Open letter to the PDSA

Below is a letter (email) I wrote to the PDSA -People's Dispensary for Sick Animals- after I was refused treatment for my kitten Moriarty because I lived outside their catchment area:

* * *

I just thought I'd take the time to give you some feedback on my experience with your services.

I have a new kitten, his name is Moriarty and I love him to pieces. Naturally, I want him to be healthy but as I am unemployed I was worried about affording his vaccinations when someone suggested I register him with the PDSA and pay what I can.

It might be worth mentioning at this point that I have a local vet that I have used for my pet rats when they became poorly. Mildmay veterinary clinic in Winnall, Winchester.

My cousin informed me that I would need to find out which PDSA vets he would be in the catchment area for before I could make an appointment to have him seen. I checked on your website and was shocked to find that I wasn't in the catchment area for ANY PDSA clinics. I live in a village just south of Winchester, by the way.

There must have been a mistake, I thought, surely there must be PDSA clinics in Winchester. I typed in a Winchester post code and sure enough there were two of them, one of them being Mildmay veterinary clinic, my local vet that has treated all my pets since I moved to Winchester.

I talked to my vet about getting Moriarty registered with the PDSA since I was already using Mildmay as my local veterinary clinic and it would seem that I was within Mildmay's catchment area as they defined it but was not in the area as described by the PDSA so he would be ineligible. I then had to pay for Moriarty's vaccinations with what little money I had as I just couldn't bear the thought of Moriarty being at risk.

So to sum it up, I went to a veterinary clinic that offers PDSA services and whose catchment are I fall into but had to pay for their non-PDSA services because the PDSA is more discerning about their own catchment areas.

I appreciate that you're doing all you can but wouldn't it make more sense for your clinics to at least extend to the same boundaries the veterinary clinics themselves use?

Perhaps I should have researched this before getting the kitten? Maybe so, but both myself and my cousin, who uses your services, thought it unthinkable that a charitable organisation dedicated to helping animals would disqualify animals in certain post codes, such as mine. I would like to know how you think this is acceptable?

I'm writing this not just because I am frustrated, but also since this appears to leave large areas of the country (like my village) in which sick animals will go ignored by you. I'm sure you don't turn away emergency cases (at least I sorely hope not) but surely you don't want people to ignore sick animals until their case becomes an emergency?

I'm a charitable person, I volunteer at my local Oxfam twice a week and was more than prepared to give whatever I could to keep your organisation helping sick animals but this episode has left a bitter taste in my mouth and makes me wonder how many people out there weren't in a catchment area and left their kitten or puppy unvaccinated due to their struggle making ends meet. Not to be melodramatic but I expected better from you.

Sincerely,

Samuel Curd & Moriarty

Supe:// concept

Let me explain the universe to help clarify supe://
First off, the name is a pun on a number of things, it's a pun on http:// the programming language obviously, it's the term given to improvement of something e.g. To supe up one's car, and is also short for superficial, for reasons to become apparent.

The world is essentially our own but takes the idea of body modification one step further (read, too far). As technology progressed, medicine reached the point that allowed various body parts to be replaced for people who lost them in accidents e.g. Cybernetic arms, legs, eyes etc. however, since humans have simultaneously been working towards the ideas of body modification in the form of cosmetic surgery, and technology that allowed augmented reality (like the google specs that are in the design stages right now) the technologies ended up being incorporated and exploited for vain or technophile people to enhance their bodies.

These additions are now called "boosters" colloquially and, as you may expect, they vary greatly depending on the manufacturer, the individual's needs and the aesthetic required.

I thought of the idea by thinking forwards to what might next be the step for people who care more about their appearance and personal convenience than their own bodies. Not necessarily to their detriment, but to how it may appear to an outside appearance.

I would like to explore this in a bit more depth, but for now I have chosen to introduce people through this short that I will probably dub Supe:// the girl. I think it will serve as a snapshot of the world and the conflict found therein, distilled to it's base elements.

The story consists of an opening shot of a booster clinic, just one of many, with its eye catching billboards and advertisements. A young man exits the establishments with his new boosters and a group of girls (themselves all augmented in various extrovert fashions) instantly clamours around, remarking on the shiny new additions and cooing affectionally as the man snaps his fingers, causing a small jet of flame to erupt from his thumb from which he lights a cigarette (itself symbolic of the disregard of his own health and lungs the man has in exchange for spectacle). The boy smirks, his new ear booster glints impressively in the sunlight and the girls swoon.

Enter a new girl, who strolls on by, oblivious to the group. The man pauses to look at the girl, then his jaw slackens and his cigarette tumbles to the ground, sparking violently. The girl has no boosters whatsoever and the man is awestruck, how can such a plain girl grip him so effectively?

The man shoulders through the group and begins tailing the girl through the streets (mickey mousing, knocking over trashcans, peering around corners, hanging off of ledges and generally being obnoxious in his pursuit). The girl carries on happily unaware, her wide hips rocking, long hair waving.

During this point I'd like to spend a bit of effort highlighting some of the variety of boosters, just in passing, on various background characters. I'd relish some designs from the other artists working with me, since there will be as many designs as manufacturers of boosters. One idea I had was of a woman sat at a table outside a café watching a video on a holographic screen displayed before her eyes, which swivels as the woman notices the man and turns her head to follow his progression.

The man eventually manages to overtake the girl, and waits at a corner for her to approach him. Note at this point that his head is turned so that his ear booster is obscured. He smiles to the girl warmly as she approaches, who smiles back at him, he turns to her and she flinches noticeably at seeing his booster, which covers his left eye and ear (see pics). She walks past swiftly and he looks crestfallen, catching his reflection in a puddle/shop window/reflective surface, he looks thoughtful and raises his hand to his booster, running his fingers over its glossy surface. Fade to black.

Next we see another street some days later, the same girl walking nonchalantly by (wearing another outfit to mark the passage of time) when suddenly we see a pair of legs step into shot before her, blocking her path. Camera reveals the man, boosters removed, his face restored to its natural look, wearing a sheepish smile (new gained humility). The girl contemplates the man then smiles sweetly.

End

And that's the plot, as you can see not much happens but we see how the man changes his outlook on body modification drastically by realising with the help of an outside perspective, just what it is he has become. I had initially written a longer and more in depth scenario that included more exposition, but it all boiled down to man has new boosters, foreign girl is repelled, man has epiphany. The universe can be fleshed out later, provided people want to learn more, and I think they will do, since it may well pertain to what our own future holds. Anyways, enough talking for now, let me know what you think :D
Sam

Horsefeathers!

Okay so I'm trying to male my poem Horsefeathers into an animation in earnest now, I have various sketches and concept drawings, I have an accomplice named Akle (screenname) who is supporting me by drawing background art and another guy named nickleseye (screenname) providing sound effects and music.

Obviously I'm really excited about getting this going

I've also taken the time to create an animatic (moving storyboard) to act as a rough outline of the plot, which can be watched here;

There is no sound as of yet but will be added soon enough.

Next steps!
1. Add sound to animatic
2. Show the animatic to prospective animators
3. Support project as much as possible with additional sketches and direction
4.
5. Profit

I have other ideas for animations and will likely draft a few as shorter pieces in order to get more experience working with a team and different animation styles

check out my dropbox for more horsefeathers related media such as concept art, storyboard sketches etc.
https://www.dropbox.com/sh/7kmk6fw3s4kuoly/jg0Y82xrDu?m

Help wanted draft

Here's a little piece I wrote some year or so ago, it was the first piece of creative writing I attempted as an adult, before "Nome". It depicts Joel and Faye on an average day (well the start of one) it's unfinished obviously but acts as a stepping stone between help wanted and bedlam.

Anyway, enjoy. In many ways I prefer this over my attempts at writing bedlam, it was a bit more murky and depressing, which is great.


Joel rolled onto his stomach, coughing loudly without restraint. The previous night was a blur of wretched sights and disgusting odours but then again, he thought the same of work and his apartment so business as usual there. Lifting his head to peer out of the window across the room, he glimpsed the bomb, Bedlam’s largest structure and monument to the isolation of the town, through the haphazard slats of the blinds. Grasping wildly with the hand not pinned beneath his torso he found his cell phone, squinting painfully at its face, feeling annoyed that it showed so much life so early in the morning.

The new girl had started at the coffee shop a few days previous and had wasted no time in making him feel unwelcome there, not through hostility or distance, but by turning his shift into a half-decent experience which made him shiver. Working was the bane of his existence and the thought of looking forward to it turned him to the drink he was desperately trying to keep down. Tumbling from his single mattress he slid into the adjoining bathroom, knocking miscellaneous objects aside with his bloody feet. Aside from the familiar cracks and crunches a desperate squeak filled the air about his shuffling gait, signalling that the mice had come back. Joel didn’t mind the mice, they were company after all and anything they ate was something less to bundle into trash bags come the end of the week.

He wondered what day it was, but couldn’t bring himself to check his mobile. Its cheerful obedience reminded him too much of her so he fell into the shower and lit one of the many cigarettes he kept littered about the space he occupied. Leaning heavily against the cold tiles he closed his eyes, trying to remember what he had said to the new girl that sparked the drinking binge he was trying to desperately ignore. It was no use, he had become accustomed to shutting things out whenever things became too much, and besides, his head was making a spirited attempt at punishing him for his addictions. Slapping the walls with bandaged palms he found the faucet and turned it. It didn’t make much difference which he used as hot water was a luxury he didn’t have.

With a pathetic hiss his cigarette went limp. Allowing it to drop, he set about the arduous job of washing himself, noticing he hadn’t removed his clothes at any point. Pulling the drenched contents of his pockets out and placing them on the nearby cistern he proceeded to clumsily unbuttoning his shirt, hurling it at the pile of clothes lined up nervously in the corner of the bathroom. They smelled of mildew and Joel was sure something was living in them but evicting them seemed hypocritical to someone who didn’t belong in this god-forsaken town to begin with.
The walk to work was hell, not only did he feel like shit, he hated himself for walking faster when he thought of her waiting, panic-stricken at the door for him to let her in. She was always on time and insisted that they would get in trouble with the manager if they didn’t work hard. He remembered snorting at this remark as, knowing the manager, the place could burn down and attract more customers. Either way, she had set about “organizing” the place which meant he had nowhere to sleep as the stock room was now filled with boxes and chemicals instead of the trash bags of clothes he would prop himself up against.

He rounded the corner to the store, shielding his eyes from the sun now cresting over the bomb, a fake sunrise that was so brilliant as to overshadow its first attempt four hours previous. Painfully peering through outstretched fingers he saw her in front of the store, pacing and furiously mashing her phone. After a few steps the shrill sound of his own device filled the empty street, causing her to look up from her fervour and exclaim, half excited, half anxious that he was over half an hour late and that she wasn’t sure he was coming.

That sparked something in Joel’s mind but before he could chase it up she had closed on him and was grasping at his bandaged hands in a mothering way, muttering about the state he was in. His jaw half-opened he said nothing, staring blankly at her purple hair partially covering her face. Shaking himself mentally he was about to tell her to ignore it when they met eyes, causing his voice to shrivel and his stomach to drop. Swallowing, he brushed her aside and thrust both hands into his pockets, busying himself with finding the keys to the grille covering the service window of Bucks Coffee shop. She coyly pulled at his sleeve but he determinedly told her to get the machines ready, tossing her the keys and pulling a bent cigarette from a sadly squashed packet.

Her

This week we had to write a piece about someone we knew, using the contrast of poetic and realistic. I came up with the following

Her
By Samuel M. Curd


She was the late-night phonecalls
And the days spent wondering
She was the endless waiting
The self-doubt and the feeling of skin on skin
She was the swollen heart and the endless tears
The inspiration and the lurking shadow
She was the bedtime companion, the reassurance
And the grey clouds on the horizon

And now she's shacked up with some prick in Baisingstoke

Horsefeathers!

Horsefeathers.

By Samuel M. Curd



My name is Horsefeathers, sir, if you please

I hike in the mist, through snow-covered trees

With my white hair hanging in plaits by my knees

When I fulfil my mission, I can finally be free

And see so much more of the world



I'm a child inside, though twenty years old

I live in the wild, where it's wet and it's cold

There's wolves and there's dragons, or, so I was told

I trade furs and meats for handfuls of gold

Yes, I'm quite the peculiar girl



I was sent from my home, an outcast at ten

I was frightened and lost, and ever since then

I've had no interest in romance or pursuing men

That was, until, I came to my birthplace again

And I met a man stranger than me



I had wandered the wilds for my birthplace in vain

Since my Mother had left me on some distant plain

In the hopes of me never returning again

But by virtue of what memories I had retained

I located that house perched on the hill



I looked through the window, expecting to see

My mother sat, lazily drinking her tea

Or warming herself by the fire with glee

I had the axe in my hands, and was all but ready

But there was a man, looking lonely and ill



The man was so tall, and so utterly clean

With fantastic blue eyes that sparkled and gleamed

His fingers were long, his dark hair was preened

His skin was the whitest you'd ever have seen

His features were pointy and ruthlessly keen

I thought, perhaps it was all but a dream

As I fought inside to stay calm



But then, it seemed, he chanced me a look

I wanted to run, but found myself hooked

As I met his dark eyes, my bottom lip shook

But then, perhaps, I had mistook

Because my mother had taken his arm



I wanted to curse and break through the door,

To scream at my mother, throw her to the floor

Why was this man shackled to such a miserable whore?

Had he never been warned about witches before?

Or was he completely insane?



To fight back the rage, I turned and I ran

And I hid, and I started to brood on a plan

To exact my revenge, I would steal her new man

Break her heart, and have her understand

What it's like to live with such pain



But that night, I was sleeping, hardly dreaming

When all at once I heard a screaming,

My mother came hurtling into the clearing

Chased by the man, and the blade he was wielding

His white face was now shining with red



Then he laughed as he thrust the knife in her back

As she fell to the floor, he started to hack

And arranged all the pieces in a neat little stack

It was clear that at long last, the lover had cracked

And my mother was very much dead



I ran to the man and said "thank you, sincerely"

He was taken aback, but answered me "really,

It was a long time coming, but seeing you merely

Awakened my heart, which had grown wooden and dreary"

And with that, I knew I was in love



We threw Mother's remains to the great Northern river

And left the old house to crumble and wither

And had a white wedding with rings made of silver

When I think of my mother it still makes me shiver

But I know she's alone up above



My name is Horsefeathers, sir, if you please

My mission is done

Now together we run

And bask in the sun

Our lives have begun

As we dance in the mist, through snow-covered trees.

So it's a new year.

Technically, not for me, it won't be a new year for me until march fourteenth but hey, semantics.

And what's going to happen this year? Well, I'm going to be taking another creative writing course and I'd like to have another shot at learning Japanese and maybe taking guitar lessons. Either way, being an author, translator or songwriter isn't a proper way to earn a living but fuck it. I just don't care. I guess that makes me more of a punk than all those hardcore punks with a family, kids, an SUV and a full-time job in an office and I'm not even trying.

So, ways to turn my apathy into art... I'd very much like to do something creative. Animate something, design something, get something published. What I'd really like is to collaborate, to have people to work with on a project and have my input accepted. I could design characters, write a scenario, draw some concept art or critique a work or something, I just want something to focus on, you know? The reason I want to collaborate rather than solo it is that I ALWAYS procrastinate or lose faith in myself. I need someone else there to keep me motivated and to bounce ideas off of.

So essentially I need a valet... Hmm I guess they don't work for IOUs.

So my first creative writing class of the new year is coming up soon, and I suppose I can check around newgrounds to see if any animators are in need of a writer or something.

Ideally I'd have a creative girlfriend that can be there for me and keep me going.

And maybe pigs will fly

Oh, and soph said I should write songs after reading my poems. Maybe. Id like to but you cant really form a band by yourself.