Sketchy Things

Benjamin Campbell - 20 years old, Yorkshire born and bred, somehow ended up in Oxford. Writes a ridiculous amount of prose and poetry and some of it is almost good. Lives in this cluttered tumblr page amongst a variety of words, pictures and sounds, and occasionally makes sense of it all. Seeking like-minded individuals to add and remove clutter and perhaps stay for tea. I also write poetry on request for free! ------------------------------------ Creative Commons Licence
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License. Please give credit when distributing or reusing original work.

For any gaming fans out there, I thought I’d put up some of the screenshots I’ve garnered over the past couple of weeks through my Skyrim replay. I just got a new laptop (Alienware 17 with AMD R9 M290X, if anyone’s interested). Anyway, as you can see, it’s got the power to revamp Skyrim with a little more…umph. 

Send me a message if you’re interested in the mods I’m running. All images are mine but may be reproduced for non-commercial activities, like giving your computer a damn fine wallpaper.

Prepare your feet for dancing

(Source: Spotify)

2/8/2014 - Pump
The water pump runs dry every time I say your name. It’s like a vengeful god is punishing me for not forgetting you by blocking the source of life - not exactly ironic, as that’s exactly what you were to me. ———————————————————— When my father and I worked the furnace we wouldn’t speak or look at each other. We just pumped. Synchronised to a rhythm as old and deep as the earth itself, we, alternating the heavy clasp of muscle, tried to bridge the gap between us with work and no words. It used to work, for a time - the heat would reduce our bodies to glass, shells of sinew with no resistance left that, in the emptiness, would finally connect. Now that the job is over, and the fires of the furnace have been quenched, there isn’t much room for talking. The glass has frosted over, and only a cool indifference remains. I tell myself the past is in the past, but truth be told, there’s nothing I wouldn’t give for one day in that godforsaken place, pumping fuel into a futile communication. ———————————————————— There once was a man called Crump who was a terribly fat lump. He wanted a girl with a bit of a curl, and they found her blown up with a bicycle pump.
                    - Benjamin Campbell
Well aren’t you a freaky motherfucker
1/8/2014 - Peel
Theseus came to the cavern wherein the beast resides. His steps were light as dust as over peeled off skin and shredded scales he trod, the site of a transformation ongoing. Whatever happened in that old Grecian place? None remain that now know. Theseus built, rebuilt and built again his ship, but nobody understood why. ———————————————————— The spiral of one orange peel arrests my gaze, and sets off my pen. ———————————————————— What I wouldn’t give to simply fade away. I don’t want anything dramatic - no goodbyes, no loud exit rites, just a chance to peel off from everybody else. I’m not a misanthrope, more like the opposite, as everyone I meet seems to end up hating me. I don’t want any trouble, just to be left alone. Perhaps I’ll leave this poem somewhere it can be found, and somehow, some time, by this delayed confession, they’ll all get the picture.
                    - Benjamin Campbell