dear world!

STOP SAYING "PACHOOWWWWWW!"

PACHOWWW!!!

Poor Excuse For Absence.

Im more than aware that i havent been here for...a while. and sadly its not because ive been under a pile of work or off having an adventure, but purely the fact that ive been going through a two month writers block. And seeing as i do creative writing this is quite a serious thing. but, i must pull myself out of my self induced mind coma and stop being a fucking wimp! Yes!

Now once upon a time, i didnt have brain daught and was able to think up wonderful things with the my here mind. So, until i manage to come up with something more entertaining than me rambling on about writers block. i have for you, a story.

For better or for worse

Two sticks of dynamite stood proud and brilliant red. They were in a line up of thirteen others, which had been placed along the underside of a small country bridge. A long fuse connected them all, then ran down a near by path where a man stood waiting with a burning match. These two sticks of dynamite in particular had formed a bond over the recent weeks, a strong bond that had begun the day their nitro-glycerine has stabilised and the pair had become explosive.

The concept of love had only ever been considered possible for humans and even then it was debatable. The thought of animals loving one another was humoured even to the extent of marriage. And the love a person has for the extra fifteen minutes in bed has become the most revered of all. It is therefore sad that the love that one stick of dynamite may have for another is always overlooked and most definitely thought ridiculous. Yet here we have two simple objects that, since going through so much together, have managed to find that one thing that everyone seems to be looking for. The little things fell in love. Not as daft as you may think, mind. They were both equals and saw each other as equals, at the same time, they each had their role. In all honesty, it was simply to explode, but they would do it together and yet each in their own way.

As they both waited by the side of the bridge, both perfectly aware of the fate, which lay in store. The man hiding out in the bushes struck the match and lit the fuse. The crackle of the spark began to worm its way down towards the line of dynamite. The two lovers waited patiently, pulsing. The flame hurried towards them, it gained speed as the fuse grew shorter. They both knew what was going to happen, and the tension was too great to stand. The little red sticks were almost shaking with fear, the flames just inches away. The spitting fire was creeping in over the top of their heads until it reached the very tip when it happened - a heat so great, it propelled rocks and stones far away. An expulsion of dust was thrown in the air and shards of granite rained down. There was no sign of brilliant red amongst all the rubble, no trace of where the lovers had once stood so proudly. No remainders of a once great.

While i hide and cringe at the thought of someone reading something ive written. You can listen to this!

aaaah, its good being back!