Hey
Hey everyone,
Strangely, I'm getting some really positive feedback about my Scare Review .
First another fasterlouder scribe gave me a verbal thumbs up, and then I got an email from someone name Hayley saying it was one of the best reviews they had ever read.
Granted, it appears that hayley works for Mercenary Publicity, who just happen to have The Scare on their Roster, but it is still nice to get kudos.
Mental note: organise an interview with The Scare as soon as their schedule permits.
My myspace friends list is multiplying.
The story I was going to tell yesterday was me freaking out because I saw fighter planes or something on maneuvers at about half seven at night. They were flying straight up to about 40,000 feet, when they levelled off and flew North-East. They left big, fat vapour trails.
This bugged me, since I was pretty sure that even the RAF doesn't do exercises over London.
I wondered if they were Trident Cruise Missiles being launched.
I checked my watch, wondering if within half an hour hydrogen bombs would be falling over London.
I was pretty sure that being relatively close to London, if that did happen I would either be vaporised at moment of impact, or I'd be incinerated as soon as the fireball spread. Either way, I'd probably be dead before I even knew what had happened.
I checked the TV. Nothing. I rolled the tuner on the radio. I found a great Dubstep DnB Pirate channel, but no imminent apocalypse.
I imagined a fireball swallowing greater London.
I wondered if the flimsy walls of my decommissioned council flat would offer any shelter from the shockwave.
I switched off my laptop, so that the EMP wouldn't fry the circuits.
And I waited until the clock reached Half Eight, watching TV, thinking about sending SMS's to friends (I decided against any SMS's).
.
.
.
.
.
I still have no idea what the fighters/missiles were doing, but I'm still here. Unless this is all some kind of Edgar Allen Poe / Stanislaw Lem alternate universe.
It felt weird to feel the old nuclear paranoia come back. Like someone you used to know but haven't talked to in a long time.
I used to feel like that every day. From age 11 to 23, I felt like I was on my own little nuclear knife-edge.
I think I'll go listen to Two Minutes to Midnight by Iron Maiden Now.
Over and out.
J
Strangely, I'm getting some really positive feedback about my Scare Review .
First another fasterlouder scribe gave me a verbal thumbs up, and then I got an email from someone name Hayley saying it was one of the best reviews they had ever read.
Granted, it appears that hayley works for Mercenary Publicity, who just happen to have The Scare on their Roster, but it is still nice to get kudos.
Mental note: organise an interview with The Scare as soon as their schedule permits.
My myspace friends list is multiplying.
The story I was going to tell yesterday was me freaking out because I saw fighter planes or something on maneuvers at about half seven at night. They were flying straight up to about 40,000 feet, when they levelled off and flew North-East. They left big, fat vapour trails.
This bugged me, since I was pretty sure that even the RAF doesn't do exercises over London.
I wondered if they were Trident Cruise Missiles being launched.
I checked my watch, wondering if within half an hour hydrogen bombs would be falling over London.
I was pretty sure that being relatively close to London, if that did happen I would either be vaporised at moment of impact, or I'd be incinerated as soon as the fireball spread. Either way, I'd probably be dead before I even knew what had happened.
I checked the TV. Nothing. I rolled the tuner on the radio. I found a great Dubstep DnB Pirate channel, but no imminent apocalypse.
I imagined a fireball swallowing greater London.
I wondered if the flimsy walls of my decommissioned council flat would offer any shelter from the shockwave.
I switched off my laptop, so that the EMP wouldn't fry the circuits.
And I waited until the clock reached Half Eight, watching TV, thinking about sending SMS's to friends (I decided against any SMS's).
.
.
.
.
.
I still have no idea what the fighters/missiles were doing, but I'm still here. Unless this is all some kind of Edgar Allen Poe / Stanislaw Lem alternate universe.
It felt weird to feel the old nuclear paranoia come back. Like someone you used to know but haven't talked to in a long time.
I used to feel like that every day. From age 11 to 23, I felt like I was on my own little nuclear knife-edge.
I think I'll go listen to Two Minutes to Midnight by Iron Maiden Now.
Over and out.
J
posted by the.exile at 4:20 pm
1 Comments:
Hi Jason -
I receive notices of calls for literary submissions. This one may fit you - or not.
"Cesium Magazine is a new, upcoming magazine featuring articles on art, film
and music, cultural examinations and current politics.
Our target audience is adults 18 to 30, who are plugged-in, edgy and intellectual.
We are currently looking for submissions for inclusion in our quarterly print issue,
as well as our companion website.
Please visit us at www.cesium-online.com where you can see our online content,
get a feel for our editorial style, as well as order our latest print issue.
Also, feel free to send any questions to cesiummagazine@gmail.com
(cesiummagazine(at)gmail.com--replace (at) with @)."
All for now -
Clyo
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