel in the darkness that was me is growing again. Filling my body, and my mind again.

They enter my body and i can feel my life draining from me from the inside out, i feel this bed shall become my deathbed, but the feeling of hollowness only spreads until it is just under my skin. It never breaks the surface. I am no longer my own person any more, merely a consciousness trapped in the glass domes of these eyes. I can only watch as I lose control of myself entirely.

I had no hope. They have been within me since the first night. They permeate my existence and drive my mind round and round and round until i can no longer keep track of anything any more. I am forced to submit my life to this non existence  watching as they consume me, and my soul decays within an empty vessel. empty save for the darkness.


kites, grass stains, adrenaline and Stravinsky… 4 things which are better than revision.

to be truly honest i could have kept that list going on for as long as i wanted, for ever and ever until time itself died… but i thought i would focus on this weekend to show you what lengths the creative procrastinator will reach in the ultimate goal of not doing stuff. There are some also pretty hilarious stories spawning from the shenannigans of this weekend also. So, lets crackalack

the other week i spontaneously splurged £120 on a giant, 5sqm kite made by some sketchy company in china, and said kite arrived (finally) the other day, so of course the first thing i did was call up an assistant and go fly it… thank go I did. I am used to flying tiny little 2 m dual line kites, and the power coming from those is pretty pathetic at best, so i saw the trees swaying gently in the breeze and was all like ‘paaaaah this is fine’ about half an hour later i got the kite into the air, then promptly found myself skidding across the field at a rate of knots directly at a hedgerow, then i took off, pulled a spectacular superman style leap and promptly landed on my face. This whole time i was whooping with glee and laughing my head off, just after i came to a halt i noticed just how close to doing myself a serious injury i actually was. We looked at my tracks after and discovered i had covered about 150 meters sliding on my feet, and and extra 10 odd meters whilst airborne, again to reiterate right at a big ass fucking hedge. This is what i now do for fun pretty much every evening, because i haven’t yet found something which gives me the same adrenaline rush as being pulled around a field by an over sized version of a child’s toy…

Following this i decided that, being a wonderful boyfriend and all, That I should go and watch my girlfriend, who is the principal flute  in the Hampshire county youth orchestra (band camp jokes got old years ago). What i wasnt told were two things: Firstly, that there was going to be interpretive dance involving flailing, rolling and shoes… and secondly that i would be served at the bar which frankly is the only reason I could stand the whole ordeal, i mean its fine if you want to take up dance, or theater as one of your hobbies… but i find interpretive dance is in the awkward middle ground where you are trying to convey a theatrical message through the medium of dance, and it’s a bit like trying to sing a piece of modern art… it just doesn’t really work and you end up looking a bit silly. and yes, i am aware that i am saying this after trying to convey the subtle joys of power kiting to the masses…


i have started having terrifying night terrors which i have decided to turn into creepy stories… because i’m totally normal like that and totally not crazy in any way, so if i start posing at like 2 AM its because THEY WONT LET ME SLEEP (ooooh creepy teaser)

Ciao for now… hey that rhymes 😀


The magical pastie x


yes, i would love to revise, but first i want to be the very best… the best there ever was


so basically my a levels are now completely doomed since i decided to kill some time and avoid revision by tidying one of my old cupboards. In which i found my old game boy advance sp. This thing was practically my only source of entertainment for most of my childhood, and the best part, I still had my old Pokemon games saved, i loaded up leaf green and found myself in the old power station en route to catching zapdos with a level 68 mewtwo in my party. I have never been more proud of young me. Ever. and that’s the reason i will now fail my a levels: when i feel like being a god of all things Pokemon i can play leaf green, but if i want to truly re live my childhood i started my journey of rediscovery by restarting my game on sapphire, Nostalgia is the best thing.

On a slightly more depressing note, my parents are now home and my life has become almost completely unbearable; dad jumps down my throat about everything and mum is convinced that i hate her, i now don’t want to leave my room for fear of being shouted at by dad or guilt-tripped by mum for not arranging some sofa cushions properly, I can’t revise properly because i’m too busy trying to deal with all the tiny things i have done wrong around the house. I can’t sleep any more because I just worry about everything and on top of all of this a whole number of other shitty personal things happened over Easter which i shan’t go in to. I dont know how much more of this i can take, just leaving and getting the train somewhere else is getting to seem like a more and more enticing option just to get away from my parents.

So that’s what i did over my Easter holidays

the magical pastie xx

two weeks alone, one month until a levels, zero hours of revisison.

ahoyhoy internet peoples

so yea, as you may know already, in England anyone over the age of about 15 mortally fears the dates between about the first of April and the end of June, this is not due to some sort of horrific ceremony of permanently attaching a top hat to their heads, and replacing their blood with tea (that happens on your 18th birthday) but because of the horror that is exams (dun dun DUUUUUUUN). Basically rather than using exams to check if we have learned stuff like they are supposed to be used, these two hour long data vomiting sessions now decide the outcome of your entire life, and frankly its a bit silly.

basically universities say that in order to study a certain course with them then you need a set of three letters (most of the time not related to anything) that determine how well you can brutally force information in to your brain, fueled by only coffee and dubstep at 3AM in the morning, before regurgitating that knowledge back on to some paper, kind of like filling a balloon  with really chunky pasta sauce, then letting go of the neck and aiming it at a canvas, hoping that the result looks a bit like the mona lisa. At A – level… level… we have to learn 4 subjects to a pretty high level in order to do well in these exams and get the necessary grades to go study one thing at uni, Universities sometimes (and usually incorrectly) separate these subjects in to ‘soft’ (art, DT, interpretive dance, underwater basket weaving) and ‘hard’ subjects (science and maths (but not psychology, because:


but anyway, apart from that it doesn’t really matter what subjects you choose, so long as they are ‘hard’, to the extent that university entry requirements have begun to sound like badly scripted porn, always asking for harder and harder subjects. But studies have shown that all these exams don’t actually mean we remember things better, someone could get 100% in an exam, then a month later, or in my case 30 seconds after finishing, not remember a thing about the subject. I got a solid A in history, and yet now i can barely recall anything that we learned, that data space in my brain has been filled with song lyrics, internal rants and movie quotes. So why don’t we go all Finnish on the education system, with only one exam when students are 16, apart from the occasional topic test, and then train people for specific jobs once they apply. For proof that it works just look at how happy the Fins are…

and the answer, as with most things British  is that it’s tradition to drill information into our skulls so we can robotically repeat it on the whim of any teacher who dares question our knowledge of Pittite economic policy (Google it, its fascinating…). Its the same with most of our crazy traditions that don’t really make sense (queuing, ridiculous language rules, the school house system… even in non boarding schools, bear baiting, degrading the lower classes and casual racism towards anyone [or thing] who ‘looks a bit foreign’) we are so scared to grow up and accept that breaking some traditions may actually be a good thing (shock and awe ensue) we, as people, have learned that change is bad. I think that this is because we assume we are too weak  minded to actually adapt ourselves to this break from normality if it ever happens, despite how ridiculous we look (i mean think how stupid the segregationists in australia look these days, then go look at a picture of an anti gar parade, notice any similarities)  we assume that we wont be able to keep up with change and so we resist it.

so to summarize, that was a really long rant about how A – levels can go lick a bug zapper.

This was a public service announcement brought to you by:

the magical pastie