The Nine O'Clock to PlutoWe all crowded around a single television set, stunned at the reports that were flowing in, relaying details of the accident that had just transpired a few minutes ago. The nine o'clock to Pluto had derailed and any idiot could see why. Although there was never any official mention of it, I had it on good authority that the nine o'clock to Pluto ran on solar power. Solar power! In this day and age! Granted, it was the most obvious choice when the interstellar railroad was completed around the same time that Mercury was renamed Pluto after it was deemed that it was superfluous to recognise such a small, distant planet in the Universal Government, resulting in the original Pluto being vaporised. But that was fifty years ago to this day! Why didn't they engineer them with warp drives or something that could make the journey without having to worry about an unprecedented eclipse?In the end though, I can't say that I'm honestly shocked. This is the same group of universal leaders who decid
The Iron Writer: BrokenBlue bleeding into a glistening yellow, revealing a somewhat forboding red. The sky... it hasn't changed since you went out to get our food. Chinese takeaway, huh? Romantic it won't be, but at least you're coming back to me. You'll come strolling out of the horizon and bring me a meal, just like I can always rely on you to do. You'll see me peering out of the window as you walk up the garden path, past the burnt out car and through the front door. Our front door.How did we get this back? How could we have given this up when we did and almost never get it back? Thank you for twist of fate and catching my head as the corporate world sliced it off without mercy. Thank you for stitching me back together and letting my own mind move my body one more time. I am sorry that I can't always do as you please, but you're so sweet to keep brushing your hand across my brow as I lay in bed and watch you live your life. Then, you come home and it's no longer 'your life'. It's 'our life'. All because
The Life CycleOne breathAnd many tears.Into the wildernessThenů To a mother's waiting armsWelcome.IgnoreAnd look away.For they cannot see itYour inner beauty and great charmInside.Silence.All that is said.Kind of human nature,A unique instinct of mammals.Just love.Vanished.Just locked away.Stay a little longerIn the dark with fading air.Time up.God blessThese mounds of earth.Guarding these empty shellsDevoid of souls and lacking lifeThank you.
Human TrafficHuman Traffic, a British feature films set in Cardiff, Wales, tells the story of five young people who have to suffer through a mundane week in the wait for Friday night, when they can afford entry into a Nightclub and indulge in a session of drug-taking. The film could definitely be described as a period piece, being made in 1999 to capitalise on the success of 1995's Trainspotting and the rise of the club-going phenomenon. However, the film's accuracy in its depiction of youth culture in Britain is debatable.The setting of a city such as Cardiff is an interesting one and could have opened up various possibilities to help distinguish Welsh life as a social comment in its own right. Unfortunately, I feel compelled to agree with the BBC's Nick Hilditch as he comments that 'Cardiff stands for any city' in his review of the film. To the film's target audience, those who also enjoy going to Nightclubs, this setting will appear instantly familiar to them in spite of it being a very specifi