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Sep. 12th, 2010

So, I have awesome friends. Unfortunately, the world is full of bastards, but somehow this only seems to make my friends more awesome. Triumph over adversity, perhaps. 

Anyway, this is a particuarly important example of awesome, which I really think everyone should read and remember that there are laws, that they have rights, and that the world is full of bastards. And also that my friends are awesome....



Will Trade Firstborn for Libertines Tickets

Yes, seriously! You'd have to impregnate me first, but I'd be entirely willing to give you the potential fruit of my loins in exchange for two tickets to the Libertines warm-up gig at the forum. It seems like a fair exchange
I'm not normally a fan of listing my good points, but now seems like a reasonable opportunity. And, when it comes down to it, genetics have been kind.
I have a good bone structure with high cheekbones, (naturally) blonde hair and moderately large blue eyes. Even when I screw up my eating habits altogether, my body remains happily at a healthy weight which shows, if nothing else, a resilience to being fucked up. I'm intelligent enough to be doing on target for a distinction at MA level, after graduating with a first (and the highest mark in my year) in English literature at cardiff last year. I'm musical and fiercely creative, can wink with both eyes and touch my nose with my tongue! What more can you want?
So there you go... my bid is on the table and a lot more serious than it sounds. If you want to take me up on it, just let me know..
I read Cixous, and she talks of the writing process. How the drafts are more beautiful than the finished product, suspended sketches overwritten with edits, the failures making it real, language, words falling from pen to page, the process and immediacy of writing. I try to emulate her, but it is already lost. I have changed some words, rearranged the beginning, and this is a different suffusion of letters than the one in my mind. The now is history, and my attempt to grasp truth only scoops out fictions. But she makes me think, about creating. And about creating the self.

This is my old journal. It was my first journal, and while I left it briefly for sojourns to other lands, it remaind here. Sometimes I log in just to scroll through my memories of existence, and sometimes I want to fly away and leave all my history on the ground. I should create a consistent, coherent online presence, market myself to the world and its wives, but I am still in the shifting stage and perhaps not too marketable. I think I would like to prune my online life, and splice the surviving bush together, create coherency from the shards of myself scattered across the internet. I could pluck away the pieces of me that are too ugly, that feel too young, too needy, too naive.

I could. And sometimes I wonder if I should, but then I think of Cixous and her love of notebooks, and know I am drafting my life as I grow through it, splashing thoughts onto pages and scrawling notes on my reality in the margains. I don't think that I will ever grow up fully, that I will ever outgrow this growing, so I doubt my ability to produce and present a finished article, a perfectly polished word-picture of myself.

But then, what do I do? The tempation is to create a duality of self: one for the finished article and one the work in progress, though I doubt I will update the first that much. I could chase a real presentation of myself somewhere else, perhaps on twitter, and condense my failings to a small corner of the world wide web....

Or I could sit, and dither, as the world turns. Medieval society revolved around the spheres of public and private. Perhaps it should again?

Child, you Never Learn

Vanish and the world keeps spinning. Spin faster and it only seems that more happens. Spinning into different orbits doesnt halt the others as they turn. You are not the centre of the universe, and an inability to juggle as well as you would like does not send your favourite castles to sleep for a hundred until you break their spell. Besides, the music of the spheres sounds better in harmonies than as one reedy melody line. You are lucky to have so many you love, but none wait forever. A bubble only lasts a moment.

So, please, tell me something new. something old. something borrowed. something I should know. I need to reassemble the plates I was foolish enough to let fall.



Progress, Regress....

To me there is always something very satisfactory about listening to good demo's turn into better songs. This evening I returned from work and a play (or work and play, although I rather think my work might be play too) to listen to a particularly long awaited song on my equally long awaited record player (I love birthdays, don't you?) Its such an incredibly luxurious experience, somehow. The song has mellowed from when I first met and loved it, but then so has both the actual and my own, personal imagined context surrounding it. The singer's voice, meanwhile, has noticeably and beautifully matured, although I am certain that I would know it anywhere. At once I feel contented, protective, loving and overwhelmingly sad for some unknown, and probably inexplicable, reason. But then, this is how it works

The song? Scalleywag

The artist? Lily Rae

The record? Right here on the interwebs.

I think that this stanza will, somehow, always be linked to her

We keep our youth inside our dreams, and mark
Out days to remember on the calendar in the hall,
Beside the barometer, set to storms.
At times, after the autumn evening drags her footsteps
Wearily to bed and board, and
Lost, listless dreaming of a child unborn, we linger,
Beneath the hazy headlights of the Volvo parked next door
And whisper ‘she sells sea shells on the sea shore’ -
She sells the stars in packs of five outside the corner store.

...woke up just in time

A huge, huge thank you to everyone who seems to think that I'm a vaguely worthwhile person. You're all derranged, obviously, but thank you anyway!

In other news - I'm trying to be a Big, Grown Up & Intelligent person. For which purpose, as you may have noticed, I got myself a blog! I keep forgetting to use it, but I updated it yesterday with a Review and Shit, which basically consisted of a happy ramble on the Golden Compass (although the song at the end is so rubbish it beats Carl!) and I keep putting writterings up there, so go & have a look if you're bored or curious...


In reflection of which, I thought I'd do this. And, since you seem to know me quite well, ask you what you think...


shrapnel-shot existance

dear lj

I feel as though I should stay true to my new semi-resolution of using (and abusing) you by updating. Unfortunately, I am mentally exhausated. Thus...bullet points

*I went to Ireland to visit Ciara
*this was good
*One day you will probably be spammed by photographs from her cameramera
*tragically my train was Massively Delayed last night, meaning I got in about 2.30am.
*I am now a hugely sophisticated second year
*if you believe that, you'll believe anything
*Cardoff is still the best city in the world
*and english there defies all other degrees everywhere
*trufaxx machine
*the first series of the bbc robin hood was entertaining, but I'm not sold on the second yet
*I may or may not have a man
*I'm talking complete crap
*you probably know me
*this really is speaking for speech's sake. Only...silent
*how odd
* Meme. Please?
*and now back to basics
*I keep having phases of not-eating. Followed by stupid eating. ick.
*and, of course, everyone is Ageing

A twisted, languid, arabesque;

and the leaves are falling.

Old dancers, crooked, knees

knocking with arthritis, joints

crackling with age, they

leave the stage of their

halcyon days and, spinning, slowly

subside. They are not

young like some, all

supple veins and

fresh green hues, but

weathered, worn away to

golds and coppers that

stretch from view as far as

eyes can see. Each

leaves their natural stage

one by one

as seasons dance by

and summer becomes

a memory of kings of old,

passing life through earth to

something new, and buried,

by Time's sickle, in

soil with fading gold.

I know


I have not been here forever.


but, I'm bored


lets insert a


...here. okay?

Please to be a pimp? I'm a

what? how else was I going to get your attention after such a long sabatical?!...

edit: this book lj sucks. There's no porn drama



I'm posting.

Just when you all thought you were safe, too.

(Its all Ciara's fault really. Blame her meme)

Its another song lyrics for people meme, "sort of like a non-boring version of the seven things for seven people meme". And, as always, some of you lucky people get more than one... Up to four, I think...

Insert Paranoia HereCollapse )