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Noughts and Crosses

Ranked by the users of the website Board Game Geek as the 27,121st best game out of 27,121 games, Tic-Tac-Toe - an alternative, and undoubtedly stupider name, for the game Noughts and Crosses.  This ranking comes from an average score calculated from the hundreds of people who have felt it necessary to review a game you played on the inside covers of exercise books at school instead of writing about how different animals in Orwells Animal Farm represented different people you’d never heard of. But it’s not all doom and gloom. The user Ahj00ma has provided the game with a score of 7 out of 10 - well above its rock-bottom 2.7 average, pointing out that Noughts and Crosses is, “accessible in a ll languages” and “extremely portable.” Predictable for a covert agent of guerrilla warfare, the ninja user ninjabellybutt is having none of it, giving the game 2 out of 10, dismissing its “weak theme and terrible art,”  If he wasn’t a dangerous mercenary from feudal Japan, I would argue wi...
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Coronation

 And so we come to the end of a day. A momentous day. Almost more than momentous. Almost a day that can't be described using the English language, or in fact any language that has words. Because words are out of their depth today. Words are embarrassing themselves. Words have massive holes in their pants. We should all stop talking, writing etc. The very act of communication has been shown up for the fraud that it is. Consciousness itself, guilty of being wholly unprepared by the solemnity, the pageantry, the commitment to service, we have been a witness to.  The sword held single-handedly by an empress MP Mordaunt, wrapped in a wizards cloak. The sword put down and picked-up again and then put down and then passed across and then paid for and then picked up again. I don't know where the sword's gone? We should find the sword.  No more "Queen's Consort". Now just "Queen", like the band. Prince Harry was there, placed carefully behind the hat of Princ...
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Breakfast

No sausages left. All gone. Taken while my eye was off the ball. Sausages consumed by structured souls  who attend breakfast buffets "on time". Those Prompt Sausage munchers know The early bird catches the piggy worm. Held teasingly in the beaks of accountants. Whilst I am left with bacon.
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Meaninglessnessnessness

You’ll have to excuse me. I’m experiencing a moment of extreme clarity. I have seen deeper into something than perhaps could be expected of even the most serious man. I have interpreted past the sum of parts and find myself staring into the cold hard centre of a middle distance. What a distance that is.  And just look at the sea, isn’t it big. Bigger than our sulking imagination can handle. Even bigger than a bus. A big bus - multiple decks with each level representing some layer of consciousness or something equally equal.  Layers of a cake with each one a levels on a bus. A maximum of two levels to stop the boss toppling and thus upending the cake as it navigates twists is the never ending road that will eventually come to an end. To think just twenty minutes earlier I was buying jacket potatoes from the Coop, and now here I am, wind blowing through my long hair (I don’t have any hair), standing rigid and reflective on the edge of a cliff on the Dorset coast, realising that ...
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Password Expired

My password was about to expire. I've been told this by a personal computer in no uncertain terms. It has been made more than clear to me - more than clear to me - that I am expected to choose a new one.   It had to be memorable. Have a mix of capital and lower-case letters. Maybe the odd numeric thrown in. It had to say something about me. Something positive, yet something no-one else would consider about my character if they looked at me hidden underneath this thick thick jumper. It had to have a beginning middle and an end, a driving narrative, a startling opening with  a devastating twist at its conclusion,  repeated again and again in an infinite line of be-straggled asterisks.  Any missed detail, how ever slight, would leave me open to a savage and violent attack. My account hacked, my Spotify T’Pau Hidden Gems playlist published all over social media, printed on posters, displayed on billboards, read out in solemnity in every church in England.  I cl...
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Coincidence?

“Fancy meeting you here” We’re both doing the same dull thing at the same dull time, because it’s the most likely dull thing for us to do. There’s no coincidence, just a lack of imagination. A dark empty void in which all we pretend autonomy. Listen to the beeps of the self-service checkout. Listen as they never, ever stop.   Coincidences are mundane common sense dressed-up in a raised eyebrow. A cheap and broken distraction from the stupid rain that stops you going for a walk at lunchtime.  "Dog," in the lost language Mbabaram, is "dog." This is a supposed coincidence, except what else could you call a dog? “Le Chien”, “el perro”, “Der Hund” are some of the other names you could call a dog if you spoke other languages in an evening class, but none of them really say “dog” as well as “dog”. To me, it’s more remarkable that anyone calls dogs anything other than “dogs”.  So if coincidences aren't going to get any better than this, let's rest our voice inflecti...
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