Saturday, 5 April 2008
Go to http://photobucket.com
Type the answer to each question in the search box
Use only the first page
Insert the picture into your blog.
What kind of pet do you have?
Where do you live?
Where do you work?
What do you look like?
(Anyone who has ever seen my drawings will look at this and go whuuuf! Miracle, no??!)
What do you drive?
What did you do last night?
What is your favourite TV show?
What are you doing today?
What is your name?
What is your favourite candy?
Friday, 4 April 2008
Zero contacts online.
Zero email alerts.
Loads of work to do, no idea where to even begin.
Cannot. Feel rejected by those I wanted to reject (''Not now, I am working! Can't you see I'm busy! Look at my status!! Uff, so annoying!) Having successfully willed away people, am now sitting here wishing they would send me 20 emails all at once that I could summarily respond to with: 'I am working, will get back to you later.'
Get over self. Sign out. There's sun outside in which to curl up and read. Sign! Out!
2. I will not! die before Spring really gets here, as that would defeat the purpose of having lived through the worst of the winter.
3. I will not! fill this blog with self-indulgent and juvenile angst.
4. I will finish every coffee I buy. Seriously. If I love it so much, why can't I go hell for leather, why must I stop sipping halfway?!
(Actually, I know exactly why. This sort of behaviour extends to all manner of things. My ability to actually immerse myself in something and get lost in blissful abandon is inversely proportional to how much pleasure it gives me. But I cannot elaborate on this further, according to Ma Kassam No. 3, above). In similar vein, I will stop being distracted when doing PhD work, stop gazing into space for interminable periods of time, stop avoiding conversations with chaddi-buddies, stop jumping away when lovers touch me.
5. I will use points 1-4, above in a concerted attempt at self-containment. And when it does not work, I will use this blog.
Thursday, 3 April 2008
Even though I was a heartless bitch to you (or perhaps just too young) and even though you might never (want to) see me again and even though I might never (get the chance to) explain myself fully to you I will still wish that you could walk in through the doors, sunlight wreathing the collar of your white shirt, look at me, and smile.
Sudden, twisting, gut wrenching nostalgia.
Post script -
It took you five minutes to text back?! And you remember my red scarf?! And you called me angel again?! And you said brilliant memories?!
And what's with the odd punctuation?!
Well my heart got ripped into two with two texts, one from me and one from you: one part is printed with question marks, the other is dotted with exclamation points.
As always, with you. It's one or the other, and no answers in between.
My red scarf.
If I wore it, would you come then?
Tuesday, 1 April 2008
Dear Ms. _______,
Your payment has been received. Welcome to Stockholm!
Happy dance! My first conference! Even happier, wilder, dance! My first conference is also my first international conference is also my first time presenting a piece of research, is also my first time travelling alone since I came to England. What it is not is my first visit to Stockholm, but more on that later. Oh happy days.
(Please, someone remind me that the conference is in 2 weeks, and I have yet to do the poster, as well as complete my questionnaire design. Eep. But remind me later, not now.)
just happy dance!
Monday, 31 March 2008
You're Love in the Time of Cholera!
by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Like Odysseus in a work of Homer, you demonstrate undying loyalty by
sleeping with as many people as you possibly can. But in your heart you never give
consent! This creates a strange quandary of what love really means to you. On the
one hand, you've loved the same person your whole life, but on the other, your actions
barely speak to this fact. Whatever you do, stick to bottled water. The other stuff
could get you killed.
Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.
... And now I really want to read it!
Beneath my hands
your small breasts
are the upturned bellies
of breathing fallen sparrows.
Wherever you move
I hear the sounds of closing wings
of falling wings.
I am speechless
because you have fallen beside me
because your eyelashes
are the spines of tiny fragile animals.
I dread the time
when your mouth
begins to call me hunter.
When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want to summon
the eyes and hidden mouths
of stone and light and water
to testify against you.
I want them
to surrender before you
the trembling rhyme of your face
from their deep caskets.
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want my body and my hands
to be pools
for your looking and laughing.
A cat whirls and somersaults on the neighbour's lawn. Chasing, variously: it's own tail, a passing bug, a bee, a fearsome imaginary foe (but let's not be too quick to dismiss the fact that cats can see other worlds entirely. Oh yes, they can).
Sunshine streams onto the red brick of the houses on this street.
Tiny bugs flying through the vibrating quiet, wings alight.
The tree in the neighbours garden (always so immaculate, their garden, their kitchen, their cat!) is sprouting tiny forests of peridot along each branch. This is my favourite green: that of young leaves lit with the sun.
Someones pink plastic ball floated into the garden and is apparently here to stay. It is sitting in my weed patch (I like my weed patch, bugger off, it is far more interesting to me than a flowerbed) glowing pinkly. Most surreal. I have decided not to touch it for now, and when the weather really does turn, I will kick it all the way to the park.
And this, perhaps, the best sign of them all -
I woke at 7 this morning, and threw off the quilts. Too hot! And then, having suitably adjusted the temperature, I lay down again in a patch of morning sun shining through the open window and was cooed to sleep by dovesong.
There's more signs to come! Can'twait, can'twait, can'twait!