Gentle smentle bentle lentil,
A dees a dose some peas its snows,
Ankle smankle twinkle twankle
These Are the Things that Make
A little bit of here and take
A little time to sit and think
About, ponder over find a link
In common sound.
What to do what to do? Robot arms and robot head have the helm.
AAH, am thinking the idea of a sex blanket for my art project was both misguided and hideously embaressing, am thinking of copyrighting the 'sex blanket?' look that I have received on so many occasions these past few days.
Think before you decide on the ridiculous beccy, think!
A little more magic and a little more sparkle should sort all of this out, there are not enough butterflies and I need some fog, just enough to settle on the ground and swirl around my shoes. I want my left boot to be big enough to make a house in. Perhaps an amulet should be made to make it so.
The inside of my head is of a different density to the outside. It is not sending out the usual tendrils.
Beefy: Magic is that of NotUsual.
Lampy: Wisdom, Beefy, for it cannot be otherwise.
Beefy: The otherwise would make magic not so.
Lampy: Magic has many ways.
Beefy: What is more magical, forwards, backwards, or diagonal?
Lampy: Magic lies on clouds above these things.
A truely Brad-esque poetic effort I feel. Next I shall write about ejaculations, but not now, I really should do some more German. If only it wasn't a foreign language, but then I suppose that is a rather inextricable element of it.
*sigh*
A man in a suit in a vat of gelatine
Transfixed and aglow with the day to day toil
Damned to a cog in the oiled machine,
Of bags and of boxes and slendours and spoil.
Beefy: And so Lampo, explain to me structure?
Lampy: Why thus have you done just so.
Beefy: Lampy you must illuminate previous words.
Lampy: For with an 'o' for a 'y' you have cradled a rhyme in a verbal sling and melted my name.
Beefy: But to me structure is even now invisible.
Lampy: Out of old threads are formed new raincoats.
Sometimes the mind is warm enough to float without holding.
Beefy: Oh you of silky rags, explain...
Lampy: Ergo, explanation.
Beefy: Sensicle you may be not, logical you be.
Lampy: You have undermined yourself.
Beefy: Say you? With your large noun for an answer.
Lampy: In some cases one must abbreviate.
This is for [lady sybil]...
Estie: Is there any reason for the transvestites?
Beccy: No. No there is not
Beccy: its all going wrong i dont know what to do, everything is in tattters *sobs*
Estie: My breathe smells like onion
Beccy: what do you mean, was the virgin mary statue actually crying?
Estie: No it was just raining.
Estie: look look i washed my hair yesterday!
Beccy: no you didnt it looks greasy.
Estie: i know but its actually clean, feel it!
Beccy: gah!
Beccy: Esther your shirts on inside out.
Estie: i know.
Estie: look i have new shoes!
Beccy: what happened to the german lesbian boots?
Estie: my mum got angry and threw them away.
Beccy: your new ones look like talking alligators.
Estie: shut up!
Beccy: what do you think of my trousers.
Estie: they make you look like a bit like a whore. but theyre nice.
Beccy: what happened to you and amy talbot?
Estie: you bitched about me to her so she sent me hate mail.
Beccy:.......
Beccy: I think its time to roll a naughty cigarette Estie...
Estie: I do believe it is....
*Rolling of naughtyness commences only to be cut short by sounds of stepfather walking up the stairs*
Beccy: Shit, hide them, hide them for the love of god!
Estie: fuck, right, ok!
*it turns out to be a false alarm*
Beccy: its ok, its ok, hes gone.
Estie: Beccy, I've had an accident.
Beccy: *adopts look of weary resignation* what have you done?
Estie: I put it in my pocket and its all fallen out...
Beccy: you idiot, get it out!
*much digging into pocket*
Estie: I cant, its mixed in with all the crap!
Beccy: No, we have to get it, its my stuff!
Estie: Give you a fiver for it?
Beccy:..... ok..... wow, I'm like, a dealer.
Estie: nah. Well get on with it, I want a smoke!
Well what else is there to say about my darling Estie, my dear sweet Adolf... Apart from:
*to a discordant melody* she likes to make cheeeeeese, but not really cos she doesnt have the thiiiiiings.
Also...
Estie: 'I dont like the moral highground, its too far up and it makes me feel sick'
Beccy: 'Morality makes me nauseous'
*hysterical laughter*
Dont even attempt to understand, it is in your own best interest!
An announcement darlings: i am no longer to be referred to as weird and scruffy. from this day forth i am quirky and dishevelled! so there.
Right, a small addition for a great buddy of mine [Miss Demeanours] (long may she live in just a general state of fantabulousnes
Setting: An odd little local just down the road, the lovely cazz's birthday, a cold wintery night. The perverts are comfortably far away at the bar, the face hat is hanging provocatively upon a coat rack, just asking to be stolen (one day, one day...)
Beccy: Cazz youve got to stop looking at that (she refers to a mechanical santa chasing a mechanical snowman on fake christmas scene)
Cazz: But its just so addictive
Beccy: What would happen if you knocked one of them down?
Cazz: I dont know (knocks one of them down)
We both stare entranced by the following events...
Beccy: (laughing hysterically) look its just wacking into the poor bastard.
Cazz: yeah take that bitch, eh!
Beccy: you want that again bitch, eh!
Cazz (kung fu noise) eh!... We should probably go.
Beccy: yes I think that would be wise.
“We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.”
Dream a little dream of me
And I'll dream a little dream of thee
And have and hold
Its truth
And fold
Its meaning close
Its echoe tight
When all is dark and all is night.
They say, best men are moulded out of faults; And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad.
Ooh, pretty butterfly!
Had to be pasted from profile for memory's sake.
*wimper* The oneself is become increasingly aware of what a tangled muddle all of this oddidty is, there is no linear way through it, unless you count the inevitable movement that one makes through time from birth to death, but then surely that would be applying a visual notion to an abstract one. Time doesnt have a direction, each moment layers on top of the last one, by gum I wish I could fathom the fourth dimension instead of trying to tidy it up into comprehendible phrases.
*MELTING*
But yes, life is like an acid trip, rolled out into a flat sheet and then folded like millefuile pastry. I love this late teenage tendency to question life and its complexities, it's much more interesting than mortgages and other such annoyences... I suppose those are necessary. Unless one chooses to run far away to some culture that does not run along such strict pathways.
Beefy: Why is there no moss?
Lampy: Why for it is dry beefy.
Beefy: You make consecutive noises that I understand.
Lampy: Meep merp Badup Comsui.
Beefy: I often don't understand that language.
Lampy: Ionic suprise mess-up.
Beefy: You have made nonsense of those words.
Lampy: We exist separately.
Tune into Beefy and Lampy for more nuggets of wisdom next time.
Oh dear, large chunks of my memory are disappearing. If I just remembered when and where I bought that tobacco I would be fine. It's not as if it's a big thing, but it is!!!
And then once upon a time someone tried to write a clever introduction that played with the way literary tradition has approached the beginning (particularly in folk tales).
Ahem.
Spider situations. You sit in the middle of a complicated web of other spiders... But then realise that you are in the interesting position of being both predator and prey. You levitate (in your spider mind) above it all and think (with your spider mind) how to approach, how to plan your attack and defence strategy. Then you come to the conclusion that perhaps you are not a spider, but a bacteria, existing en masse with many others of your species. You do not share a conciousness, but you share a same purpose. Subsequently reflect back on your metaphor and begin to assess it meditating on the fact that if you extend it, it will crumble and become inaccurate.
But you need a metaphor for some reason.
Oh dear, it has been a while since my last installent, dreadfully sorry my adoring multitides (HA HA!).
Good gosh, I can't possibly communicate how odd the last few months have been. It is as if reality has decided it will try origami for a while.
Silly silly, origami is only for odd people.
Anyhoo who cares? I am now officaily employed! And I get paid and everything. Shame money is the root of all evil and all that.
Lordy I wish to be far away, or at least in the presence of someone who I can adore. That's the bloody thing, being able to adore. If only.
Love to Sarah and Estie and Eleanor and Mikey and Vez and Amy and Cazz and Jenny and that special someone who remains far from view. Oh so far. God bless.
Social endeavor is a tricky beast, one that must be tamed!
Especially during the holiday season, twould be lovely to see more of some people, but then I suppose if you cant, that has to be let go. When friends and relationships change and regenerate that can be sad, but life is not static, it is constantly transient. Transience is both creative and destructive.
I partly long for the great Before, but then I know that that is gone. Maybe if I knew when Before was and what it was made of then letting go of it would be easier. But then Now is not so bad, I know a great deal of scrummy people and that should be appreciated. I want to put everyone in a great big box because then I would know what is going on. Garg, control freakery.
Its the damn holidays that's what it is. It's nice to be able to make your own plans, or just spend the day dreaming of this that and the other, but school lends structure. Its not the structure that's good, it's having something that's always there however much you stray from it. The straying is the best part:)
Holidays are interesting for people people, there are lots of new persons to be met, which is wonderful (love to Jules and Joe and Amy), but sustaining contact with the amazing people who are already in your life sometimes wavers. There's nothing like spending time with people who know you inside out, too inside out! And sometimes that just doesn't happen, but that's what school is for I suppose.
Anyway, have a fab time Reading crew, damn you all!
Why oh why the bloody scenic route?
Days seem strange at the moment, full of little things, little tasks to keep me occupied from moment to moment. There is so much to do, but it is as if I am afraid that doing it will destabilise the status quo. The days are links on a chain and the moments of the day tiny beads.
Full of thoughts and musings that never seem to materialise properly into activity.
I suppose I would make a fantastic bored housewife, with my endless capacity for creating things to be done, my staggering ability to be absorbed in necessary but not fulfilling activities and my vast potential for complacent boredom. Ah, see, even in my vaguely depressing nuggets of reflection I manage to insert an effective little literary device:
That was a 'rule of three', in this case breaking a subject down into three aspects, each section of the sentance structured in the same way, adhering to a common pattern of description, to create a statement of impact.
Clever clever, welcome darlings to the highlight of my day.
Actually it has been a good day, don't listen to my silly indulgences. It has been a day of enjoyable conversation, constructive reflection and amusing, although embaressing incidents, that will in the future make for slight but entertaining anecdotes*. Bravo, bravo indeed.
Anyhoo, this won't do at all, I have a great deal of time to waste and I just don't feel that it is being wasted to its full potential here, writing is after all an Activity; in fact for many it is a career. Therefore what else is there to say other than farewell?
*Pattern of three, yes, yes its true, I am almost intolerably lame. I however prefer to think I am a goddess of cool. Oh shut up. No don't worry that was to myself.
The bars are up again and although the light sneakypeaks its way through, unfortunately people are too molecular... They will have to stay at a distance and observe what lets itself meander out.
A shame indeed, the day is cold and skin is warm.
But at least the true cold may not come in.
Il fumo ucide dammit, IL FUMO UCIDE!!
Oh but its good.
Trash lovely, oh so lovely
Fly from where you are and take me
up abovely.
See me through a rain trickled window and think thank god there's glass between us,
A damp barrier, solidly and chemically seperated by a cunning muddle of strategically placed molecules.
Hand against the glass, thinking like you, to see myself from a distant place.
Let me walk past the glass sheet,
obviosly discreet.
Bothered.