Tuesday, November 28, 2006


Object, damn it
I want an objection
You are allowed
I won't bite your head off
I wouldn't have said anything if I didn't want an objection
I wouldn't have bothered to say anything if I didn't care whether you objected or not
In fact, I think I want you to object
With intention
Please object?

I think I shall go mad

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

And I'll Fight Like Hell, To Hide That I'm Giving Up

I must stay awake
I scribble words, scrawl nonsense, inscribe the dregs of my mind that should be concentrating on futile cycles.
The is futile.
Resistance is futile.
The futility of waking, sleeping, concentrating.
The antisense approach, reaching understanding backwards through a mire of confusion.

No, I have no idea where that was going. I think I fell asleep while writing it. The power of a boring lecturer.

I'm tired of being fucked around. I know he doesn't do it on purpose, he doesn't intend to upset me - apparently trying to be pleasant about it means I'm not upset; I'm not allowed to be upset after the event, and furthermore we're not going to argue about it because he doesn't want to piss me off. Well, I'm already pissed off, and I'm not in the mood to get pissed off enough so that I end up apologising for being pissed off because I get so goddamned angry.

So instead, I'm going to give up.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

Membrane Cytoscaffolds

Row upon row of heads, tier upon tier of bodies. Shuffling noises, the undercurrent of two hundred asynchronous breaths being drawn and released. Someone coughs, another sneezes then blows thier nose, while another sniffs inelegantly, hoping nobody noticed.

There is no silence, but instead a noisy sort of quiet as two hundred pairs of ears strain to hear the narration of what two hundred pairs of eyes follow on the projection board in front of them. The clatter of pens being put down and picked up, searched for in pencil cases and dropped on the floor. Pens clicked, tapped, chewed in concentration and as the chewer drifts into daydream before shaking thier head and returning to the present. Eliptocyctosis, splemomegaly, anaemia; long words hang in the air with almost tangible crushing weight. Two hundred brains bend themselves around an endless parade of facts and tidbits of knowledge, gawp at the image of a grossely over-distended spleen and sigh over complex diagrams of molecules arranged in a complex network.

Heads begin to loll as the lecture continues, concentration wavers and every now and again a muttered conversatin can be heard.

When the lecture ends, there will be a clattering of feet, as bodies rush to stand. Voices will raise suddenly as chatter errupts among friends anxious to continue conversations halted by the neccessity of learning. Bags will clater as pens, cases, pads and folders are slung in carelessly or wedged in; noise will conquor silence to reign once again.

But for now, quiet rules. Shuffling bodies, subdued movement, interrupted by the rattle of pen and the rustle of paper.

Dedicated to the interminable droning of Protein Pete