Abbey Well

Have a meme

2008-11-14T07:58:00.000-08:00

10 things you wish you could say to ten different people right now...
a) It saddens me you don't know how important you are.
b) I miss you - I wish we could go back to the way things were.
c) I love you to pieces and I just wish I could tell you that I miss you as much as you miss me.
d) I wish I knew you.
e) Why did you leave me here alone? I miss you so damn much it hurts to breathe.
f) Do you even care how annoying you are?
g) You're a parasite, social interaction is all you think about and if you arent the center of attention you go crazy.
h) I'm worried about you - I hope you're okay.
i)Meh.
j) I wish I knew the truth.

9 things about yourself...
a) I love sushi
b) Reading folklore is one of ~~many~~ my favourite forms of procrastination
c) When I was a kid, I wanted to be a vet.
d) Rather than actual pets, I had a variety of cyber pets growing up. My favourite was a dalmatian called chuff 64 who lived to 100.
e) My favourite Disney film is Mulan.
f) I can't ride a bike. (Though not for want of trying).
g) I can ride a horse.
h) I am a pescetarian - I don't eat meat, but will eat fish without complaint.
i) I like the smell of vanilla.

8 ways to win your heart...
a) Be polite. I like manners.
b) Don't use me.
c) Don't moan about every little thing. That seriously ticks me off.
d) Include me - don't forget about me just because I'm quiet.
e) Eat sushi with me :3
f) Don't treat me like I'm a loser. I know I'm a loser, don't have to be reminded XD
g) Don't be two faced. That REALLY PISSES ME OFF. If you have something to say, say it to my face, even if you think I won't like it.
h) Make me laugh

7 things that cross your mind a lot...
a) ..Hungry...
b) ...Tired...
c) Wonder when .... is coming out.
d) Christmas Time \o/
e) Random songs
f) fklhbddbh Am I going to...
g) Memories

6 things you do before falling asleep...
a) Listen to music
b) Get undressed and stuff
c) Check my emails
d) Reflect
e) Check my phone
f) Think about how tired I am.

5 people who mean a lot...
a) Mother
b) Father
c) Elle
d) Lucy
e) Laney

4 things you're wearing right now...
a) Pink sweater from expo
b) jeans
c) underwear
d) socks

3 songs that you listen to often (currently)...
a) Take on me, Aha
b) Whispers in the Dark, Skillet
c) Echoes, Veronica's Veil

2 things you want to do before you die...
a) Have something notable published
b) Feel I've accomplished something

1 confession...
a) I'm allergic to chilli

Fail in the Kitchen

2008-10-13T04:55:00.000-07:00

A slightly humorous anecdote from our kitchen:

If ever there is a food related odour in the kitchen, that is ever so slightly repulsive, one of my flatmates always blames me. Be it burnt toast,egg - I get the glares. I could understand this notion,were it not for the fact that it is completely unfounded - I don't cook very much.

Anyway, yesterday I was in the kitchen and this particular flatmate came in. One of the others had been cooking with eggs and immediately this flatmate just glared at me. The only thing I could think of that she was likely to believe was to tell her I was allergic to eggs.

Forgetting of course, that I was holding my tea for that night, a packet of egg fried rice.

On Christmas Eve

2008-10-13T04:51:00.000-07:00

It all started the week before Christmas Eve, a bracing, slippery December morning. The interval between heavy snow and pouring rain, in which breathing itself was an intake of chill.

Tying her scarf the way she always did, she was not unaffected by this change in atmosphere - after all, a cold or a flu virus is a most unattractive thing. But, as she stepped onto the luridly painted bus and reaching out to pay her fare, those kind of thoughts were immediately swept aside and replaced with ones of her destination.

There was a book store in town that up until the fifties had been a tea shop. In her youth, she had visited with her grandmother and been treated to cream tea and scones. Now that she herself was a grandmother, it was a great comfort to revisit and find it relatively unchanged. The young man who owned it upon her return had inserted labyrinthine bookshelves around her beloved tea shop, filled with masterpieces. His dream, he once told her over a cup of chamomile, was to be the next Tim Waterstone. She made it her business to visit the shop once every year to purchase Christmas presents for her friends and family - presents stained with the odour of tea leaves and fairy cakes.

This year she stepped off the bus as usual, ready for a chat with the shop owner. Fumbling in her purse for a handful of change, she turned onto the high street, where she was met with an unexpected and unwelcome surprise. The shop door was barred and padlocked. The store window, usually decorated lavishly with hardbacks was decorated only by orange paint. In the centre was a single sheet of paper written on forlornly with what she identified as the shop keeper’s own hand. Moving closer to read it, she gasped as she saw the contents.

Due to several conversations with her grandchildren and studies of local newspapers, she knew quite well of the latest phenomena that was sweeping the nation. This so called ‘internet’. What she did not, however know was the reasoning behind it. The point of it. What possessed people to spend their lives staring at a screen and furthermore being content? If that was the new generation then she wondered for the world. It was the internet that had caused the closure of her favourite shop - though not personally. As the letter said, it was through internet book sales. She did not need to read the rest, only needed to go home.

Two days after this event occurred, her grandchildren visited bearing sweets from the supermarket. Her eldest granddaughter, more acute than the others, was the first to inquire as to her mood. Much soured by the knowledge her favourite place was gone, she was confused by her granddaughter’s reaction - upon hearing the story, the fifteen year old erupted into laughter and told her that there was quite an easy solution to the problem in the village library.

It was through desperation alone that she followed her granddaughter there - never in all of her years of buying presents had one arrived late. In the back of her mind, she debated the various scenarios that could take place in the library - perhaps a sale of some description?

As they arrived, her granddaughter immediately requested a computer and bewildered she followed. She knew now that this was something new and in the back of her mind a suspicious strand flew. Typing in her details, her granddaughter beamed and asked what it was that she was looking for, leaving the old woman to realise that she was trapped. Trapped between the solid rock of no presents and callous internet. Internet which had thrown her into this mess in the first place.

Sighing inwardly, she pulled a chair from the next table and flopped into the seat. There was nothing left she could do. Reciting the names of several books and absently gazing at the screen while her granddaughter swiftly typed the names into the machine. It was a marvellous thing, she could not help but think - filled with colour and movement from various screens as her granddaughter searched, appearing like some kind of Siren before her. Her mesmerisation, however, was drawn to a close as her granddaughter called to her. That only one name was coming up to sell the books she wanted. Rather than recite it, she showed the web page onscreen.

It was the website of her beloved tea store, established the same day as the young man took over. Although she did not understand at first, eventually she took in that it sold the same books from the shop, but cheaper and in brighter colours. The authors of such masterpieces would surely have turned in their grave to see their fine works bargained off like cheap meat - the same way that she turned in her chair to leave the library.

Perhaps it will come as no surprise to you that nobody got any presents that year.

Incomplete

2008-10-13T04:36:00.000-07:00

Transparent, with no finger tips,
Man made you
Just to be
Dependent.
And so I wonder
When was I
Intoxicated
By this mechanical Eden?
Though scentless,
Shapeless,
Without a soul
And no door to walk inside,
I am sheltered
Within this paradise
Of artifice.

Concerning Milk

2008-10-10T14:07:00.000-07:00

As I write this, I am wrapped up in a blanket and supping hot chocolate - fighting off flu.

Fresher's week has come and gone, leaving behind a legacy of nasty viruses. Two weeks into the term and classes are all ready looking empty.

I never realised how much I loved my bed until today.

Transistorised, and anodised

2008-09-30T08:52:00.000-07:00

I had my first lesson of the second year today - Medieval and Renaissance Literature, i.e. Chaucer and the Canterbury Tales. When I read on the reading list that we were going to study him, I was neither worried nor excited. I studied the Wife of Bath in college, but gained little from it as the teacher I had was very much a joker. While I liked him as a person and found him entertaining, hardly anything he taught me sunk in,as he spent a great deal of his teaching time poking fun at the material. It was not at all fun going into an exam room knowing nothing but a handful of 'handy' anecdotes.

Influences

2008-09-28T15:47:00.000-07:00

Here's an idea I got from Dan and stole - an account of my influences. As writers, we are often asked to explain them and the opportunity to get them in writing is rare. So...here they are (you never know, it might surprise you):

I don't remember having a specific favourite book as a child - I loved reading and would engross myself in any book i could find. There are so many books and authors from then that have influenced me - Enid Blyton, Roald Dahl, E. B. White. In secondary school, i talked the librarian into letting me read Roald Dahl's Tales of the Unexpected - she believed a book of such macabre brilliance would affect an eleven year old. I believe she was right, for I was never quite the same.

I began to read Harry Potter, on the other hand, at around ten and loved the fantasy aspect of it. Fantasy stories carry a flame for me, as reality in my opinion is quite a boring thing. When i was about twelve, I read 'The Heartstone Odyssey', a story about an Indian dancer named Chandra, who sets out on a mission to find the heartstone for the talking mice who request it of her - a beautifully charming book that I read countless times over the course of my school career. The more I wrote as I grew up, the more I combined normality with something quite impossible. I don't remember at what age I decided I wanted to be a writer -wherever I went I carried a pen and paper and that has always been the consensus. Before I could write, I drew all the time.

Writing for a very long time offers advantages, such as the ability to rifle through scripts produced years before. I know for a fact that I have never really been frightened by the notion of violence, rather, curious of it - because one of my earliest stories involved an axe murderer. I used to be a great animal lover and would go to great lengths to involve a talking horse in the plot. Much of this is down to the fact that at the time I was writing, I was quite young and influenced by shows such as Starla and the Jewel Riders (I miss that show >:) and Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

When I was in my late teens, I heard for the first time 'Bring me to Life' by Evanescence - back then, it was the anthem to my life and moved me - the lyrics spoke out to me as if I was the only one who heard them.

Evanescence became and still are, one of my favourite bands, I fell in love with their mystical sound. 'Bring me to life' had reached out to me, and now each song spoke to me personally.

Evanescence was one of my first favourite bands and inpspired me to write poetry.

By this point, I was 14 and heavily into the 'mysterious', 'gothic' and 'horror'. I went to my local library, where the librarian recommended Edgar Allan Poe.

The copy of Poe our library had was very battered indeed. Anyway, upon inspection I learned that it contained 'The Raven', a verse I had heard about but never got around to reading. Once I did, I felt like I had skipped the enlightenment level all together. Within days I had scoured our library shelves for everything I could find.

After leaving school, I entered college and began to read the classics. In my first year, i studied 'Wuthering Heights' and 'Frankenstein' and loved them both. In the second, our teacher gave us a booklet with several stories to analyse inside it- one of which was 'The Company of Wolves' by Angela Carter.

Angela Carter has been very influential on my writing in recent years, a favourite author. Her writing is profoundly original, making use of magic realism and science fiction, writing the darker counter parts of Snow White, Beauty and the Beast, Little Red Riding Hood and Puss in Boots. Carter skillfully wove themes of gothicism, eroticism, feminism, violence, surrealism, myth and contemporary society into her work. Reading her work gave me high hopes for the careful tapestry I might someday be able to produce.

Up until this point, I haven't mentioned manga, mostly because it didn't enter my life until very late when compared with everything else I have mentioned so far. I didn't pick up a manga novel until I was 16 at least, and even then it was just to ask my friend why the heck it was backwards. Even so, manga and anime are very firm influences in my writing because they are, without a doubt, one of my favourite genres. Mangas such as Death Note and Immortal Rain reinforce what Poe and Carter's writing first defined.

Jumping on the bandwagon

2008-09-25T02:12:00.000-07:00

From what I've read, a lot of people are writing about their new houses, so I thought I would jump on the proverbial band wagon. Only a little, since I'm not actually living in a house. Out of everyone I've spoken to, I'm the only person who has lived in a flat again, which I find odd, but *shrug*.

The people I am living with this year (all two of them) are all right I guess. Out of the two of them, I've only met one of them once. I like this arrangement. She's from Liverpool and is a third year. Other than the fact that she studies fashion and enjoys kareoke (¬¬), that's about all I know about her.

Our flat is on the ground floor, unpacking should have been a pleasant experience. But nooooooo.... The douchebags who lived here last year had, to all intents and purposes, trashed the place and the landlords had just painted over everything. Our hoover was broken, we had an iron (no ironing board), my bathroom to be was not clean and neither was the kitchen, the microwave was broken, the internet lead was missing - my mother, let me tell you was having palpitations. It took ages to clean everything, (and everything is clean now) - but the chaos wasn't over.

A couple of days later I was woken up by a car alarm at quarter to 6 in the morning and ended up with an awful headache. Because of the headache, I went to make myself a cup of tea to help myself get back to sleep, forgetting to lock my bedroom door on the way back from the kitchen.

Of course, on any other day, for anybody else, this would never have happened ¬¬.

A few hours later, the door to the flat was flung open and one of the rent collectors came storming in, thudding on everyone's doors. Apparently, someone in our flat hadn't paid all of their rent and they were coming to get it? And apparently they didn't know exactly which room it was, hence the THUD THUD THUD. Of course my bedroom door wasn't locked and of course they came right in DX.

I was only half asleep and all of a sudden they were there. My reaction went along the lines of 'huhWAAHHHH'

Anyway, as it turns out, they were after the room next to mine, which was empty anyway. Bloody typical. And it doesn't end there. Oh no.

On the day we unpacked, I noticed a new building behind our flats and went to check it out - my Dad thinking I was being retarded or lost or something, called me back. Anyway, these past few days I've been searching for a Council Tax exemption form and thinking that I was all of the above since the building I got it from before seemed to have disappeared. I must have seriously travelled all over campus looking for this stupid exemption form (seriously, things a student will do for money off). Anyway, in the end I checked at enquiries and got redirected back to my flat - remember that building I was told not to check out? Turns out that it's the new finance department - got my loan scanned as well while I was there.

You'd think my parents would apologise, though, for dragging me away when I could have made this discovery ago - wouldn't you? Apparently not. The first thing my mother said was: You stupid twonk.

I said 'I love the boy'

2008-09-24T12:01:00.001-07:00

In blinded words
I spoke your name
Just like an
Abandoned child.
In the sand
I drew your face
And made it mine.
It isn’t real
It isn’t true
How could I ever
Acknowledge you?
He left me here
To dance and sing
That face I drew
It isn’t him
He found my porcelain
My soul
Shattered both
Made it so
That I should sit
Upon the sands
And trace my finger there.
Painting masterpieces
With a single broken
Finger nail
You came to me
On the shifting tides
I said
‘I love the boy’
Ever lasting?
Ever changing?
I know you are not mine.

Back

2008-09-23T01:17:00.000-07:00

Soak Up The Sun - Sheryl Crow

So summer is over and I am back. The new flat is bigger than the old one - the bedrooms are twice as big and everything seems the wrong way round. It was trashed when I got here, the ironing board was missing, the hoover was broken and the microwave didn't work; it was like the previous tenants had well and truly destroyed the place before they left and the landlord's answer was to paint over the mess. There was even a chunk missing from the wall in the kitchen, plastered over.

My flatmates seem okay - there are only two of them so far, both of them third year fashion students. It's odd, because they make absolutely no noise. I know this is probably tempting fate, but it's weirding me out. O_o

Haven't got my timetable yet, so I don't know what expect about anything. I've spent most of my time so far wrapped up in bed watching Ugly Betty and eating crisps. I hope my timetable isn't too bad, if it is, then I might actually cry.

Little Miss Muffet

2008-09-21T11:47:00.001-07:00

Little miss muffet,
Frozen in habit
Alone on your throne
Like a lost little rabbit
Your coat is unruffled
Your hair is pristine
Your mother thinks that I
Am something unclean
Stroking your lips with
Honey nectar, I see
Smiling, you’ll call me
And say I am ‘Thief’
This spider, this spider
He held you too close
Run, run Miss Muffet
Tell them your woes.

Silent Sally Sue

2008-09-21T10:07:00.000-07:00

Dusty doll upon my desk
My dear old Sally Sue
She hasn’t sang me lyrics yet -
Hummed a merry tune
And yet somehow, I know she would
If only I asked her to
Dusty friend upon my desk
My silent Sally Sue.

Dusty doll upon my desk
My faithful Sally Sue
Her lips are sealed together
By some sort of splendid glue
Forever in the likeness
Of a girl of twenty two
That dusty friend upon my desk
My silent Sally Sue.

Dusty doll upon my desk
I named her Sally Sue
She doesn’t tell me stories
Of a world I never knew
And yet I often wonder
Where might they take me to?
The one with all the answers
Is my silent Sally Sue

Another Meme, folks

2008-08-23T02:07:00.000-07:00

Mainly because I have nothing interesting to talk about.

1. Name: Sayiu :P
2. Birthday: 18/ 04/ 89
3. Where do you live: In your consciousness. Also Whitters
4: What are you studying/What are you working as: I study Creative Writing/ English. I've never had a job (for many reasons)
5. What makes you happy: *Shrugs* Food and anime, in any order.
6. What are you listening to now/have listened to last: Errrr.... I think it was 'Before the Dawn' By Evanescence (Very beautiful song BTW)
7. What is particularly good/bad about my blog: Good-wise, it contains most of my writing. Bad wise, it can occasionally be very candid, more than it is meant to be.
8. An interesting fact about you: Other than the fact I have never been in employment? Err...I used to play the bass guitar.
9. Are you in love/have a crush at the moment: Maybe
10. Favorite place to be: Whitters Wood
11. Favorite lyric: I have so many, among my favourites are:

I've been looking in a mirror for so long
That I've come to believe my soul's on the other side.
All the little pieces falling, shatter
Shards of me too sharp to put back together;
Too small to matter,
But big enough to cut me into so many little pieces
If I try to touch her

'Breathe no more' by Evanescence

We used to swim the same moonlight waters
Oceans away from the wakeful day
My fall will be for you
My love will be in you
If you be the one to cut me
I will bleed forever

Scent of the sea before the waking of the world
Brings me to thee
Into the blue memory

My fall will be for you
My love will be in you
If you be the one to cut me
I will bleed forever

'Ghost love score' By Nightwish

Is it true what they say,
Are we too blind to find a way?
Fear of the unknown cloud our hearts today.
Come into my world,
See through my eyes.
Try to understand,
Don't want to lose what we have

We've been dreaming
But who can deny,
It's the best way of living
Between the truth and the lies

See who I am,
Break through the surface.
Reach for my hand,
Let's show them that we can
Free our minds and find a way.
The world is in our hands,
This is not the end.

'See who I am' by Within Temptation

12. Best time of the year: Halloween
13. Weirdest food you like: People always look at me funny when I say I like sushi o_o

RECOMMEND
1. A film: Pan's Labyrinth ^^b
2. A book: The Immortal Rain Manga XD
3. A song: Ghost Love Score by nightwish
Ghost Love Score - Nightwish

4: A band: Within Temptation, Ikimono Gakari, Evanescence and Nightwish. That was Four, I know, but I couldn't choose.

Random meme

2008-08-06T02:41:00.000-07:00

HAVE YOU EVER---------
* Ever been so drunk you blacked out:

No

* Put a body part on fire for amusement:

Toenails :D DANCE DANCE

* Been in a car accident:

Almost D8

* Been hurt emotionally:

Is there anyone who hasn't?

* Had an imaginary friend:

XDDDDDDDD, His name was Buster ^^

* Cried during a movie:

Nope

* Had a crush on a teacher:

D8 No

* Ever thought an animated character was hot?:

I'm an anime fan, it goes without saying

* Had a New Kids On the Block tape:

Nope

* Been on stage:

Yup, singing and dancing [Bet that's a shocker]

* Cut your hair:

What, myself????

-----------------FAVORITES-------------
* Shampoo:

Dove moisturising shampoo

* Color:
Depends on the mood.

* Day/Night:

Depends on the mood.

* Summer/Winter:

Winter, though not when it's slippy ¬¬

* Lace or satin:

Satin, lace is itchy DX

* Cartoon Characters:

L, Tamaki, kyouya, Kaiba, [blathers on for hours with other random anime chars]

* Food:

pizza, sushi, ice cream, chocolate, cheesecake, berries[blathers on again]

* Fave Movie:

Spirited Away

* Fave Ice Cream:

Bohemian Raspberry

* Fave Subject:

Creative Writing and Dream Study

* Fave Drink:

Cola prolly

------------------RIGHT NOW------------
* Wearing:

Clothes

* Eating:

Megabytes

* Drinking:

I wish

* Thinking about:

What i'm going to be doing later

* Listening to:

Librarians

* Talking to:

Myself

* Watching:

A computer screen

---------IN THE LAST 24 HRS--------
* Cried:

Me? you lieeeeeeee

* Worn a skirt:

For bed maybe

* Met someone new:

In Whitters?

* Cleaned your room:

AHAHAHAHAHAHA, now i know you're lying.

* Done laundry:

Mother did. She believes my skills outshine hers.

* Drove a car:

I have a bus pass, there's not much point.

----DO YOU BELIEVE IN------
* Yourself:

Of course, perception is reality.

* Friends:

What a loaded question O.O

* Santa Claus:

Nope.

* Destiny/Fate:

Yup.

* Angels:

Nope.

* Ghosts:

My Daddy has seen one *nod nod*

* UFO's:

Nope
------LOVE----------
* Bf/gf:

Not at the moment, had one last year though

* Ever been in love:

Yarrr, some say too easily.

* Cheated on anyone:

O.O I'd never do that. [had it done on me ¬¬]

* Ever done a "drunken stupid mistake":

Can't get drunk.

* Ever had a lesbian/gay experience:

Define experience

-----TELL THE TRUTH!!-----------
Would you ever:
* Pay for sex:

No

* Strip for money:

I have standards

* Play strip poker:

If i knew the rules

* Work in McDonalds:

No

* Lie:

Everybody lies.

* Bitch about someone:

Everybody bitches. I'm human.

* What's the best feeling in the world:

Ignorance

Coffee shop, where art thou?

2008-08-06T02:11:00.000-07:00

Megalomaniac - Incubus

I received some wonderful news recently that made me jump for joy - Starbucks, the megalomaniac coffee chain is finally disappearing from our high streets. I cannot express how happy this made me - particularly since McDonalds is taking their customers.

It goes without saying that coffee shops are so far reachingly middle class nowadays. As a hot chocolate fan myself, yes, I am more than a little biased on this matter, but it's always baffled me why even our smallest towns need more than one in a short radius.

My local town is a historic one, with a medieval market and lots of shops where my Dad went when he was a school boy. There's a miniature sweet shop on the corner, where we used to call on our journeys to and from college. There was only one shop we never explored - the one coffee shop in town, which day in, day out, was filled with what we called disapprovings, sipping their coffee.

All of a sudden, the historic shops began to disappear - a music shop that had survived since the 50s, in which my Dad bought his first CDs, disappeared in favour of a Costa Coffee - just three shops up from the 'disapprovings'. A couple of months later, they demolished the pizza hut in favour of another one. The final blow came at the end of my college year when a book shop fell victim to the foul stench of coffee.

There was a book shop in town - the kind where you can be lost for hours in winding bookshelves, in the midst of titles you have never seen before and will never seen again. It seems odd to me they reduced this shop to a meagre coffee shop; particularly since it had a tea shop on the premises in the first place.

Coffee shops have always been of great confusion to me, possibly because my folks live on the stuff and so biased I may be, but I can't help but confess that the news of Starbucks' imminent decline brought a very large smile to my face.

It's a Weird World

2008-08-04T06:22:00.000-07:00

It's a strange world we live in.

In a bid to persuade my father to cut out the coupons for the classic costume drama DVDs free this past few weeks, there's been a lot of newspapers lying around. And since they were lying around, of course I had to read them.

I am disgusted by so called 'feminists' all but legalising murder, at the expense of the percentage of women genuinely abused. They paint a queer picture of women - victims, of evil men, who seek to use and abuse us. These women, though true in their original intentions are NOT feminists. Truth be told, they are the bottom of the feminist barrel. What kind of feminist would paint woman as inferior to men, when the point of the movement was to prove otherwise?

And otherwise, in our society, is so often the solemn truth. Though men are usually envisioned the violent sex, it is women nowadays who commit violent crimes. I read recently of a young woman, jailed for several years, who held down a woman her own age while her [male] friends sexually abused her. I'll never forget the time my aunt [several times beaten by her drunken husband] admitted to threatening to stab him whenever he was too violent.

My views on the matter are thus - one sex should never be greater than the other. We were created equal, and that is how we were intended to remain. All this talk of a female entirely cabinet is folly, it always was going to be - the point of the cabinet was to have a range of views from different stations (or at least it was supposed to be). A female entirely cabinet, though romantic, is completely irrational and unfounded. Women in modern day society ARE more violent than they were before, through alcohol and the 'ladette' culture.

It is true that women are becoming more boyish - to the point where it is affecting our personal lives. Now we women have the right to work alongside men, we have laid aside our femininity for the sake of a [lesser] wage. While we become more and more masculine, pushing off having children, getting married later and later in our lives, the higher ups have the brainwave to bring out cosmetics and [?] tights for men.

Am I the only one thinking huh?

Declined??? WTF

2008-07-14T06:32:00.000-07:00

Has everybody else received their reading list? I checked mine recently and was depressed (on an economic level) to see how many books were on it, mostly books I've never even heard of (which isn't so rare, since most of the books I read are pretty well known). Anyway, I scoured Amazon shortly after, picking up every book I find (in the end I got all of them, minus 2-3, for about 30£). I even managed to get a copy of the Great Gatsby for 1p, which I thought was some pretty darn good shopping.

Anyway, I got an email through this morning saying that all payments have been DECLINED, much to my utter gobsmackification. At first I was just confused, but about ten minutes later I realised why. The card I registered on Amazon is about four months expired and I needed to register the new one. It's all sorted now, thank goodness, I think I'd cry if after all the time I'd spent comparing sites was wasted.

Speaking of shopping, I went to Tesco with my Dad this morning and was taken aback by just how meticulously organised our list making skills have become. We started making lists in the back when, when my mother came shopping with us and got so distracted the offers on show that she forgot what we were supposed to be buying. Now our lists have numbered items, in the order we'll find them on the shelves o_0. I wasn't sure whether to think it was amazing or extremely sad.

Reading meme

2008-07-02T02:33:00.000-07:00

I've been reading a lot this summer (Has anyone read The Memory Keeper's Daughter? - my mother and I have been arguing over it all week) - hence why this meme seems all the more poignant. Basically, bolden the ones you've read, underline the ones you love, italicise the ones you want to read.

1. Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen (Read it for English, I didn't like it that much though ¬¬)
2. The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3. Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4. Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5. To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6. The Bible
7. Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8. Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell (We are the Deeeeeeead)
9. His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10. Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11. Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12. Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13. Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14. Complete Works of Shakespeare (I've read some of them)
15. Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16. The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17. Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18. Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19. The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20. Middlemarch - George Eliot
21. Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22. The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23. Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy (A friend at home has read it three times, it's always intrigued me)
25. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26. Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27. Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28. Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29. Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30. The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31. Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32. David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33. Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis (WHY THE HELL DIDN'T THEY START THE FILMS AT THE BEGINNING WITH THE GUINEA PIGS AND THE POOLS AND THE MAGIC RINGS?)
34. Emma - Jane Austen
35. Persuasion - Jane Austen
36. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis (Why is the Lion, the Witch and the Wrdrobe lower on the list than the complete works?)
37. The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38. Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres (I've met the author and seen the film - twas rubbish - havent read the book though)
39. Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40. Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41. Animal Farm - George Orwell (Four legs good, Two legs baad)
42. The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44. A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45. The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46. Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47. Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48. The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
49. Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50. Atonement - Ian McEwan
51. Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52. Dune - Frank Herbert
53. Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54. Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55. A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56. The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57. A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens (I was ten, it made me cry)
58. Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60. Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61. Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62. Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63. The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64. The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65. Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66. On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67. Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68. Bridget Jones' Diary - Helen Fielding
69. Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70. Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71. Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72. Dracula - Bram Stoker
73. The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74. Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75. Ulysses - James Joyce
76. The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77. Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78. Germinal - Emile Zola
79. Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80. Possession - AS Byatt
81. A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82. Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83. The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84. The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro (lol we all end up the Remains of the day)
85. Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86. A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87. Charlotte's Web - EB White OMFG I loved this when i was little - had to skip the first chapter though :'<
88. The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89. Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90. The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91. Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad (aDidn't read it when I was supposed to, now i think it's pretty good)
92. The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93. The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94. Watership Down - Richard Adams
95. A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96. A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97. The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98. Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100. Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

36/100 \o/ I'm better read than I thought ^^

D8 BuT tEh RaBbIt!

2008-06-30T03:25:00.000-07:00

Let it be known, that I now believe in the power of the lucky rabbits foot. On the way here, my Dad almost flattened one, and it miraculously survived! Thinking about it, most of the wildlife in Whitters seems to be quite lacking in brain power at the moment. It was only yesterday that my mother was telling about the pheasant that ambushed her while she was trimming the grass in our garden. Flew up into her face, all because it was frightened to death of the carrier bag she uses to scare off the wood pigeons. ¬¬. We're not even sure why it was there; in Whitters, the pheasants live on the side of the village. I can't help but think it was lost. Mother asked grandad - he was a farmer in his youth - and he says they're probably roosting. So great - more pheasants, on completely the wrong side of Whitters, smack in the middle of Fox territory ^^b.

It's not only the pheasants that ambushed my mother of late. You all have them, don't you? Weird neighbours; the kind you see on Escape to the country, who're dead set on retiring to the midlands and setting up a vegetable patch? Enter Chicken George. For years he's been stealing land, getting rid of the horses at the top of our garden and of late we wondered why. Well, it all became clear when i was summoned awake on Sunday morning by my mother's screams. Peeking through my mum and Dad's window, I was much amused to spot four and twenty chickens flapping round the garden - my mum flapping with them, spade in hand, yelling 'GAREEEEEEE'. It was like chicken run - only funnier.

Seems Chicken George moved to the midlands and stole all that land - for a chicken coop.

I remember (Reflections of the First Year)

2008-06-14T09:50:00.000-07:00

It's been a crazy year, what with adjustments and workload, I suppose the best way to fully conclude is the same way I did here. So here goes...

I remember the box of food in our front room expanding in size and worrying what would happen if I didn't get in.

I remember being ectastic I was accepted for all the wrong reasons.

I remember cooking my first meal and proudly phoning my mother to tell her all about it.

I remember spending all or at least most of my time on a cushion chair in Pizza Hut.

I remember being worried my Chii ears wouldn't arrive.

I remember standing in my kitchen with Laney, putting onions on cocktail sticks.

I remember one of the first creative writing classes and the flush of despair (zetsubou shitaaaaa) when I didnt have any important objects to put on the table.

I remember having my picture taken for the Derbyshire times to celebrate my achievement and having my hair blown all over the shant ¬_¬

I remember the first (and prolly only) time I visited Mosh.

I remember visiting my friends at Christmas and wondering if I had changed as much as they had.

I remember my Carley rage.

I remember the first time I visited the oriental supermarket.

I remember my first taste of Pocky.

I remember the first assignment I did and how worried I was that it would fail.

I remember the first assignment party.

I remember there being sheep.

I remember being a psychic over animal transformation.

Emotionally blackmailing the poetic license since 1792

2008-06-13T03:08:00.001-07:00

Proof that my talents lie not only in the literary field, but the visual one too.

Of Pizza and Pebbles

2008-06-12T11:08:00.000-07:00

Our trip to Zizzi's today was preceded by a short, sharp shower of rain. Laney panicked that she would not be able to straighten her hair in time, only to poke me on the shoulder on the corner of her accommodation building as I fought most ungracefully with what can only be described as a mangled umbrella. Sod's law states that of course it should rain drastically on the day we decide to do something that involves going outside.

By the time we actually found the place (I had terrible visions of us turning the corner at Fenwicks, and getting completely lost), it wasn't actually open. Luckily, the nice waitress lady let us in anyway and we ordered drinks (thankfully not water).

Discussion fell to Laney's recent trip to the Somme, which you can read about here; we soon found humour in our personal fail powers. Returning home from France, Laney's coach broke down half an hour away from town, a seemingly recurring event. This brought a smile to my face, as I also have extremely bad luck on motorways, once getting stuck for three hours on what should have been a twenty minute journey.

Hmmm...Laney has the power to stop coaches. I have the power to stop the motorway...What is this; Captain Planet?

Anyway, most of the reason we were in Zizzi's was because of the coupon my dad got for me; i.e it is not the kind of restaurant I would otherwise have heard of. The reason for this became very clear as soon as I sat down and ordered drinks. The glasses our drinks came in were ice cold, and the waitress bringing the drink filled it from the glass in front of us. (the fact that i'm impressed by this shows just how primitive i am).

It was a very oddly decorated place, pretty, but odd. Behind my chair there were a number of pebbles, which if anything, were reminiscent of a feng shui - strange to see in an Italian restaurant.

The strange decoration didn't end at the tables, it also extended to the bathrooms. On our way out we had difficulty finding them because of the odd signs on the doors.

It took us a good fifteen seconds to figure out from the sign on the men's toilets - the same, but upside down - that it's actually a W for woman. But seriously, in what way does that make you think 'toilet'?

At the back of the restaurant there's a giant firey oven, where the chefs stone bake your pizza. It's directly out in the open and if you're seated close enough you can watch your food cooking (wanted a pic of this, but neither of us dared get close enough - which is a shame because it really was enthralling - I've never seen anything like that before).

On the subject of the food we devoured mercilessly? Well worth the effort ^^

Possible Powers of the Magic Water

2008-06-11T09:41:00.000-07:00

POSSIBLE POWER NUMBER ONE

It could be a Veritaserum! What better way to get an honest review from your customers?

POSSIBLE POWER NUMBER TWO

It could be a ploy to convince customers that they take an active interest in the field of diet schemes.

POSSIBLE POWER NUMBER THREE

It could be a transforming potion for malignant customers. One sip and they'll turn into a buffalo - both economical and satisfying.

POSSIBLE POWER NUMBER FOUR

It could be infused with an extremely powerful drug that opens your imagination. (That would explain the price at least)

POSSIBLE POWER NUMBER FIVE

It could be a lifechanging reminder of the statement...'The best things in life definitely aren't free, especially not water'.

POSSIBLE POWER NUMBER SIX

...Maybe it actually is gin.

Shadows

2008-06-10T03:14:00.001-07:00

I leave the flat soon; it doesn't seem so long since I first arrived here. At the time I was in two minds about the whole thing; I was happy about arriving, about leaving Whitters and taking the first steps towards becoming someone better, but at the same time I wasn't happy at all. No matter how often I complain of how little there is in Whitters, it is a far cry from the truth - everything I hold dear is there.

By coming here I would be far away from my family, from the friends I had come to know, from everything I had come to love in eighteen years of life. Whitters does not have a shopping center or internet access, but it does have so much more.

My shelves are all but empty now, resemblant of the flat much of the time. Three of four flatmates have long left and I assumed i would be long gone before the fourth returned. A few days ago, I was watching a film when the door to the flat sounded, along with voices that still sounded distant to me, possibly because I'd been away from them for so long. It wasnt until the next day and an investigation of the fridge that I understood who it was that had returned. It was Carley and from the looks of things, she wasn't going to be leaving any time soon.

I go to an Italian restaurant tomorrow with Laney; my dad found a coupon in the newspaper for 50% off main courses, which wasn't surprising, considering he works in a newsagents. Anyway, having looked at the restaurant webpage, my opinions are entirely positive, though confused by the pricing system of the drinks. According to the menu, the most expensive soft drink is water, at 3.50. Cola, fanta and even gin are cheaper! I cannot help but wonder if it has magical powers.

Concerning music

2008-06-02T11:33:00.000-07:00

There are a great number of things I call a sanctuary in my life: my books, my films... of all of these, however only a couple of things were established before birth. During my early childhood, my mother adored telling me how I would kick in time to Gary Numan - fitting, as my parents were avid concertgoers.

When my dad got me my first CD player I was about 8 years old; up until then I had been hanging around his with my Spice Girls CDs, waiting for him to finish with his Death metal so I could listen to 'Wannabe'. (I didn't mind this very much, he let me look through his lyric booklets, which almost always were filled with naughty words.) I remember him plugging it into my room and telling me that if I had it on so loud that the neighbours complained he would pack my new toy away in the attic. I considered it an instuction in responsibility, though thinking about it now - he probably just didn't want to hear the Spice Girls anymore.

Taking his instructions into account, I was careful to keep my CD player on the lowest volume as possible; careful to analyse the beam that was our attic (just in case our neighbours decided my music somehow was too loud).

Recently, Laney and I got into a debate over our intrument of preference: I prefer the piano whereas Laney prefers the violin.

The truth is, I've always loved piano - back from when I first got my CD player.
Our school had few resources, so made an effort to teach students classical instruments. Our village is known locally for it's brass band and drama association (leave the county and no one has heard). The intrument I loved the most, though was the piano. Our headmaster stood at the front of the hall in assembly and used one to play the hymns and somehow it mystified me, as if somehow it were jumping to life and singing along with us.

i even joined band, not because I was any good, but because I wanted to stand close to the piano. Of course, this proved a bad idea - I was so focussed on the music of the keys that my own performance fell to a shambles and I left within a month.

In my final years of school, a friend of mine began to play the violin. I only ever heard her play once and decided I wasnt as enchanted by her performance as I should have been; to me the violin sounded tearful - its performance sounded like a sobbing kind of mantra.

I would love to learn to play the keys; I hear my grandmother played, so it's in my blood at least. They say it's never too late.

A comedy of sirens

2008-05-31T01:56:00.000-07:00

Ironic - Alanis Morsette

seems only yesterday I blogged about the numerous alarms that go off in my flat every morning. It's been wonderful lately, as my flat mates are in the midst of moving out, so the flat - far from its usual chaos - has been silent.

Last night was the final Abridged evening of the fresher year, complete with crispie cake and pizza. Walking into the kitchen I almost died, as for the first time in weeks one of my flatmates was in there - looking just as surprised to see me.

I don't suppose it mattered much, as Laney and I only left my room to fetch the pizza, and Kajal (my flatmate) spent most of the time packing. This morning, I was woken by my classtime (7am) alarm, followed shortly afterwards by the echoey sounds of Leona Lewis blasted from across the hall.

When the music went off, I thought the flat would be quiet, but apparently not: My phone alarm decided to signal right at that moment.

It's ironic all right.

If War of the Worlds were Ouran...

2008-05-28T12:36:00.000-07:00

In my Previous Post, I failed to specify the specific method Laney and I used while revising. Whilst watching our various anime shows, we compared the characters to characters from the novel.

E.g. Ouran High School Host Club

NARRATOR WOULD BE MORI: Mori is a hardworking guy, focussed on the care he has for Hunny-senpai, just like the narrator is focussed on the love he has for his wife.

CURATE WOULD BE TAMAKI: They both overreact and are quite dimwitted in behaviour, despite showing clear intelligence - they are both also extremely fanatical about their food.

ARTILLERYMAN WOULD BE KYOUYA: They are both interested in personal gain and profit and quick to forge a plan.

MARTIANS WOULD BE HUNNY: ...They both wield odd feeding habits and have both been accused of inhabiting another planet.

THE NARRATOR'S WIFE WOULD BE HARUHI: She is extremely domesticated, but on an equal par ot the men around her - just like Narrator's wife.

THE ACCOMPANIMENT OF THE NARRATOR;S BROTHER WOULD BE THE HITACHIIN TWINS: Because there's never one without the other (and they have been known to cross dress).

Freedom ^_^

2008-05-28T11:45:00.000-07:00

It seems weird, thinking about packing my things to go home for the summer - doesn't seem so long since I stayed over night last year. Things were so much different then, I was a different person - everything has altered and fitted into routine, only to uproot into disorientation again next September. I wonder what kind of person I'll be next term - or if I'll even change at all?

I am not happy the way things are now; looking in the mirror, I do not see me the way I should. It is the ghostly face of a toddler, abandoned among the crowd. Having chased butterflies into a strange new territory, every face seems frightening, unfamiliar and grey.

I woke a few days ago to find my bottom lip deeply bitten and numb and my limbs aching - I'm not quite sure of the cause; whether it was a violent dream or a seizure.

I did not have much time to dwell on this fact, as I had my novel exam the next day and needed to revise. Laney came over in the afternoon and (in between anime episodes) we discussed War of the Worlds. The exam was this morning - not nearly as eventful as the poetry test (not sure if I'm disappointed about that or not).

The scene we got to analyse was tthe one where the Artilleryman speaks of his plans for the human race. I remember writing about imperialism and darwinism (and possibly gothicism, though it may only have been an annotation).

Now it is over, along with my Fresher year, leaving me with a tonne of free time that I wished I had before. It will be interesting to see just how I do divide my time in the final draftings.

Characters Meme

2008-05-26T09:03:00.001-07:00

Write down twelve of your own characters and then answer the questions - NO LOOKING AT THE QUESTIONS BEFORE ANSWERING!! GOT IT? GOOD!

Zeh chars

1. Gurda Von Illyich
-Technically neither living nor dead. She is the ‘boss’ character, revived when her ‘shell’ dies.

2. Isobel Read
- A pirate wench, who toys with witchcraft.

3. Vladimir Von Illyich
-A Romanian lord - believed dead by all contemporaries. He also toys with witchcraft, for the purpose of his people’s safety.

4. Ileana Von Illyich/Lily
-The product of Isobel Read and Vladimir Von Illyich’s brief time together, thrown into poverty after her father’s supposed death.

5. Robert Tully
-A close friend of Vladimir Von Illyich and a close friend of the family,

6. Sylvie Cross
-An apothecary’s daughter, religious and pure.

7. Carver Cross
-The village apothecary. Raised in the north of England, he unknowingly married the daughter of Isobel Read.

8. Freya Seinfeld
-One of Isobel Read’s coven, Freya hails from Germany.

9. Frederick Lundy
-A member of Vladimir Von Illyich’s council, he also a close friend of the family, though holds dark secrets of his own.

10. Cassiopeia Whitley
-Sylvie Cross’s mother, who died of an illness while she was very young.

11. Rosaline Hart
- Another member of Isobel Read’s coven.

12. Elspeth Moore
-An accident prone member of Isobel Read’s coven.

#1. Who would make a better college prof.? 6 ( Sylvie) or 11 (Rosaline)?

Rosaline - Sylvie is only about fourteen with hardly any experience of life. Though, out of the two of them, I deem Sylvie the most trustworthy - so *shrug*.

#2. Do you think 2 ( Isobel) is hot? How hot?

She was certainly beautiful once; I wouldn’t say hot, certainly not to her face.

#3. 12 (Elspeth) sends 8 (Freya) out on a mission. What is it? Does it succeed?

Errr….Elspeth is the ship’s chef, so it would probably be to fetch some ingredients for the next meal. Freya’s not that focussed so she’d probably miss the meal, leaving Elspeth to take the flack.

#4. What is or would be 9’s (Lundy) favorite book?

Marquis de Sade stuff ^^ - he’s a dark horse.

#5. Would it make more sense for 2 (Isobel) to swear fealty to 6 (Sylvie), or the other way around?

The other way round, Sylvie is naïve and Isobel is pretty quick witted, so Sylvie is more likely to be fooled into obeying. Plus Isobel is SCARY.

#6. For some reason, 5 (Tully) is looking for a roommate. Should (s)he share a studio apartment with 9 (Lundy) or with 10 (Cassiopeia)?

Lundy! They’re old friends!

#7. 2 (Isobel), 7 (Carver), and 12 (Elspeth) have dinner together. Where do they go, and what do they discuss?

Well Elspeth would be cooking, so it would be a masterpiece of lamb chops, mulberry wine and apple pie, all served on Isobel’s ship and punctuated by insults. They’d probably be discussing world politics.

#8. 3 (Vladimir) challenges 10 (Cassiopeia) to a duel. What happens?

Cassiopeia seduces Vladimir and snatches a win by kicking him when he‘s not looking.

#9. If 1 (Gurda) stole 8’s (Freya) most precious possession, how would she/he get it back?

She wouldn’t.

#10. Suggest a title for a story in which 7 (Carver) and 12 (Elspeth) both attain what they most desire.

Brains, Brains, Brains.

#11. What kind of plot device would you use if you wanted 4 (Lily) and 1 (Gurda) to work together?

Demonic possession, most likely, there’s no way Lily would work with Gurda.

#12. If 7 (Carver) visited you for the weekend, how would you get along?

I’d get him to teach me how to be an awesome apothecary, and in return take him to see a movie, followed by a meal of his choice.

#13. If you could command 3 (Vladimir) to perform any one task or service for you, what would it be?

LOL - don’t tempt me, the man is prettyful….

#14. Does anyone on your friends list write or draw 11 (Rosaline)?

Err…nooo…

#15. If 2 (Isobel) had to choose sides between 4 (Lily) and 5 (Tully), which would it be?

Lily, hands down. Vladimir was the only guy that Isobel loved and she will always sanctify that truth.

#16. What might 10 (Cassiopeia) shout while charging into battle?

Generic insults.

#17. If you chose a song to represent 8 (Freya), which song would you choose?

Jennifer Knapp, Martyrs and Thieves.

#18. 1 (Gurda), 6 (Sylvie), and 12 (Elspeth) are having dim sum at a Chinese restaurant. There is only one scallion pancake left, and they all reach for it at the same time. Who gets to eat it?

Well, Gurda has possession of Sylvie, and Elspeth is too polite to let Sylvie go without, so both Gurda and Sylvie, technically.

#19. What might be a good pick-up line for 2 (Isobel) to use on 10 (Cassiopeia)?

Isobel doesn’t flirt, especially not with Cassiopeia. But, if you must…

‘You are an oasis in me desert o’life.’

#20. What would 5 (Tully) most likely be arrested for?

Wasting police time.

#21. What is 6’s (Sylvie) secret?

She’s a witch.

#22. If 11 (Rosaline) and 9 (Lundy) were racing to a destination, who would get there first?

Rosa - because she is the most likely to cheat.

#23. If you had to walk home through a bad neighborhood late at night, would you feel safer in the company of 7 (Carver) or 8 (Freya)?

Freya; Carver’s trade is his apothecary shop, he doesn’t know any self defence. Freya is an established witch. Though, she would also probably run off and leave me too.

#24. 1 (Gurda) and 9 (Lundy) reluctantly team up to save the world from the threat posed by 4’s (Lily) sinister secret organization. 11 (Rosaline) volunteers to help them, but it is later discovered that she is actually a spy for 4 (Lily). Meanwhile, 4 (Lily) has kidnapped 12 (Elspeth) in an attempt to force their surrender. Following the wise advice of 5 (Tully), they seek out 3 (Vladimir), who gives them what they need to complete their quest. What title would you give this fic?

Just another day in the loony bin

One hundred minus a day

2008-05-26T02:03:00.000-07:00

Dancing Lasha Tumbai - Verka Serduchka

Yesterday my parents were here - on one of their annual visits. It's quite amusing really; I've known for months that the reason behind them is 'checking up' moreso than 'coming to see', but my mother still has always been extremely careful in her phrasery. This was the first time all year she admitted it.

I'm not going to be in the flat much longer - three weeks at most. It took us months to fill my room in the first place with all the books, DVDs and clothes I have now - equally amusing, since I never got around to using half of them. Emptying my wardrobe yesterday, in an attempt to ease up the signing out effort, we discovered what must have been twenty towels I had never seen before.

And so, as it stands, my dad is in the process of driving everything to Whitters just to make way for my new flat, which funnily enough is just a few yards to the left of this one.

I have no books now except for War of the Worlds, a CD player and no CDs (yeah Saiyu, that was smart), several blank pads of paper, a couple of DVDs (though probably not in the correct boxes) and a half filled box of food.

Only three weeks...only three weeks....

Situations Meme

2008-05-25T08:58:00.000-07:00

	Bryan Adams - Summer Of '69

	Found at bee mp3 search engine

Situation #1

You happen to be shopping in a near by town. As you are seated in a small cafe', You happen to notice a neighbor's child. They are 14 years old, and with clearly a older person in their late 30's. Someone you have never seen around there house, or at any picnics you have been invited to. They are holding hands and getting a little touchy feely, what do you do?

I would do nothing at that moment in time; it would be wrong to make a judgement when there could be a perfectly acceptable explanation. Instead I would mention it to my mother upon returning home - she knows our neighbours well.

Situation #2

It is Mothers Day! Your Mom lives in the same town that you do. She has always been very critical of you, your whole life. Nothing you have ever done is right in her eyes. Now how do you Honor Thy Mother, and make Mothers Day Special ?

Spend the day with her, just being in her company.

Situation #3

You have been surfing the net, and you come across a blog from a old flame. On it they have posted pictures that you gave them for their eye's only. They also have let a few dark secrets out that you never wanted any one to know but them. What do you do?

E-mail the guy and politely request that he removes them. If he refuses then it's not really a problem. I doubt I would have given him those photos without having some back of him >:3

Situation #4

Your spouse of many years has came down with Alzheimer's disease. There is no none cure for it here but on the other side of the world in a remote rain forest it is said that one can live out there live normally with no sign of the disease. Of course in that part of the world there is no modern convinces....no roads....phones...electricity....stores. You live off the land and travel by mules.......What do you do?

If it helps my spouse recover his mind then i would definitely do it.

(All situations came from this blog)

Cram notes Edition 1

2008-05-24T13:32:00.000-07:00

Thom Gun

*Gay
*AIDS
*Drugs
*British Form, American Idioms

Denise Levertov

*Traditional - experimental; change came with to move to America
*Radical manipulation of form
*Black Mountain Poets - Charles Olsen, Robert Creely, Robert Duncan
*William Carlos Williams - wrote in the way people speak

Anne Stevenson

*Married four times ->talks about it a lot
*Somewhat whiny

Ruth Fainlight

*Whiny bitch
*Jewish
*Woman
*Incorporates this into everything

Anne Rouse

*Studied History ->Student Nurse -> mental health charity
*Doesn't seem to like Britain

Eva Salzman

*Dancer ->choreographer before moving to the UK
*Also doesn't seem to like the UK

Love and stop lights can be cruel

2008-05-24T12:18:00.000-07:00

I had my first exam two days ago - and a cramming session with Laney to boot. It's probably shameful to admit that I had not revised much beforehand, but considering the paper was on only one of the topics we had covered I was not filled with the urge to be as studious as I knew I should have been.

Luckily, the cramming session paid off as one of the poems (it was a poetry test) was by Denise Levertov, who Laney had explained to me about just the night before. We pinned a sheet on my notice board of stuff to remember about the poets we had studied - things that were indeed extremely unflattering, but would help us to remember. (It was only after she wrote the list that Laney realised her writing was too small to read from her position in the room).

Now the exam is over - and a bizarre experience it was too. It was held in the gym, so many people put their belongings inside lockers on the way in. I did not, because I was convinced I would lose the key. (oh, the IRONY).

The invidulators had pinned maps on the walls highlighted in different colours to represent the different classes, but it may as well have been written in gobbledygook - you never know, I might have understood that, my mother has been known to digress. In the end, Laney and I ended up going into the hall and flagging down invidulators, rather than doing what should have been the obvious thing and spy where our classmates were sitting.

It appears our university has a rather strange timing system where examinations go. Students arent allowed to leave in the first hour (which is fair enough) but not in the last fifteen minutes either. Where's the sense in that? Anyway, we started and, as previously mentioned I was quite ecstatic because there was a Denise Levertov poem - quite a nice one too. I was midway through making an excellent point, when some strange invidulator came and dragged my jacket off my chair (I had planned to leave it with my bag, but forgot to take it off). Anyway she said she was going to put it at the side and then scarpered.

After I finished I looked for said jacket, but it was nowhere to be found - the only place it wasn't? The side. Reluctant to stand rummaging through other people's belongings for too long, I hastily retreated and left the hall, with all intentions of retrieving my jacket later.

I got it back, but it must have taken about three invidulators to get it for me - all this fuss for a jacket? Where did she put it?

At the moment I am preparing for my upcoming novel exam and reading War of the worlds. When I'm not reading that, which usually is the norm, I'm reading lots of manga, which is where I discovered the following.

^^^^ Here is Kaname. He is a vampire. And a boy.

^^^ Here is a character in Ouran High Host club that looks like Kaname. Who is female. And is a maid.

Vincent

2008-05-22T08:23:00.001-07:00

Before I die...

2008-05-22T05:05:00.000-07:00

-I want to have seen Egypt.

-I want to have bought my parents something ludicrously expensive in return for all of the nappies.

-I want to be on the Waterstones list

-I just want to be happy ^_^

-I want to have been married at halloween with everyone in costume.

- I want to go to Japan and screech KAWAII at a real lolita (possibly get arrested, but who cares, at least I'll have ramen).

.
.
.
.
I may add to this later. Right now i cant get that Eurythmics song out of my head... here it is for your own enjoyment:

	Eurythmics - Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)

	Found at bee mp3 search engine

Buttercups

2008-05-22T04:15:00.000-07:00

There are one thousand oceans
And each one is dry
Lurking at the bottom of this
Merciless divide
There are one million buttercups
Which I planted and cried
I knew
You would pick one
And tell me goodbye.

EARTHQUAKE

2008-05-19T15:00:00.000-07:00

If asked, those who know me will confess that one of my strangest habits during term time is setting my alarm clock for silly times in the morning. Whenever Elle comes over, its a comedy of sirens, as i have the term time alarm (muffled, as now it's stuffed in my drawer), followed by a medication-reminder alarm a couple of hours later.

The truth be told, the alarm is only half of a strange habit.

I come from a family ripe with sleep afflictions; my dad snores like a moose - if I'm quiet enough in my room I can hear him snoring in his. While my mother doesn't snore, her own problem could be deemed worse - she clicks and sometimes has violent nightmares, which got so bad at one point that she considered sleeping in the bathroom so as not to injure my defenseless dad.

Up until recently, I thought that I had escaped the tradition, but appparently not, for now I know for sure that I hallucinate.

It all started off with stupid small things, like hearing someone shouting me and getting up for breakfast at 4am. Then it moved on to physical things, like shaking - when the earthquake hit, I passed it off as something imaginary. Recently, I was half asleep and the entire room started shaking - I was in two minds whether to get out of bed and wake Elle up or stay where I was.

Thinking about it - it's a good job it wasn't real, I'm not sure how I would have coped during an earthquake with Carley next door.

Since her lessons are over and her exams are almost finished, Chris has been here more than usual. It has also been a time of extreme hot weather. Weather that breeds agitation.

Standing in the kitchen recently making myself some noodles, i was alarmed by the arrival of the pair - Carley in a violet dress and silver kitten heels. Chris in a tracksuit. She shrieked her greeting and proceeded to limp over to a chair, moaning about the weather and pouting at Chris to get her some juice from the fridge easily four meters away from me.

He refused, but his reason was, 'I want the kitchen to be free.'

I'm not sure which was worse, that or Carley's reply of 'But it IS free!'

The Writer's Meme

2008-05-18T15:18:00.001-07:00

1. Do you outline?

In my head, usually, though it's always extremely vague. I like to have an idea of certain important events. Writing detailed descriptions makes me want to deviate and write a completely different story.

2. Do you write straight through a book, or do you sometimes tackle the scenes out of order?

As of yet I've only ever finished one of my projects and it was fan fiction so i don't count it. It took me a year and a half - i was nine at the time without a clue of technique, so everything was done by hand and in order.

3. Do you prefer writing with a pen or using a computer?

Computer, defintely *cuddles Tosh*

4. Do you prefer writing in first person or third?

It really depends what it is i'm trying to express. If it's autobiographical, then first person - if it's not, then third person.

5. Do you listen to music while you write?

Yes, my favourite song at the moment is KIRA KIRA TRAIN by Ikimono gakari, though usually i try and listen to music that fits the theme of what i'm writing.

6. How do you come up with the perfect names for your characters?

I steal their mail.

7. When you’re writing, do you ever imagine your book as a television show or movie?

When it comes to my scripts, it's an important factor, so all the time - as for my other work, not so much.

8. Have you ever had a character insist on doing something you really didn’t want him/her to do?

Yes. One of my characters betrayed his marital vows. He was one of my favourite characters and it really upset me.

9. Do you know how a book is going to end when you start it?

Always, though I'm sometimes inclined to change my mind.

10. Where do you write?

In bed, usually.

11. What do you do when you get writer’s block?

Get extremely annoyed and whine to whoever will listen.

12. What size increments do you write in (either in terms of word count, or as a percentage of the book as a whole)?

Errr...I don't keep track...I just write.

13. How many different drafts did you write for your last project?

Three? I dunno.

14. Have you ever changed a character’s name midway through a draft?

I extended a character's name from Rosa to Rosalyn, but deep down i think that was always my intention. It's too easy to confuse me, so changing a characters name really isn't a good idea.

15. Do you let anyone read your book while you’re working on it, or do you wait until you’ve completed a draft before letting someone else see it?

I let my friends read my drafts, sometimes I even spam Laney over MSN as I'm writing :3. I like it when people read the finished version though.

16. What do you do to celebrate when you finish a draft?

Other than start the next one? Errr... Make myself something to eat, normally. I spend hours on my drafts - it's hungry work.

17. One project at a time, or multiple projects at once?

Where's the fun in a single project??? It's multiple all the way!

18. Do your books grow or shrink in revision?

I'm always revising my work. It took me a year to finish a script, because I changed the story round so often.

19. Do you have any writing or critique partners?

Yus, Laney.

20. Do you prefer drafting or revising?

Both I guess, I love getting my ideas into the open and I love going back to them later and manipulating them.

I'd play his double role

2008-05-18T12:48:00.000-07:00

I haven't updated lately.

I could give a number of reasons for this; that I have been busy with a stupendous new hobby - perhaps a meaningful job that helps the planet, all the while filling my pocket with fifties? Or even a new man in my life who spends every morning, noon and night making up for his late arrival.

The only problem with this of course is none of it is remotely true - my late updates are due to my own laziness, rather than much else. The upcoming exams have enforced a kind of reluctance upon me; the kind where doing anything remotely productive seems barbaric and inane. I should be counting my lucky stars; of the subjects I'm studying, I have only two exams. I have known students with at least eight to twelve.

Elle visited this weekend - we went to see 'The Eye'. It was a pretty decent film, but I know the japanese one is inevitably going to be better.

Quite recently, Elle has become a fan of DH Lawrence, or more appropriately, Lady Chatterley's Lover. She recently heard of a film adaptation of the book featuring Sean Bean and so has become intrigued. Going into Waterstones, I have never been so embarrassed to ask for a book, considering it was rendered obscene at the time of publication due to its explicit content - particularly since in the end they didn't even have it. We found a copy in the end, hidden away in the corner of WHSmiths.

It proved to be the focal point of conversation the next day, as the painting on the cover basically shows a man's thumb and belt buckle. The thumb though, is really short and squat and Laney, seemed to find this a really obscure sight as her own thumb is really thin and narrow. Since Lawrence hailed from our area, I made the comment that it's a Midlands thing, which prompted a comparison of thumbs.

Regional variations in thumb size...what will they think of next?

I'm afraid of 19 out of 72 common fears...

2008-05-18T12:38:00.000-07:00

[ ] the dark
[x] staying single forever
[ ] being a parent
[ ] giving birth
[ ] being myself in front of others
[ ] open spaces
[ ] closed spaces
[ ] heights
[ ] dogs
[x] birds [one of my school friends had parrots and she used to let them fly loose, which really freaked me out]
[ ] fish
[x] spiders
[ ] flowers or other plants

Total so far: 3

[ ] being touched
[x] fire
[ ] deep water
[ ] snakes
[ ] silk
[ ] the ocean
[x] failure
[x] success
[ ] thunder/lightning
[x] frogs/toads
[ ] my boyfriends/girlfriends dad
[x] boyfriends/girlfriends mom
[ ] rats
[x] jumping from high places
[ ] snow
Total so far: 9

[ ] rain
[ ] wind
[ ] crossing hanging bridges
[ ] death
[ ] heaven
[ ] being robbed
[x] falling
[x] clowns
[ ] dolls
[x] large crowds of people
[ ] men
[ ] women
[x] having great responsibilities
[ ] doctors, including dentists
[ ] tornadoes
Total so far: 13

[ ] hurricanes (aren’t they the same as tornados?)
[x] incurable diseases
[x] sharks
[ ] Friday the 13th
[ ] ghosts
[ ] poverty
[ ] Halloween
[ ] school
[ ] trains
[ ] odd numbers
[ ] even numbers
[x] being alone
[ ] becoming blind
[ ] becoming deaf
[x] growing up
Total so far: 17

[x] creepy noises in the night
[ ] bee stings
[x] not accomplishing my dreams/goals
[ ] needles
[ ] blood
[ ] dinosaurs (wtf?)
[ ] the welcome mat
[ ] high speed
[ ] throwing up
[ ] falling in love
[ ] super secrets
Final Total: 19

If you get more than 30, I strongly recommend some counseling
If you get more than 20, you’re paranoid.
If you get 10-20, you are normal.
If you get 10 or less, you’re fearless.
People who don’t have any are liars.

STFU DX -I'M NORMAL

Animal Idol

2008-05-04T02:40:00.001-07:00

Online Videos by Veoh.com

Btw, you don't have to reply to this video, I just thought it was cute ^^

Introductions

2008-05-03T13:35:00.000-07:00

In a world of body language and missing words, are introductions necessary? Do you even need my name to know what I believe? A picture of my face, perhaps, to enlighten you further.

If I were to stand in front of you and recite these words, would you feel at ease? Knowing the colour of my skin, the style of my hair and tone of my voice, you would make your own decisions of me. There are no faces behind computer screens, only introductions. Introductions for the purpose of vanity and preening, kidnapping and murder.

Behind the faceless screen, who is it that watches you? Who are you and who am I?
I have gone by many names in my lifetime - some bad, some good. All of them were different, but all of them were me. From the Egyptian murderess to the literary genius to the child who believed fairy tales were real - they shaped a greater entity, making the world a happier place. When hostility reigned I became a contemptuous fiend by the name of Nsikhonsou. During times of deep enlightenment I was a silent mastermind named Olivia. During the course of my life, I have never worn the same face twice; even if you saw me, would you know who smiled back? If I showed myself to you, whose name would I bear?

A woman’s job is to find her feet against the blows of the world; just like the geishas of old who learned to walk and dance on blocks of solid wood. We paint our faces and hide away every facet of what we are. Our beauty is our shame, hidden behind a toy box of lingering perfumes.

It is from this toxic reverie that I found my name; a nod in the direction of Sayuri, the geisha queen, a Queen whose palace was filled with masks and fans. A woman like me, whose true face lay forgotten behind a multitude of shells.

After hearing these words, are you even sure was me that said them; who was it that heard?

...Super Action Gothic Ouran

2008-05-01T12:29:00.001-07:00

Squuuuuueeeeeee I finally got around to watching Vampire knight the anime...It's actually very faithful to the original graphic novel - a huge sigh of relief all round.

To love a person is...

2008-04-27T12:04:00.000-07:00

...to learn the song
That is in their heart,
And to sing it to them
When they have forgotten. - Anonymous

It's been a fairly average day today. I fell out of bed at 9.30 and carried on reading one of the books I purchased from the charity shop. Cordy joked the last time we were there that by third year we could end up buying every book on their shelves - somehow I think the way we're going it could end being true.

Looking at the blurbs, I've noticed something about mainstream contemporary fiction. Most of them entail secrets emerging from the past of a main character, or the secrets of a particular organisation or the secrets of an event. All this seems to prove is not the magnificence of our literature, but the nosy nature of the society we live in - selling glorified gossip magazines as art.

Don't get me wrong, I have read some simply marvellous modern literature in recent years. I remember being given an essay to write on Angela Carter and being taken aback by the way she satirised the techniques of Perrault. I was even more taken aback by the discovery that her death had not taken place until only recently, in 1992. I had half expected her to be Perrault and Barbot de Villeneuve's contemporary.

Books released now seem to follow a Mills and Boon pattern, which depresses me somewhat. I thought the point of writing was be original?

What subcategory of Goth best fits you?
created with QuizFarm.com
You scored as Romantic Goth

You are a romantic goth, better known as a traditional goth. You are probably quickly identified as a goth by outsiders. Black lace, bats, and moonlit cemetaries are just a few of your favorite things. Click on my name to take my other tests if you liked this one.

Romantic Goth

92%

Ethereal Goth

79%

Old-school Goth

75%

Death Rocker

67%

Industrial/Rivet-Head

67%

Perky Goff

67%

Fantasy Goth

58%

Anything-Goes Goth

50%

Cyber-goth

50%

Confused Outsider

33%

Understanding Outsider

33%

I remember, I remember...

2008-04-26T15:33:00.000-07:00

If you've all ready read Miss Laney's most recent blog entry, you will know that we recently had our last lessons of the year. It was quite emotional, in the sense that we were doing memory prompts. The task was to write none stop for twenty minutes using the prefix 'i remember'. If I'm honest I wasn't that surprised by what I wrote - I don't have a great memory...but anyway, here's the list...

* I remember the run down double decker that passed my secondary school every day at 4:30. Better still I remember the day I discovered that it was actually the college bus I was to board for the next two years.
*I remember confusing a litre and a half for a pint and a half.
*I remember being scared to death of my English paper only to discover it was a summary of Walt Disney.
*I remember falling down the cliff at Heights of Abraham and my Mum's suggestion to smother the wound in hand soap.
*I remember going to two funerals in one week and mixing up who was in the casket.
*I remember laughing at my Dad because he sunburnt his face.
*I remember writing my first poem.
*I remember visiting my Nan's grave for the first time and getting lost in the cemetary.
*I remember when my Grandad had a stroke and I stayed over at my Nan's.
*I remember when the teenage years started at 13.
*I remember the shady kid in the playground who believed he was a distant relation of YoHans.
*I remember family barbecues.
*I remember feeling important because I knew the headteachers first name.
*I remember school assemblies and 'that weird finger syndrome' that causes everyone to talk when the projector is switched on.
*I remember when Tiddley Winks was the best thing ever.
*I remember trying to learn to ride a bike despite the fact I was bleeding profusely.
*I remember my neighbour calling me 'jelly tot'.
*I remember having my hair cut short.
*I remember pinning a picture of Captain Hook to the back of my locker.
*I remember explainig to my best friend that I was vegetarian, three days before the birthday meal at her house.
*I remember my mother putting Lindtdor hearts in my lunchbox on valentines day.
*I remember dancing to the time warp in the sixth floor corridor.
*I remember the guy who convinced everyone he was fourteenth in line to the throne of Spain.
*I remember having my belly pierced.
*I remember the love of my life.
*I remember asking a friend why the book was backwards and the condescending look on his face as he explained that it was manga.
*I remember walking into my prom, having recently been dumped.
*I remember visiting the cinema three times in the same week to see Pirates of the Caribbean - At World's End.
*I remember getting tipsy on one shot of rum.
*I remember wondering where babies came from and the rage when I found out.
*I remember taking my sunday night bath early, just so I could listen to the top 40.
*I remember watching Spirited Away for the first time.
*I remember when hair transfers were cool.
*I remember wishing I was Sabrina.
*I remember reading the first line of Wuthering Heights and shoving it back on the shelf, only to learn about eight years later that I loved it.
*I remember seeing Steps at Sheffield Arena.
*I remember when PCs were the height of technology.
*I remember thinking everybody lived near a paddock.

'Strange Kind of Suicide'

2008-04-26T15:17:00.000-07:00

I remember him standing there; blue eyes, dark hair - brooding statue of a man in front of me. Any clue of feeling, any gesture could give me away.

I hated how he watched me, expecting me to shatter. Waiting for some kind of switch to activate my emotions. A switch he believed existed in the deepest, darkest room of my soul.

I remember just the day before we laid on the grass outside the cemetery, in the shade of an enormous chestnut tree. Dreaming of the future with his head next to mine, there was a part of me that knew these were our final moments.

Taking this knowledge, I gave myself to him completely, believing that this way we could never be separated. We were fated to be apart - I knew it as well as he did - but right then, it seemed we were both oblivious.

I remember waking the next morning, proud in the knowledge I had saved us. Putting on my favourite song and turning up the volume, my heart filled with praise for whoever had given that man to me. The impending distance seemed inconsequential.

He called me some three hours later, sniffling down the phone line; despite the fact he had requested me, I couldn’t get him to speak. In the end, I requested his presence, hoping to shed light on his mystery.

So there we were, eying one other, waiting for checkmate. In the end I didn’t need him to say anything, his face said it all. Eyes, once red with wildfire lay cold and empty.

This was the moment I realised I was a murderer. Laying under that chestnut tree, I had torn his heart away, leaving him lifeless. The man I loved was dead and open-chested in front of me.

I remember giving him back his heart, wrapped in a silk handkerchief. Having won it at a fair when I was seven and treasuring it ever since, I deemed it the perfect container. Perfect for the man I shared my first dance with, tripping due to my oversized heels.

Gazing upon the bloody package, he stepped towards the door and I knew. As I slept in the grass that day he had killed me as well, kissing me softly on the cheek.

He never gave me my heart back, instead chose to keep it in a dirty tissue in the back pocket of his jeans - bleeding through for all to see.

Adorable - borderline creepy

2008-04-26T10:15:00.000-07:00

Let it be known that I am never eating carrots again.

'Unsigned'

2008-04-25T01:17:00.001-07:00

To everyone that knew her, Alice was the bookish type, retiring to the library after classes to catch up on her reading. Nobody at school knew much about Alice, only that her personality lay reserved to the pages of her favourite hardback and the few words she spoke outside of class were to the librarian.

For as long as she could remember, Alice had loved James - the mathematician in her class. She loved his brooding nature and passion for the subject matter, matched only by her love for fantasy. He didn’t know she existed and that was the way she liked it - from a distance she had the chance to wonder how it could be between them.

In reality, James loved only one woman and that was Jessica, whose fairy dust freckles had been the talk of the classroom since she first arrived. It would be incredibly gauche to say that Alice did not know of Jessica’s existence - rather that she ignored it.

At the back of maths class one afternoon, Alice sat scribing a letter to James. The note she sat writing told the truth of her desire - written with the same degree of bleeding affection known only to poets. During the five minute interval, she wandered over to James’ desk and slipped the note into the top cover of his exercise book - scurrying back to her own after the deed was complete.

Break soon finished and the students plodded back inside - James arriving next to last. Alice watched in silent anticipation as he seated himself and opened his exercise book, picking up the note as if contemplating whether or not he had in fact seen it before.

Alice’s heart leapt into her throat as James refolded the note and turned, though not in her direction - bringing to light Alice’s mistake in sending an unsigned love letter. He solely smiled for Jessica.

The Muse's Song (Final Version)

2008-04-25T01:15:00.000-07:00

I listen to your heartbeat
A language long forgotten -
There is no one there when I turn.
Who woke me from my slumber?
I reach to you and you shiver in cold
As I bathe in your reflection,
Dreaming of the day
Our shadows cross
And you know me.

Nothing says birthday like TAS

2008-04-25T01:11:00.001-07:00

It was my birthday fairly recently and even though I knew that I had friends to celebrate with, I really didn’t want to be excited.

For one, I had about three deadlines on that day - all of which were monsters of assignments. I really didn’t want to be a)working or b)handing anything in on my birthday, so I spent much of the week before at my computer screen, moaning to Laney about word count.

It was also going to be the first birthday I had spent outside of Whitters. From being a kid, my mother has always done the same thing on my birthday; arranged my cards behind the clock, decorated the front room down to balloon confetti at the breakfast table, singing happy birthday out of tune as I walked through the door.

The knowledge that she couldn’t do it this year made her extremely gloomy and throughout the week she made me promise that I would do something worthwhile. The trouble with this picture is that my idea of something worthwhile is being tucked up in bed with the latest copy of Immortal Rain, or watching 300 with my closest friends. Still, I knew deep down that I had to do something - if not for my mother, for the fact that my assignments were almost over.

It was for this reason that in the preceding hours, I spent pretty much all of my time downloading all of the abridged episodes that I could, finding that the more of them I downloaded, the more excited about my impending birthday I became.

I knew I was happy to be nineteen when I woke up at a minute past midnight to a text from Lucy, reading, ‘Happy Birthday, Olivia’, proceeding to recite the song from Madagascar. Deep down, I think I was always excited about my birthday - just didn’t know it until right then.

I didn't know you read Mill's and Boon..

2008-04-24T08:15:00.000-07:00

If you don't understand Death Note, this may seem a little random, though hopefully you will still be able to enjoy it anyway ^^

He sits in the chair, thumb in his mouth and plate of cheesecake in his hand.
Twirling a polished silver fork, plump strawberry on the end, he rifles through the overfull pad of paper.

“Hmmm…” he murmurs. “It would appear there is a 99.2% chance this story was over the word limit and edited several times.”

Slowly the young detective slips a sheet of paper from the file while an elderly butler enters the room. The butler is pushing a trolley with a dish in the centre - it’s contents hidden by a silver lid large enough to shield a large turkey. Lifting the lid, there is only a plateful of gummy bears and several sugar cubes.

“Ryuzaaki, sir,” the butler addresses. “I brought your…”

But he is interrupted, for the detective leaps from his chair and peers deeply into his face - the sheet of paper tightly gripped between finger and thumb.

“Watari,” he says, lifting it until the small type is centimetres from both of their faces. “I have made an important breakthrough.”

Taking a sugar cube from the plate and crunching the grains, he shows the paper to Watari.

“The use of themes in this story indicate unrequited love,” he explains.

Watari is confused, his old face cannot disguise it.

“But…what does this mean, sir?”

Ryuzaaki turns and sits back in his chair, knees close to his chest and thumb tight in in his mouth. He considers an answer for some four and a half minutes.

“It means, Watari that considerable research was undertaken,” he states.

Lifting up the paper so it is in clear sight, Ryuzaaki scans a number of scribbles he has made on the paper.

“This story shows the same characteristics as many other romance stories of its kind - it is written in the third person and speaks of a love letter,” he explains. “I understand love letters are quite popular in romance fiction.”

First a face of confusion, now Watari’s face is a picture of shock.
“I did not know you read Mill’s and Boon, Ryuzaaki sir,” he comments, but gets no reply.

Lifting the plate of gummy bears, he hands it to Ryuzaaki, who takes one and chews thoughtfully.

“I feel I could understand the mind of this deviant better if it were Mill’s and
Boon,” he comments. “This story concludes in none of the regular ways. In normal romantic fiction the hero and the heroine fall in love at the end.”

His words are laced with a formation of gummy bears, shaped like a courting couple.

“And in this story…they do not?” questions Watari. He undoubtedly knows the answer all ready - but also knows that questions are the best form of developing genius.

“No,” mutters Ryuzaaki, gently laying his thumb on his bottom lip. “The heroine is rejected, for the love of another.”

Watari takes the story from Ryuzaaki and scans the paper himself. Perhaps there is a further clue - something they have missed.

“Perhaps the writer has no affection for love stories,” he suggests.

Ryuzaaki says nothing for a while and instead picks up the courting couple scene that he made, devouring the pair.

“I cannot help but wonder, Watari,” he finally says. “Why the writer chose to omit the text of the love letter. It is central to the story.”

As if in reply to this question, Watari scans the text closely. There is a hidden message there, he knows it. A message that he cannot see.

“Perhaps the writer believed the letter was not central to the text and in fact it was the effect of the note that was central,” he suggests, pointing to the end of the page. “See…it is the idea of the note as an object that causes the conclusion, rather than what is written.”

Glancing over at Ryuzaaki, he gasps inwardly; the panda faced detective has spent the interlude building a tower of sugar cubes.

“You may be right, Watari,” he answers, peering from behind. “Though I am not quite sure how it relates to the second piece of evidence.”

Watari has not been informed of this so it is new to him. Ryuzaaki also knows this, but he is too far gone in contemplation to worry.

“This poem confuses me,” he says, taking a second sheet of paper from the file and passing it to Watari, who glances over the type.

“How so, sir?” he asks, taking in the images and looking back to the detective. Ryuzaaki is chewing a stick of pocky and thoughtfully staring into space.
“This poem also speaks of unrequited love, but there is no narrator - the person speaking cannot obtain affection from a loved one because of their ambiguous nature,” he murmurs, pocky crumbs dropping to his knees. “This poem is titled ‘The Muse’s Song’ so the narrative speaker is more than likely intended to be a ghostlike creature. Perhaps the two pieces are linked.”

Watari looks back at the poem and wonders what kind of individual would write such a piece. A mad one, undoubtedly.

Taking hold of the trolley once more, he rolls out of the room - partly to ponder the circumstances of the evidence, but also to fetch Master Ryuzaaki more cheesecake. Ryuzaaki does not notice this.
“That must be it,” he mutters. “The poem must be the missing love letter, the heroine’s missing words.”

The crumbs from Ryuzaaki’s lap now sit upon a small coffee table in front, moulded into the shape of the Eiffel Tower. Hugging his knees against his chest, he stares at the keypad of a telephone on the wall, pondering the case over and over.
“Hmmmm…” he whispers, rocking slightly in his swivel chair. “My suspicions of this writer are now 99.5%.”

The Sparrow

2008-04-20T15:48:00.000-07:00

The sparrow sings in another tower
I know I cannot fly
It was love that shut me here
And told me I must die
In dreaming of a prince, I know
I threw away my wings
Forever lost beyond the thorns
Adorned with pretty things
Watching from behind the glass
A silent statue head
Observing my prince solemnly
He dances with the dead
Is this the way it’s meant to be?
Sealed behind a door
Why ever did you leave me here
To sleep forevermore
The sparrow sings for us, my dear
I sang for you in vain
Flying from this prison, love
To dance with you again.

I found the source of the insanity - It's Creative Writing!

2008-04-17T15:04:00.000-07:00

I can't believe there are still people who haven't seen this video. At the cosplay party, we had the song on our partymix and almost everyone that knew it went for Dumbledore's part.

The water is back on at our flat, but not without its setbacks. I spent the latter part of the night before filling up whatever bottles I could find in my room, so the water situation left me unfazed. Sitting down to my laptop with a bottle of Tapfresh, I was both shocked and annoyed to discover that my internet was on the blink, so I couldn't hand any of my assignments in.

Stupid flats.

Inspiration Knocks while Reality Calls

2008-04-16T16:33:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I hate it that I'm a writer. When I tell people I write, they automatically assume that I'm going to be like Harriet the Spy.

If it only that was the case at school. They loved my newfound 'creativity' - even featured an article in the school newspaper on it 'Saiyu- our very own Poet Laureate'. Of course, back then I did not know the identity of our poet laureate, much less what one actually was. If I had, I would have backed out pretty quickly, as by admitting my passion for writing, I had signed an obscure kind of contract. A contract that entailed me being emotionally blackmailed into producing a poem every time something remotely important happened.

I hated it. Hated the fact that everyone referred to me as 'poetesse', hated that whenever we went on day trips someone would tell the guides I wrote. Hated the fact that I was drawn into a false sense of resentment for the thing that had done the least wrong.

I do not hate my writing now - only that it strikes me when I am unaware and incapable of acting. Many of my best poems were written while I was in the middle of important pieces of work - a gamble that paid off immensely in the end, as instead of a single piece of work, I finished with two. I hate debating in my mind whether my ideas belong to me or the book I just finished reading, only to give up wondering and pick it up again - at the end of the day it's worth it though, to give a piece of work to a stranger and have them compliment me on my originality, rather than how I remind them of Author Number 1.

I love being a writer.

Insert Witty and Insightful name here

2008-04-14T08:27:00.000-07:00

Here's my assignment piece, its halfway between character from an object and important event in a character's life.

Why am I here?
I could have asked myself that question a thousand times before now, but what answers would I get? What satisfaction would I find?

I never used to think how many people in the world doubt their self-worth, question their place. I never used to think about mine; much of it was all ready set.

I don’t remember much of my early life; everything I know to be true has a coating of oil. Where I come from, that’s normal. You either find a use or find a door; no one escapes with their soul. When I was fifteen my Dad turned to me, said, ‘Tez, you’re old enough to get a job’ and handed me a wrench. Best thing the bastard ever did.

For weeks I slaved in that shoddy garage, grease and dirt all the way up to my elbows, while he swanned around Majorca with his Mistress. It was my responsibility to take care of my mother, who exploded into tears at the slightest mention of any word related to him.

I got my first taste of heroin that summer. That light headed feeling, bringing with it a beautiful kind of knowledge - that I wasn’t me and nothing mattered.

Any crisis involving my mother automatically involved her. Aunt Stephanie. The evil kind of slut that lies about everything. I’d hated her for so long I didn’t even remember why; only that many a time after shooting up I would discover her in the kitchen, mimicking sympathy along with everything else.

Maybe it was because I knew she was poisoning my mother’s brain. Perhaps it was because she called me ‘Terrence’, just like Dad did before I begged him to call me otherwise. I didn’t know what it was, but there something about her that disturbed my inner spite.

Maybe it was because my mother listened to her, more than she had ever listened to me. A quick ‘thank you’ was all I got when I handed over my wages, a smile when I told her to turn off the television- my father wasn’t dead, there was no reason for him to appear on the news. She never listened, though; whenever I found Aunt Stephanie there, like some platinum blonde Mother Theresa, my mum would be on the couch in her dressing gown, hypnotised by the nine o’clock news.

It was because my mother listened to Aunt Stephanie that I ended up here - a place I only ever entered in my nightmares. A place for fuckers like Dad, who used their brains as weapons. A place where Aunt Stephanie would use my absence to dig her false nails into mother and make her into something twisted.

I only ever wanted to work in the garage, fix cars for the rest of my life. Watch as day after day, stranger after stranger drove away with my dreams. It was fine, I didn’t care. I had everything I needed in a heroin shot. A reminder of my place.

Staggering home one night into the hornet’s nest, I arrived to find the Queen set upon her throne, eyes square upon me. The room lay silent, not even the television played for the couch, which lay empty. My mother, pale and dishevelled, stood next to Aunt Stephanie - a plate of custard creams in hand.

“Terrence,” she said, shuffling over and wrapping me into a clumsy kind of embrace. “Me and your Aunt Stephanie have been talking…and…”

Her words were interrupted by the crashing of a plate on the floor and several custard creams hitting the carpet. Aunt Stephanie’s eyes fell to the crumbs and then back to me as mother kneeled to clear the mess.

“We have been talking,” she said, over the muffled sobs. “You deserve better than to run after your mother all the time - and the way things are going you’ll never better yourself. I’ve been asking round and managed to get you an interview at North University. You’ll be studying business - how’s that?”

She spoke so cheerily, the anger rose up in me like a dozen pinpricks. Everything about her pissed me off; the way her perfume lingered on everything of ours, how her possessions appeared in our house as if marking her territory.

“You don’t care whether or not I’m happy,” I snarled. “You only want me gone!”

It was true - she knew it - it was scrawled across her face like some childish memo. Somewhere from the carpet my mother screamed for me to be quiet, but I knew I was right and victories over Aunt Stephanie came so rarely.

Staring into her chalk skin and rose petal cheeks, I grinned at my own triumph. Chuckled under my breath louder than I meant to.

“It’s true isn’t it, you just want me gone so you can take everything that’s mine, like you’ve all ready taken everything of mum’s,” I roared.

Aunt Stephanie sighed, closing her eyes. She was older than mother; I never noticed it until then.

“I think you’ve made a mistake, Terrence,” she said.

She said it so calmly, so delicately - the anger rising up in me shocked even myself. I wanted to hurt her, maim her. Punish her, for existing.

I barely heard my mother’s screams as Aunt Stephanie’s rose cheeks twisted back in recoil from my knuckles, barely noticed as she fell back against the table. I didn’t know what I had done. Only knew that I was justified.

The euphoria soon passed, replaced by the thorny grip of mother’s fingers and her voice bellowing in my ear. How dare I hit Aunt Stephanie, after everything she had done for us?
I heard everything she said, but didn’t focus on the words, just laughed. I knew it was wrong to lash out at a woman but right then, felt redeemed. I knew I couldn’t possibly explain these things to Mother - where was the point in trying?

I was the talk of the village in three short hours; everyone within a four house radius had seen mother usher my bloodied aunt into the car, apologising for me all the while. Lack of detail of course, had given way to make-believe. By the time I arrived at my mate’s flat, everyone believed I had broken her ribs.

Luckily, he was having a party at the time and set me up without so much as a question. I laid on the couch, his music thudding through the walls, just thinking about Dad, wondering for the first time what he was doing. Was he even in Majorca, or was that another fucking lie?

Before I left, mother had shoved a small box into my stomach, containing what I thought to be the vests and cigarettes that littered my room. The thrall of the party echoed in my ears, the sounds of strangers laughing with shots in their hands. Shots of another dream. I wanted to join them but knew that I couldn’t.

Reaching into the pocket of my jeans, I dragged out the last of my final shot. The scratch to the skin was instant release to everything - even the music around me seemed to slow. Falling to the floor, I shut my eyes for a moment, taking in this ecstasy. I didn’t care anymore what became of me; if I had to, I would stay there on the floor forever.

My eyes fell on the box near my field of vision and lazily, I reached for it. I wanted to burn whatever was in it, start afresh with nothing but the clothes on my back. Ripping open the box, I stared as a tub of wax crayons fell out, followed by a colouring book, messily shaded, ’Terrence’ scrawled on the inside cover in a childish hand.

There were other objects inside the box fitting much the same description - an old football, deflated and peeling, a teddy bear with no eyes, a pack of cards, ripped and torn in several places - objects I had known, but no longer remembered. Reaching my hand to the bottom of the box, I found a slim photograph in a silver decorated frame. The room was dark, but I could see what it showed - our family long before that moment. My father, his hair in a pony tail, gripped my mother’s waist as if he should die. I stood beside them, seven years old - a brand new football in my arms - embraced by a grinning blonde woman.

Screaming, I hit the picture against the floor. The glass of the frame shattered against the carpet, cutting into my skin. Closing my eyes, I absorbed the familiar iron smell, stepping through the gates of another world.

This other place was full of light, green and warm. Realisation dawned that I was the boy in the photograph, kicking my football to and fro - scattering birds in a flurry of feathers. I laughed as they danced over my head, oblivious to a ginger tom hidden in the blossom tree.

I had no idea what place this was I had fallen into, but it’s lurid colours cheered me somewhat from my situation. A bungalow sat behind me with cream coloured walls. I knew I had seen it somewhere, but right then it did not matter, as I felt myself laugh, deeply and from the bottom of my stomach, as I took hold of the football once again.

The back door opened as I launched the ball at the blossom tree, my heart leaping into my chest as it ricocheted towards the house, smashing the kitchen window. Glass slivers landed all around my feet and, kneeling to pick them up, I winced as blood crawled over my fingers, a familiar voice sounding behind me - calling my name.

I turned towards it and saw her there, glass of lemonade in her hand. Aunt Stephanie. All at once I understood, it was her house, her garden. Her window I had smashed. All of a sudden, I knew why I was there.

She did not shout at me, instead gazed at the mess I had made and back to me. An unknown feeling crept over me, a kind of dread.

“I think you’ve made a mistake, Terrence,” she said, dropping the lemonade to the ground, shattering the tumbler as it made contact.

I watched the cloudiness seeped through the grass, making contact with the spots of blood on the glass. It all seemed so familiar and I knew there was a part of me screaming to bolt.

Turning my head away from her gaze, I saw the tom cat swipe out from the blossom tree, devouring a sparrow perched on a nearby branch. Felt her steel grip on my arm, dragging me to my doom. This time, I was screaming, for now I remembered everything.

Yelling, trying to wrench my hand out of her grip, I saw the object of my demise, the thorn bush behind the bungalow - unkempt and blackened by years of neglect. Sharpened, by years of
malice.

I remembered now, the day Aunt Stephanie appeared at our house, weeping at the loss of her husband - the man she left the village for all those years ago. The only solemn vow they made together was a rose bush in the garden - now a bag of thorns.

I felt my stomach lurch against the skin as the thorns appeared in view; giant claws of a panther, ready to swallow me whole. Twisting my wrist in an iron grip, she made to throw me inside, and whimpering, I pushed my body against her. Anything to escape this fate she had decided for me.
Closing my eyes, I didn’t dare look into hers, for fear of what might be looking back.

“Please Aunt Stephanie,” I heard myself whisper. “I promise I’ll be good.”

Braving the beast, I opened my eyes and slowly gazed up into her face, trying my hardest to push a shaky smile across my face. Aunt Stephanie wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t doing anything - just watching.

Slowly, carefully, the sides of her mouth began to lift into the foundations of a smile and my heart rate began to slow. The grip on my wrists loosened and for a moment, I considered my safety. Her smile broadened and then, then there was only thorns.

I never got see what happened next. The muffled surroundings of my mate’s flat came back before I had a chance to see. Picking myself up from the carpet, I rubbed the back of my head with a bloody hand and gazed over at the ripped box.

I never did find out why mother sent that box to me, all I knew was the items in that box were the only things in the world incapable of betraying me. Reaching into it one last time, I felt my fingertips land on solid metal. Curiosity took over me and I pulled the object from the box, finding a wrench that I used at work.

Tightening my hand around it, I knew that I was justified.

Alphabet soup

2008-04-13T07:54:00.000-07:00

Based on Laney's recent blog entry, here's my own attempt at ~~procrastinating~~ taking a break.

1. A is for age:
18 - 19 next week, oh joy

2. B is for beer of choice:
I don't drink beer - prefer the intoxicaing effects of a certain carbonated beverage, christened Pepsi by the educated world.

3. C is for career right now:
Village idiot, writer, daughter and just lately invisible woman

4. D is for your dog's name
I used to have a cyber pet called Chuff 64. Never had a real pet though.

5. E is for essential item you use everyday::
Laptop. His name is Tosh.

6. F is for favorite TV show at the moment:
I don't have a TV - does Youtube count? If so, Yugioh abridged, Naruto abridged, Ugly Betty, Otogi Zoshi, She the Ultimate Weapon, Burnt face Man, Heroes *Blathers on for hours*

7. G is for favorite game:
The Journey Man Saga, it's so awfully lame, but I love it so.

8. H is for Home town:
Whitters ^^

9. I is for instruments you play:
Recorder, Keyboard and a bit of bass

10. J is for favorite juice:
Tropical

11. K is for whose butt you'd like to kick:
My own - see what I'd do

12. L is for last place you ate:
I ate a bowl of Weetos in bed while considering my poetry assignment. Fun times.

13. M is for marriage:
and N is for not on your Nelly

14. N is for your name:
Olivia Capulet

15. O is for overnight hospital stays:
I lost count years ago

16. P is for people you were with today:
Tosh

17. Q is for quote:
RAITOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

18. R is for Biggest Regret
Never saying goodbye

19. S is for status:
Online

20. T is for time you woke up today:
8:00, then 9:00, then finally 9:30

21. U is for underwear:
all present and accounted for

22. V is for vegetable you love:
Sweetcorn! Has to be sweet though.

23. W is for worst habit:
Watching too much anime, drinking too much coke.

24. X is for x-rays you've had:
When I had my braces in - I've probably had brain scans too, but a little fuzzy about remembering.

25. Y is for yummy food you ate today:
A strawberry Amore yoghurt. ^^

26. Z is for the zodiac sign:

Lies

2008-04-12T15:07:00.001-07:00

A poem I brought with me from Easter, I only just got around to typing the thing up.

So used to reaching out for you
I forgot to reach for me
Now you're not here, it's cold
All I do is wait and see
What becomes
Of what we never were
The dreams we forged
In silent words
So used to smiling
I forgot to cry
What will become
Of all the lies?

You're a truly great procrastinator when...

2008-04-12T08:33:00.000-07:00

You put off work to watch videos like this:

¬¬

2008-04-11T10:23:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I think I am the most selfish person in the world.

Recently my flatmates went to H20, which is fair in itself, they hardly ever go. the only problem with this picture is as follow: I have a 9:00 lesson the next morning and due to issues with heavy strobes am unable to join them.

This particular night, they started to get dressed at about 5:30 and I hoped to take the opportunity of an empty flat to finish off an assignment, but it never arose. After spending hours of rushing down the corridors screeching admiration for each other's outfits, they horded into the kitchen where somebody had cooked. I am not sure just what exactly it was, only that alcohol played a central role. After half an hour they seemed even rowdier than before.

Carley had been playing her music all the while she had been getting ready - the kind that seems out of place everywhere but the dancefloor. I had to lay there and try and sleep, with Soulja Boy and whatnot vibrating through the wall. I could have requested a slighter tone, but that of course would ruin their party.

How selfish am I?

I'll Make a Man Out of You

2008-04-09T06:10:00.000-07:00

I backed myself into a corner this morning when considering my portrait assignment - the more I thought about it, the less choice I had about which gender to write from. I have spent so much time musing over this blog that writing from my own life experience seems a waste. Instead, I am going to deviate slightly.

In the beginning I thought I would write about my grandmother and how we ended up on such nonsensical terms. However, I realised through careful consideration that there was a lot I didn't know and would never understand; writing about such things would only open old wounds and worsen the present situation. This itself created a new muse for me - the angle of a character realising something they wish they didn't, changing their life forever.

This was where the corner loomed. My original thoughts about the piece were that the main character was a girl and hated a member of her family for reasons she didn't know, but longed to remember. The more I thought about that situation, the more I began to realise that if I wasn't careful the story would become based on true events. I had drastically change it somehow and the main way was by changing the gender of the heroine to a hero.

You may be wondering why on earth this was a corner - well...to my recollection I have only ever written from male perspective once, and in my opinion, he sounded more than a little effeminate.

I suppose I shall have to abandon Carter in favour of Poe.

Yesterday was revealing on several fronts; I received a letter informing all residents of an upcoming water shortage - and by shortage, I mean none at all. I suppose I should be thankful, the last time this happened, they didn't warn us and only explained the depth of the crisis after it actually happened. This time we can make suitable arrangements; the plan is simple, we are to spend the upcoming days stocking up on giant bottles of water. It seems a daft precaution at first, but not so much considering the last water shortage, during which all I heard was Carley moaning about Chris' impending visit and how he was going to break up with her because she wasn't looking her best. Honestly, anyone would think she was dating Calum Best.

More revelations appeared in the form of Alissa's OCD. It bemuses me how a girl who refuses to type beyond size 8 font, is anxious to switch off lights, will not get up unless the clock is on a 5 or a ten, will not write on paper that has all ready been written on and has her CD player on exactly volume 18 can say she is not obsessive compulsive. I suppose it's the stigma that OCD just applies to cleaning, but actually it applies to a wide variety of things. My aunt has OCD and didn't get diagnosed until she was at near breaking point because of exhaustion. She washed her hair every day, washed her hands every time she touched money, shook hands with people or even touched a door handle. Considering she works on a till at B'n'Q, you can imagine how raw her hands were at the end of the day.

Calling Doctor Jones!!!!!!

2008-04-07T23:23:00.000-07:00

If you watch the trailer really closely, you'll spot a 'Roswell' sign; the subplot of this could very well be 'Indiana Jones meets the aliens'.

'Visions of Vermilion'

2008-04-04T06:17:00.000-07:00

They say Easter is a time of DIY, well in our house it's a time of cleaning. I happened upon this poem in one of my drawers in a tidy out of my bedroom - it's about two years old.

I was coming home one night
Nestled in my seat
Staring out the window glass
And stretching out my feet
The sky had gone a crimson red
I could not help but stare
And as I sat there by myself
I wished that you were there
It looked just like a paper cut
Stretched across the sky
The earth was calling out to me
And I did not know why
I got home inspired
By this sky of ruby red
Now when it comes to paper cuts
I think of you instead.

'The Safest Place'

2008-04-04T06:15:00.000-07:00

Screaming from the thorn bushes
Watching from the shade
Never asking to be heard
Only to be saved
You never reached a hand to me
I watched you from my spot
Torn flesh and bruises
For this person I am not
I handed you a shovel
As you handed me a spade
Digging, digging deeper
In the silence of the glade
The sun was quickly setting
Many hours had passed
You closed your eyes forever
As I closed my own at last.

Workshop piece #3 - Yugioh Abridged version

2008-03-31T07:10:00.000-07:00

NB, it may help if you first watch this:

Attention Duellists! Today my hair missed the bus. In America. Not that it was a problem, the number 22 took me home shortly after. In America. I suppose you are wondering how on earth I managed to miss it, after all they are not exactly rare sights these days. To be honest, I’m not sure, but screw the rules I have money.
That’s what you learn on the stage you know, accidents equal injury, and mistakes are as good an accident as any. I do not have many accidents now that I am too old to work at KentuckyFriedMcBurgerKing. Now that my life is a pleasanter one - just the wife and my hair playing children‘s card games. In America.

I do not know how I managed to miss it; perhaps some gentler, more fabulous being took my place. For that alone I deserve to die of a terminal disease.

The wife left a super special awesome apple pie in the fridge for me - perhaps I will not eat it. It is only fair I do not sleep until my body screeches. The restless days shall put me right - there is no reason to indulge in forbidden fruits I do not deserve.

Perhaps we can take over the world tomorrow?

The Dog in the Ivory Manger

2008-03-31T07:09:00.000-07:00

He was a rich man, there was no doubting it - he walked and talked with a swagger and sway. The world to him was that much more beautiful than in everyone else’s eyes, not because he was a poet or a priest, but because he suffered a kind of tunnel vision in which anything beyond the realms of loveliness was not worth his attention.

He could often be found wherever there happened to be women and a fresh supply of whiskey - surrounded on either side by envious companions chortling in unison. No one knew where he acquired his money or cared to ask, all they cared about was the cheap imitation of respect they might gain from him.

It was one contest after another - the men in town constantly vying for the opportunity to buy him a shot, followed by the girls, treading on each other’s faces for a chance to sit in his lap. Contests no one ever won, but everybody tried.

Every evening without fail, he would put on a dinner suit and drive to a massage parlour in town, spending the last few notes in his back pocket on a night of exquisiteness. The women there were no different -they brawled and squealed, scraping chinks in their porcelain faces.

Having his pick of the bunch, he always took the fairest lotus - on this night, a sweet thing by the name of Jane. Watching her count her payment eagerly, he pulled at a loose thread in the duvet.

“Jane,” he said. “If circumstances were different, would you love me?”

Smiling up from the wad of cash in her grip, she gazed at his aged form.

“Of course I would,” she said, in a pear drop tone. “You’re the most precious man I know.”

It was as good a ‘no’ as any.

The next day followed through like any other - he swaggered through town in his usual way, seating himself down in the finest bar to the sounds of whispers at the next table. Grinning, he waved gallantly at the strangers, laughing as they fought amongst themselves for a chance to inquire about his health.

The pointlessness of the situation moved him somewhat and within a short period of time he was leaving the bar, once again standing in front of the prettiest flowers known to man. It was not his usual time of day, so they were not his usual bunch. Indeed, the arrangement laid before him had an exotic smell and bright, luxurious colours.

Having pored over their faces for at least half an hour, once again he picked the loveliest of the maidens - a child of the orient, whose name was Ming-Su. She took him to a quiet room in the back of the parlour, decorated with a golden harp.

“Ming-Su,” he said, as she sat down and began to play. “If circumstances were different, would you love me?”

The sweet sound of the harp did not drown out his words, but still she did not reply. He repeated the question several times over, but received no response, realising too late his mistake in choosing a girl who spoke no words.

That night, he put on his dinner suit as usual and checked his reflection in the mirror several times before leaving. Tonight would be the night, he told himself, tonight he would find what it was he was looking for.

The owner of the premises wore a bemused expression as he saw him approach for the second time that day, but immediately replaced it with a smile. When asked for an audience with his girls, he immediately apologised and explained that they were otherwise engaged, only one was spare and he very much doubted she met his standards - he only kept her there to maintain the premises.

The Gentleman by this point was almost desperate in his seeking, so he bade the proprietor call the final girl into his presence. He knew the owner to be a great exaggerator.

Mere minutes later, the pair returned, the owner accompanied by a young woman whose face did not belong in such a palace; short, milky in texture, with a faded aroma of lavender surrounding her person, he would barely have noticed her presence had he not requested her.

Her name was Penelope, though whether she knew anything of the Greeks remained to be said. Approaching the only spare room in the place, the kitchen, Penelope returned to her former task of baking fairy cakes.

“Penelope,” said the gentleman, pouring a glass of wine from a cupboard next to him. “If the circumstances were different….would you love me?”

Turning towards him from her cooking, he could tell the girl was both stunned and confused.

“No sir,” she finally said, turning back to her cooking. “I don’t know you at all.”

The gentleman never visited the massage parlour after that, save for the final trip to pick up his bride, the muted Ming-Su. The last anyone heard about them was when they moved into their new home; a manor house south of Oxford. No one ever visits and they never leave, but pressing your ear to the door at the right time of day you might be honoured enough to hear the pleasant sounds of a harp seemingly playing for itself.

'Tempest'

2008-03-31T07:07:00.000-07:00

This rain is my salvation
I will catch it as it falls
Cradled in my hands
Silver shining as I call
Your name in entreaty
- Soaked and forlorn
The cobble stones are cold tonight
Nobody braved this storm -
But I will find you, find you
In this shallow vacuity
It was you that put me here
I know that you will be
Hiding in the churchyard
Amongst the falling rain
Farther soaked than I could be
This day we meet again
Alone amid the storm tonight
It cannot block my way
I will find you in this underworld
Drowning, we shall say
This rain was our salvation
From the chilling gates of hell
And I saved you love, saved you
Caught you as you fell.

...Elephants?

2008-03-31T07:03:00.000-07:00

Which Naruto Character Are You?

Here is the story of how Egg Heads saved Easter.

Going home from my flat is one of those dreaded taboos - in Whitters we have no mobile phone signal and in my house the only hope of internet is the local library. Anyway, I came home recently to find my mother in a grumpy mood, the fridge bare and my dad nowhere to be found. I had left most of my decent DVDs and mangas back at the flat so it wasn’t long before I was bored - when I mentioned such matters to Frau Mothership, she suggested I meet up with Lucy and Elle, a feat that would require several texts since they live about three villages away. When I pointed such matters out, her next suggestion was to send them an email, which I was all for at first. However, this plan fell into shambles as the library was shut for the Easter holiday (meaning a fortnight at least).

Needless to say, I was soon annoyed and feeling extremely agitated. It is bad enough that the only attraction in Whitters is a wood and the closest we have to Waterstones is the free books you get on magazines sometimes - but being out of contact as well? That really, really took the biscuit.

It wasn’t so bad when I was at school, most ‘holidays’ were only a week long and hardly anyone had a mobile, so signal never came into it. Since we live literally in the middle of nowhere, there was a lot of house calls and expeditions into town just to fetch a video from Woolworths. (I’m not exaggerating when I say expedition, it’s an hour both ways). Once, I had Beth and our other friend Mary-Sue over for Halloween and we wanted a scary film to watch, so had to catch a train. Anyhow, they arrived at the house fully decked in witch garb, which later proved to be an extremely bad idea, for the suggestion was later put forward we board the train in similar condition.

So, at any rate, with no phone signal, parents that work full time, no chances of emailing anyone and absolutely no DVDs or manga lying around you would think that there was nothing left to get worse, wouldn’t you?

Admittedly, I did, but then I’m always wrong about such matters.

As I have previously mentioned, the fridge was bare when I arrived. All that was in it was a yoghurt. Dad suggested we go to Sainsbury’s to pick up some food as the freezer was empty too and I was only too happy to comply. Or at least I would have been, had the car not gone kaput as we turned to leave the house. Something to do with suspension I think, but whatever it was, we definitely weren’t going shopping.
Knackered up cars are the running joke of our family, well okay, more the running joke of my dad. I don’t think he’s ever had a fully functional one - I seem to recall stories of my laboured mother being taken to hospital by my granddad because dad’s car had broken down. The one he had before this one was the worst, the gears on it didn’t work to the point where our local mechanic said keeping it was suicide.
In the end, we ended up eating dribs, drabs and takeaway for the rest of the day, rounded off wonderfully by my mother chipping in our home phone had text message capability, why on earth hadn’t I asked earlier?

Texting Lucy and Elle over a bowl of cup a soup and rice crackers, I happened to overhear a strange whooping kind of noise coming from the sofa, which upon closer inspection turned out to be my Dad. Working in a newsagents, the most TV he gets to watch is Loose Women and Ready Steady Cook. His favourite show, mainly because he hates them with a passion, is EggHeads. He loves to watch the show - not because of it’s format or because of it’s style - simply because on the off chance that these ’geniuses’ get a question wrong he can watch and laugh.

When I questioned him as to why he was making such a racket he explained that the Eggheads were in the final rounds of the game, playing against another team. There was nothing unusual about this, except for the fact that they were losing. The Eggheads never lose! That’s the whole point of the show - no one can beat the Eggheads… The teams had come to tie break and if their final question was incorrect, they would lose £27,000.

Dad was gripping the seat as the question was announced, but personally I didn’t see the point. I all ready had visions of the outcome; in true Egghead fashion they would smile, nod and slip out an answer like the two times table. Their question was geography based and immediately my dad began the ‘eeny meeny miny mo’ on the three answer options. Funny thing was, based on their expressions, the Eggheads didn’t know either.

It took at least five minutes for them pass, losing £27,000 in the process. I looked at my dad. My dad looked at me.
We laughed solidly until the credits were over.

When you’re having a truly awful day, it’s true that news of someone else’s can make you feel a whole lot better about the situation.

The Falling Sickness

2008-03-14T02:34:00.000-07:00

I was surfing the web last night and I realised that there isn't any kind of story about an epileptic - most people I have known are extremely in the dark about it. On my other blog I'm going to write one, if you would like to read it, fill yer boots.

!TAGGED!

2008-03-13T07:04:00.000-07:00

Can't believe I am saying this, but right now I actually feel like kissing Carley. She just delivered the best news I have heard all week.

It was re-enrolment today, everyone piled into the tiniest room in the campus just to tick a box on a small piece of yellow paper. I decided to take the module that would help me personally as a writer, though was quite tempted to study Romanticism.

Got home later to find Carley in the kitchen and as a result didn't go in. However, she followed me to my door and asked when I was planning to go home for Easter. Dad is the only one in our house capable of driving, so as a result my return home revolves around him. Since his only day off is Sunday, that is the day I return to Whitters.

I thought for a while that Carley would stay for at least a week after term ended, using the empty flat as an excuse to invite Chris over. Apparently not, for she revealed that I would be the last one in the flat to go home, something that has never happened before!!! I've dreamed of it happening, a time when I can play my music loud and sit in the kitchen all day with no worries of anyone coming in. A sign, if anything, of how anti social I have actually become.

I was tagged on deviantart to write 8 random facts about myself in a blog entry and I thought I would post them on here.

1) I have a Nutella fetish
2) I appear quite hyperactive but actually am one of the laziest people on earth
3) I didn’t get a computer until I was twelve and bought it out of my own pocket money
4) My favourite anime is Death Note
5) My favourite manga is Immortal Rain
6) I was the first person in my family to go to university
7) When I was younger, my dream was to travel the world
8) I can swallow smarties whole

Laney, Pru, Alissa, Pix, Miss McPixie - consider yourself tagged.

Unfortunate thing

2008-03-13T02:07:00.001-07:00

Unfortunate Thing. by *Slinkers on deviant ART

Have I put you off? (Say yes and I'll poke your eyes out)

2008-03-12T09:46:00.001-07:00

Today has been such a pointless day on so many levels. As is the norm, I woke with the best intentions - all of which proved to be a waste of time, as in the end they all were skewered by an unknown assailant wielding a stopwatch.

It was meant to be my day off today, a day I usually spend in bed with my laptop on my stomach, only moving to type random anime titles into search engines and occasionally find a biscuit from my food box. If I'm feeling really rebellious, I'll brave the kitchen and make myself a cup of hot chocolate.

Today was rather different to previous expectations - I had a subject talk to go to. Re-enrolment is this week, so as a result there are discussions to attend for help with module choices. In English, there are three choices, neatly explained in the subject handbook, along with a workload description. Therefore, the talk really does not seem compulsory.

Me, Laney, Scoot and Alissa decided to go anyway, as we were under the impression it would further detail the course descriptions. How wrong we were.

I went into class early to prepare for the discussions, and met up with Alissa, who was going the same way. I had falsely believed that the talk was on at eleven, so was ages early. Instead of having me sit in the library for two extra hours, she said I could go to class with her instead and for some reason I don't remember I agreed.

Yes, that's right, I agreed to go to someone else's class on my day off. Lord, I'm such a student.

After about an hour, we met up with Laney and walked to the classroom, adorned with a piece of paper that announced the cancellation of the class. I don't think I was quite as disappointed as the girl who emerged in tears, but was quite dashed all the same. Our class is dreadfully behind on workload - we were still studying Esther Waters two weeks ago. It would be nice to actually study the other books on the course.

We ended up heading for the food court, where Scoot appeared and after two hours of hangman, during which I discovered my true IQ, we left to find the lecture, only to discover that it had been moved to a different room. Oh, the irony.

Not a problem, I hear you say, just follow the yellow brick road.

We made ourselves comfortable in the replacement room, oblivious to the fact that we were about the only English students there. By the time we did notice, it was almost time for our lecture to start in a room we didn't know the location of. In the end we must have got lost about three times, not because we didn't know our way around, but because we didn't have a clue where it was we were meant to be going, delayed somewhat by the lifts and their sizist remarks. Eventually we fell through the door about ten minutes late, to a grumpy faced lecturer, muttering, 'I shall have to start again now'.

At the end of all that, I was positive the lecture would have been worth the hassle, but actually it just turned out to be a broad Q'n'A, in which the mature students seemed to have most of the answers.

Quite a lot like class, now I think about it.

Workshop piece #3

2008-03-12T01:50:00.000-07:00

Today I missed the bus. Not that it was a problem, the number 22 took me home shortly after. I suppose you are wondering how on earth I managed to miss it, after all they are not exactly rare sights these days. To be honest, I’m, not sure, but I do know one thing - I deserve punishment.

That’s what you learn on the stage you know, accidents equal injury, and mistakes are as good an accident as any. I do not have many accidents now that I am too old to sing. Now that my life is a pleasanter one - just the wife and I.

I do not know how I managed to miss it; perhaps some gentler, more deserving being took my place. For that alone I deserve to die.

The wife left an apple pie in the fridge for me - perhaps I will not eat it. It is only fair I do not sleep until my body screeches. The restless days shall put me right - there is no reason to indulge in forbidden fruits I do not deserve.

I missed the bus today, perhaps I will catch it tomorrow?

Cosplay party 2008

2008-03-07T15:47:00.000-08:00

The Cosplay Party took place last week - Laney and I made the final preparations (i.e. the fruit salad) the night before and then spent the rest of the evening watching Naruto Abridged. We had a hectic day, rushing into town to purchase everything else we didn't all ready have; it was good just to sit down for a few hours.

The next day was the most important, as in, we had the most to do-when checked, our to-do list actually did cover two sides of A4. Thinking about it, it's amazing just how much we did get done in such a small period of time.

Elle arrived around 3:00, with several bags of belongings and a rather large feather hat. Having talked to both her and Lucy in the week beforehand, it was pointed out that the distance between here and York is quite difficult in terms of trains - hence why only one of the two showed up in the end.

The party officially started at six, which gave us just enough time to get into costume and lay the food out on the table, by which point guests had started to trickle through the door. Admittedly, this was quite a slow process, as the lifts had timingly broken. Funnily enough, they were fixed again by the end of the night.

There was cake and nobody died, so I guess it's safe to say it went well.

Our hearts we pledge to thee

2008-03-05T11:55:00.000-08:00

For some reason I've had this song spinning round my head all day. The thing I don't get about it is, at the end why does the French mouse pull out Bianca's chair when she's about to sit down, just to push it back seconds later? It's almost as if he's debating whether to punish her for being late by making a timed sweep of the chair, disguising his true motive for French chivalry.

I can't help but wonder what kind of film it would have been had he succeeded....

Oh I wish I was a Shinigami

2008-03-05T07:04:00.000-08:00

Originating from an extremely crazy conversation with Laney this is a merger of 'I wish I was a Punk Rocker' by Sandi Thom and Death Note.

Oh I wish I was a shinigami with apples in my hair
From Tokyo to USA - they wouldn’t see me there
I was born bright green but my mother didn’t care
Oh I wish I was a shinigami with apples in my hair

Where the head of state has ruby eyes
Not everybody needs disguise
Where music doesn’t matter cos
We made Kira King
There is no one to take control
Except a Death Note for your soul
And people say we’re scary cos
We know everything

Oh I wish I was a shinigami with apples in my hair
From Tokyo to USA - they wouldn’t see me there
I was born bright green but my mother didn’t care
Oh I wish I was a shinigami with apples in my hair

How dare you say it’s just a myth?
This ignorance cannot be bliss
One touch of paper and I swear your heart will fail
Oh you might think I’m just a teen
But I have so much better dreams
I’ll find the next Kira and be the hero of the tale

Oh I wish I was a shinigami with apples in my hair
From Tokyo to USA - they wouldn’t see me there
I was born bright green but my mother didn’t care
Oh I wish I was a shinigami with apples in my hair

Where gender issues rule the plot
And gambling is all that they’ve got
It’s their job to watch the world; keep it in its place
Where life’s a temporary state
There’s no such thing as love or hate
Could render a man crazy just by showing him their face

Oh I wish I was a shinigami with apples in my hair
From Tokyo to USA - they wouldn’t see me there
I was born bright green but my mother didn’t care
Oh I wish I was a shinigami with apples in my hair

I was born bright green but my mother didn’t care
Oh I wish I was a shinigami with apples in my hair

Get more sleep, drink less coke

2008-03-04T14:21:00.000-08:00

So said Nikki at lunchtime - I'm thinking of making it my new mantra. Admittedly, the sleep part wasn't all my fault this time,quite unlike the times where I would sit awake watching anime till the ugly hours. No, this time I was a mere victim of circumstances.

The worst kind of victim there is :<

The reason I was up so late - I had a parcel to wrap. Not just any parcel though, this is the kind of parcel you pass. What with Laney and mine’s party looming on the horizon, hundreds of urgent little jobs have cropped up, such as wrap the parcel for the ‘pass the parcel’, burn the play list to disk, pick up all of the prizes, décor etc.

Anyway, whilst wrapping this monster of a parcel, I came to the conclusion that not only am I absolutely rubbish at wrapping, but it turns out I loathe it as well… My dad is the best present wrapper I’ve ever seen - receiving a DVD at Christmastime is the equivalent of a finely tuned Rubik’s cube; three hours later you’ve only just got past the sellotape. I kind of hoped it would be hereditary, but clearly it isn’t. Words cannot express my disappointment right now.

I have just discovered that production has been started on the anime version of Vampire Knight and the guy who voiced Light Yagami is going to be playing Zero! Weird coincidence really, as I reread all my copies last week; I hope it’s just as good and they don’t destroy Yuki like they did Miaka when they animated Fushigi Yugi. I watched episode one out of curiosity, as I have always loved the books, but the producers had turned it into a generic shojo romance, where the characters were 2d charicatures of their fomer selves. I really hope they get it right...

Magicarp ate my plushies

2008-03-02T12:06:00.000-08:00

Today is Mothering Sunday and my own rose to the occasion in her - er - special way, by adopting a daffodil. Yes...a daffodil. She found it in the middle of the road on the way to Morrisons complete with bulb and felt it was desecration. We ended up wandering round the supermarket with it peeping out of her rucksack. When one of its buds fell off, she apologised in such a flambuoyant fashion the cashier stared at me and my dad like we were the crazy ones.

As of today I have a half-sibling by the name of Dilly.

During the journey back, my father hypothesized that due to the celebrations for Mother's day, lots of people would be at home. Unfortunately, this theory did not apply to Carley. I entered the kitchen with my shopping to find several pizza boxes and wine glasses scattered around the room. When I opened the microwave to make myself a meal, I found a slice of pizza on a bright pink plate, that looked at least three days old.

Today has not all been bad news - I received a parcel upon arrival that turned out to be my Chii ears - in the country ahead of schedule.

Uchiha Showdown by *gejimayo on deviant ART

I'll bet it was boo in horse language

2008-03-02T00:38:00.000-08:00

I always believed that when I left home, my parents would degenerate into pensioners. I’m not sure why, but whenever I return to Whitters, I half expect to find them nestled under tartan blankets, moaning about the government.

In actual fact, I returned home to immediately be ushered into the kitchen and shown the entirety of our cupboard. Home cooking only improved after I left, something I am constantly reminded. While I sit with a bowl of noodles, my parents tuck into spinach seasoned polenta and Parma ham with a mozzarella centre. It was fish fingers and sweet corn with every meal half a year ago.

Life just isn’t fair….

Anyway, my parents refuse to conform to expectations; I had barely been home a few hours before my Dad started to giggle like a schoolboy because my doctor’s name is ‘I.B. Cross’ and my mother ate a whole box of Roses intended for my grandmother, muttering, ‘She doesn’t deserve them anyway’.

The sad part about it is it’s true. Me and my grandmother are not on speaking terms, mainly because we don’t like each other, but still every Mother’s Day my mum faithfully attempts to preserve the lie.

The waters changed midweek, so all my father’s diligent plans were somewhat skewered - and that was without the earthquake. I’ve never been a heavy sleeper so when it actually happened I was partially awake anyway. I have one of those bunk bed types, except instead of a bottom bunk, I have a broken cupboard, so needless to say, when everything started to shake I gripped the mattress for dear life.

Speaking of broken cupboards, there was a funny quake related story in the local paper quite recently. Since Whitters is pretty close to the epicentre, the paper sent journalists into town to interview random locals on their experiences. Anyway, one of the people interviewed said that he thought his cupboard had been possessed and was shocked to learn the truth. From the tone used, it sounded like he was somewhat disappointed. Disappointed, I guess, that Derek Acorah won’t be broadcasting our mediocre village on Britain’s most Haunted.

If anything, it’s worthy of a segment on Rosemary and Thyme - I can just see it now - The attack of the Clattering Cupboard …. Aforementioned title characters are sent to a manor house in some random county to ‘tidy up the garden’, only they never get around to it, as on their arrival they discover the owner of the manor house stabbed fifty times in the back. Of course they investigate, discovering the man’s wife crouched in the corner of the study, next to a hostile looking oak cupboard, which is covered in blood and flapping its doors. The woman is also covered in blood, but seems unperturbed by the situation. Instead she stares at the title characters and says, ’It wasn’t me….the cupboard did it….’

We've got each other and that's a lot

2008-02-21T14:03:00.000-08:00

Looks like today isn't shaping up to be so bad after all. I just got a text from Lucy, saying that if she manages to sort out train times, she will come to the party. She lives in York, so it's more than a little understandable. Elle all ready said she would let me know nearer the time, but that she would love to come.

Online Videos by Veoh.com

Lucy and me met on enrollment day of college - we sat next to one another and snooped GCSE results while filling in the forms. At the time, we were doing the same A levels, so it made sense to hang round together, though we soon discovered that we got on extremely well, bonding over 80s rock and fantasy novels.

A few weeks in, she introduced me to Elle, who I'll admit I was petrified of. Lucy is an extremely quiet soul, possibly even more introverted than me, and I always assumed Elle would be similar. However, what I got was a loud mouthed girl bearing a tattoo fetish. Appearances can be, and usually are, deceiving for Elle turned out to be the most soft hearted person I had met in a long time.

If my college friends come here, I don't care whether or not I have Chii ears.

Did you just call me pudding?

2008-02-21T11:56:00.000-08:00

Carley's birthday celebrations went ahead last night. Since the majority of it was set to take place in H20, a place containing heavy strobes, I decided to sit it out. Not that I was disapppointed or anything - I highly doubt I would have been drunk enough to fully appreciate it.

As it turned out, I didn't miss out on anything, as Carley played her music in full anticipation, so loud in fact that when the ticket people came and Skye and Alex were thrashing her door, it took three attempts for her to hear.

I didn't get much sleep that night and as a result woke up this morning feeling oh-so-grouchy, a step backwards to my usual frame of mind. I also received an email that (though admittedly on the trivial side) did not improve matters. My chii ears have been dispatched, but are going to take three weeks to arrive. That means that unless some miracle occurs, they won't be here in time for the cosplay party.

I really hate complications.

This is Akatsuki

2008-02-20T08:52:00.000-08:00

....Where the skies are always blue...

2008-02-20T03:12:00.000-08:00

My mother rang last night - not that it was a surprise or anything, she does it every night - but I've noticed that since my imminent return to Whitters, she's started to do it earlier and earlier. Plus, as well as her usual questions, 'what did you have for dinner?', 'what are you going to have for tea?' she's added, 'you sound bunged up'. I know full well I'm not at all, it's just her maternal instincts going into hyperdrive.

She promised that when I got back we'd have pizza (it's one of my favourite foods, but I don't ever buy it because it also happens to be the favourite food of the idiot on the other side of the wall). I would be excited were it not for the fact that my mother is allergic to bread; whenever she's feeling really desperately hungry, she makes herself a cheese sandwich and then lies on the sofa for days, clutching her stomach.

I only hope that my presence doesn't inflict madness upon her.

eldorado by ~lemur-fox on deviant ART

I never knew, You never were

2008-02-19T15:19:00.000-08:00

A challenge on Raw Em0tion recently was to submit a poem that had 5 or more alliterative lines. Here is my submission:

I never knew
You never were
And hated hearing empty words
Feeling every emptiness
Like bitter bounds of joy
I never knew
You couldn’t be
Something that meant more to me
Another status quo, it seems
I never knew you were.

Delight is....

2008-02-19T09:54:00.000-08:00

When I think about delight in its simplest form, a whole manner of cliches come to mind - chocolate, romance, a pretty sunset. Who am I kidding? It's a sickening combination.

The sad truth is, my happiness comes from a far differen source, miles apart from the previous three. How many, after all, would admit that it was someone's death that inspired their happiness?

I thought so.

I was fourteen, young, naive and in the midst of examinations. The last thing I wanted was to be at a funeral, especially since the person in the casket had been like a mother to me. I remember watching as they carried the coffin out to the graveyard out back, followed by a number of arrangements - flowers shaped like angels and delicate words I could never say.

Don't worry, the laughing comes later.

Weeks passed and the mourners left one by one. I watched as my mother withered away in the graveyard, watering the flowers morning and night. I half expected the priest to come knocking at our door, praying for the soul of my ghostly mother.

The day inevitably came that I failed my exams and returned to a house of flowers; my mother and aunt sat on the couch with shadowed faces, the dead chrysanthemums of the cemetery in a bucket behind them. When they told me of their plans to create a thing of beauty, I laughed.

Within a year, they were creating angels angels with golden wings, purple framed lettering, a snowman with glass eyes and a top hat.

The reason I associate funeral flowers with happiness is that it wasn't until our front room had no heat and finding the phone became an expedition and I walked with a constant limp due to holly leaves, which I kept finding in my shoes, that I saw my mother laugh. I deeply believe that moments like those are better than any selfish cliche.

Lust of the Dopey variety

2008-02-19T05:25:00.000-08:00

From the moment I stepped out of bed this morning, I knew today was going to be slightly off-peak. Having stayed in bed most of the weekend, catching up on my previous sleeping pattern (a phrase of Alissa's I swore I would never use), I felt refreshed and ready to face today's lesson.

I always enjoyed poetry in school, mostly because no one else got it. The second I arrived in college and was seated in a classroom with sixteen likeminded individuals (the seventeenth an IT student who seemed extremely lost), the novelty wore off.

Anyway, I was determined that ready for my poetry workshop I was going to go to bed early and not be in a grouchy mood, as seems to be the default these days. I guess it doesn't help that the teacher we have is the happy, smiley, stay at home mum type that keeps a bucket of lollipops under the desk in case you scrape your knee on the way to the projector.

As it happened, I was wrong in my assumptions, for as I was about to switch off my laptop, Pru came on MSN and we ended up talking until almost 1am.

I'll never understand MSN - I think it's useful, but ...weird. Whenever I'm talking to Beth, she makes a point about disappearing then coming back, saying 'I've just been speaking to ________, __________ and ______', giving me a running commentary on what happened in their conversations, even if I'm talking to them as well. Then there's my friend Douglas, who keeps every conversation he's ever had on file in case he needs to use it as evidence.

I made it through poetry class, luckily, if I hadn't there would have been disastrous consequences. Following the lesson, me, Laney and Pru went to the food court for some lunch, where our table was suddenly confronted by the strangest and funniest thing I've seen in quite a while.

As a Derbyshire girl, the height of scams I've seen is people begging on the streets for their blind Auntie Doris, so as you can imagine, this kind of took me by surprise ^^. A woman, who I can only assumed bathed in perfume, appeared at the end of our table, waving fliers for some random stylist. Pay £59 for a styling session! she was going on, you'll get £500 worth of stuff and a bottle of champagne! She was really giving it some, how you could bring your own clothes and how there were tonnes of hot guys on the shoot....I only wish I had a camera.

Getting home from the food court, I ended up following about seven people into the entance, so had to wait about five minutes for the lift to come back, which for some reason took forever. By the time it finally arrived, I all but threw myself into it, but my stupidly bad karma struck again. The doors had barely closed before they were open and the only person in the world I would have asked not to be stuck in a lift with stepped in.

yup. Carley.

She's having a party tomorrow, to celebrate her birthday and guess who wishes they weren't invited?

'Elixir'

2008-02-18T10:04:00.000-08:00

My eyes snapped open and I gripped the quilt. What was it? What was it?

I leered into the face, squinting.

My heart skipped a beat, as I realised the faces around me were those of the owners.

Why were they angry, I hear you ask?

Heh, now that's a story.

It all started on one of my early morning walks through the forest. When you are as old as me, your limbs often seize up, so regular walks are a necessity. Anyway, it was on this particular morning that i happened to stumble across a quaint little cottage hidden among the trees. I stood still for a moment and observed it, the wind whistling through the trees and the door creaking open. At any other time, I would not have ventured inside, but my eyes fell on something within that caged my interests.

The house was built as a cottage, with delicate wooden furniture and aroma of breakfast, but the family sitting at the table were unlike anyone I had seen before, if they were even human.

Creeping closer, I peeped through the window to see if my eyes had deceived me, my heart thudding against my ribs. The family I saw had fur for faces, claws for hands and were twice the size of anyone I had come across in the village.

They were not human, yet together they sat, united by what I observed to be three wooden bowls. Frozen to the spot, partially by fear, but mostly by curiosity, I found myself wondering what kind of concoction resided within. Some kind of elixir, perhaps? The secret to immortal life? Forgetting my morning walk and the searing pain from my limbs, I calculated the numerous possibilities over and over in my mind, knowing very well that the existence of such a thing was impossible.
I could not wonder for long, for soon they began to move, great shuffling movements in the darkness of the room. Wincing, I fell to my knees and watched as the clawed beasts disappeared into the forest. Their lumbering footsteps seemed to last for an eternity, but finally they ended and I realised that now was my chance. Now I would know what mysteries the creatures held.

With a trembling hand I pushed open the front door, trying my hardest to ignore the riveted claw marks that had replaced all other decoration. In the dim light of the room I could make out the shadowy forms of furniture - a cuckoo clock in the corner, tattered rug underneath. My attentions were most focussed, however, on a table in the corner decked with a threadbare cloth. I approached cautiously, barely daring to breathe. The three wooden bowls loomed in front of me, threatening to scream the truth of my intrusion if I only got too close.

When I was within reaching distance, I picked up a small gold spoon from the centre of the altar, taking in the sweetened smells evaporating from around me. Timidly, I dipped the spoon into the first bowl and then froze. What if this was some kind of trap? What if I had been drawn there purposefully?

I knew I should have left, but deep within I knew that I would not. Where is the joy in a wrinkled face, limbs that barely function? I yearned to be young again and in that moment of dire desperation believed that the pots in front me had to hold some kind of answer.

Taking a spoonful from the first bowl, I put it to my lips and immediately squealed in pain as the liquid burned my skin and throat in unison. I choked, dropping the spoon to the dust and gripping the side of the table. It seemed I was correct to be timid.

After I regained my temperament, I gazed down at the second bowl. This one was just as humble as the first, except with the subtle difference of a silver spoon. Filling the spoon, I put it to my lips, only to be proved wrong once again. This potion was sweet and sugary, but I have never been a great lover of sweet things and promptly vomited to the floor.

My grip on the table was still strong as ever and I dragged myself back into a standing position once more. There was just one bowl left, just one. It was the same size and shape as the previous two, but adorned with an iron spoon. I half expected the third to be filled with poison - I stood there for a while, gripping the edge of the table and waiting, but nothing happened.

Nothing. No change, no consequence. Just regular porridge. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. All that worry over three bowls I could have made better myself. The owners of the cottage still had not returned and by now I was beginning to remember my limbs. Gripping the table so tightly was a bad idea indeed, for now I could barely move my arm from the pincer grip I had put it into.

From my position by the table, I could see a small flight of stairs, leading to what I assumed to be the bedrooms. I noticed that the woodwork was adorned with yet more claw marks, but by this point, my joints screamed for rest and I climbed them without fear.

There was just one room at the top of the landing, filled with a single bed. The blanket covering it was frayed in several places, scratched on the exposed wood. Laying my head on the pillow and taking in the musty scent of fur, I wondered what kind of creatures lived here, crawling into dreams where I was lost in the tombs of Babylon, running from the beasts we left to guard the King.

My eyes snapped open, yes, I remember now. The moment I woke, I was the subject of three pairs of eyes, eyes I had no intention of staring into. I had slept for two long, now I was no longer a simple ‘curious guest’ - I was an intruder.

They watched me, beasts with human faces, as I climbed out of the bed, expecting to fall but instead landing softly on the floor. Watched me knowingly as I stared down at my hands, no longer hands, now paws of the same clawed frame as theirs. They watched, almost amused, as I stroked my paws over my face, finding fur instead of skin. Had they been human, I’m almost sure they would have laughed as I howled in horror and ran from the cottage, knocking over their porridge bowls as I went.

An Elixir for a poison, trade fairly met.

7 days....

2008-02-18T02:27:00.000-08:00

I go home next weekend - sounds evil, but I'm not sure if I'm excited or not. It means a full week of adjustment into a whole different life. Plus, I've gotten so used to the luxuries of things like internet, a five minute walk into town and friends I don't have to wait 45 minutes on a bus to see that it'll be a real culture shock.

Mother's been dying to have me home since I was in hospital, which I guess makes sense and I was all for going until I actually thought it through. I can't go running back to Whitters every time something goes wrong, or I'll never get my degree.

But still...it will feel very weird going back to a place where people stop in the middle of the street to inquire about your health and sanitation is taken care of by a man with a stick. I wonder if I'll go crazy?

A thumb war with Davy Jones by *warrioronlydude on deviant ART

Somehow, I really doubt that's a problem.

I'll be back, with a ring on my finger and bucket of mozzarella

2008-02-17T03:01:00.000-08:00

Carley's back.

The walls in our flat are as thin as our cupboard doors; it's suprising they don't fall through when you lean on them. It also means that if someone sneezes, the person next door feels awfully conflicted whether or not to say 'bless you'.

Anyway, the apartment door slammed open and shut this morning and shortly afterwards someone turned their shower on.

In all likeliness it is Carley, as she is more than a little OCD about her showers, as I discovered during the week we had no water. I, and a (frighteningly small actually) selection of others were worried about the effect it would have on our health, whereas she spent the time running her fingers through her hair, moaning about how missing one of her (two) showers a day would turn her into some kind of a tramp.

Hell of a narcissist...I have yet to see her take out the rubbish, clean the pots or wash the kitchen. All she cares about is making herself pretty for her boyfriend, who I swear materialises through the floor. Skye says he's sweet, but that's probably because she's acceptable by his standards - he has yet to talk to me and I know exactly why.

Whenever he's in the flat, they disappear into her room (paper thin walls, you get the picture). They only come out to cook - usually him doing all the work, all she can do is pizza. Anyway, if I have the bad luck of stumbling into the kitchen when they're in there, I ponder what she sees in such a male chauvinist, who insults both her appearance and her intelligence.

The reason he doesn't talk to me? I don't wear make up and a belt for a skirt.

At christmas, we knew it was just going to be her and her scuzz of a boyfriend so we left three large bags of rubbish in the kitchen. Even if they didn't take them out, they'd still be left with the aroma of rotting pizza box. When I got back in January the bags were still there and on the coffee table was at least 5 pizza boxes. It only took about fifteen minutes to clean, but it really wasn't the point...

Wonder how long it'll be before she annoys me this time?

Letters from nowhere

2008-02-16T14:11:00.000-08:00

It's been such a boring day that I actually went out of my way to start drafting a letter to Beth - the last time I did was before Christmas and she replied within three days.

I've known Beth since Secondary school, we sat next to each other in English class every day for three years. There she would chew my ear lobes with news of boyfriends past and present, poking me with the sharp end of a pencil if ever she needed advice.

We took pretty much the same A-Levels, except she, desiring the occupation of barrister, took law too. She was probably the most ambitious girl I knew and I always believed in heart of hearts that she'd go far.

Apparently not, for in one of her very first law lessons, she was introduced to a student by the name of Andrew, with a brain cell count equalling that of a sasquatch. Before long, she was bringing him into conversations as her central clause, sending the old alarm bells ringing.

It's been three years and she's still doing the same course, having failed it three times. Her life used to revolve around socialising and shopping - now all she does is care for Andrew's fast deteriorating mother, and three dogs.

I guess that's part of the reason why I don't want to write to her; I'll have to accept whatever lie she's telling herself.

'Keys'

2008-02-16T01:33:00.000-08:00

I met him on the dirt track, a painted ideal, surrounded by strange women and a thousand addictions. I had no idea who he was, or why I had allowed myself to be dragged to this pit, but managed to convince myself I was having a splendid time. He was a racer, but an aging one nonetheless - long past his prime at twenty one.

When he bought the car, I hated it; its crimson paintwork, leather smell. From the window of our sitting room I sat and watched as he polished it - the dream that had cost us our savings. I wondered how this object could possibly compare with a lifetime of whisperings, years of promises, but I never said that to him. Instead I cooked him a meal and took it out to the garage - meaning to apologise - but he wasn’t there.

Hours I waited for him. I understand, I meant to say, we’ll get through this, but I never got the chance. A knock at the door signalled a new arrival, but it was not my husband.

A lifetime of dreams I gave up in an instant; all I have left is the keys….

OMFGBBQ

2008-02-15T09:41:00.000-08:00

Saw a picture of Amber's baby girl today and for some reason it made me feel really sad; she must only be seventeen. The last time I saw her, she was absolutely besotted with Jay - would have married him if only he asked her - but now they live seperate lives. I remember seeing them at Beth's party, a fully fledged couple, snuggling into each other under the disco lights. Of course I was jealous of them - he wasn't there - and took a number of pictures capturing the moment at their request. (Yes, the party was that boring). It wasn't until later that I discovered that there was no film in my camera and as a result, no pictures. It didn't seem to matter though, as they were seperated less than a week later, Jay making it very clear why: he was ashamed of her.

Now I know that I'm not jealous of them at all-Amber met her daughter's father shortly afterwards, a no account who even the chavs turned their noses up at. Jay on the other hand dabbled in drugs and alchohol, getting his face badly disfigured in a fight.

They're happy I guess, that's the main thing.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I am actually having Cascada related withdrawal symptoms. Carley's gone home and the flat feels undeniably bare without the sounds of her thumping bass....

Guys in love XD

2008-02-14T10:56:00.000-08:00

Maaaaaaaneater....

2008-02-13T04:31:00.000-08:00

I've been so busy today, but at last I can sit down, load up mangavolume and skim through 'Loveless'. I've been meaning to read it for weeks, but what with one thing and another...

I didn't fall asleep for ages last night - i just couldn't drop off - as a consequence I am really exhausted today and haven't got much energy for anything. (Even I am amazed that I have succeeded in finishing off everything that I have.)

Last night Skye and Carley asked me about accommodation plans next year - they're planning to stay in Newarke too and as it happened, it was a good job they did ask me. Skye told me about the problems she had had when she booked, and though at the time I was sure that it was a one off glitch of the system, I couldn't help but return to this niggling feeling at the back of my mind that I should check at reception. This morning, when I left, I did check and it turned out that my form had not even been put through the system, even though it had been sitting there since January! Honestly...luckily it's sorted now, but it's a really good job that I did check.

I called at the doctors to check about my stitches and that was a whole lot more straight forward. All I have to do is call in after Exploring Creative Writing and ask for a nurse.

Ooooh, excitement...

Loveless

2008-02-13T01:09:00.000-08:00

So it's Valentine's day today....I hate this time of year. That kind of year when most guys look that much more miserable than normal and their girlfriend is that much more smug. Ugh...I have the awful bad luck of living in a flat where out of five of us only two are single; needless to say I returned home to Leona Lewis and an empty kitchen.

I finally got my stitches out - went to the doctors with Pru after the lesson. The nurse looked at me gone out when I asked if I could keep them, but hey, who knows...the way my memory's going I might need them as evidence.

After the email I got from Shareem, I was extremely doubtful as to the existence of my second class, but went anyway. I went half an hour early last time and still managed to miss it by a landslide. I was standing in the corridor for a good fifteen minutes and actually turned to leave, changing my mind pretty rapidly when I spotted my teacher further up the corridor. I think I may have frightened the poor woman, running up to her the way I did, blurting out, 'Still on?' - she's rather petite after all.

Cuts and Bruises

2008-02-12T17:13:00.000-08:00

This love I shouldn’t give
Cuts and bruises on the skin
Every word I shouldn’t say
Each little thing
It burns
Running from the emptiness
Hiding from the light
I lost the words I’m looking for
Losing every fight
Those three words I’ll never say
Are staples in the chest
Everything I couldn’t face
The things I don’t confess.

Workshop piece #2

2008-02-12T15:35:00.000-08:00

It's been a while since I was home. Since I last saw my father's face. I don't quite remember the castle walls, but I remember my last day there.

I was looking for my father - he'd summoned me to the southernmost chamber for a reading session. My father had a lot books - large, heavy tomes and lightweights from our ancestors. Much of my reading expertise was owed to him.

On this particular day, he sat me on his knee and bade me read aloud a verse of our country, smiling as I struggled over the complicated sounds.

I miss the old country now; miss my silk dresses, the chill of morning snow, the smile of my mother as I exited the study. I miss the country of my birth; it's been a while since I was there.

Who knew that a smile hid revolution? Flames in the north? Climbing into a quieted carriage, I saw bodies sleeping on the steps, wrapped in blood blankets and cried for my father, knowing I would never see him again.

Now my silk dresses have been replaced by the drab of a servant, a shadow of a former life. The countess of her home country, capable of reading the great works, barred by the same ritual that made her great. I look in the mirror now and see a hag, dry and cold through hardship - the rags of poverty my flag of surrender. Before there was only hope.

I used to see greatness - a woman different than me. She appeared one evening, in the armchair next to mine and together we knitted until dusk. She was younger than me, with a slurred tone to her voice and habitual twirling of her hair and I couldn't help but wonder whether she was as lonely as I was - nobody else addressed her.

Alas...I wish now I had left well alone, for in the candlelight, I did not realise isolation had made me mad. There was no one there -had never been - I had always been alone.

Stepping up to the rope, I watch as the crowd cheers and the hangman approaches, waving my dreams goodbye. I will never restore father's honour, never prove my mother's betrayal. I close my eyes as the hangman places the rope around my neck.

I miss the country of my birth; it's been a while since I was there.

Swallow that thar pill, you scuzzbag

2008-02-12T13:49:00.000-08:00

It's only been a day since I sent the cosplay party invitations and all ready I'm

a) Frightened

b) excited

c) vexed

My chii gloves arrived in the mail, meaning that most of my outfit is here and ready -the only really important detail left is the ears and Sam said it was okay for me to borrow her Inuyasha ones. Still..

When I arrived in Exporing Creative Writing people were (supposedly) talking about this party, which didn't help my nerves at all...there are going to be expectations now, ones that may or may not be fulfilled - I've never had enough friends to have a party...

Was in the midst of making some cheesey garlic bread when I made a shocking discovery...Skye was making a curry, Carley was doing some microbiology work (which looked remarkably like algebra) and mistook the word poppodom for condom. After being corrected a couple of times, she suddenly realised that she had forgotten to take her pill and, judging by how ape she went there's a good chance she might be pregnant.

Great....

Workshop piece

2008-02-10T08:51:00.000-08:00

All I wanted was a bloody sunset, glimmering over the horizon like a newly formed papercut. Warm sand under my feet enveloping my ankles as I stared at the ocean.

All I ever wanted was to be swallowed whole...

Now it seems, simplicity has been replaced by desires of a feral nature. Prowling the streets, screaming at the moon, I writhe and yell in the hopes my meager body could only implode. A kind of freedom that leaves no footprints.I catch sight of my contaminated reflection in a puddle and, howling, scrape at the skin.

What Torment!

What Torture!

I expected to find some other creature underneath, but it is only blood that falls...

It is a whimpering beast that finds their door, clawing the paintwork. I cannot comprehend the shock displayed across their faces as their fragmented shadows crumple the body of the beast curled across their doorstep.All I wanted was a bloody sunset. All I ever got was a bullet to the brain.

Amore

2008-02-10T07:00:00.000-08:00

Today has been a rather bizarre day...

I woke at 6AM, realising that not only was I exhausted, surrounded by squalor and expecting a visit from my parents momentarily, but there was a very good chance that I had never gone to sleep in the first place, bloody neighbours.

Sent Sam a message on Fbook - I think I've changed my mind about that Chobits dress, why on earth I bid on it is beyond even me. It's going to cost me £30 in postage alone, which I've all ready spent on plushies - yet another impulse buy I've yet to understand the significance of.

Washed my hair in baby shamploo today - had to lean over the floor of the shower to do so ^^. Still, I'm glad I did, my stitches were itching like crazy - I can't wait till i have them out! I asked Skye and Alex if they minded about the cosplay party and they said of course not, so it looks like it's on ;D - rock on!