resting in the quiet of the earth

moody on the sea-isle rocks--hey! waddaya think THAT means?

2005-02-10T04:18:00.000-08:00

Feeling moody. All too typical than is good for me.

I have been playing the same record over and over again. Not really a record. It's free music I found on an official site. Oh, I find something new every time.

Insanely addicted to fanfiction.

All other behavioural quirks allude to mental instability. Too much work--therefore, I choose NOT to work. It's called running away from what you don't want to see. Hmmmm.

I tried to have a look at Finnegans Wake. Something by James Joyce--never got past the first paragraph ( I think). I'm not even sure if it's english. Dear, dear me.

It's terrible. Feel like following Hart Crane's example

--this fabulous shadow only the sea keeps

I like that line. Flag day got me down--like everything else in recent memory.

hey, instead of saying ' i'm so grounded for the rest of my life'

use

'I am like incarcerated for the rest of my mortal existence'

cool line, right? I like it. Hey, I made it up. Endorse it, use it, iconize it, won't you?

I leave you, my audience... are you even there...? hello.....

2005-01-19T06:05:00.000-08:00

I'm in a terrible lot of trouble. I just can't seem to learn an iota of text. It's incredible, and all I want to do is sprawl out and roam around fanfiction.net. It's so much fun.

Tomorrow we'll be drilling the new recruits for computer club:interview time, or in other words sorting the useful from the riff-raff. How quaint. If you can't squeeze hours of working from a kiddiewink abandon it.

Hmmm, if I'm feeling particularly obnoxious I might act like a total fool who doesn't speak a word of anything but a rare dialect , a hybrid of ancient latin, hebrew , sanskrit and martian only known to the highest in the social echelons of a tribe--now defunct, most of the population having been wiped out by wars sometime in the 5th century--and expect everyone else to do the same.

Still, probably not, I have barely the mental capacity to learn chinese, and so am definitely lacking in the amount of inventiveness required of languge-make-up-ers.

The achievement/(s) of the day: wrote exceedingly convoluted essay for composition test. v. certain I shall fail dramatically.

Mrs Ow now has a drunk-french-visionary-would-be on her hands. I pay more attention to how the prose sounds that the workings of a sensible story.

Mood: moody, yes always v. moody--everyone/anyone (your choice) would be if:
1) her/his (let's be politically correct now shan't we?) site-of-choice was down--like it had been v. often of late
2) was asked to write an essay about the tsunami--in chinese
3) didn't get much sleep--especially when it's the young perpetrator's own fault, I'm here banging this out am I not? it's so dreadfully therapuetic to be a victim of circumstance.
4) was facing the prospect of an unseen poem (lit) test the very next day, has been said to be hard--yes hard.

So moody really means a medley of moods. Please agree with me. I do like it so when people do.

You don't have to be correct to be happy!

I personally think I'm being rather stupid now.

Anyway, anyone stalking around this page ever noticed how kids at school have a peculiar dialect of their own, hmmm; for example:tucked out. That's actually an oxymoron isn't it?
I mean: tucked-in out?

It's supposed to be untucked.

I posed a question to Iswarya today-- "listen:every word I say is a lie' now would you believe me?"

Answer: yes--how could you? I just said that every word i say is a lie are you contradicting that? yes? ahh, but you just said you believed it, sooo... ...

no--so I tell the truth? but if you didn't believe me wouldn't that mean what I said was a lie? let's think... ...

Oh, never mind me-- don't listen to me. After all why make life difficult for yourself?

hey are you listening to me? that means you are listening t0o what I just said!

Paradoxes are beautiful. Here's another: (spoken aloud) don't listen to this sentence.

What's wrong there? contemplate.

Things that go wrong. Always. have. to .happen.to.me.

Still at least I'm popular in some places.

I like to waste time--but I suppose you know that already.

I'm sorry to waste yours too--I'm not feeling quite as charming today.

What do you think? leave your messages at the little room next door. Go there via the button labelled 'others'.

I'll be going now--I desperately need to read up on my geography.

2004-12-28T17:02:00.000-08:00

Jolly old me. Went to our uncle's place on christmas eve, came back early, it was absolutely awful, brother is psychotic, and mad, must have death wish, disturbed Jia ni while asleep on couch in their karaoke room. Poked her threee times. Cheerful, very. Jia ni got raving mad, woke up and grabbed his hand, or was it the ear, whatever. In front of all our exceedingly understanding relatives, aunts, uncles, father, grandfather--well, not grandfather , YeYe, that's cantonese, the only cantonese I've spoken in a long time/ remember/ will ever speak.

She looked murderous and asked if she could pinch him, please.

--Why do you want to pinch him?
--Yeah what did he do?

He's disturbing me!.

*Jiaen*___Fuck?

And it doesn't feel anything like christmas.

After we left, everyone there above drinking age, like our cousins and YeYe got dead drunk.

Such fun. So sorry I didn't stay for longer/am not 21.

____________________________________________________________________

We had another sleepover. Bit odd if you ask me, for reasons I shall not bother to elaborate on. Or maybe I will. Sometime, in the future.

Alot went wrong. I knew quite well all I did was to deliberately ignore it, still, couldn't have done anything then, and I certainly can't do anything about it now.

I really don't want to go back to school. I can't help feeling like it's a condemnation. I won't be able to keep up. Makes me wonder why I didn't go for double-science. Blather. I hate physics--we just don't gel. Speaking of gel, you know, two kinds/colours (I've forgotten which is which, that or this highly important piece of information has gotten stuck in some deep dark crevice and is currently unavailable) when put together in a plastic bag, whatever, don't mix. I haven't tried it out though, I wanted to a few years back but my father said it was a waste of money and perfectly good hairgel, especially since I wouln't use it--ever. I read about it in a book, still, it is not completely trust-able, that was when I was 10/11 maybe, it is probably pretty garbled. If youy do try it, come back and tell me what happened. It's a burning question--well no, not actually.

I think I better get off this thread before I tell more lies and am subsequently struck down by lightning (the almighty god--his wrath is great!).

All the funny things I waste my time doing... I've been reading fanfiction, as has been mentioned before, I love it! I don't know how I'm going to manage when school re-opens.

Ghastly thing no. 1: back to school, in less than a week! (God, you can kill me now. I don't mind. Seriously, I don't.)

Ghastly thing no.2: I have chinese tuition today!

I hate it! DIE! JUST DIE!

Stones in my pocket

2004-12-22T23:40:00.000-08:00

Oh. I don't know. I feel so down.

I do believe
that I am slipping back
into what
used to be mine

such walls: steep and black-bracken overgrown
such a weariness I embody

and every eye
lacks that luminousity that means life

every gleam
whether the gloaming or breaktide

and so dreary I can imagine

whitewedded words
linger on the foaming waves and

the lone despeeration
of a stone wall

desolate whispers of eternity

***

Oh, it's nothing, just separation anxiety

whither wander where,
thou lonely spirit?

***

I'm trying to write. I'm aiming for something like Ulysses. Only I can't seem to get the words out, but they're clawing at me from inside. It's like ripping up from deep deep down.

I'm listening to Michelle Branch as I type.

She's an excellent singer. Rocks harder than darlin' Avril Lavigne.

2004-12-19T17:38:00.000-08:00

Interesting. Very amusing.

Or rather, not at all. I’ve embarked on some flight of fancy and have returned to fanfiction (fanfiction.net only PG-13 and below if specification is needed.)

It’s fun and it’d be really cool to have something to engage myself with during the hols only January is advancing rapidly and will be soon commencing---much to my displeasure which I will not bother to disguise.

I hate school. And I have recently found out that my my lifelong (actually only for 2 years ) ambition---physicist---will never be fulfilled because I have absolutely no interesting it any more. I haven’t opened a book yet, my mother bought me a $30 physics book of which its contents to not tie-in with our bloody curriculum, I will probably not have a chance to use it. Or perhaps I will, I’ve always had a funny acquisition---being very absorbed in non-school stuff.

Sometimes I think I might do it just to be contrary. Really.

What to do? Oh, what to do?
I’m in a terrible state---
What shall I do?

Or maybe---I shan’t do anything at all!!!

This is stupid.
It really is very stupid.
Oh I have no idea.

Maybe I’ll invest in the merits of a schedule.
Here’s my current one, I have used it for the past 1, 2 months or so:

7 am WAKEUP
7.05am SWITCH ON THE COMPUTER.
INDULGE IN NONSENSE.
KEEP CONSTANT WATCH OVER SHOULDER FOR PARENTS.
Any time: PARENTS ALERT! SWITCH SCREENS AND READ AN
ARTICLE ON MIDDLEMARCH
10.30am LOOK AT CLOCK
FAINT.
PICK SELF UP. DO HOMEWORK.
11am BORED OUT OF MIND.
BRAIN READY TO EXPLODE.
11.30am READ NONSENSE BOOK
1 pm LUCH
1.30pm COMPUTER---AGAIN
2.3Opm FREAK OUT
3.30pm DOING NOTHING AT ALL
4.00pm UPSET. DAY ABOUT O END. WORK NOT DONE. ROOM STILL V. DIRTY
7.00pm DINNER
7.30pm BATH
8.00pm COMPUTER
12.30pm GHASTLY! TOMORROW ALREADY!?
BRUSH TEETH. POTTER AROUND DOING NIGHTLY RTITUAL.
1.00am COLLAPSE IN BED IN A DEAD FAINT.

Is there anything wrong that indicates serious dysfunctional problems in the above schedule, class?

STUPID SIMPERING TEACHER.

yes, we seethe in silence, don’t we?

2004-12-14T20:41:00.000-08:00

It's awfully aggravating to wait and wait and wait in vain. And it happened again today. And it's Ms Shervon's fault. She'd probably forgot that she had to meet us---or she could've been ill---or possibly still asleep. Of course there are still quite a few things wrong with these foolproof, fireproof,f***proof excuses.

1)How could she forget---we told her about this on Saturday,again and again and again and againagainagainagainagain---you get the picture. A very clear picture.

2)Fine. She's ill. Then call us. We called her---she never did pick up the phone. I sent alot of....unusual messages. You just have to hear them.

3)Asleep?!?! It was near eleven when we decided to leave. We'd ben waiting for nearly 2 hours. So fucking fed-up.

I'm not really raving mad at this precise moment in time. Just a little miffed. You see, I'm at home now, it's air-conditioned , I'm on the computer, it's already 1 o'clock. How could I possibly still be cross ???

Now about those messages--- Meena and Visa and I were just happening to be discussing the cover illustrations of the Harry Pothead series--sorry---Potter. Still, You now know what a pothead is if you didn't know before---it's means a marijuana smoker. See---there's a good side to anything. This is cynicism mind, not saccharine sweetness,mind.

Talk moved on to the contents of the book because I mentioned I was currently reading a big thick book---Anna Karenina. Yes---Meena said the thickest book she'd ever read was the 5th book in the HP series. She also said that that was because she always lost interest in the contents of other thick books faster than she could read them. Like everyone's darling favourite thickancient tome--- Lord Of The Rings. So many fans, who will rule them all??? Anyway,nevermind that's so not my point. Meena thinks that the story could easily have been compressed into 2/3 chapters. Your pick.

And why couldn't anyone else touch the ring. So---to explain I carried out a heavy dramatisation of what the wizard would be like if he hadeen under it's influence for a long while.

By the way---the messages I sent.

1) Ms Shervon!!!! Save us!! Orcs and Voldemort are dragging us away to make stew with... SAVE US !! [choking sound] AHHH!AAAAHHHH!!.[hangs up abruptly]

2) Ms Shervon.... Voldemort is here. It's very creepy.... I'm scared....they're going to kiill us...they say it's going to hurt... Ms Shervon save us pleasepleasepleaseplease. hurryhurryhurryhurryhurryhurryhurry....there are ghosts now... see... can you hear...[ Visa makes ghost noises into the phone] EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!EEEEEEEE!!!! [I scream]

Then I sent it . And as I did----whoops.... I accidentally dialled Shuzhen's phone instead. Soooooo................... I'm so terribly sorry. Still you may get a laugh out of it ... so I hope it wasn't too bad.

I've finished Joy Luck Club---I got it on Monday, ate the last bite last night. 10.00. Hurray!!!!

Anyway as for ate the last bite it wasn't exactly incredibly tasty. But it was decent. Which was better than expectations.

2004-11-30T22:53:00.000-08:00

Yes, I’m back, a couple of days ago we had a sleepover at our house, I didn’t bother to put an entry detailing it earlier simply because I was far too lazy. Well, on the first night we watched Lord of the rings; the first one. Here is one important moral in the story: never ever procrastinate. Think about it----- if they’d got rid of the ring earlier they wouldn’t have had to waste time going on a long long long long long hike to mordor, right?

But in which case we wouldn’t have a nice show to watch, so sometimes procrastination does have it’s upsides.
I suppose I was a little heartbroken about the outcome too---- the sleepover, not the movie.

Well, yes it was an interesting story but it’s seriously sad to think that the highlight of the whole bloody sleepover was 4 solid hours of telly. Perhaps I am being a little too idealistic and hopeful, but I remembered my friends in a different light----crystaldew twinkle and fallen moonbeams crisscrossing in a gentle lattice. Time does give us all bones and dust often.

Still the next day was little more spontaneous--- we went swimming in our swimsuits not yet quite dry from having been worn the day before. Liz stayed till 5.00, Es left at 12.30--- I didn’t say much of a goodbye because I was toweling off after the bath, liz walked her out.

Es was a little distant the whole time, talking to other people on her handphone and over msn when she was with us. Then at dinner--- pizza, my parents very kindly went out to give us a little ‘freedom’, any of that was squished by brother dear--- she zeroed out on us after taking liz aside to go whisper whisper, Liz revealed to us part of what she said when she didn’t return when she was supposed to, she left at 8.30 and returned near 10.

I have a sneaking suspicion that she went out to meet someone---- she’s been awfully secretive. And she met some boy at the pool. Raced around with him while I hung around and watched her like a combination of somebody’s sad sack grandmother and ten-day-old broccoli---- sweet. I didn’t want anything to happen. I also floated about watching the surface of the water from beneath it. It’s pretty at night when the sky’s dusky and intense with that smoky-pearl-greyness. Like a dove’s wing. The pool lights were on. Liz and sister went back up first because Liz twisted her ankle.

I think Es is well, a little too posh for me now--- she’s a Gifted student--- yes! Capital G! ---- at Raffles and now she’s not an uber-outcast either. That’s changed her, or perhaps I’ve changed--- more like everyone else, hmmm?

Whatever it is we’re not on par anymore. I can feel it in my bones and it’ll stay that way until it’s put right.
We went straight to bed after the movie finished, I pulled the blanket over my head because our guests had pulled silly rubbish books from our shelf to read and then I started to get a little upset under my blanket.

Finally the lights flickered off.

And they flickered back on shortly after, Es left the room to go upstairs to use the computer. Next time they come I’ll lock up the bookshelf and unplug the computer then pretend that it’s broken.

Liz slipped off her bra then. Through her t-shirt.

“what are you doing !?!?!?!?” I shouted. My head was out of blanket so I saw.

‘I always do this says she, it’s not good for your blood circulation.

Oh really! Says sister, I think I’d better too. So she did.

I didn’t do anything. I’m not parting with it for the world.

No one knows whether Es did or didn’t, she went to bed at 5 in the morni8ng when all of us were well and deep in lalaland.

So that’s our sleepover. Sad, aye?

My brother was being a nuisance to us today in the car. My sister screamed at him, I tried to annoy him more than he annoyed us and said that instead of calling him just Boy we’d call him B.B.--- for polite people that stands for Boy Boy. For rude ones it can be used as an acronym for Bloody Bugger. Sister giggled and said that’s very rude--- don’t let dad hear it. Later she got mad at him again and said fuck.

Sounds like bipolar personality disorder, right??

There’s no such thing as Mr Right, there’s Mr 30% and Mr 70%, or maybe if your rich / look-like-claudia-Schiffer / both you can hire / persuade a fellow to be 100%. But you can never get the real thing.

I was thinking of Bridget Jones. Not myself. Mind--- I’m only 14. a young 14.

2004-11-30T22:49:00.000-08:00

2004-11-29T04:38:00.000-08:00

Yes----- I’ve changed my blogskin, the last one made me look like I was ready to commit suicide, it was black ‘n’ “beautiful” in the mysterious-glittery kind of way, and it said ‘I am lost’-------so terribly pathetic aye?

It took me forever to select one as was with glasses-frames picking today. It took me 15 minutes [ I am assuming. I didn’t have a watch with me] todecide whether it was more suitable 25 degrees more or less. It’s a tough decision. My life is a very challenging one. I live in such a perilous world. Well, actually I do.

I ended up with a pair of purply-black-aubergine frames [ no it does not look bruised and sad and sorry]. Branded. They are the only thing I own, includiong clothes that has a label anybody has actually heard of on it-----Guess, they were on sale see. I was super-glad Paris Hilton didn’t endorse them, that woman shot to fame for something that would have left her a life of utter shame and ignominy a long while ago. Well, some people are just so lucky.

I saw a picture of her wearing a halter-top with the American flag printed on it.

I wish they wouldn’t lower the American morale like that. It’s absolutely disgraceful.

Now that sounds Victorian. Now it does doesn’t it?

It took me forever to choose a pair of frames too, everything looked pretty much the same.

While I tried on the many pairs pairs pairs pairs pairs pairs pairs pairs pairs. You get the picture.

It looked like I was taken off one pair of frames and putting them on again again again again again.

All this while my brother tried on sunglasses he obviously didn’t need though he might have said yes to buying them---- just for a lark. After all, who wants to wear a pair of gigantic golden Chanel frames?

Here’s something I wrote on the 16 0f 11. this year obviously.

Sweet kisses, purple and blue
along grassy trammels may populate
As creeping fingers heave
fresh freed earth
Mayflowers burst in the rich redness
ripe and whole as the smoothfolded buds
Of gone now yesterday
Quotidian morn is new and bright
as glacial banshees vacate
A dewdrop in every cowslips ear
throws sunshine spangles
in many coins
And pearl-grey mists may pervade
hold solace here and here
Demeter and her daughter dear
Swifter, swift up the golden stair
Reach the fairy moonlight’s sphere
Dissolve in cold-bitter air.

It is interesting to note that i have never seen spring

2004-11-25T19:03:00.000-08:00

Horror. Shock. Screams abound.
Yeah, it's only me, sooooo, my mother absolutely insists on buying me a normal swimsuit, one of those nasty skimpy ones. I don't need a flaming suit, not after my brother,11, commented a friend looked sexy in one.
Well I never. Can you beleive it, only 11 and like so totally screwed up? He practically ruined that sleepover, but that's another story , so here , ------- the swim suit.
I must confess, even if I needed a new one, and I don't, my blue corduroy-like suit is still lokking FABULOUS even if it is old. I'd like a little notice before she ups and gets me a bloody bareback suit. Some time to work off all that cellulite before I have to parade about in public in it would go a long way in keeping my dignity intact.
Still, in my unique shape, I bet none of those suits will fit me, even if their made of highly-durable latex. And if my mother tries to drag me over to a maternity wear shop,m i'll be so fussy that the salesgirl kicks me out.
A little bit of fabric costs $50.
NO! MORE!!!!!!
It's indecent and it's obscene!!!
An absolute elephant in a tight bitty piece of spandex, all the holiday-makers at Bali will be blinded.
Oh well, at least this means I'll be able to join the X-Men, i have special powers. nhaha! I blind people by wearing my swimsuit! how evil I am .
Don't worry. I'll use my powers for good.

2004-11-24T22:32:00.000-08:00

my first post.

2004-11-02T17:59:00.000-08:00

Hmmm. I think I feel a sore throat coming on. Well it’s been threatening to for the last six months now. I suppose it can’t stand the stress anymore of constantly being good. It feels very uncomfortable. I now sit in wait for the two hour hiatus to end so I can take another lozenge. If I do happen to exceed the maximum dosage it’ll be my tongue acting up. I don’t know which is worse.
We have this project now, we’re nearly done, since it was a cartoon I had to do the dubbing. I never knew I sounded so annoying. Well.

Here’s something I’ve written . it’s meant to be continued,so it’ll be a full length story when I’m done, or it’ll be abandoned because I type so slowly. Whichever is earlier anyway.

1

　It was a narrow winding path delving deep into the rosy wood and as I trudged on, tha hazily redolent autumnal perfume swelled in great seas about me and the thicklyfruitul mellowness of maturing trees pervaded the evening wine that filled every woody hollow with the oddly intangible violet ambrosia that lingered, long after twilight dissipated into a dusky night which enveloped every glade with a stainless blackness and a phosphorent sea-brilliancy would penetrate the thick stillness when generous to lend illumination.
Shadows wander away from the tangle of interminable gray and pause idly at the mosaic of wooded floor and tremulous sunshine and be entwined in the many lances of goldenrod and wintersleet.
The lonely bee, now drowsy, drifts on by to seek a poppy’s opium lacquered solace or perhaps an upspring of late-blooming violets in their last full blossom, quite complacent as the kindly sun, never waning, overbrims his clammy cells. And the honeysuckle thrive for his delight.
And that’s what Clare wrote. Still, what should she know of it ? Three years is a long time, and quite long enough to feel estranged from the world behind the solidly brick wall of the attic. Autumn’s chill dusk, was the ebbing phantom of approaching death, her yellow mist a sullen glare of redlight, dully thudding incubus of malodorous decadence. Then winter would freeze her to the death.
What she did know though was an ivory tower, of painted doors and veiled windows, stagnant shadows and the screaming banshees that lived in her ears. Girls who have lived in attics for three years are familiar with demons. Care wasn’t always the girl in the attic though, she had been a waitress at the Sixties Diner, with skates and a lip-on smile until she decided to leave .
Funny thing, how anyone could want to live in an attic, Clare wouldn’t have, not until now, it was easy to disappear, a high-school drop-out in a torpid, sleepy town that never wanted to wake up. It was easier to forget than to remember, especially when letting go was so hard. The attic used to be more than a room of dust and filtered light when Theo had been alive, it was fun up there, when Theo played little games with his princess, the number one girl in his life. When he died the number one girl was alone, and her world a land of dissolution. Now the number one girl lives in the playroom waiting for Theo, and her face is a curious shade of alabaster, from the sunless days, and her hair a bleached blonde hair shining weakly in the fluorescent lamplight.
There is no mirror in Clare’s attic, “all the better” Clare said aloud, but not too loud, she wouldn’t want them to hear, and drag her from the attic, privacy was the only thing she had left besides a head of secrets. She knew what she looked like though. the bathrooms had mirrors, and she had used them more than once on her nightly pilgrimages. It wouldn’t do not to stay clean. Hygiene is very important. Whoever you are, wherever .
About Theo,he had been her father, there had been more to life than him, alotmore, but when he left she had lost those things too, and that meant she had lost everything.
She could have started over, but retreating was easier, and if he had seen her living in the attic, maybe he’d come back, then everything would be all right. Theo was always watching, but he lived in heaven, and she lived on earth, he couldn’t be with her and that was bad enough.
The attic wasn’t that bad she’d said, and no one bothered her, in the deeps of the night, when everyone was asleep, she was king of the castle, and no one could tell her what to do, as they weren’t there to tell her.
She’d liked reading. Theo’s other name for her was bookworm. She still did actually,” I make my own sunshine “ Clare had declared to Thierra one day, “when I can of course”, she added hastily. Thierra was a fellow room mate in the attic, who could be shut up in a little box at the back of Clare’s head when she wanted to be alone to think on more philosophical nights. Thierra was an ambivalent, ageless girl who was everything Clare wanted her to be. Thierra hadn’t existed until Clare needed he. Thierra was based on a character in one of Clare’s books and was a great comfort on dreary nights.

***
Clare never did have a real mum. Or one she could remember, so it didn’t bother her; you can’t miss someone you don’t know. Maybe she did know mum, just a little, all of the memories borrowed from photos that lined the mantelpiece until Clume came and locked them away in dusty albums, and there were Theo’s stories, recounting what he was willing to share at random moments, laced with the stereotypes of a perfect mother.
She never thought much about her, mother wasn’t much more than a name. Her name was Virginia, it could have been ‘X’ for all it mattered. But it mattered to Theo and sometimes the good father would wander away from her, to a place she did not shareand was not allowed. He would sit in the sweltering desert of ebony that swam murkily in the study, and would stare so intensely into the shades of gloaming red-gold of a fire, burning in the hearth, and his eyes would never move from it. That fire contained the secrets of the universe and was perhaps where Virginia lived.
Then his head would tilt, and he would fall back from his reverie and into a dream, maybe even voluntarily; afraid to face her for too long at a stretch. And then he’d awake, and all would right itself again.
After Clume came he never did this again. He hadn’t forgotten though. but Clume seemed to blight this remembrance simply by her oppressive presence, Virginia had gone many years before, but it was only now she had truly fled, with no hope of further resurrection.
Clare had been sorry about it. She couldn’t have cared less for her own sake. Virginia was her father’s wife, and a stranger at best, standing at the other side of lake too wide to shout across. She minded very much for Theo though, who never talked about Virginia again, perhaps for the fear of the other woman in the house. She was the lawful wedded wife now. He could no longer solicit visits from a mistress, dead or alive.

2004-11-02T01:16:00.002-08:00

Hmmm. I think I am catching a sore throat. Or maybe it’s just the ailment that’s been threatening to happen blowing up. Right at this very minute. Then I shall be quite ill, and in order to benefit my good friends and save them the trouble of being ill too, I shall deign to remain at home and sacrifice math. Well, I’d much rather do math. Even if I wasn’t ill. Decomposition does not sound like something any sane person would anticipate.
I’ll bet anyone who happens to stumble upon this will know that this is new.
It’s my first entry. Ain’t that nice?
Well. Not actually the first. This is the second one, the real first wasn’t posted properly and now it’s probably lost.
I’ll bet it is.
This is something I’ve written:
(it’s meant to be continued)

1

It was a narrow winding path delving deep into the rosy wood and as I trudged on, tha hazily redolent autumnal perfume swelled in great seas about me and the thickly fruitul mellowness of maturing trees pervaded the evening wine that filled every woody hollow with the oddly intangible violet ambrosia that lingered, long after twilight dissipated into a dusky night which enveloped every glade with a stainless blackness and a phosphorent sea-brilliancy would penetrate the thick stillness when generous to lend illumination.
Shadows wander away from the tangle of interminable gray and pause idly at the mosaic of wooded floor and tremulous sunshine and be entwined in the many lances of goldenrod and wintersleet.
The lonely bee, now drowsy, drifts on by to seek a poppy’s opium lacquered solace or perhaps an upspring of late-blooming violets in their last full blossom, quite complacent as the kindly sun, never waning, overbrims his clammy cells. And the honeysuckle thrive for his delight.
And that’s what Clare wrote. Still, what should she know of it ? Three years is a long time, and quite long enough to feel estranged from the world behind the solidly brick wall of the attic. Autumn’s chill dusk, was the ebbing phantom of approaching death, her yellow mist a sullen glare of redlight, dully thudding incubus of malodorous decadence. Then winter would freeze her to the death.
What she did know though was an ivory tower, of painted doors and veiled windows, stagnant shadows and the screaming banshees that lived in her ears. Girls who have lived in attics for three years are familiar with demons. Care wasn’t always the girl in the attic though, she had been a waitress at the Sixties Diner, with skates and a lip-on smile until she decided to leave .
Funny thing, how anyone could want to live in an attic, Clare wouldn’t have, not until now, it was easy to disappear, a high-school drop-out in a torpid, sleepy town that never wanted to wake up. It was easier to forget than to remember, especially when letting go was so hard. The attic used to be more than a room of dust and filtered light when Theo had been alive, it was fun up there, when Theo played little games with his princess, the number one girl in his life. When he died the number one girl was alone, and her world a land of dissolution. Now the number one girl lives in the playroom waiting for Theo, and her face is a curious shade of alabaster, from the sunless days, and her hair a bleached blonde hair shining weakly in the fluorescent lamplight.
There is no mirror in Clare’s attic, “all the better” Clare said aloud, but not too loud, she wouldn’t want them to hear, and drag her from the attic, privacy was the only thing she had left besides a head of secrets. She knew what she looked like though. the bathrooms had mirrors, and she had used them more than once on her nightly pilgrimages. It wouldn’t do not to stay clean. Hygiene is very important. Whoever you are, wherever .
About Theo,he had been her father, there had been more to life than him, alotmore, but when he left she had lost those things too, and that meant she had lost everything.
She could have started over, but retreating was easier, and if he had seen her living in the attic, maybe he’d come back, then everything would be all right. Theo was always watching, but he lived in heaven, and she lived on earth, he couldn’t be with her and that was bad enough.
The attic wasn’t that bad she’d said, and no one bothered her, in the deeps of the night, when everyone was asleep, she was king of the castle, and no one could tell her what to do, as they weren’t there to tell her.
She’d liked reading. Theo’s other name for her was bookworm. She still did actually,” I make my own sunshine “ Clare had declared to Thierra one day, “when I can of course”, she added hastily. Thierra was a fellow room mate in the attic, who could be shut up in a little box at the back of Clare’s head when she wanted to be alone to think on more philosophical nights. Thierra was an ambivalent, ageless girl who was everything Clare wanted her to be. Thierra hadn’t existed until Clare needed he. Thierra was based on a character in one of Clare’s books and was a great comfort on dreary nights.

***
Clare never did have a real mum. Or one she could remember, so it didn’t bother her; you can’t miss someone you don’t know. Maybe she did know mum, just a little, all of the memories borrowed from photos that lined the mantelpiece until Clume came and locked them away in dusty albums, and there were Theo’s stories, recounting what he was willing to share at random moments, laced with the stereotypes of a perfect mother.
She never thought much about her, mother wasn’t much more than a name. Her name was Virginia, it could have been ‘X’ for all it mattered. But it mattered to Theo and sometimes the good father would wander away from her, to a place she did not shareand was not allowed. He would sit in the sweltering desert of ebony that swam murkily in the study, and would stare so intensely into the shades of gloaming red-gold of a fire, burning in the hearth, and his eyes would never move from it. That fire contained the secrets of the universe and was perhaps where Virginia lived.
Then his head would tilt, and he would fall back from his reverie and into a dream, maybe even voluntarily; afraid to face her for too long at a stretch. And then he’d awake, and all would right itself again.
After Clume came he never did this again. He hadn’t forgotten though. but Clume seemed to blight this remembrance simply by her oppressive presence, Virginia had gone many years before, but it was only now she had truly fled, with no hope of further resurrection.
Clare had been sorry about it. She couldn’t have cared less for her own sake. Virginia was her father’s wife, and a stranger at best, standing at the other side of lake too wide to shout across. She minded very much for Theo though, who never talked about Virginia again, perhaps for the fear of the other woman in the house. She was the lawful wedded wife now. He could no longer solicit visits from a mistress, dead or alive.

jiaen

Today's commentary

2004-10-27T23:53:00.000-07:00

I have been reading Anna Karenina, it's something my father brought back from Australia because he didn't know what else to get. Let me describe the book: it's big, slightly larger than A5 size for photocopy paper, and it's, let's see, 817 pages long, without the appendix, so, I carry a deadly weapon about with me, Anna Karenina, can kill if thrown from a high place.Can you imagine? Tolstoy called it a novel.
It's impossible to get through more than 10 pages a day, or less. He describes everything in minute detail, like how Kitty sat down: gracefully,how Kitty's dress was made: talking about each and every rosette on her dress, how Anna felt standing in the cold: 'exhilerated'. Mind, I didn't say that, he did.

I will miss C2 next year. This is the most fun I've ever had, this sounds seriously sad, but it is.

By the way I am in Miss Shervon's lab, talking to her about chinese scholars as I type, she doesn't notice because I'm hiding behind the monitor. She asks if I think they deserve anything for their hard work.
Me : Oh, like what for instance?
Her: Maybe some recognition, they're like pacekeepers.
Me : Well, how about a giant golden plaque saying pacekeeper to wear around their necks?

I enjoy spitting vitriol though it doesn't often help. At all. Still, it keeps me sane, and if so, why not?

Here's something I've written, can you guess what it's about?

I do regret that the year’s autumn season has cast it’s dismay.
Seldom may I express what I here shall say
May I pose contrast. this wintry day
The year’s steeple is collapsing
No more of us will come to pray
kneel down by the burial chamber
Youth and other lies have sweet repose
truth’s loveliness in verse and prose
So we have to speak just one word
To call the season’s joy adjourned
See this time what it may tell
As stupendous seas about us swell
The day is dreaming in the yellow light
Summer’s mellow fruitfulness and spring’s delight
And so it ends here
Resting in the quiet of the earth.

Goodbye C2