Heartbreak-Dialling

Cute guy walks through tram. Cool clothes. Like that style. What's wrong with this one?

He sits and seconds later he's having a screaming match with "Christy" over the phone. 

Louder and swearier and more exasperated by the moment.

He tells her he's embarrassing himself, but doesn't stop yelling, just escalates. 

He alights, telling his estranged paramour that he's embarrassed himself too much, and walks over to scream in a churchyard into the little flat box pressed to his ear.
 

Oh.

Made me realise how often I see men screaming, and often I catch women walking along crying. Separately. 

The men lash outwards, the women huddle their bodies in drips of quiet tears. 

I never understood the abandon of these people to show emotion so unguarded, until recently. 

These little phones can bring so much misery. 

Were we were more sad/angry before or after them?

Bottom Commenter

Someone comments on my cartoon on Instagram. 

I reply a typical quip, basically involving animals having sex in front of Satan.

Proud of my wording, I look at his profile.

He's 12. 

I delete my response.

Misty Morning

The cold sprinkle of misty morning
The sickly shades of bamboozled sky
The black wings that carve their way home
The pre-dawn day that's mine, all mine.

Twilight Bond Girl

There, in the twilight between sleeping and wake, I wait, so often, and while in my ethereal waiting room, I hear music. Today's aural entrancement was my very own Bond song - 3 distinct instrument parts documented in the recorder on my phone through the weak powers of a sleep-stripped voice. Deciphering apparent mumbles later will begin confused and disappointed, until I hear the strong spine once more, and here, it shall live in the solid world - my Bond song.
I'm typing this with one eye open.

Documenting Dream

I just watched a strange but amazing documentary in a dream, and at the end, just before the credits rolled, the director walked in front of me, a takeaway coffee in his hand, he looked at me with a small smile, and said "All small things in the hands of God". I tried to tell him I loved the film but started coughing, and woke up.
What did he mean?

Shop at the Generation GAP

I have something bad to tell you guys.
Those of us born in the early '80s - we are MILLENNIALS.
Why did no-one tell me?!! I've never drawn on Groucho Mark eyebrows or hunted down gunt pants in a mothballed St. Vinnies - I don't feel okay with this classification!
And to make it worse, I graduated the exact year that it was generalised millennials would graduate - 2000.
I didn't surf the web until I was 13! Gen Z, aka, 'The Naturals' should be Millennials. We already got enough slop being called Gen Y.
Sure, I could ignore labels and go on living my life in my usual self-designed fashion, but my inner-contrarian rises up! Like a phoenix from the ashes of a thing that has ashes in it. Currently-known Millenials are wearing the same fashions we lived through in the '90s - this doesn't work! Cast wider this generation thigh gap! Keep your Flume chai latte vegan Tinder top-buns away from me. I'm going over here to yell at kids to stay off a lawn I'll never be able to afford thanks to the Baby Boomers.

Room at the Top

Listening to my favourite new podcast (though it's not new, I'm new to it, so maybe I'm its favourite new listener?), and it's all about creating stand-up comedy, interviewing comedians.

The guest on the ep I'm ingesting today was paraphrasing Billy Connolly, telling me that the scruff man once said that there's plenty of room at the top - the middle and bottom are overcrowded. 

Gosh I like that. It's a sentiment shared by screenwriting.

Creatives assume, 'As long as I write better than Sharknado, I'm a shoe-in!' When the truth is you gotta be better than the best. That shoe has more fancy footwork ahead of it to get in any good door.