Popeye

Ooooooooh buggeritbuggeritbuggerit! More than half my previous post vanished in my 'orrid attempts to change the font but didn't tell me till now. Gah.

I'm going to start making a list of "The Odd Little Things" wherein I shall compile all those little tidbits such as the sudden appearance of trolls on the day they were discussed or the devil walking htrough the front door only as he's spoken of, yet is entirely unexpected. Learning the secret of spinning boiled eggs or learning the word disconbobulated only to find it suddenly in use. I shall then publish this list, made up of random entries, and become a multi-millionaire. Future. Taken care of. Hah!

Speaking of the little things, I still can't seem to balance on just one foot while trying to put a sock on the other :-/ Nor can I seem to drive a manual with over-excessive revving. And of lesser woes, Stephen King is not only a bad writer, he's unneccassarily disgusting, too. Bah.

I y'am what I y'am
& that's what I y'am...
That's why I can't be someone else!
Toot Toot!
^_^

Things of Note

A story read at 2am
Missing a 50th comment
Watching "Down with Love"
Feeling cold while the heat remains outside
Feeling thirsty with the kitchen 5 feet away
Unable to move upstairs past 2am
Contemplating the extent of my confusion
Gazing at a bright orange MSN icon
Captured souls within vessels unable to do their bidding
Come-Moon-Ick-8
Tired and scared. Scared and tired.

I've been kissed by a Dementor <3>Children of the night, winged we be
Feathers are just an accessory
Made that up. Just now. Insightful if you know how to read into it.

One word texts.
Right.
Just a bit of silliness. Really.
:-D

Ebony and Ivory

Side by side on my keyboard... amongst other things. Wish I could still play, but the crawling sensation of a vein moving across various bones in my hand as I would practise eventually became unbearable.
It doesn't matter what I want
It doesn't matter what I need
Alison Krauss, Buffy, resurfaced from a folder marked Gogz. Had quite a run on my mp3 player, and that was all so long ago. Only, not really.

Saw Aitchsion again, in a fashion. Trapped in the layer of a mighty red dragon, we tried to escape by solving the set puzzle before we were devoured. We (and the we changed often, from friends to family to people I share some strange bond with but have yet to meet) were the last survivors, caught in the dizzying heat. It was a book, filled with strange symbols, but eventually someone (thank the Lord for him) did something, and the dragon began to negotiate. He (assuming it was a male dragon, didn't stop to check) let us run then. Why the running scenes were all shot in splendid technicolour with Barry Block in the background and those other random buildings is a mystery for later. But we ran, down the road towards the amphitheatre/prep school. And in the running we came across a stream really, cutting across our field of vision as far as it would go. Skirmishing soldiers from different factions stood on either side, exchanging the odd blow but mostly standing ground. There was, however, no way to pass. The dragon erupted, red scales shimmering, breahing fire over those memorable red brick buildings. Typically, they remained unaffected. Hell fire would be hard pressed to damage them. But the dragon roared towards us. The we by now was most cerainly family, perhaps because it is such a set up that allows me to be most heroic ::)
Pushing and shoving, we took cover first here then there. Famliar classrooms, old archways, LJ house, overgrown plantlife. But everywhere we hid, a knight in brilliant red plate would come upon us, followed soonafter by our nemesis. A rather brilliant scene, in which my own special effects rather impressed me, was when the flames licked the road, streaming down it past the hockey grounds, while I dived off just in time. It took perhaps too long to learn the knights were scouts for dragonzolla, and when we did the time for negotiation came. And someone that was a part of we strummed a merry tune on a nearby harp, to soothe the savage beast.

I have finally, for the first time ever really, started reading Stephen King. Isn't half scary. But some of it is quite bad. The life of such desperation is not a pretty thing.

Sifting through the websites of a hundred companies, a half-hearted quest that I must complete only so as to be rid of it. Though I scorn over ambition, the sort that possess one and becomes a being itself, surrounded by an infernal aura crushing, burning all that stand before it, I wish I had some ambition. An injection of reality, though to the imagination what water is to fire, is perhaps needed. On your feet soldier! The Big Enchilada? Oh get a job and then immerse yourself in the monotony of it all. Just the thought turns me colder than a jackhammer to the back. Convuluted, or some... such :)

Reimmersion in the world I left behind. It's a curious process. Where's the world I left behind? The cottage that burnt down and was never rebuilt. The same structure that stands, so empty of life. Because to sound all emotional or sentimental about it would be wrong. It's both above and beyond, below, insignificant. Yearning for them yesteryears, but even the safety of school is better than limbo.

What would I like above all? To be ten times stronger, more agile, and a crimefighter. Still. And we can save the world from behind a desk. Staring at numbers that come floating past, making sense of our existence and the way it all works. Finance is, at the heart of it, the matrix. Don't shove that pill down my throat. For me it'll just be a pretty screensaver. To spin a web so grand, must start so unimaginably small that it seems impossible.

No. Let's talk about TERMINATOR guys! Be like water. Water in a jug, water is the jug. Water in a glass, water is the glass. I am water. I am, the moon. Water on the moon. Rapid, swift, be as strong as the coursing river. Oh dear :)

A fleeting glimpse, a shadows touch, I have been that so often. Glance of the ghost. And the exploding colours, endless spirals of creative destruction, none transmitted to nobody. Lost in the midst of my soul. So little comes from hand, from mouth. Voice, and deft fingers. A surgeons hands.

I'd like to be hypnotised. Just to see. Because nothing's really ever wrong. The waters are always smooth, sometimes the odd stone slips and makes a splash. The taste of life most bitter, unique, yet so far unless forced in some demented pleasure. Sleeping for 24 hours was, truly, marvellous.

Golden Dip

The rose at the end of the Half-Blood Prince that my sister had placed there to flatten provided a most suitable finish. The book, the las quarter, was just ...

So much has happened, that to put it all down,
Pen to paper,
Quill to Parchment
... Keytap to Screen.

Where's the will? :)

I Can't Find My Hair Creams!!!!1 :'(

Ok so I'm here. Passport control deserves a most vicious review. I think I'm spoilt. Everything feels so odd, but it's only Isloo and my memories here are few and concentrated. Result was good, thanks for the wishes. Graduation was odd. A completely different sort from the afore-mentioned oddity of course. Lahore shall be truly, odd. Hehe.
And now onto job apps. All coupled between root reconnection and seeing exactly how badly I could unfit myself ^_^

Oh. My taxi driver performed the elongated vicious spit maneuver. Hallelujah.
And we missed my grandfather who was waiting at the airport. Hallelujah^2
::)

Sweeping changes under the rug

To put things in order, and cover them in syrup, would require the use of faculties currently on a sabbatical.

• Found this rather brilliant top at River Island. Went shopping for the people we're supposed to bring stuff too, but my voucher ended up turning into mine. Way-hey!

• My first accident was only as dramatic as I deserve. While loading the car for the week training trip to Leicester, the car needed to be pushed just a leetle bit forwards, to make room and what not. In a bout that derived itself from laziness and a desire for random experimentation, I pushed down the handbrake from outside, pressed on the footbrake with my hand and shifted the gear to drive. Car > Shot Forward > Open door banged pillar > Door slammed shut on legs still outside the car, dragging body along with it > Flying half outside the vehicle, one hand luckily found the handbrake to pull up hard > Major damage to Mercedes in front avoided > Bruises ... Ouch!
• I still drove, a lot, from Tuesday to Saturday, still reeling! ^^

• London got the Olympics, yay. The other thing that happened was unknown to me until I received a worried first text, and responded to in a completely flippy manner. Quite frustrating.

Result out Tuesday, by 8pm. Wish me luck. I don't know how that works, the wishing, or any other. But all the same, it's the end so if it goes well, wouldn't be a bad thing, really.

Can't honestly be looking forward to going back right now. Just seems a bit odd. But the rain lashing against every window, and memories of F37's means there's something there. The rest's a little daunting.

Oh. Live8 was brilliant. Period.

La la la la, Lalalalala, Lalalala, La La...

Beyond your wildest dreams is by far an arrogant statement. And if the world was really as twisted as certain conspiracy theories make it out to be, it would in most probability, be a better place to live in.

Ooooops!

Bad font bad font! Gah... wail wail wail *slap*



... because editing would have been so much less dramatic, non?

Does the walker choose the path, or the path choose the walker?

Technically, I'm sure I've used that line before, but it has reattained significance. Did just finally wrap up Sabriel, having started it months ago before it was rudely snatched away by fate and library rules <_<

Unfortunately it wasn't incredibly fulfilling. Never did develop a taste for books that leave unfinished mysteries, but considering it has a sequel, I'll plough through that before formulating a final opinion. Lemony Snicket continues to surprise me, and by surprise I don't mean comes to me unexpectedly but more that he "writes in a pleasantly refreshing style". The point is there, and in a day and age where the world goes goo-goo over Potter, reading Childrens books has never been so acceptable.

Next up though I've got my good dependable Pratchett, who often fails to be funny, but as one of those fan-things, I go on without complaining, mostly (A)

Live8 on Saturday, going to be a major energy killer. Must drink no water in the hour simmediatly preceeding it, finding a convenient relief place amongst 125,000 people shall probably not be a wonderful experience. Only going to use up about 12 hours anyway ^_^ Can't wait though, especially after my poor Oxford trip got washed out. Can't mind the weather though, the flat's finally hit 25 degrees, and it's lovely.

Phir raat kati from Paheli has me in a spin, I can't stop imagining the silly little puppet dance at the end. The movie may not have been all tha good, but the song makes up for it, really, in some strange undefinable way. Piyu bole from parineeta is my current sweet song, awwww...

Must stop allowing music to influence me in such strange way, *mutter*
PEAS!
out...