Foolish Dreamers

“his teachers reported that . . . he was mentally slow, unsociable, and adrift forever in his foolish dreams.” Those dreams belonged to Albert Einstein, a genius and a Dyslexic. This blog is for Dyslexic writers to show thier dreams are not foolish.

New Writer: Emma-Louise Ackland November 1, 2009

Filed under: Emma-Louise Ackland,New Writers — alihd @ 5:36 pm
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Hi guys 🙂 I’m Emma-Louise. I’ve always loved writing. I began by writing poetry when I was younger, then it became short stories about fantasy and love, and now I’m currently writing my first novel in between life and studying Ancient History with Archaeology at Exeter University. I haven’t told many people about my novel, I tend to keep it to myself at the moment. I love Final Fantasy, different cultures, travelling, languages, go-karting and music. Leave nice comments, please! 🙂


Just Like A Kiss

Filed under: New Writers,Sam Preston — alihd @ 4:10 pm
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“I can‘t breathe, oh God, I can‘t breathe, Sam help me, help me!” I spun to my left, petrified, the fear on Sarah’s face just noticeable through the pitch dark. Her face was devoid of colour, her eyes screaming of fear. She slowly collapsed, and I rushed to her side, lowering her down, her breathes short and weak. The darkness around us eclipsed everything, apart from the faint outlines of the entrance we had walked through, the giant clown mask bright and mocking at our misfortune. I laid Sarah down, my calm exterior masking my worry, we couldn’t both panic. “It‘s ok sweetie, it‘s ok, it‘s still just a play, it‘s just the theatre.” A site-specific theatre, to be exact, a Punchdrunk Productions, but that didn’t need telling. She whimpered as she panicked more and more, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “Oh God, it‘s just a stupid building, dressed up to scare us, why am I like this??” I could sympathise with her, it’s scary as two girls going to a big empty warehouse with a production in ever room for us to submerse ourselves in, but even worse this production! It was bad enough we had to enter a dark lift with strangers, masks on so strangers could mix together, but then for the lift to suddenly stop, and we get pushed off the lift into a random dark floor?? It’s horrible, and now Sarah had reached her tether. “Sarah, sweetie, it‘s ok, hey, it may be scary, but think of it as horror films? If we‘re gonna get shit scared, better together right?” I laughed half-heartedly, still nervous for my friend. Then she smiled, and giggled, “God I‘m such an idiot…can you help me up now please Sam?” We slowly got up together, our legs shaking with worry at what awaited us in this immersive theatre. We walked down the darkened corridors, close together, safer. Suddenly, in the distance was a whiteness slowly creeping into the darkened corridor, a white square, almost calling us…
It was an office, full of chairs and desks, telephones and paperwork, stationary galore, one after the other, a massive office…but everything was pure white. Everything, the telephones, the pens paper and staplers, the chairs, the entire desk, the computer screen, everything…it was the ultimate white room. We staggered around the room in shock, Sarah knocked a chair as we marvelled at our surroundings. Then we saw the cameras. CCTV cameras, in the corners of the room, all 4 slowly turned until they were looking straight at us. The hard whirring of the cameras as they pulled towards us, magnifying our faces…and then the walls began to bleed. Thick, red blood pulsed out of the walls, pouring and slithering down the white walls, like the room was a pulsing heart, beating the blood towards us, the blood dripping onto the desks against the wall, sliding down the phones until they splurged across the paperwork, me and Sarah in the middle of the room, pressed against the desks, the vibrant red polluting the room, until we couldn’t take it anymore. We turned, saw a closed door opposite the one we entered, and we ran, ran from the pulsing white room of vibrant blood.
We ran through the door, our hearts beating in anticipated apprehension. We entered another dark corridor, when I suddenly HIT someone, smashing us both to the floor, landing awkwardly on my wrist. “Shit, I‘m so sorry! Are you ok?” I scrabbled around for who I hit, fearing the result of our crash. I grabbed a hand, felt the coldness of a solid hand, one that wouldn’t even clench. I felt all over…it was a mannequin. “AHHHH!” I jumped as hands grabbed me from behind, Sarah’s screams meshing with mine, until we calmed down. I slowly turned, facing the way we had to go, Sarah close behind me. We crept towards a door in the distance, my hands clammy with sweat, clueless of what awaited us. We walked through the doorway.
A waiting room, chairs together, magazines strewn across the floor, a hospital waiting room. The white walls screamed at us, our experiences with the white offices creepy intentions leaving us not altogether trusting of the walls. An arrow pointed towards a pair of double doors, which slowly swung back and forth menacingly. We slowly reached the doors, looking at each other. “Run for it?” I nodded, breathing heavily already. We braced ourselves, slowing our breathing, then pushed the doors open and began running.
SMASH!! BANG BANG BANG!! We were in a long corridor, about 3 feet across, with windows all along either side. BANG BANG!! But what made it terrifying, was that outside the windows, were so many faceless, human shapes, just running into (SMASH!!) the windows, their fists piling against the windows, their faces pressed against the windows, scraping their nails down the (BANG BANG BANG!!) windows, and the screams…the screams…they slowly merged into one continuous scream, the soundtrack of smashing bodies against the glass creating shivers down my spine…the screams…the (SMASH!!) bodies, the bodies……


No Fuss Herb! By Sam Preston March 12, 2009

To my Grandfer.

No Fuss Herb!

No fuss Herb!

That quote, defines my Grandad.

His way of thought, his blurb.

Calming influence, rarely mad.

Modesty was his way,

Friends, family, all that matter.

Truly lived every day,

Sit there for ages, for a natter.

Until the night,

Went like that.

No fuss, no pain, no fight,

Peaceful as a baby cat.

The morning dawned

And my tears can’t flow,

So greatly mourned,

My spirit, my low.

My idol, my mentor.

My inspiration, my hero,

A greatness he was meant for.

A love, the unfortunate wouldn’t know.

I can still feel today,

His shoulder digs,

Sayings he would say,

The big bands, to who he jigs.

Ruffling our hair,

Calling us the wrong name.

It isn’t fair!

Things are no longer the same.

But this isn’t the time for hiding…

That’s not my Granddad’s way.

Life, is for the living…

That’s what he would say…


Letting By-Gones’s Be By Gone: A radio script by Sam Preston March 9, 2009

Filed under: New Writers,Sam Preston — alihd @ 10:35 pm
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Character Names:  John….Marie….Steven….Waitress….Brandon….Casey


“Closer” by Travis, gradually peters out



Hiss of a kettle, knifes, forks and plates hitting, footsteps, low conversations. Footsteps walking across a stone floor, high heels, stopschair scrapes, hear sitting down.


Afternoon. So, you decided, that off all the placesyou felt we had to meet here.


Yeal, well, I guess I hoped that it would jog some old happy memories. You know, maybe it will help. Afterall this is whereyou said yes.


Yes it was. It was an interesting idea…it’s not gonna do you any favours mind, but nice idea all the same.




Good morning sir, good morning mam, my name is Daisy, can I help at all?


Just a coffee please. Black, like my mood.


Ok, ummIll just have an orange juice. Thank You.




At least someone knows what to drink.


Thats a bit harsh Marie. Look, Marie, I am not here to cause trouble. You know why I am here, you know what I am trying to do


Yes, and it aint gonna work alrite? Listen, with what I went through, I dont see any good reason whilst I should let them go back to……There my kids John, and I aint letting them go. Never!


I aint asking you to let them go Marie, did I ever say that? Look, the kids deserve to see their dad, you shouldnt keep them awayyou admitted they ask about their dad.


Footsteps, stop, clinking of glass, cup placed down.


Thank you.


Thank you love.



The last time they sawI ended up with a black eye cause of what happened, and you know that. Oh god, Why did we ever go to that party?


I know, and I really am sorry. Its been 9 months since. Surelysurely you can give the benefit of the doubt, that change has happenedthat its not the same man who left youleft you


Bruised, black eye, cracked rib? Unconscious at the bottom of the stairs, my kids screaming, Casey with tears all down her cheeks? If that was you that happened to, would you be willing to let it happen so easily? To let them GO so easily?? Would you???






If the kidsif the kids say yes, theyll meet their dad, thenthen Ill allow it. But with someone else there! My mum will be there, keep on eye on them, stay with themjust in case.


Listen, I know, its gonna take a lot of work. You got hurt badly, and you didnt deserve to beIm sorry. But, you need to believe7 Months clean. 7 months! Its not easy, of course its not, butyou get throughespecially when you got kids like Casey and Brandon who you love, god, they can inspire anyone. Just give one chance…jus one chance, to prove it. Those kids are the world to him



Hello Steven.


Hello Marie. Hey, John, cheers



Orange juice there man. Im gonna go get your kids, bring them here. You two stay here…catch up.



He said youve been clean 7 months. I guess Congratulations are in order.


One day at a time. It aint easy. I never drank so much orange juice as I have the last seven months. (SLIGHT CHUCKLE). Thank you Marie. I just want you to knowI justI just want to be there for my kidsfor our kids.


They do miss you Stevebut my mum will be there as well, she will be there every second. Got it?


Whatever it takes to see my kids Maz, whatever it takesis that?





Casey! Brandon! Oh my god, I missed you both so much!


Granny Rose said your coming park with usare you???



Actuallyits Granny Rose, your dad, and you two. And I want you to both be good! Got it?


I always good mummy!


Im sure you are darling. Thats what you always say.




Thank you Marie. What time do you want them back?


6.00pm at the very latest, my house. If they are even 1 second late, otherwisenever again. Got it?


Like I said…I’ll do anything Mazanything at all.



I hope for your sake, youve changed. God, Johnny, your such a good brother to him



Something Beautiful by Robbie Williams.


Prologue: Sam Preston February 27, 2009

Filed under: New Writers,Sam Preston — alihd @ 6:44 pm

(Editors Note: I keept the last bit in as it’s always lovely to see a bit of self deprication from such a talented writer!)


This tale is neither Truth nor False, Fact or Fiction. It simply is…

Imagine in your mind right now, Earth is above you. Picture it in your mind, where every country is laid out, where every ocean dives down millions of miles to the bottom. Imagine it three times as big as what Earth is. Just multiply it’s size quickly. Now take the countries, and turn it to water. Turn the greens and browns of the land into a green ocean. Turn the previous ocean into the greens and brown of the land. Can you imagine it? Well, you can see Neptal, the otherside of Earth. Every planet has a door in the ground, a small door that has to be found before opened. This door leads from our world to Neptal; Neptal was God’s original vision of Earth, Neptal was Plan A, and after he was done, God didn’t think it was Good. In fact, he thought it was Rubbish. So due to this, instead of keeping it, he put it to one side, and made another one, which was only slightly better than the previous one, but by that time God wanted to get onto making penis’. So he took Earth, and Neptal inside, as it’s Otherside, and placed it into the cauldron, hanging around, which was the Solar System.

At the moment I am telling you the background story, but in telling you how the World started and all the important parts, I am turning into a bit of a rambler, so I’m going to jump ahead to the story.

In the oceans, there lived a fish. Now every fish down there appears to look the same, apart from the “Leapers”, children who contract a fish virus and turn into a silly, excited danger to everyone. To combat this, the High Council decided to send them to a distant colony and leave them be. They would eventually decide to give it the name of –The Lands Of The Leapers. Later on they would grow to regret that, but that’s jumping ahead. Living the oceans, the fish we are looking for, is called Sally. Now yes, Sally is a girls name but when he was born, his parents had been drunk and were so out of it they just decided to name Sally after the Fish Nurse. Now, Sally, as do all fish, look like piranhas. Big, fearsome piranhas that would bite your head off. The truth is that they’re all born natural cowards, and only some can be bothered to change. Also, because they live in the deepest darkest regions of the oceans, they have to wear sea goggles to see. Also, due to the fact that all the oceans are separated, water tubes were created to take you from one Water Colony to the other. This is just going to seem like worthless information, but remember it for later.

Sally lives with his parents in a 2-room cave, His mother is called Goldie, and his father is called Silver Streak, and was born a captive along with his wife. They originally lived in a prison called Jamie’s Fish Tank, on the Unknown Counties. They escaped after 3 years imprisonment, by choking on their wet bread and falling unconscious. Of course, the Warden didn’t know that and flushed them down the Water Tube, nicknamed the John, down into the Oceans, where they set up home and had Sally. They were once going to tell Sally or about how he was born, but he asked them to stop when they got to the part about the chewing gum.

Sally works for the Mafia Dons, who own the whole of Ruskie, the ocean Sally lived in. The Mafia Dons lives revolve around two things, exporting Wet Bread around the oceans, and searching for the Mystical Sea Lions Cup. Wet Bread is a natural fish delicacy that was once sold at high prices legally for years and was the most desired meal in the Oceans. Unfortunately, it was so desired that there would be killings every day over it. Hit And Swims were to an all time high. There was no choice but to stop selling. Luckily enough, there were the kind Mafia Dons to continue selling at rocket high prices. Sally works as a carrier, whose job it was to collect the Wet Bread and deposit around the colony. It helped that he wasn’t the only one as Ruskie was huge. In fact, the Mafia Dons hired over a million fish in the colonies to deposit the wet bread around and had the great talent of picking so many with the ability to find there way around with ease. It helped that they went around on sea horses that had the ability of sonar search as well, but the Mafia Dons don’t know about that. The Mystical Sea Cup, well all would be revealed soon.

Sally had a crush on Marie, a model. Modelling is an underground Danger SCD (Sea Device) that shows Female Fish (or Male Fish, depending on your taste or lack of) thrashing around seductively on the surface of the ocean. The only problem is that you have to do it for 5 sea-minutes (300 human minutes) before you can stop, or anybody about catches you. It would most likely usually be the second. And usually it would be by a Bejeezah, an invisible tree-dweller that scoops people (or other) off the ground (or water) to have for Lunch. Never Breakfast because they would get indigestion eating something so big so early. Lunch is quite a rare occasion though because they only eat it once they’ve filled up their cauldron, which is the size of an Olympic-sized swimming pool (This is why they pick fat people up a lot), and once they’ve found their bottle of barbeque sauce, which gives it the nice bit of flavour they need. Marie had been lucky so far in that this was her first act coming up, and she would probably only do 1 sea-minute (60 human minutes) due to her father. This is where Sally runs into a problem, for her dad is the boss of the Mafia Dons, the Leading Fishman, Don Fisheone. He’s a recluse, as unrecognisable as Bill Medley and as scary as Hannibal Lector crossbred with the T-Rex from Jurassic Park. And there’s also the fact that half of the Hit And Swims in the past three years have involved fishes in love with Marie. Fortunately for Sally, he had the good luck of being in the right place at the right time………

Sally was sat in the fifth Fishicle, gently humming to himself when it happened. The sound of the cave stone was rolled over and some fish swam in. Sally stood there, and slowly closed the stone to the Fishicle and stayed very quiet. All he could was slight mutterings down the hall, and he swam gently up to the top of the stone to overlook into the toilet. There, stood in front of a giant mirror, was the big cheese himself, Don Fisheone. He was alone apart from one assistant, of which he had many. Don Fisheone was picking a spot absentmindedly, while bemoaning to his assistant.

“I’ve had enough. It’s so boring on this colony. The Oceans are good but are all the same now. It’s practically all a mold of itself. I can’t even remember the last time I really enjoyed myself.”

“Yesterday, at the restaurant party for Marie, Sir, when you won the ‘Who Can Eat The Most Peppers In A Minute Contest” in 3 minutes. You were cheating of course, what with nobody else to play, but the enjoyment on your face was worth it.”

“Yes, Yes, but I meant having the freedom for anything, just being able to wake up and it’s already an adventure, just a change.” Don Fisheone swam around the room, and then stopped in a dead heat. “Of course! I’ve been so stupid. I’ll go on land.

“Land, Sir!?”

“Yes, Feeves, Land. It’s so obvious a policefish would have realised! Yes, plan the moving day.”

“Sir, there’s just the slight problem of a lack of lungs to contend with.”

“Always got to ruin it somehow, hey Feeves? Fine then, how do we get around that problem, then?”

“Well Sir, there is one thing we could do. There was rumour recently that, IT had been sighted. It exists, Sir and is out there waiting for us.”

“What is?”

Sally felt himself draw nearer over the stone in an attempt to hear this valuable information.

“The Mystical Sea Lions Cup, Sir”

“Of course. Of course. Of course. I should have known. And obviously there’s one around. Do you know what, you can get it if you’re so certain it exists and can be found, and once more, you can leave tonight to search for it and don’t come back until you find it.”

“But sir…”

“And furthermore, if you get it, I’ll even give you my daughter’s hand in marriage then.”

“I’ll get packing Sir.”

Feeves left the room, leaving just Don Fisheone to follow and an excited Sally in the Fishicle. Sally was so excited he was fit to burst. Thankfully he was in the Fishicle. He went toilet, and swam out the Fishicle and out the room and all the way home. Well, obviously he didn’t swim all the way home; he was too lazy for that. He swam outside the fishicles, then floundered the next 200 yards with a stitch in his fin, and then ran up the stairs, oohing and aahing all the way. He packed his wallet, which was thrown in the sea by An Unknown Creature, so really it’s more like a Bergen Bag for him, and set off out the house and down the road as quick as his little fins could take him. Hr got to the bottom of the street, paused and breathed in the air. He put a fin forward, and was about to step into the Oceans, when he stopped. He thought to himself quickly, made a decision. ”Where the blistering barnacles is the Mystical Sea Lions Cup anyway!?”







A Crisis of Content – Ben Langworthy


This paper explores the role and place of the White Cube gallery aesthetic in the contemporary art world and western society as a whole.

By exploring its origins and structure, this paper investigates the reasons for the White Cubes perpetuation and prevalence in the western societies, and explores the effects these have on the art world, and what reactions to these there have been.

A Crisis of Context


In the context of western contemporary art, the image of a plainly lit minimalist cell space with smooth white walls and grey or wooden floors where the outside world is often blocked out is synonymous with that of the gallery. The ‘White Cube’ aesthetic is instrumental in contemporary perceptions and evaluations of contemporary art in western culture. The White Cube represents what is arguably the accepted norm of a space where art is shown. Though superficially little more than an architectural and design decision, due to it proliferation, the implications of the White Cube reach much further.

Through several sections this essay considers the place of the White Cube aesthetic in western culture exploring how its origins, evolution, subtexts, proliferation and perpetuation affect its relationship with contemporary art.

In section 1: ‘The birth of the box’ the essay investigates how the White Cube aesthetic first formed out of modernist minimalism, to facilitate the themes of this ‘new art’. Exploring how the removal of the frame in painting, and the advent of the readymade in sculpture converted the art object into one of presentation rather than representation. The result being, art that required a space that could support its art status, by providing it with sufficient separation from the viewer and from the outside world.

Section 2: ‘The White Cube in peril: The institution and conceptual art’ explores how postmodernist artists disillusionment with modernisms idealism and disconnection with the outside world, led to a desire to escape the institutional gallery space and democratize art. It considers how though a pluralization of methodologies many conceptual artists attempted to dematerialize the art object, and how this endangered an art market that was based on the premise of art being a salable commodity. This section goes on to suggest how the White Cube aesthetic may have acted as the perfect tool

to neutralize and amalgamate conceptual art into the accepted gallery system, suggesting that this may be why the White Cube has remained and proliferated.

Section 3: ‘Sacred Cell; The White Cubes structure of authority’ considers how Christianities use of the Church, as an analogy for how institutions and the art market may use the White Cube to gain and maintain a position of authority, that allows it to be used to articulate a version of art and art history that supports their position, thus drawing a possible topography of the art world.

Section 4: ‘Boutique or Gallery?’ explores how the structure of the White Cube is applied outside of the art world, and how, this feeds back into the art market itself.

Section 5: ‘The White Cube and relational art: a different way of being’ looks at how a new generation of conceptual artists, are interlinking art and non-art areas, exploring how this ‘relational aesthetic’ does not attempt to escape the gallery system, instead infiltrating, and using it, thus endangering the authority of the White Cube by undermining it and posing viable alternatives to it.


First Poem From Sam Preston…. The Days

Filed under: New Writers,Sam Preston — alihd @ 6:31 pm
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The Days by Samuel Preston

The days are gone/Bye-di-bye now/Where we did no wrong/And loved each other how.

The days I heard your name/Whispered to my soul/My heart played the game/And fell for you whole.

The days lasted forever/Always walking through our life/Good times never saying never/Rocking away naked times of strife.


The days of lying next to one another/See you smile as the sun shines/Kiss good morning my lost lover/Winding away through my ace of nines.

Play your cards on the tables/Tell her how you feel/The love of the lost fables/That you kiss her like a films final reel.

And the days as you hold her/Feel the warmth of her skin/Id have TOLD her/Such love should be a sin.


The days as the drink flows/And the glasses empty on the bar/I wish I could let her knows/I would give up for her a-far

The days I battled for this girl/Another lad wont accept no/Wants to take away my Pearl/And she almost wanted to let me go

The days its you that I miss/Forever die on September Twenty-Third/The first time, I got your kiss/Still remember, when you said, that magic word.


The days what I wouldnt give/To go back there again/Oh I would love to live/Before my love turned to pain.

The days you push me away/Kill away my restless dreams/And all I can say/How my Heart rips at the seams.

The days my tears have fallen/My mind is done/But if you come a-calling/Oh my darling Angel, I would run.