Heart of the Dragon

It's Not Juno's Fault!!!!

2008-09-03T05:23:00.000-07:00

Juno was the second film I ever saw in the pictures with Donnie (the first was I Am Legend, but well, I can't remember a thing of it, enough said). So that was probably about February. It came out on DVD months ago...

So why does the bloody price not come down ANYWHERE?!?!?!? In fact, I've only seen the price go up since it was released! WHY?!?!

Part of me thinks it's because of all these wee teeny-boppers who keep getting pregnant. Like the dozen or something that are all now expecting in some school in the states. Like no-one wants to lower the price because it might make more teenagers pregnant! As if teenagers need another reason to have sex.

I don't want a baby, I want Juno on DVD. In fact, a baby is that last thing I want. I just want to see a good film again. I so think someone should rant and start a petition. I want Juno on DVD and I don't want to pay £20 for it!

Back to Normality

2008-09-03T04:54:00.000-07:00

I'm starting to really miss uni. Summer's been good, what with my mini-adventures with Donnie Darko and all. But my mind's starting to dry up. I want to get back to learning and a push to write again. I miss the old crew, sitting in Modernism, sending notes back and forth to the Flirty Femme, while the NinjaPirate reads Batman graphic novels under the desk.

Donnie got all his uni registration stuff in while we were having a lazy day on Monday. He goes back to uni a week before me, which means I will have a week of being absolutely bored out my skull.

Finally managed to arrange a day to see Miss Kitty. I've missed her something fierce, will be good to see her again. Due to my shitty work changing my hours and not giving me any extra shifts, I'm extreeeeeemely skintola so an Orange Wednesday we shall have. Donnie winds me up because whenever I've had a few drinks I tend to rant about how much I miss Miss Kitty and repeatedly trying to phone her at 2 in the morning.

I just want back to uni, get into my classes and get back to normal. Classes in the morning, friends for lunch, studying in the afternoon and Donnie in the evening. That will be brilliant.

Degree year, and it's getting a bit scary. Am determined to work my ass off this year. I really do want to learn and study properly this year. I know I could've done better last year, I was lazy at the beginning of the year and it was too late to pick it up after Christmas. At least I'm rid of Sociology. I hated everything about that class. It just sucked and I know I didn't bother to try in there. But now, it's English all the way and I can't wait.

Finally signed up for the uni theatre group, too. I'm willing to do all the really shitty jobs, like running for props and painting scenery, just to get into the theatre and see how things happen.

I just want back to uni now.

In Other News...

2008-08-24T15:16:00.001-07:00

Today I met Nicholas Brendan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I met Xander.

And yes, he did the snoopy dance.

And Now For Something Completely Different...

2008-08-24T15:02:00.000-07:00

The page stared at me and I stared back. We had nothing to say to each other. Like that awkward first date, when your head goes blank and erases all those conversations you used to fantasize about. As for my imagination, it left me along with my confidence in this project...

No. Wait a minute. That's not how it happened. Let's rewind.

Ten pages of notes and a spare page for a writing soundtrack write themselves across two sittings. A new novel maps itself out before my eyes, as I fiddle with its knots and file down its sharp edges. Around a thousand words of actual text fall onto a new file on Microsoft Word.

Only problem...this wonder-novel has no name yet.

Curious, very curious.

Back to work and enough of this blogging malarkay...

Recognition

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

I stared at the little gold star until I realised that I hadn't blinked in what seemed like a long time. It floated on the page. On the spot where the boring red button should be. A tiny gold star amongst the thirty-eight other boring buttons and the hundreds of boring red buttons I've ever had. A gold star. Shining. Shining for me.

For quite a while, I squeaked and bounced and squealed. Three years and I finally get a nod. It's a nod from the geek community and I feel alive and proud. Proud of my geekery and comic book obsession and the unhealthy amount of escapism I write.

In a month, my popularity on the site, where I keep my little library, has rocketed. I've had more comments recently than I have in a year. People gush and praise me in their comments. I don't know how to react and reply with a simple "Thank you for your time!" On a site with over 31, 000 featured writers and artists, I discovered that I'm ranked number 500.

Holy shit.

http://www.elfwood.com/libr/a/n/angelemmie/angelemmie.html - if you're curious.

I didn't even think that the story that sparked all this, was worth even uploading. I almost didn't. In fact, I didn't even check straight away if anyone had read it because the site moderators had rejected two other pieces I'd tried to post. Two other pieces that I thought were much better. One was rejected because it had the words "Oh shi..." - not shit, but "oh shi..." - and the other because the level of violence was too high for a PG-13 site.

But they thought a story where a girl was burnt with a branding iron in a sick marriage ceremony was worth of a Highlight of the Day.

Hell, I ain't complaining!

Here We Go Again...

2008-06-10T09:40:00.000-07:00

Gut-wrenching agony, empty my stomach into a toilet in Borders...

I have to calm down.

New Lows

2008-06-06T17:55:00.000-07:00

Went to see Macbeth with Donnie last night. We spent a fair chunk of it trying to work out what language two of the three witches were speaking (concluded it may have been Gaelic), trying to work out how we could sneak the poor girl on the ladder some Haribo, and screaming "Oh my god, it's the NinjaPirate!" whenever MacDuff came onstage. It was a student production and only £4 a ticket and turned out to be a really good night. Then I took Donnie back home and he subjected me to Scream.

Anyway...the moral of this tale...as we sat, drinking, in our usual Glasgow haunt, Donnie listened to me babble on about theatre in general and I told him all my dumbass dreams. I want to join the uni theatre group, even to do the really shitty jobs at first, painting sets, running props, being an extra, the understudy. Anything just to get me involved with the workings of the theatre. He played with my hair and didn't laugh as I told him how I wanted to write. I want to adapt Dorian Gray for the stage. I'd love to turn Moulin Rouge into a huge West-End production. And even talking about how one of Donnie's films would work on a stage.

Today, after taking the Wee Bro round town and telling Granny M that it was Granny S who went to see Neil Diamond last night and NOT me, I opened up the file I saved my own little play under. It looks quite good to scan over, makes me go "Ooooh, I'm a playwright!" So I started to read it over, shoving in a new character I'd come up with, typing up the busker's set list, adjusting some dodgy lines, then I got to as far as I'd typed and saw this at the bottom:

Scene not finished, cause am a lazy wench.

I kid you not. I have sunk to insulting myself. Charming.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow...Something, Something...

2008-06-03T09:41:00.000-07:00

Exams finished on Friday. I'm aware that was 5 days ago and still no substantial blog. Stop scowling, peeps, I know, I suck...

Well, so does your face...

Anyway...

May was quite possibly the longest month I have ever experienced. That's a bit of a lie, I've had some pretty terrible months in my lifetime but this was pretty sucky, nonetheless. I took on my usual exam-time lifestyle as a hermit, locking myself away and pouring every ounce of energy into learning about Felicity Hemans, James Joyce, Karl Marx and how having sex with a goat can have a negative effect on the family unit. I actually fell asleep on my books one night. Head at the foot of my bed, copy of Tess of the D'Urbervilles lying open and a thing purple fleece draped over my sleeping body. The Mammy did not approve of that when she came in to say bye in the morning.

Romanticism and Modernism exam went okay. Plus I go to see my much missed comrades, the Random Kitty-Cat and the Astonishing Ninja-Pirate. Managed to grab a whole 2 hours with Donnie that day. Quick meal in dimaggio's, into Borders for books for studying, then straight home and into the books.

Social Theory was horrible. I wrote 3/4 of a page for Karl Marx. The communists should arrive to kill me any day now. Saw Miss Kitty that day too, which was brilliant 'cause I hadn't spent any time with her for AGES. She caught me up on Kitty-life. I cut myself with a hoover. Man, you're becoming one of THEM. I know. The emo-kids are gonnae get you! I'd missed her something rotten and when I get paid next, I'm going to steal her away for a girl day. Donnie met us in Starbucks and the three of us adjourned to a trip to Fopp and Forbidden Planet. The mocked me in Dolby Surround Sound. I did not appreciate it.
Lesson of the Day: do NOT go see Indiana Jones. It's DIRE.

Power went not too badly. I managed to somehow waffle about prostitutes and drugs and Red Bull and Iran. Don't even ask. Straight back home to study my ass off.

Drama, Theatre and Film was a sham. It's been over a year since I had an actual panic attack and I was quite proud of that fact. Not anymore. The invigilators were total bastards, being all Hitlerish about what you could and couldn't have in the books you took in. I started to sweat. Then the last section of the paper was a disaster. As a result, I had to go to the toilet in the middle of the exam and was violently ill. More ill than I have been in a long time. In fact, last time I was like that, would have been those Sunday mornings when I used to meet the bastard and I'd worry about what kind of mood he would be in that day. Thank fuck those days are gone. Anyway, in the toilet, emptying my stomach contents, still trying to think of the ways in which Shaplin manages to represent gender issues as well as a critique on America's military in Pugilist Specialist. Back into the hall, feeling a bit better, get my second essay finished and onto section three. Then the ill-feeling hit again. Stomach cramps, panics, flushing, erratic breathing. Fuck. Adrenaline got me through that exam and I finished a full 40 minutes before the end. Back into the toilet. Bloody hell. Get myself home, back into my own toilet. Gather up my stuff, then straight to Donnie's for the weekend.

The weekend went pretty well. Dinner for Mrs Donnie's 50th on Friday night. Do my best to impress the family, nerves still shot to hell, Donnie holding my hand and telling me that I'm doing great and, no, I haven't got mascara panda eyes. Talked to his Grandad about Hamlet for ages and felt a lot better, talking about my field, taking my shitty theatrical performance from the morning and turning it into real knowledge. Everybody was really nice to me and talked to me and, generally, included me, which was great. Head back to Donnie's, where we have a quiet drink together, and let the madness of the day slip away.

Saturday night, drinks with the Dirty Dancer, laughed harder than I ever have, without a doubt. Penguins on Parade, haircuts and loosely-hanging shirts. Drank more than I'd intended, with the measures varying with every round. Decided it was a good idea to phone Miss Kitty at 3am. Donnie assured me that it wasn't. Text her instead, declaring that I'm tipsy and she's awesome and that David Bowie rules. Also wanted to text CSI's girlfriend to make her make him cut his hair. I didn't. However, Dirty Dancer decided that the best idea would be for him to phone her and scream down the phone at her "Hellooooooooo! You have no idea who I am! Mwahahahahahahahahahaha!" Or at least phone one of us and scream "Hellooooooo! You have every idea who I am! Mwahahahahahahaha!" As I sat on Donnie's knee, I laughed until the point where no noise came out, but instead, I shook and occasionally ommitted a high-pitched squeak, which made him laugh even harder. At 4am, Dirty Dancer finally left, screaming "Goodbyyyyyyyeeeeeee! Mwahahahahahaha!" as the sun rose behind him.

Sunday morning, I woke up with Donnie mumbling, "Your ear is imprinted on my arm," before pulling me in close and nodding off again.

Music is the Victim...

2008-06-02T10:11:00.001-07:00

I've started writing a play. It's not exactly Shakespeare and certainly not study-worthy, but might be worth a watch, I hope. I've managed a scene and a half, but I don't know if I like it yet. It's one of these things, when you know you're onto a good idea but you're fucked if it's even going to work.

At least it has a title and a reasonable structure. Fingers crossed that this time next year, it'll have reached a stage.

The Internet is Boring...

2008-05-25T13:43:00.000-07:00

...and I haven forgotten how to blog...

...and the NinjaPirate's blog layout makes my eyes wiggle if I read it for too long...

...and the Random Kitty-Cat's blog mad e me do stupid quizzes for half a bloody hour...

...I should be studying Lukes' theory of power.

Amaranth

2008-05-25T13:30:00.000-07:00

She stands on a mountain top, watching the wind beat the snow against the rock. Her world lies out before her and she rules it all...

1602 Reprise

2008-05-06T09:01:00.000-07:00

Gave in and ordered Neil Gaiman's 1602 from Forbidden Planet's website. Why, when I have no money?!

Also ordered Alan Moore's Writing For Comics, which is something I would love to do and is dotted somewhere in my list of 'Life Goals.' That and script a computer game, have films made of my books and altogether try and write in as many possible media as I can.

But, more to the point...

WHY DO I KEEP BUYING THINGS!!!!

On a plus, Free Comic Book day was last week so I don't need to go buy any more comic books.

YAY!

Coraline

2008-05-04T15:52:00.000-07:00

Months ago I paid £40 for a signed copy of Coraline. That means that Neil Gaiman has touched it. I am not a freak. He is my hero, I'm allowed to get excited. It's also signed by Dave McKean, who is also a very cool guy. But I digress...

While waiting for Donnie to get home from work last night (yes, I am that sad that I can't sleep until I know he's home safe), I picked up the book, thinking, I'll just read a little. Just to keep me awake...

103 pages down the line, I realised it was 2am and I was working at 9:45 the next morning. Frantically, I put my book down and buried my face into my pillow.

Then came the moment where I had to decide whether or not it was safe enough to take my £40-touched-by-my-hero copy of the book to work. Wrapping it in a Forbidden Planet bag to protect it from rain, marks and other such disasters (!), I placed it carefully in my bag. Come my lunch hour, I hurried my KFC and washed my hands (to avoid smudges and smears, of course!), then settled down with the dark and mysterious world of Coraline.

I nearly cried when my lunchbreak came to an end and I was only 12 pages from the end. Then the bloody bus got through every light and almost nobody got on or off, thus getting me home in about 10 minutes for the first time ever. It took me until after the dinner dishes were cleared away to finally get my last 5 pages read and finally close over the hardback cover, placing the book back into the safety of my bookshelf.

Awesome book. It has the quality of a children's story but the depth and darkness of an adult mind. Gaiman is a genious when it comes to tone and atmosphere, as I'm forever trying to tell my tutoring kids. Every sentence feels rich yet never overdone. The scene with the children in the mirror was a piece of beauty and the pages in the theatre had me genuinely scared.

It was somewhat reminiscent of MirrorMask in places, what with the whole parody of reality idea and the young female heroine with mother issues, but still gorgeous. Again, the Dave McKean art present in both.

The film comes out this year or next over here, I can't remember, but Henry Selick is directing; the man who brought Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas to life and did a fantastic job at it. It looks like it's going to be awesome and seems like there might be a 3D version of it, which I very much want to see since I missed 3D Beowulf.

Anywho...will no doubt be reporting more when I hear more.

Trailer can be seen above and it looks gorgeous. That is because NEIL GAIMAN IS A GENIOUS AND I HEART HIS BRAIN.

I Don't Believe that Anybody Feels the Way I Do About You Now

2008-05-02T14:56:00.000-07:00

"Aha! Well I have 4 forfeits so get on with it!"
"AHA! I have 23!"
"Shut up and do it, man!"
*shocked face*
"AND STOP DOING THAT RIGHT NOW!"
"But it's a great face!"
"No, it's not! Now get to it!"

Laughing and shaking his head, he picks up the guitar and messes with some chords. Plays a few notes and asks me Turned on yet?! I shake my head, grinning, lying reclined on his bed, with my chin resting on my hands, watching his fingers dance. What about now? Only a little. He grins and gets up, raiding his desk for a capo and Teeheehee-ing as he fixes it to the frets. I know exactly what he's doing but ask anyway, to which he replies another Teeheehee.

Months ago, I told him that this song makes me melt. That it sends a pleasurable shiver up my spin and straight back down. It's one of these songs that paints a picture of kissing by candlelight in my head. It's one of my "sex songs". You know those songs that are just made to make love to?

He places the plectrum between his teeth - which I instantly remove, because I know he'll choke himself - and starts to pick away at the strings.

Wonderwall by Ryan Adams.

I'd like to tell you I smile coolly and just nod along but I don't. I lie back and close my eyes, teeth resting on my bottom lip. My body quakes and I look up at him. His eyes rest on the guitar then he turns away, staring off into space. I try to imagine what he's thinking as my feet slide up his headboard and my knees tremble. Words dance around my head and I have to stop myself from singing along because I swore I'd never let him hear my awful singing voice. I don't want the moment to end and my body heats up as he plays; the sound of the strings and the sight of him playing, driving me wild.

The song draws to a close and he stops, one hand slipping from the guitar to touch my face, fingertips tracing my cheekbones, my jaw, my lips.

"Well, you turned on now?"
"Teeheehee."
"What're you like?"
"Wanting you terribly right now..."

What's New Pussycat?

2008-04-30T13:43:00.000-07:00

I met with Miss Kitty yesterday for coffee (hot chocolate, of course). She brimmed with pride as she offered me a cookie with Oreos that she had made herself. She's a clever cookie with her clever cookies and I realise how much I'd missed out on as she catches me up with her Kitty-shaped life. I smile as she dips her cookie into her coffee and I gulp my hot chocolate and build myself up to the trip to Borders' Narnia-esque toilet. I recite the bathroom code in an American accent like the Starbucks man once told me and Miss Kitty laughs that oh-my-crazy-friend-Emma-when-will-she-ever-learn-to-be-normal laugh and it makes me laugh as I disappear to find Mr Tumnus in the ladies.

Later, we venture out into the rain for our trip to the writers' group. It's torrential. I mean torrential. We scramble under one tiny, rusted brolly, asses sticking out either end, soaking through. Poor Miss Kitty's boots fill up, due to her lack of trouser leg and my jeans wrap tightly around my ankles, ruining my guitar shoes.

Above us the sky flashes purple. Frikkin' awesome.

Tiny Moments That Made Me Smile Today...

2008-04-28T06:45:00.000-07:00

1) The fact that the Astonishing NinjaPirate didn't flinch as I pulled down the neck of his t-shirt, untucked his label and took a mental note of his t-shirt size.

2) That he walked me down the hill to see my advisor of studies and didn't mind when she wasn't in and he'd walked all that way for nothing.

3) Waking to a text from Donnie - about a magical, musical bakery where the baker wears nothing but an apron - that he'd sent me while I was asleep.

4) Making a date with Miss Kitty. I miss her.

1602

2008-04-28T06:42:00.000-07:00

The smell of the book drove me crazy. Holding it in my hands, I could feel his influence radiating from it. The words, the story, his voice whispering in my ear as I read. I need him. I want him...

I flip over the cover. £12.99. £12.99 that I can't afford. Damn you Neil Gaiman, start writing books for free.

Waiting For Tonight...

2008-04-27T15:28:00.000-07:00

I don't like Sunday nights anymore. Or Saturday nights. They're boring. The hour between 11 and 12 crawls in. The minutes after 12 go even slower.

I do stupid things to make my night pass. I endure the Mammy playing WiiFit, I make chocolate crispy cakes, I watch Sex and the City, I read old emails, reply to Bebo messages, blog pointlessly, catch up on my wonderful friends' blogs and learn who's skinny and who's skint and who's nervous and who's still hooked on French cinema.

I read Woolf and Hemans and Carter. I berate myself for not going to the library sooner. I pick out a notebook from the scores and plan a day of writing in my favourite secret Costas. Or I decide instead to sit, alone, at our usual table in Borders, letting the surrounding books inspire.

I work out what I'm going to say to my advisor of studies as I try to salvage the disaster that will be 3rd year. Options slipping away and possibilities perching themselves on high shelves my short arms won't ever reach.

I force myself to focus on the real goal. Picture magazines and journals and anthologies. Onto a novel, a trilogy, a series. A short, a film. Imagination spirals and I try to let it wander. Wander. Wander... Please wander... Why won't you fucking wander!!!!

Time check.

11:50pm

Time hates me.

Why Do Trains Wiggle the Most When I Feel Rough?

2008-04-26T14:41:00.000-07:00

The world spins around me and my stomach bubbles angrily. Brain smashes against my skull, screeching to get out. Bury my head into the pillow and groan as the light blinds me. Donnie passes me my requested cup of tea and sips his coffee slowly. Milk and two? he asks, knowing that he's got it right, as he always does, but asking anyway, as he always does. Pushes my hair away from my sticky forehead and laughs quietly at me.

"I'm sorry sweetheart."
"Don't worry, we've all been there."

Whispers of Don't fall asleep, as my body twitches into slumber. The vomit heeds my mental warnings and retreats away from my burning throat. The duvet is warm around my bare shoulders and I curl up, transforming into a even tinier creature, disappearing into Donnie's chest. Several times he asks You okay? and I grumble an Uh-huh, pulling his arm tighter as I remember where I am. It's nice to wake up here.

"Oh God, I want to die."
"No you don't."
"If you really care about me, you'll kill me."
"Yeah, sure."
"I'd kill you if you asked me to!"
"Wow...erm...thanks, I guess. I'm so pleased."
"So you should be."

In this dreamy, little world, my phone buzzes. Miss Kitty reports her latest culinary creation and I try to fight back the nausea despite how frikkin' awesome her cookies sound. I try to reply myself but my headache makes my eyes fuzz and instead I throw it at Donnie and he replies for me. In my bed of pain, I smile as my best friend and my boyfriend throw mad texts between each other and I realise that I don't feel so bad.

Things are getting so much better.

Black Eyes and Red Belts...

2008-04-26T13:51:00.000-07:00

Laughs and smiles and stories I've never heard. Hand squeezes my knee as a private joke is whispered in his eyes. Friends shake their heads and we leave for another bar. Coctails flowing as a fly buzzes above us. CSI and I manage to ignore it while Donnie and his Best Friend, who will from here on in be known as Dirty Dancer, waved their hands and looked like they had a problem. After two Carrie Bradshaw moments, we trundle down the road. Collect the rest of the mad squad and we eventually all manage to find somewhere to adjourn.

Carnivale Chris and Big Red laugh away with Dirty Dancer, Donnie and I around the table. More drinks and we're laughing ridiculously hard. Whip out my phone and snap happily away. Thrust it at Donnie and he does the same for me. Every single picture of Big Red, she seems to be attached to her straw.

It's a few hours before we finally settle into the Cathouse.

I haven't spent enough time with the Astonishing NinjaPirate lately, so it was a joy to see him waiting at the top of the stairs for us. He greets Donnie with a manly greeting and throws his arms around me, swinging me round, legs in the air. I've missed him terribly. He makes me hold onto his coat ticket, me being the Mammy figure again. And then we all rush upstairs and another round is bought.

Dancing and drinks and photos I can't exactly remember being taken. Dirty Dancer takes me dirty dancing, grabbing my hips and pulling me against him, as I scream the lyrics of whatever buzzing song is thumping through my ears.

Big Red takes my hand and in a blink, it's her I'm wiggling with now. Another flash and I'm bouncing with the NinjaPirate and then, in a Southern Comfort haze, I'm back to softly swaying in Donnie Darko's arms.

The night draws to a close and it's time for me to go home. Head for my coat and suddenly remember that I have the Astonishing NinjaPirate's ticket. I try to remember which is mine and throw it at Donnie, babbling for him to pass it on. He promises he will and helps me on with the bright red thing I had worn out. We laugh and push each other about, him winging about me leaving, me just muttering for him to shut up. We kiss goodbye and say It again. It makes me grin widely, splitting my drunken face in half, and he sweeps my hair away from my black eyes. I head down the seemingly steep stairs, throwing back another glance to see Donnie, watching me walk away, skirt sweping about my legs as I vanish out the door.

16 Tracks on a Mixed CD

2008-04-22T05:37:00.000-07:00

1) A Place Called Home * PJ Harvey
She doesn’t know if she’s doing the right thing. It seemed so easy when they had done all the planning. But now, looking around her bedroom, which would be frozen in time from this moment on, it seemed…complicated. Her parents, her job, school. All of it heavy on her young shoulders. Was it really worth it? A stone hit the windowpane. Crossing the room, she pulled the window open before leaning out. There, in the midnight darkness, he stood, smiling and waiting for her. In a glance, everything became clear. Throwing her bag down, he caught it before it hit the lawn, she climbed out the window and down the drainpipe. He helped her at the bottom and kissed her hard. They took hands and walked towards his car, as he leaned in and whispered One day, there’ll be a place for us.

2) Bleeding For the Cure * Entwine
I don’t like the way it feels against my skin but I like the way it makes me feel inside. I’m afraid, so very afraid of what will become of me, but, for now, it sets me free.

3) Burn * The Cure
Every night, he keeps a photo of her on the pillow next to him. Pulling the sheets in tighter, he pictures her sleeping, only inches away from him. Some nights, he sprays a bottle of her old perfume on the bedclothes, making her that little bit more real. He seldom cries, but when he does, they’re heart-wrenching sobs that leave him. It makes him vomit and he’s starting to get thinner. Every night he calls her name, wishing that it might wake her up and she’ll come back to him. Back to him, back to bed, back to making love first thing in the morning, back to holding him as he falls asleep at night. But she won’t wake and he knows that she will always sleep. So, he’ll lie alone in his empty double bed, waiting for the world to end.

4) English Girls Approximately * Ryan Adams
I passed her on a busy New York street. She was strumming on an old guitar, playing even older British rock songs. Her wispy, light brown hair poked out from under a scruffy hat and her scarf kept getting tangled around her wrist as she played. There was nothing particularly special about her but she stopped me in my tracks. I stood there in my $800 suit and listened to this street for another four songs. I even listened intently to her tuning up for a Rolling Stones track. It wasn’t until my cell rang that I realised how long I’d been standing there. I flustered and dropped a twenty amongst the nickels and dimes in her guitar case and she winked, shouting Wow! Cheers, mate! instead of singing the next line of the Queen song she was playing. I answered my phone but forgot to speak, still watching her as I walked away. I watched her for the next 3 days and then she was gone.

5) Face Down * Red Jumpsuit Apparatus
It takes her an hour to do her make-up these days. The foundation takes the longest, smoothing gingerly over the bruises, wincing as she feels the agony of the hairline fracture on her cheekbone. She’s taken to purple and blue eyeshadow lately and her eyeliner grows progressively heavier. He pretends not to notice.

6) Hotel California * The Eagles
The lights on the sign outside weren’t working. The “O” and the “T” of “HOTEL” kept fading out the blinking back on again. I rushed out of the rain and into the darkened lobby. A woman stood at the reception, a strange smile at her lips, flickering like the lights outside. Wide, angled eyes watched me as I handed over my Visa, and she lingered her fingers over mine as she took it. I looked at her face and her smile flashed on again. The she lit up a candle and she showed me the way. All down the black corridors, I was sure I could her voices singing.

7) Maria * Blondie
My sister is the coolest girl in the world. Like everybody loves her and she’s the most awesome-est person ever. When I’m as old as she is, we can go to all these, like, really cool parties together and everyone will know my name, the same way, like, everyone knows hers. And when it comes to guys; well, guys love my sister. That’s ‘cause she’s, like, really pretty. I mean, she’s beautiful. You’ve got to see her. She’s amazing. But she acts like she’s not, which is totally cool. She moves like she doesn’t even care, just oblivious to how awesome she is. One day, that’ll be me. One day, I’ll be just like Maria.

8) Now or Never * Josh Groban
In his head, they would be awake for the sunrise, watching it together. But instead, he let her sleep. Her head on his arm, he swept her hair away from her face and watched the morning dawn upon her skin.

9) Ocean Soul * Nightwish
She was never meant for the land. Should have heeded the old witch’s warnings and stayed in the sea. Stayed with her sisters, stayed with her father, instead of chasing after some prince. Broken hearted, she stood on the deck, feet bloody and mouth empty where her tongue should have been. She let the knife fall from her hand. Hadn’t even been able to save herself. What a fool she had been. Dawn was nearing. It looked so beautiful as the sun rose over the sea and she gave in, becoming nothing but foam on the waves.

10) On Call * Kings of Leon
He sat by the phone, waiting for her to call. He had tried sending some kind of psychic energy to make it ring but it just wasn’t happening. Twice, insurance companies had given him false hope and even his uncle had broken his heart. She had to call, she said she would, she had to, she had to…The phone rang again…He held his breath, deflated…It was her.

11) Pretty Girl * Sugarcult
I didn’t want to get like this again. I swore I never would. But then he kisses me and I surrender. I just can’t help myself.

12) Take it Easy * The Eagles
He walks along the roadside, the hot afternoon sun beating down on him. Another swig from his water bottle and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The roads were quiet and he felt good, walking and walking until he could forget what he’d left behind him. The sound of a car engine roared in the distance behind him, getting louder until a girl in a convertible slowed to drive alongside him. She lowered her shades and eyed him up and down. With a laugh, she gave him the nod and he climbed in. Driving down the road, top down, they let the radio do all the talking.

13) The Beautiful People * Marilyn MansonThey look like conveyor belt dolls. Fully poseable and available in a variety. Cheap and easy to get. Grab yours today.

14) The Diary of Jane * Breaking Benjamin
It was a forbidden place, which made it more appealing. Its gilt edged pages, bound in cheap leather. He’d been with her when she’d bought it. It knew his touch, he’d paid for it. It wanted to be read. It wanted his eyes upon in. It was screaming his name. Desperately, he took it in his hands, and let the pages fall open. But he was nowhere to be found. Not even a passing mention. And suddenly, he knew his place. Seething, he started to tear out the pages by the handful.

15) What Would Happen * Meredith Brooks
My husband would kill me if he found out.

16) When the World Ends * Dave Matthews Band
People started to evacuate helplessly. But they stayed in bed. Only candles lit the room and they kept the curtains open so that they could watch it happen. They were only touching when the black rains came, holding one another intimately as the few who were left outside screamed through the burning. When the mountains crumbled, they were kissing, lips exploring flesh and bodies. As the ground opened up, they were moving together, legs entangles, hands held tightly, panting, gasping, moaning. And as the world went black, they lay wrapped in one another’s arms.

Sapere Aude Act II

2008-04-21T09:29:00.000-07:00

In my books, I follow a general rule: If you can't fix it, don't moan about it. But right now, I'm extremely close to shredding the rule and writing a new one.

Something is royally pissing me off. I know I could fix it but I can't. If information is the key, the someone is dangling my key in front of me on a piece of string, then jerking it just out of reach of my fingers everytime I think I have it.

I wish I didn't know what I do. But I'm glad I don't feel the wretched fear in my belly anymore when there was the worry of old ghosts back to suck the life out of me. So I'm glad that I know but it just really leaves me angry.

Because now I have this thing and I can't do anything about it.

Not yet anyway.

At work the other week, Ladies' Man was telling me how, in some other company, there was this guy stealing gift cards filled with cash for months and Loss Prevention knew about it the whole time, but rather than just rumble him straight away, they let him continue. Months down the line, they had built up a portfolio of evidence after watching him swindle over £700 from the company. This evidence gave them a solid case in court and they totally wiped the floor with the thieving shite. So sometimes it is worth the wait.

Therefore, for now, I'm biding my time and collecting all the proof I need.

Sapere Aude - I Dare to Know

Diana of the Forest.

2008-04-21T09:02:00.000-07:00

I'm in a forest, walking through the trees, fingers brushing the mossy bark as I pass, feeling the life of the tree beneath my touch. Sunlight filters through the branches above my head, lighting me up in stripes like a tiger. Keeping on the balls of my feet, I stalk through the undergrowth, dead, fallen leaves whispering words of warning under each step I take.

The morning air is cold and still beneath the canopy, more shadow than light. No wind moves here and all is quiet. I am barefoot, dressed in a simple wrap-around dyed linen dress. It hangs open around my legs, parting to let each step pass, revealing a bare leg to the cool air.

A dear stands off in the distance and I stand still and tall. Female and slender, it stares at me, elegant legs planted in the cold ground. I breathe slowly and watch its ears twitch. The animal waits. My hair hangs wild and loose around my face and as I bow to the creature, it hangs forward in untamed dark waves. I glance up through the brown curtain. The doe turns its head then sprints off away from me.

The hunt is on and I start to run...

Songs on Shuffle Mode...

2008-04-20T13:03:00.000-07:00

There's those songs that remind me of her. A few, in particular. Whenever I hear those unmistakable guitar riffs, she's in my head; arms around my waist, shifting hips in time with hers. There's a calm moment in those thoughts; a comfort that she won't let me go, at least until the song's over. I smile when she dips a pound into the jukebox because I know what she'll pick even before she does. And when those songs are on, there's nobody else there, even if it's only for four minutes. There are no worries, no gossip, no deadlines, no boys, no work. Just me, her and a music legend...Let's Dance, my dear.
Rebel Rebel * David Bowie

There's a song that sounds like summer holidays. Sitting in the car and learning the words, decades after they were penned...
Don't Stop Believing * Journey

There's a song that I scream down the phone and into her ear when she answers. I know I'm an embarrassment but I get a kick out of hearing her order me to Shut it, ya coo. There'll come a day when I won't do it and she'll miss it. I write it in her birthday card and I'll continue to do so until she gets altogether fed up with me.
Baby Jane * Rod Stewart

There's a song that I can always sing along to as badly as I like. I cannot do it any other way. And everytime I hear it, I see his face, scrunched up as he croons along. When it comes on the radio, I always smile and say That's his song, even to people who don't know him. He has a dream that one day, he'll have a band. I'm sure he will. And in my head, he'll always be singing this one.
Your Love Alone is Not Enough * Manic Street Preachers

There's this song that will always flash a photograph in my mind. Two years before its release, she's sitting on a sunlounger, magnum in one hand, Sheila O'Flanagan novel in the other and my iPod in her ears. Shouting louder than she has to, and terrifying old biddies in the next beach hut, she cries Ooh! I quite fancy this!
Rockstar * Nickelback

There's this awful song that I will always remember as the night I turned her into 'Bad Sandy.' Tell me about it...stud.
Let's Get it Started * Black-Eyed Peas

There's a song that we haven't danced to yet. He first played it to me, talking through messages, and told me how he'd like to move with me. Body to body, hip to hip. It drives me wild when I hear it now because the music sounds like him. Projections in my mind of smiles and kisses and hands sliding over my body. Its playcount on my iPod is somewhere in the 70s. A sly smile finds its way onto my face when the baseline thumps into my ears. Earphones in and I'm fighting off a giggle on the bus, daydreaming before class, drifting off on my corner of the stairs at home. It's a song that gets me through the day, bounces in my step as I walk home from uni. It helps.
A100 * Billy Corgan

Just Don't Know What to Do With Myself...

2008-04-20T12:59:00.000-07:00

I twiddle my thumbs, idly wishing away the time. My usual evening is all confused and different. Am sure there's something I could come up with but I feel a little empty. 9pm...it was 8:58 the last I checked. This is going to be a long night. What to do, what to do...