My friend, the wordsmith

Katy wrote:
"Your blog is lyrical wizardry. I had no idea -NO IDEA- that whilst we were whimsically battling Rolf Harris anecdotes across the social ping-pong table, you were casually cultivating a writing style that makes my womb seep. Amen sister. Amen."

I'm typing through tears.
This is going to be the quote on the sleeve of my first book, it has to be.

I've been thinking lately...

...that whilst its good to have money I imagine that having any substantial amount in the 1970s would have been a waste.
From what I've seen I can only assume that everybody was spending their cash on tongue and groove, shag carpetting, polyester suits, teasing combs and acid in between trips to the local Discotheque and time spent sticking it to the man.

Upon reflection I'm sure that all the nouveau riche from the 70s wished that they had put their spare change in a savings account and kept the dough until high end products weren't made entirely of melamine and crotchet.

Just a thought.

Cancer Research Knitwear and all the things that make me warm

All the new knitwear in the world cannot compare with second hand charity shop knitwear and its days gone by musk. When I find this knitwear I am reminded of all that is good which in turn reminds me of Dr Cosby and all that he did. You follow me? Dr Cosby was a pioneer of knitwear and because of him there is an abundance of tasteless patterned sweaters and sweater vests for me to vacuum up, touch and cuddle. Because when the 1980s ended people came to their senses and realised that you only look cool in tasteless patterned knitwear if you wear tight jeans and have a fancy hair cut and they gave all this wool to the good folks raising money for all the bad in the world.

Dear Dr Cosby,

Thank you for all that you did and for everything that you created.
Because of you I am warm in the winter and the talk of the town.

Yours gratefully,

Thom

I love Boxie

My T Spoke T-Shirt is no longer for sale at iloveboxie.com but can still be viewed here

I wear mine with pride, safe in the knowledge that Jackie Kennedy Onassis knows everything that I need her to know. Our love is real, I'm sure of it.
The beautiful girl with pixie short hair models it delightfully and if I'm honest her green denim jacket fills me with nothing but envy.

The story behind the T-Shirt can be viewed here.

Alternatively you could scroll down this very blog and read the original, nostalgic text.

www.thomatronics.com-where history is made.

I'm considering sticking this on my mirror....

....a regular affirmation to keep me from crying into my Ready Brek each morning.  

Writings for Popshot perhaps

.....If this is modern living
then I don't want that
I'd rather live in yesterday
or Monday even.

Weather reports or something similar.

The forecast looks Sunny. Real Sunny.

On a Wing(er) and a prayer.

I read Debra Winger's book 'Undiscovered' today. Front to back, just let the words penetrate my mind, become what I tried so hard to say.
I didn't like Debra before and now she is so unrecognisable as the person I thought she was that I feel guilty, embarrassed by my ignorance of her. I almost let snap judgements rob me of a chance to understand all that she is. I will be forever grateful that I didn't.


'Disappointment is a misplaced hope. But bitterness will kill you.'


I could hardly breathe as I read the words. I felt each and every one stab my skin, tattooing themselves on my very being.
Bitterness will kill you. Its all I could do not to tear the page out and physically eat the paper.

Bitterness will kill you.
Words to live by. Perhaps something to consider today.

Needs job, wants direction

My only two moods.

Now

Baby Kenwood

I've been trying to write today. I've been unsuccessful. Everytime I go to type I get distracted and end up sitting in front of the telly with a bag of liquorice watching the last scene of 'The way we were' over and over and over, tears in my eyes, lips moving in time to the words that are now forever etched in my mind. ('You're girl is lovely Hubbell.' She sure is Katie, but she'll never be you.)

As much as I love that film, and believe me, I do love that film, I can't help but think that my time could be better spent. Its Sunday, I had no plans. I should be writing towards my future. My Dad's words from my childhood-'You're letting nobody down but yourself'-are swirling around my head. And I know they're right. Even my new espadrilles can't distract me from the gaping hole of unfulfilment that is slowly taking over the inside of my body. I swear soon I'll just be a voice without a body.

'Think of all I could have done' I'll be shouting to myself or at least to the empty area where myself used to be.

I read a quote in O Magazine yesterday. It was from an interview with 90s Rock/Pop Queen Sheryl Crow and she was talking about the adoption of her son.

'...When I let go of what I thought my life was supposed to look like, Wyatt found his way in.'

Whilst I'm happy that Sheryl had such a grand epiphany and her life is now everything she subconsciously knew it could be, I can't not wish that it was that easy for me. That I too could sit in my plush, eco-friendly house on the beach, paid for with 'All I wanna do is have some fun' money, rooting through Susan Jeffers and Dr Phil self help books and suddenly realising that once I let go of all my unrealistic expectations of my future, a child, who may or may not have a name that sounds suspiciously like an electrical appliance, will drop into my living room and we'll live happily ever after.
Of course in my case, baby Kenwood Food Processor would be a career in writing or film-making and not an actual baby (I dont know much about my future but I know a screaming baby does not feature.)

So please Katie/Hubbell/Oprah/Sheryl/Kenwood-send me a sign, let me know that the expectations (that I have now officially let go of!) are not merely dillusions.

Let there be light.

Things that make me feel safe.

I like to know that you know me.

I'm comforted by that fact.
It keeps me warm.

I can remember what you said.

I hope you feel better.
I feel fucking lousy.
My hair wont go right and I bet you're laughing right now
or drinking a coffee and thinking about how much
better.
you.
feel.

I think you should get fucking lost.

All the things I see, all the things I hope for.

I never knew what it felt like to want every moment between us to move faster than they do,
to want each now to be a now we experience together,
to feel that time apart is wasted time.

Moments without you make me wish I was even one step closer to where you are.

.....I never knew until you.

All I really wanted.

'If I fuck you I'll have to stay' he said whilst buttoning up the final button on his jeans and reaching for his jacket.
'And if I stay I may never leave.'
He zipped up his jacket and took a gulp from a glass of water on a cabinet next to a stack of old magazines.
'And if this cycle starts up again I may never get to see Paris.'

'I'm not ready to be a victim.'

Stay because you'd die without me.

'Why dont you want me to go?' you said.
I stumbled for words, trying hard to find what it was I needed to say.
'I dont want you to go because I want you to stay' I said.
I was embarrassed by my lack of eloquence and I felt my cheeks flush.
I hoped you'd look passed my inability to explain what I felt and understand what it was I wanted you to hear.
You did your shoelaces up and sat back on the sofa. I signed a cheque for the bank and took a bite of my sandwich.
Life seemed uncertain then.

See me.

'Sex isn't all I see in you' I said.
'But you do give fucking fantastic head.'
You smiled an awkward kind of smile but I could tell that I'd hurt your feelings. I wanted to move on but my comment lingered in the air like perfume and your eyes said all that you hadn't. It was impossible to ignore the upset I'd caused.

'I just wanted to make you laugh' I said.
'You made me feel like a prick' you said.
'But I just wanted to make you laugh' I said again.
There was silence and I fought the urge to fill it with a joke.
You poured some more wine into your glass and did the zip up on your jacket.
I scratched my head and looked out the window. A man and a woman sat on a bench by the park. It was cold and they wore hats and scarves. The woman linked arms with the man and tucked her hand in his pocket.

For a moment I forgot about you.

'I just hope this is something' you said.

I blinked a few times because I didn't know what to say.

All that she is.

He always felt that Jackie O would have loved him if they had met. He would dedicate notebooks to her and if he saw something funny on the TV he would write it down thinking that her spirit would somehow absorb the words-a feeble attempt at a connection. He finally came to accept that their love story wasn't meant to happen when he saw footage of her holidaying in Capri, roman sandals in hand, sand at her feet.

He saw colours differently from then on, everything seemed grey.

No.1 Fake magazine

My No.1 Fake magazine submission. Words are all there is.