Roy, the Toxic Boy by Tim Burton

Roy the toxic boy
To those of us who knew him
– his friends –
we called him Roy.
To others he was known
as that horrible Toxic Boy.
He loved ammonia and asbestos,
and lots of cigarette smoke.
What he breathed in for air
would make most people choke!
His very favorite toy
was a can of aerosol spray;
he’d sit quietly and shake it,
and spray it all the day.
He’d stand inside of the garage
in the early-morning frost,
waiting for the car to start
and fill him with exhaust.
The one and only time
I ever saw Toxic Boy cry
was when some sodium chloride
got into his eye.
One day for fresh air
they put him in the garden.
His face went deathly pale
and his body began to harden.
The final gasp of his short life
was sickly with despair.
Whoever thought that you could die
from breathing outdoor air?
As Roy’s soul left his body,
we all said a silent prayer.
It drifted up to heaven
and left a hole in the ozone layer.

Fruits of Workshops

I had few attempted starts at writing. All shipwrecked on the shores of isolation. a.k.a. writer’s block. So I enrolled my confused mind to a creative writing course. First thing they tell you is to write. Write. Don’t think about what you are writing. Just write. Write down the first thing that comes to your mind. Describe first thing you see. Who you’ve met. Anything. Nonsense. Let it flow. Don’t think about it. Don’t edit. Don’t judge. And it worked. Something started to emerge from that cloud of meaningless words. An idea. Thought. It was addictive. It still is.

I have joined few workshops since then and there is one group I attend rather regularly. Are you not sure about committing yourself? No worries. One day workshops are synonym to fun and are filled to the brim with complete randomness, such as:

Small wall west of waste

hiding fighting trolls of Wales.

Fudge is smudged and judge is dead

Jet is off, the bets are set.


In this particular one we also collectively created a story about a unicorn, a lost lamb arguing with a robin underneath a branch suspended on nothingness and an angel (wearing a suit) stealing apples.

Go and have some fun. Explore. Get inspired. When normal people who happen to be aspiring writers gather in one room, magic ensues. Or madness. Depends how you look at it.