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and empty eyes made her scream
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|
| Columbian Representation Overshadows Cameroon. |
[01 Jun 2003|10:53pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
exhausted and somewhat bitter |
] |
Weekend was at the UNYA State Conference in Springwood. It was on the whole...interesting. Arrived on Friday night, walked into the room and saw all these people who looked really really big. >.< Makes me realise just how stunted Ruse is. Sat down and was set upon by all these cloyingly friendly people who know all these people I know etc etc. Recognised these chicks from PLC, my old school. Allocated rooms, but people all swapped around so my room ended up being 'PLC Central' and according to Whiny Bitch One [hence referred to as WB1] our room ended up being 'just the keeewwwwwwwwll-lessst room, and like, everybody wannas be's in it, and like the guys are totally so wanting in on our room' followed by high-pitched giggling. If you don't believe me, ask Dush; talked to her on the first night because my roommates were fn boring since [and this is going to sound amazingly bitchy] we're on different planes of intelligence. Although the nipple discussion was rather interesting. Oh, and one of the chicks just stripped in the middle of the room with very little warning other than, 'Don't look at me now!' which meant we all turned to look, and she was standing there in a thong and nothing else.
There was this trivia thing they ran on the first night, and in my group there was this asian chick, a skip chick who was pretty cool, this guy named William Wallace [yes, seriously. He comes from something like 6 generations of all boys named William Wallace.] Drew from Ruse and this guy from Riverview who looked a lot like Chris Groneman from last year. He had one of those really arrogant faces and a permanent smirk and spent the whole night making snide comments and really witty jokes that generally went over the heads of most of the people there. Needless to say, I was fascinated. He's a boarder at Riverview and I'm sure he's not gay [a la cam-boy] although he did make an interesting comment about the communal showers and initiation rites that *ahem* made sitting down hurt for a week and how no one ever drops their soap.
Went to sleep with MD playing so I wouldn't have to listen to the inanity of my roommates. I think if I had stayed at PLC, I would have bashed myself to death with a rock a long time ago. Was rudely awaken [even though it wasn't Wednesday] at a way to early hour by WB1 in the bunk next to mine going, 'what time is it?' in one of those really really loud whispers. Glared at her and shoved wrist into her face until she went away. Oh, and must note that she brought two pairs of shoes to the camp, both of them black stilleto sandals [that were really horrendous]. That was just...*ahem* no comment. Reawoke at a respectable hour and went for shower. Waited in fn long queue whilst my feet froze thanks to the tiles. Eventually got a cubicle and turned on the hot tap only and waited for the water to heat up. It didn't. Had lukewarm shower while the temperature outside was under 10 degrees C. And that is completely serious.
Saturday was all workshops in groups and so on. Learnt about area 'hotspots' [mine was Africa], of one issue thing [I did disarmament] and then learnt how to write resolutions. I did mine by myself because I'm such a loner [read: nigel] and handed it in when I finished instead of hanging onto it until the stroke of nine and redoing it a million times like all the other people I talked to. Victor was working with two girls I sorta know, but their resolution was shite when he asked my opinion, so I tore it apart [as I always do] and hence he decided to stay in our room to rewrite it. Not good. I just read on my bunk listening to music. At nine, they put on Bend It Like Beckham and some people watched it. Victor spasmed in all the scenes involving bras or sex and Drew and I exchanged martyred expressions at this. This guy from Fort Street [I think his name is Cyrus] packed up my chairs for me [that I was lying on to watch] and he has the most amazing eyes and the longest, gorgeousest lashes I've seen on a guy [I asked him if I could have his lashes, and he smiled so cutely. awwww...] although he did run into the volleyball net and get these lashes across his face [he had otherwise perfect skin] which I must admit I found fascinating. Is it wrong to find a face more interesting just because it's wounded?
Oh, forgot to mention a very embarassing interlude which occured during lunch on Saturday. One of the leader guys was eating at out table, and somehow we started talking about age. Found out that he's actually in year 12 at Fort Street unlike the other leaders who are all in uni. He actually knows this chick I remember in PLC who is now the school captain [they went to their yr 11 formals together etc. known each other from birth etc.] even though he looks heaps older. Anyhow, my point was that I didn't know how old he was so I asked and he told me '17'. Problem was, I was drinking water and I expected a way older age than that. So I choked and sprayed water halfway across the table. *blushes* oops? Although I must say the guys handled it all very well [except for Victor] and they even ate the slightly-damp bread without the least concern.
Saturday night. Oh dear god. After the movie, went back to room and expected the usual babble before it would settle down and we sleep. But nooooo, WB1 and two other chicks had arranged to meet some of the guys at the trampoline. At midnight in the fn sub-zero temperatures. They tried to convince the rest of the room to go too, but we all had a few more braincells and stayed in bed curled up in sleeping bags. So they tried to sneak out, but the leader peoples sorta caught them so they pretended to go to the bathroom. They ran around the building quickly, but none of the guys had turned up. [ahahahahaha] Although, Megan managed to get into Declan's room much to WB1's annoyance. [I get the feeling she couldn't stand her friend hooking up when she couldn't] WB1 thought that Simon [the leader dude that made me choke] liked her and flirted her arse off. Let me point out at this time that she is the [and I mean THE] ditzy-ist curry chick I have ever met. She was driving me out of my fn mind. And not only that, she has a majorly overactive imagination and concocts all this shite in her head that didn't really happen. Personally I think Simon didn't give two shits about WB1 and was far more interested in Megan, even though she and Declan had this thing going on. He's from Riverview, very cleancut sport type and plays for the state soccor team. Very toned body. I must say the two of them made a very cute [read: sporty] couple. [She woke up and went running around the camp for 1/2 hr in the freezing temps] They could have been poster children for Hitler's Nazi propaganda.
A lot more happened on Sat night, but I cbb to write it all up. Keywords: pole-dancing-with-no-pole, chickens, scarves, wet hair, flickering lights and girls-who-cannot-whisper. Sunday morning, and I was first up in my room although it was ages later than previous morning. Had another lukewarm shower and got into my 'smart-casual attire'. [note to self: do not wear butt floss if you have to spend most of the day sitting. but hey, at least I didn't have uber-trashy visible panty line that WB1 had.] Let WB1 listen to Bright Eyes on MD. Calendar and Lover...I think I fried her brain. muahahaha. She looked a bit stunned when it finished. Anyhow, the first resolution was on AIDS, which was good since Mali has AIDS and hence something to say. Lunch, and I sat next to Travis [the arrogant Riverview guy] and it was hilarious. I spent the whole time laughing. Mainly at Victor and the other chick at the table [who is ditzy PLC export]. Oh...I can never think of arms waving around in the same way again. Dicks on acid...[I doubt you want me to explain] We tried to decide if I grabbed Travis' crotch, would it be sexual harassment? We didn't get anywhere, so he just grabbed it himself. [yes, more explaination here too, but unless you really want to know, don't ask.] Second resolution was fucked up, but I supported it because I had alliance with Mauritius and Morocco. Final resolution was on Kashmir, and I hardly got to talk. I had two of my yields disallowed and Cerene told me the President chick was out to get me. *coughbitchcough* Third resolution was a stupid one and very fn annoying.
The 'people's choice award' for the best speaker went to Declan, which was cool since I voted for him. But quite a few people told me they voted for me, which gave me major ego boost. :D The award given by the UNYA executive went to Chris, [he represented Mauritius] and he really deserved it. Travis though I'd get it though, which I really appreciated since he's hardly the most easy person to impress. Victor got onto the state team for the National Conference in June, and Drew and I are reserves. I'm disappointed at that because quite frankly, I think I [and some others who didn't] deserved to get in more than those who did. Anyhow, what's happened has happened. The shirts they had were ubercute...they had 'UN...' on the front, then on the back '...COOL'. Adorable. I hadn't paid for one beforehand, so didn't get one. Oh well. One of my roommates [not a PLC one] attacked me when she found out I was a reservist, and hugged/kissed me until we fell over. Sweet, but somewhat overpowering. But still, she was cool. I think she should have gotten through, or at least been a reserve. Meh. *bitter*
Then we went home. I wasn't in too good a mood, so I moreorless stomped off without saying bye properly. Last thing I saw of the dorms was Travis standing in his door, waving and leaning on the doorjamb. I smiled back at his smirk and walked off [with another guy, the damaged one from Fort Street]. Found parents, long car trip home of which I spent the majority telling myself off for not getting the contact of Travis. I'm half-hoping that Victor nanced up to him and got it, but I'm not putting any money on it. It's not often I meet a guy more sarcastic than myself. I'd love to let him loose on Ruse...he'd fry the brains of most of the grade. *smirks*
So there's my weekend. Fascinating read I'm sure, if you've survived up to this point.
|
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| fragments |
[28 Apr 2003|05:35pm] |
|
[someday not today]
It's raining right now. Only lightly, ever so lightly. When I look out I can only barely see it falling. I love the rain, I love feeling it on my skin, rolling and trickling under my clothes. I love the way the air smells just before the rain starts, the way it makes the ground smell after it finishes. I love the way it makes the surface of the pool ripple and shimmer, as if its some live creature.
I love the Winter. The cold, the biting, painful cold. Makes me feel so wonderfully alive. Makes me think that, perhaps, I can put away my blade until Spring arrives.
* * *
[out my window]
It's raining, oh, it's raining! So so welcome cold slanting coming down down down against the glass, against my hand, against the fence. Overflowing the gutter, pounding the pavement. Oh, I'm alive, so so so alive. So cold everywhere raining raining hard soft against too hot flesh please please please don't stop.
* * *
[now, later]
My day has been drowned in water. Outside the ground is sodden, the skies leaden and weighty. Inside, I have drunk glass upon glass of water, tasteless after distilling. The boy next door runs from his steps to the clothes line at the end of the garden, his bare feet making the grass squelch and spray tiny puffs of droplets upwards. The pallid white of the sheets he rescues juxtapose themselves against the grey cream terracotta of the house beyond. The watery warmth of the orange pink purple blue bleeding across the sky is textured with the cloudy promise of more rain to soak the night in.
The sun dropped a fraction and the sky lit up with gold orange neon promise. Brighter, it raised and cast it's firebrand demands upwards and across, burning the air as its own. I need not be Byatt's old dried out witch to make the dark tree catch alight. I can cast the tendrils of heat as well as the dried woman, as long as the setting sun is my redhot brand with an inverted emblem pressed hard sizzling against the blueskin sky.
|
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| rewind. |
[28 Apr 2003|04:26pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
tap tap whirr click |
] |
Imagine.
Just imagine for a moment that everything in my life could be concentrated into a cassette.
An hour of Afternoon Drive Easy Listening that you could pop into the tape deck and tap your fingers along to.
Just one hour where everything important that I've said and done is recorded. An hour of my voice narrated by yours.
And when it's over, all you'd have to do is press
Rewind.
[and you'd hear that scratching noise of the cogs whirring backwards ever so fast before it clicks stop.]
And you'd look at the player for a moment and try to recall what it was all about. Any tiny little fact that could explain my existance away.
Your mind would be blank as you press
Record and play
[at the same time, your nails barely clicking against the plastic tabs]
And you'd talk to the plastic box with a slightly quizzical tone to your voice and perhaps wonder about my phantom voice you can not-hear in the background.
Play. Rewind. [whirr click] Recordplay. [tap tap]
Silence.
[and they'd be nothing left.]
|
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| your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry |
[26 Apr 2003|08:35pm] |
|
1
Today danced on the cusp of not-quite Winter, with just enough bite to the air to cool my hands until they are just numb. I found my snakeskin print velvet gloves and opened my window to air them.
2
Capricious fille, I looked for The Man With the Smiling Eyes, but noone knew where he had gone. The lady with the scarf smiled at me sadly as she shook her head and said she knew not of what I asked.
3
Thank you for the lovely message, darling. You're such a doll. But I still maintain the 'pressie' was as much for you as it was for me. *smiggles*
4
Made golden coffee warm enough to heat the room with tendrils of aroma thicker than air. I wrapped my fingers tight around the blue mug until the colour bled into me and froze me from the outside in. I sipped the coffee, but it was not hot enough to scald me. It tasted of overly milky disappointment.
5
The library was warm and quiet. My mind was not as I fed it a constant litany of Bright Eyes as I wondered along the rows, chewing gum as I judged books by their covers. I went away with a journal, a pair of books by the same author who changed my perceptions and a collection proposing to be the complete works, a single book claiming to contain the life of a poet. My overdues are in need of returning. I have too many books around me, one day they will all fall out of their shelves and kill me by a thousand million papercuts.
6
The vague sense of panic is rising in me again. I can feel it welling up from my guts and slowly pumping its way around my body, latched onto my blood. There is so much to do. So much to read, to write, to learn. I'm terrified of missing out. I would never forgive myself for not knowing, not being good enough. Maybe I can rid myself of it with a myriad of tiny incisions to let out the dirty blood. No, no, I shall only allow myself that luxury later, not so soon. Must stay strong. And bloodless.
fin.
Today was a photo quality day. I should have click click clicked with my camera all over the street and shopping centers. Even the drab library was alive today, the tinted glass wall letting in the pale afternoon sun in two storeys of translucent glory. There were so many beautiful people out today, I put on my blonde tinted sunnies and ignored the ugliness.
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| tra la la |
[26 Apr 2003|12:20pm] |
|
Ok, I figured lj can't be full of stalkers, so I'm posting a pic of myself. It's a bit scary, so try not to scream. :D
( here goes nothing... )
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| Cold like a corpse and warm like seared flesh. |
[23 Apr 2003|11:41pm] |
|
( vintage movie star. )
Had my jaw x-rayed today. The radiologist who did it had that...'something'. The extra quality that just makes people look at him and pause for a moment. Charisma. When I was talking to him, it was easy to just look at him, focus on his eyes. Usually I feel uncomfortable looking into people's eyes because it just feels...I can't describe it...like a sharp finger poking into the base of your spine, or a lead weight on your tongue forcing your head down. And he's a poster boy for proving chivalry ain't dead. What can I say, I'm a sucker for a guy who'll open the door for me. He reminded me just why I've liked older men. Reminded me of hazy days in my memory of watching Gigi as I ate Milo from the tin with a spoon and still thought I was invincible, that I could do anything I wanted too. His wife is a lucky woman. I hope one day I may be that lucky too.
Being at the medical centre also made me wish I was interested in being a doctor. There's a whole camaderie between the doctors, just like all of my parents friends, and my neighbour's family and friends. They are all part of the medical fraternity, and I know that I could become part of that so easily. It would be wonderful, yes, but something that wouldn't ever happen. Instead, I'll always be a daughter or friend when I'm there; included but not part of it.
I enjoyed my birthday, it was a good way to start being 16. *grins*
I hate how lazy I've become, but this happens each holidays. I have all these plans and ambitions, yet I end up spending most of the hols frittering away my time doing nothing useful. I've eaten too much chocolate recently, so I'm prepared to not be able to fit my skirt come start of school. >.< I felt dowdy waking up this morning. I didn't want to dress up. Just put on a pair of old comfy chocolate jeans and tshirt and tied back my hair. Mum took one look at me and said, 'tying back your hair makes you look severe. you should leave it down. why are you just wearing a tshirt?" meep. Dad looked at me quizically and expressed similar thoughts regarding my hair. I sighed and went back to put mascara and lipgloss on. Put on some ridiculously high snakeskin sandals that are death to walk in and snagged my new jacket. I still felt dowdy. There's just something about blood gushing from between your legs and the feeling that there's a lead weight on your lower stomach to make a girl feel that way.
Bought mum's mothers day present today because I was terrified we'd leave it too late as we usually do. I think she'd like it, it's an Italian wool wrap that feels wonderful and looks so warm and snuggly. Looked though all these hats and made dad very scared. He though I'd start collecting hats the way I collect shoes, which would virtually drive him bancrupt. My feet now ache and may get blisters from the heels I wore. They were not made to be walked in that much. I tried to explain to dad why I wear shoes that hurt me. He didn't understand. I guess I won't ever show him my blades.
I'm going to do Beauty and the Beast for my english extention essay since I've always remembered liking it.. I have to analyse two versions of it, so I was looking around to see what there is. I discovered it was decended from the Roman mythology concerning Cupid and Psyche [or the Greek version of Psyche and Eros] which has long been one of my favourites. The Norwegian version East of the Sun and West of the Moon is also lovely. I'm actually quietly thrilled at finding all this.
I ate your handmade chocolates and drank cold milk as I sat cross legged on thin silk cushions. I watched the sun go down and thought of contacting someone. I didn't. Perhaps I will though, later. I should take some photos soon. I feel my creativity withering and collapsing into itself, like a spindly leafless tree, a black silhouette against a violent sky bleeding, much like myself. I think perhaps I like blood too much.
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| userinfo - instructions for my destruction |
[19 Apr 2003|09:54pm] |
|
you said you hated my suffering and you understood and you'd take care of me you'd always be there where are you now bright eyes have you ever heard music that steals your soul writing that tears out your heart felt tears that sting broken skin that you cut open with your nails still laughter pours from under doors in this house I don't understand the sound no more does it seem artifical would you know if it did do you still feel do you laugh do you cry do you remember when you stopped do you remember when you were last alive but I remember everything the words we spoke on freezing south street yet oneday we may be no more than shared mumbled words of passing acquaintences would you then remember the warmth we shared once in a childhood we battled through together searching for so so so much more than our hands could ever hold reaching for the frigid moon on nights so coalblack the darkling stars themselves shied away you combed your hair inside that mirror the one you painted blue and glued with jewellery tears something about those bright colors always made you feel better because we're children with artisic souls or so we like to believe so we like to tell ourselves so we feel that we're something anything in this drab boring world because we love the colours and dreams and boutiques in paris with my favourite cafe across the road where we design dresses and dreams on cartridge paper sketches filled in with irridescent crayons of hope now we speak with ruined tongues and the words we say aren’t meant for anyone the breathless litany tumbling from your oh so beautiful mouth no longer fools me I could love you so easily it would not be hard to forget and just become but I can't we can't ever in this life its just a phase I try to tell myself and not believe anything I say anymore as you tear and tear your hair from roots from that same head that you have twice removed a lock of hair you said would prove that our love would never die but you lied just like I did that fateful day in our hideaway you never suspected that I was unfaithful with that blade resting oh so innocently on the bathroom dresser never suspected I took it to bed with me and wedded it to my arm drank the blood with cat-like licks and felt and felt and felt so much more as I sing and sing of awful things the pleasure that my sadness brings as my fingers press onto the strings you get another clumsy chord yet you remain by me my faithful faithless shadow and listen rapt as I spin my fancies into tales for us to dream of as we lie on the grass at midnight and count the stars until the very numbers themselves run out and you ask me questions I will give you only one reply I know not who I am but I talk in the mirror to the stranger that appears for I no longer recognise the face that I wear it bears little importance as long as oh lord please let it stop stop stop don't you dare ever let it cease except we keep coming back to this meaning that I lack he says the choices were given and now I must live them or just not live but do you want that?
&love
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| teddybears made of offal |
[16 Apr 2003|02:16pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
the missing pieces no longer exist |
] |
Last night in the shower [though it was probably early this morning] I constructed a whole story in my mind. It was beautiful and complete and involved heads exploding like overripe pomegranates and piles of offal sitting on either side of a bookshelf like teddybears. Because it's inside that we're the same, so we should sit on a shelf like a pair of matching dolls, and they'll skin us down to piles of innards so we are truely identical, because that's the way we're meant to be. And the world-famous scientists would come by and poke and prod our piles of offal-self and humm and ahh and say, 'yes, they are the same, they truely are!' And my story was about me, and you, from the beginning to the end, of everything we've said and done and wished and won. Of the promises we've made at night where noone hears us but the stars and how we entwine our hands under the sheets so we don't see them linked together so inexplicably.
And it was utterly perfect, not a word out of place. And the hot water ran down my body, so hot it almost burnt my skin until it turned from pale pale white to an angry red blush just like it does when i scratch welts bleeding down my arms, my chest. Where I can see the skin bleeding internally, vicious and begging for more. But it always fades away the next morning. Mostly. But some scars take longer to fade, and are still dark and ridged, reminders and warning and promises all at once.
How do you like reading the memoirs of a broken mind [oh-so broken before its made]? Because you aren't, not just yet. Look above, look below, and tell me what you see, if you really know. [Coz I bet you don't.] Because you're blind. To me, to you, to the world. And for all our gripes and angsts, we don't change the order of the natural world, so vast and out of our control. Because even when we're dead and gone, the earth will still spin around herself, around the sun. Eternally, unlike ourselves who are temporary, momentary, and so undone. Unfinished.
But I didn't write down my story, so it's lost forever, drained away like the bathwater trickling down the pipes. Just like the blood trickling out as our bodies lie limp after our offal is removed and lumped high on shelves to be poked and prodded. And my perfect story, the writing that could save me, is gone. I need my words, to give me meaning, identity. To make me into something that I possibly am not. If you take away my words from me I fade and wither and collapse into a dusty pile of scraps. But with my words I'm alive and aware, I have blood and moisture and I feel...I feel so real. And you can touch me with your delicious knives and poke and prod until I answer with gushes of red, oh-so red, that tell you more stories of what has been and what will come, and everything, absolutely everything inbetween.
And I'll lie beside you on our freshly dug graves, and twist my fingers into your hair as I tell you all about her whispered alto suggestions that she made to me. Or the broken unfettered words he wrote on that hot summer night that I can't ever forget or remember, that just hover somewhere, begging to be said. And I'll run my hands over your body, but you won't feel a thing, and there will be ice on the ground which I'll crack between my teeth until your gums go numb and you won't remember, you won't remember a thing as your arms dig into the soft soft earth and encase us until we expire from claustrophobia and burn each others eyes out with sparks from our self-combusting bodies.
We'll burn, and we'll burn, until there's nothing left, until we're just a ashy residue coating the winter grass of my fantasy land. Because it's broken, oh-so broken, and can never be whole.
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[15 Apr 2003|11:16pm] |
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( whoa )
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| vintage gilt curls |
[14 Apr 2003|05:56pm] |
|
Spent the majority of my day getting my hair done. It is now curled in large ringlets, stiff as they still set. I feel rather...luxuriantly vintage, wearing black lace and a loose teal off-shoulder top. The sun glints off my hair and reflects into the mirror behind me, making it seem richer, a pallate of chocolate and caramel in the almost-setting sun.
I left pale pink lipstick kisses on the two bland cappacino's they dosed me with as the perm liquid stung my eyes and skin; flipped though three vogues in a cacaphony of old forgotten fashion and names I recognise. Nicole [my stylist -- oh-so-posh I know] was meticulous and very sweet. It was rather more expensive than I expected, but then again, it was Toni&Guy, whose adverts peppered the magazines they provided.
I am consumed by a desire to immerse myself in the culture of beauty, where nothing is deeper than the skin and everything is about aesthetics. It is all so sickenly delicious. Since my follicular [yes, I'm allowed to make up words, so shush] indulgence, I've sat at home by my window reading AS Byatt [my intellectual indulgence] and dreaming of working for the UN, with two passports and bags offlimits to all hands.
( it's all about suggestion. )
&love
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| OMFG |
[09 Apr 2003|10:40pm] |
|
OMG.
*dies*
Mich made me that icon she promised. I adore her now and it and wow...
She also brought tape with milky on it to school which Aly and I dutifully watched and went 'awwww...' through many times. It is so cute and adorably precious. Awww...
*stares at icon*
ahh, gwandma, so scene it hurts.
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| stay with me Arienette, till the wolves are away. |
[06 Apr 2003|06:19pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
like I've been reading Radclyffe Hall |
] |
Am trying to find out what Interpol is exactly. It's quite difficult, even though I've borrowed this chunky book about it from lib. Hmmm. Also got Miss Ogilvy Finds Herself by Radclyffe Hall. It's a collection of 5 short stories and they are all quite...desolate. After reading 'Fraulein Schwartz', I was absolutely all over the place and cried tears into my bath. Obviously, I am now determined to read The Well of Loneliness. I saw it in the library, but was intimidated by the cover. Nevertheless, I shall pretend noone else can see the paintingofthetwonakedwomen .
I'm meant to be researching for the UN Finals tomorrow, but I ended up reading this book on the Bloomsbury women that I borrowed. Alice reprimanded me through msn and made me get back on task. *pouts* I transferred 3 CDs onto a MD so I can return Mich's precious OK Computer to her.
Reading Radclyffe Hall and AS Byatt is very bad for one's emotional state. Bluntly put, for me at least, they are somewhat depressing. But that's not the right word. Something like, vaguely upsetting on a level one can't quite put a finger on, making one emotionally unstable and feel like a wreck. Ha! Oh, look, Nadia has found her instant trigger. >.<
Bought a dark khaki suede jacket yesterday. It's to my knees and has this fluffy fur collar and cuffs. It's my autumn coat for this year. I adore it [probably because it's new and I'm easily bought like that.]
Dinner is calling.
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| quiz! |
[31 Mar 2003|09:43pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
anticipatory and quizzed. |
] |
Made quiz. It's all Michelle's fault! Only 5 results because I'm too lazy to expend effort to add more in. Sowwy. *looks contrite*
Everyone must take it. Now. *glares at you.*
Puh-weeease?
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| warm like seared flesh. |
[29 Mar 2003|11:05am] |
( prettystarz )
Tried to drown myself in the bath last night. Obviously it didn't work. Gave me a headache though.
The giant tree in our front yard is getting cut down because it's dead. It was really beautiful, so impressive. But now, its woodchips and a stump in the ground.
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[26 Mar 2003|02:12pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 pissed off |
] |
( corset quiz )
Came home early from school to study. Guess what I'm doing...wasting time on net. Sometimes I annoy/let down myself a lot.
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| drift closer |
[25 Mar 2003|07:09pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
floating in black corrosive ink. |
] |
shadows
( &me )
[the closest I'll come to posting myself in here.]
|
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| I wonder if he had hairy feet... |
[24 Mar 2003|10:19pm] |
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After school today, we had a lecture on agriculture in this school. There was this guy there [probably a teacher of some sort] who looked exactly like a giant hobbit. Very very Frodo, down to the pretty eyes and darkish curly hair and of course pale skin. I was absolutely fascinated. He was wearing these brown boots, so Dushy and I briefly entertained the idea of stepping on them while he walked so they would come off to see if he had hairy feet. [*whispers* I think he does...] but alas, we didn't. :D He didn't talk, so I don't know what his voice is like. It could be Sammish, or even Merryish, but I was hoping to discover a Frodo-voice. Unfortunately, that was not to be. Oh, and he picked up une fille's highlighter twice. >.<
I've decided that if I could do anything at all in this life, it would be to own a tiny boutique in Paris called 'le parisienne: pierre'. So nice, are my buttery dreams. I would spend all day surrounded by silk and fur, lace highlights for variety. I would sell the occasional pair of crytal encrusted shoes and velvet gloves, and offer my customers handmade chocolates from Belgium. In the afternoons, I'd put on my sunglasses and close up for lunch to meet une fille across the road at my favourite cafe where we would while away the time designing ball gowns never to be worn and scarves to be produced next week.
...
night.
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