By Definition, A Crush Must Hurt

"You are what you love, not what loves you, I decided that a long time ago."
-Donald Kaufman, Adaptation.

Tarquin puts down his pen to drain the last of the grainy blackness from his cup and wipes the corner of his mouth. "Thanks a lot!" Chirpy Waitress spurts as she steals away the empty. Tarquin smiles, for a split second catches the eyes of Chirpy Waitress. "Thanks a lot" Tarquin replies, immediately wishing he hadn't. Chirpy Waitress pretends to ignore him and walks away. Why do I want to fall in love with every woman that shows me the least bit of attention? Tarquin puts his imitation Moleskine into his bag and begins to leave.

The door of apartment fifteen of two hundred and thirty four Fleet street opens and Tarquin throws his bag; an old tattered brown satchel into the cave. The one hundred dollar a week apartment is colder than the outside and feels like another person besides the young Tarquin hasn't stepped into it's austere embrace for some time. He travels to the bathroom, coffee always makes me wee. Tarquin's satchel lay open; his cheap fake notebook lay exposed, the rounded corners resting out, glasses and various painkillers rolling in slow motion under the couch that folds out into a futon.

I may have done something bad. Something I may have underestimated and not fully understood. But now I'm in it and I have no idea where I stand. All I know now is that I am now responsible for some one's misery. It seems I can now scratch that one off the list. The sad truth is, that one may have been scratched off the list a long time ago and I may not have even realised it.

To be continued...

No, I am Spartacus!

My aging computer constantly spirals into the dark, tartan depths of obsolescence and groans as the once mighty machine opens the ever pretentious iTunes. I find my artist of choice amongst my dense Forrest of music and I begin.

I generally write with music, I find it helps me think. Of recent I have found Radiohead's latest album In Rainbows quite fruitful and recommend it to anyone. But it doesn't just help me think but also greatly influences my writing.

That is why I have decided to see if this little experiment will work. It's part to better my writing abilities and part to see if anyone actually reads this poor excuse for a blog (which this with any luck boosts the content and gives the blog more substance than just an excuse for a small angry man to vent his frustrations in a tawdry and pretentious manner.)

Comment on this post with any musical suggestion, I will find it, if I don't have it I will get it and I will write a short story while playing only that piece. I will do this every fortnight, starting with the first suggestion I get. The stories may be fiction or non fiction and with any luck will reflect what music was playing through the old 80's speakers that I rescued from a garage sale when I was 15 years old.

With any luck, it won't be shit. So please, throw some at me, I will choose one at random and begin.

With any luck, it won't be shit.

NOTE: Submit comments by clicking the small link saying comment. I really shouldn't need to put this note but hey, kids these days.