It's been a while but here's Lucida Console 10. It took me three years. I wrote all the parts for it not knowing what for cuz I didn't really wanna make a zine. I was embarrased. Whatever, here it is and I'm pleased. I gave up using publisher 98 as a way of making zines, used word instead and made an easily downloadable PDF you can print off yourself. There's a donations button if you wanna pay like 50 pence. Or pay nothing. I don't mind. Have as many copies as you want.
The zine is made up of three main diaries:
1. Diary from the school I worked in as a learning support assistant 2011-2014
2. Work diary from last year when I worked every shitty job available thru temp agencies in Exeter and hated everything. Insightful if you're planning a career change.
3. A brief journal from this year working in the Midlands building a slide with some friends. I have accepted what life is and am happy now. :)
The other parts were written around those three times. Maybe you can see when they were written by syncing them up with the vibes of the diaries. Or maybe not.
Here's a snippet from it if you need a taster. It's a review of D H Lawrence's Women in Love and it's probably the best thing I have ever written.
Women in Love
DH LawrenceIt was with a faint flash of flirtatious recklessness that Hubert passed the diamonte salt shaker to Tilda Grimpoke - the youngest and brightest daughter of the local offal and slop magnate. As Hubert’s moustache quivered mischievously in her direction, he suddenly caught her eye and instantly regretted his licentious behavior. Her dark, violent eyes pierced him through the heart like an ice cold dagger. He loved her. He hated her. He hated love and humanity but he loved her none-the-less and she felt exactly the same, in a fashion. Tilda gently passed her fingers over the salt shaker in a delicate movement that broke the terrible impasse between the two lovers. She seemed in no haste to season her fishy supper which sat before her in stifling indignation. Her subtle reassurances electrified Hubert’s entire being onto a mystical plane where the very concept of love became meaningless. It was something beyond love. In this wonderous plane he could tenderly kiss a tree as if it were a human. In this perfect vision he would marry a blackbird. The thought of human marriage became hateful to him. Men and women stagnated by their little insular lives, where no one else was allowed to enter and their pointless possessions blinded them to their own pointless existences. How was he to convince Tilda that together they should move beyond love? Even the thought of explaining the concept to her seemed quite impossible – he didn’t really know what he meant by it himself. Even if he were to have about 400 pages of novel to express himself, he still wouldn’t be able provide a satisfactory answer. Suddenly he was bought back to reality by the sing-song voice of Miss Miffy Pifflewhiff, “Hubert my dear little metaphysical chap, how is work at the new phosphorescent pigshit power station?” He groaned inwardly, nauseated to the core by such banal, “rank and file” questions. “The sheer mechanized horror of it all makes my soul puke, you insufferable trout!” he thought to himself. “Oh, you know...” he replied noncommittally. He turned back to Tilda, he knew his future lay with her... She seemed to emit a life-sustaining light from behind her burning black eyes. He became aware of the rude blood carousing about his veins like a drunken sailor on shore leave. She sensed the sensual change in his person and became extremely sensuous. She did a big swoon, possibly the biggest swoon she’d ever done. It was as if their beautiful crystalline minds were bound by an esoteric tether and simultaneously they screamed “FUCK MANKIND!” And that dear reader is Women in Love in a nutshell.
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