http://www.poetry.com/dotnet/P3740991/999/1/display.aspx

edit. this was written as a joke when i was about 16, they sent me a letter saying they were going to publish it, i think it was a fake book though that they wanted me to buy.. i showed my mum the letter and she gave me £2. winner.

I got £70 for a poem i wrote for uni from an irish publishers to put it in print. Never banked the cheque as i was well proud of it. As far as I'm aware the poem never got published so FAIL.

little animation i did for a uni project, pretty shit imo
http://rapidshare.com/files/170727144/camera1.wmv

I wrote this recently for my uni paper, but they don't want it.

"Living within a generation classified by banality, digimon and meningitis vaccination scars never bodes well for any sort of activity involving same-age human contact, but I’ve grown to be able to predict who will give me the decency of a conversation which doesn’t want to make me punch them square in the throat. My first year, in hindsight, seems like a repressed throat-punching rampage. I mean, today, for example, I had the luck to be sitting on the bus directly behind a guy who can only be described as the fur-trimmed-hood Abercrombie and Fitch wearing equivalent of a used hypodermic needle in the eardrum. Abercrombie guy was talking to ‘female friend’ (and anyone else who had the use of their ears within a 10 metre radius) in one of those thick Northern accents I can never place, about how easy it was to get into the MI6. I tried my very hardest to focus my attention on something that could have annoyed me less; like the possibility that Jade Goody may survive her cancer outbreak, but his ignorant discussion of government intelligence managed to pierce through this seemingly Kevlar-laced barrier. It’s not even the subject matter of his conversation, I know nothing about the government services, I’d never want to join and probably wouldn’t be allowed near the building, but just the way he was trying (and apparently succeeding) to impress ‘female friend’ with this “I’m important and know about secret stuff” attitude which made me get off the bus four stops early. Of course, this was a Pyrrhic victory, I had to walk home in the cold, but its people like this who make me advise against University.

My favourite hobby of the first year seemed to be collecting the phone numbers of people of I would never call, throwing myself into the student scene with the same devil may care attitude of a guy who tests if acid is corrosive by dipping his face into a vat of it. It was only when I started making friends with the locals when I discovered it wasn’t being a student at Liverpool I enjoyed, but being in Liverpool. Student nights are the same across the country, the ‘lash’, the ‘banter’ and the ‘craic’ seemingly a concoction of watered down sambucca, that Irish fiddle song and rugby players guising repressed homosexuality by grinding to Lil Wayne with fat girls dressed as pirates. At least if I went to college in the states, they have frat parties filled with ‘double blowjobs’ and ‘drunken facials’, if the internet’s anything to go by. The second year was better; I was out of halls and had the opportunity to choose the people I would live with for the next couple of years. This didn’t really help with the amount of work I was due to get done, living with an unemployed uni-dropout in never something which will spur you on in your studies, while I’m trying to read Renaissance poetry, or something else lame, he’d be next to me baiting Americans on Call of Duty or getting fired form another job I got him. To put things in perspective, last week we found what looked like an elephant shit directly outside our front door, now I wasn’t touching that for love nor did money, so Einstein thought the best method of poo removal was to pour a kettle of boiling water over it. There were shit vapours in our yard for days. Wavertree is apparently the dog-fight capital of Europe; I suppose dog fights and dog shit go hand in hand.

If I had to sum up my university life in a few words, it’d probably be drug-induced-train-wreck or cynical-boredom-session, but that’s just me, I’m naturally a pessimistic guy. I have found out it’s not the subject ‘English Literature’ I enjoy, just literature. I’ve read a hell of a lot this year, but not much within the course. Back to London for me."


I've got a load of fiction that I write, but like I said, its not typed up.

Did they tell you why?

check that. ignore the title and me looking like a dick.

did u say thats not how you originally wrote it?

its a ralph lauren shirt!
i liked what they did with it actually because i wrote 2 articles. one i was more fond of but they hated. it seems as though they mixed the two together which is cool.
oh and i got picked out of thousands of kids to do that. about 20ish kids got in. im so lucky though because not many got full pages.

I liked it also, didnt get into it until the second series though, then went back and downloaded the first.

Its all well and good saying individuality doesnt come from Topman, it comes from the catwalk and people walking around in patterned hoodies like on skins.

But most of these fuckers dont actually give a fuck what they look like, they just go out to get fucked and have a good time. They buy what is available to them on the highstreet, they aint gunna be hunting down raw denim from Japan and changing the lenses from the rayban sunnies so they can wear them as proper glasses, there just gunna walk into Topman and buy what they like.

Obviously different posting on a fashion forum and in a fashion mag where people do actually care about what they wear.

I haven't seen series one, was it any good?