Free samples and food tents are two things which make gatherings of strangers worthwhile to me. I tried every type of cheese, sausage, chutney, chocolate, fudge, cider, spirits, and general produce possible. My mother described me as 'on a mission', which was just her way of telling me I kept leaving everyone else behind and going into my own little zone of free food-ness. It was better than Costco. Not as good as getting 6 free chocolates from See's, but I suppose my standards are pretty high.
There was a live band playing something between rock and dubstep and Holly, Vivi, Mom and I looked really cool waiting for half an hour for them to start playing, and then we listened to one song, during which Vivi and I danced like crazy (she is now my favourite person to go to gigs with) and then we left.
The music made me laugh, because live music by unknowns always makes me feel amused. I think this is because I consider it precocious, which is a bit irritating of me. These people were the type who dress up, as in, Holly thought they were all bisexual because they had long hair and one of them seemed to be trying very very hard to become Russel Brand, but once he took his sunglasses off (he clearly needed them, what with it being so cloudy and all) he looked really sweet. We tried to decide what kind of underwear people were wearing, and even got the chance to find out a couple of times, because guys have a wierd habit of leaving theirs on show, and we were pleased to find out we were right about most of the guys in the band. Calvin Kleins, and then the most bisexual looking one had cute little blue cotton ones (he'd probably describe them as powder blue). I was pleased to note that everyone seemed to actually be wearing underwear.
Sunday, 19 September 2010
Friday, 17 September 2010
Donnington Castle
'TODAY'S WORLD HAS LOST ITS WAY AND IS NOW HOPELESSLY LOST. WE NEED TO REMEMBER THE WAY. REMEMBER YOUR PAST. (signiture)
COME ALONG SALLY LETS DO 12 HRS OF ACID!'
This was written on a note next to the castle.
It made me happy to think that someone feels the need to inform strangers of their thoughts. It was also heartening to find that the hand writing was exactly the same as my brothers, the triangular exclamation mark being more like something he would have written at 15.
There seem to be an almost inexhaustable number of ways to get to Donnington Castle. Even if you don't want to go there. But once there, I always find myself walking back through the country club, which has the most beautiful lake which seems determined to catch whatever colour the sun is (it was twilight and the water was burning), with some lovely ducks on it.
I walked home thinking:
'The sun is a theif: she lures the sea
and robs it. The moon is a theif:
he steals his silvery light from the sun.
The sea is a thief: it dissolves the moon.'
When I got here the family were back and my dad told me it was not necessarily wise to go on walks at night time by myself.
COME ALONG SALLY LETS DO 12 HRS OF ACID!'
This was written on a note next to the castle.
It made me happy to think that someone feels the need to inform strangers of their thoughts. It was also heartening to find that the hand writing was exactly the same as my brothers, the triangular exclamation mark being more like something he would have written at 15.
There seem to be an almost inexhaustable number of ways to get to Donnington Castle. Even if you don't want to go there. But once there, I always find myself walking back through the country club, which has the most beautiful lake which seems determined to catch whatever colour the sun is (it was twilight and the water was burning), with some lovely ducks on it.
I walked home thinking:
'The sun is a theif: she lures the sea
and robs it. The moon is a theif:
he steals his silvery light from the sun.
The sea is a thief: it dissolves the moon.'
When I got here the family were back and my dad told me it was not necessarily wise to go on walks at night time by myself.
will you pick up your fiddle and pray?
I wore a floor length stripy skirt today. It's made of this really soft, stretchy stuff. I got up before noon. I unloaded the dishwasher. I thought about going for a long walk, but decided to have lunch first. Then I made some fancy pasta involving bacon and peas and parmesan and chille peppers, which ended up looking like coagulated shit, and was edible to me, but which my mother tried and then walked out of the room telling me she wasn't in the mood for pasta and in fact doesn't even like pasta.
It had called for egg yolks, so I was left with some egg whites. I checked my watch, and figured I had enough time to whip up a quick meringue. Why this was my first thought is beyond me, as I have only attempted them once before, when I thought I had to whisk them by hand and ended up with a thick soup of half-burnt too-sweet egg stuck indelibly to the bottom of a pan. But I was determined, today, that I could change my fortunes. This was to be the beginning of the new, accomplished me, who wouldn't ever be a housewife but who would, goddammit, be perfectly able to create amazing deserts whenever they were called for.
So, I researched various recipies, carefully. I checked all of the ones which I have been told are reliable. The ones which have five star ratings. The ones which are supposedly awesome. I took my egg whites with the pinch of salt which they are supposed to be mixed with. I took the electric whisky. I created a cloudy substance which stood up in stiff peaks when it was supposed to. I added my sugar slowly and carefully, mixing when instructed, folding when it was called for, sifting icing sugar slowly and with care. I made sure I greased the tray. I dolloped the stuff on.
They came out coffee coloured, as instructed.
They were crisp to the touch and slightly hollow sounding, as I had been promised they ought to.
I slid them off the tray, ignoring the fact that some bits stuck to it.
I took a bite.
They were soggy, and became a hard, thick, sugary, unswallowable substance the minute they hit my toungue.
I sat on the grey floor for a while an examined my toes.
Then I went to the cupboard and got out the betty crocker chocolate cup cake mix, and I mixed up that mix, and then i poured some of the meringue goop which I hadn't cooked yet on top of tiny cupcakes of the chocolate cake stuff.
And I baked that.
And it was just fine.
It had called for egg yolks, so I was left with some egg whites. I checked my watch, and figured I had enough time to whip up a quick meringue. Why this was my first thought is beyond me, as I have only attempted them once before, when I thought I had to whisk them by hand and ended up with a thick soup of half-burnt too-sweet egg stuck indelibly to the bottom of a pan. But I was determined, today, that I could change my fortunes. This was to be the beginning of the new, accomplished me, who wouldn't ever be a housewife but who would, goddammit, be perfectly able to create amazing deserts whenever they were called for.
So, I researched various recipies, carefully. I checked all of the ones which I have been told are reliable. The ones which have five star ratings. The ones which are supposedly awesome. I took my egg whites with the pinch of salt which they are supposed to be mixed with. I took the electric whisky. I created a cloudy substance which stood up in stiff peaks when it was supposed to. I added my sugar slowly and carefully, mixing when instructed, folding when it was called for, sifting icing sugar slowly and with care. I made sure I greased the tray. I dolloped the stuff on.
They came out coffee coloured, as instructed.
They were crisp to the touch and slightly hollow sounding, as I had been promised they ought to.
I slid them off the tray, ignoring the fact that some bits stuck to it.
I took a bite.
They were soggy, and became a hard, thick, sugary, unswallowable substance the minute they hit my toungue.
I sat on the grey floor for a while an examined my toes.
Then I went to the cupboard and got out the betty crocker chocolate cup cake mix, and I mixed up that mix, and then i poured some of the meringue goop which I hadn't cooked yet on top of tiny cupcakes of the chocolate cake stuff.
And I baked that.
And it was just fine.
Thursday, 16 September 2010
monsters
'Á Bao A Qu is a Malayan legend described in Jorge Luis Borges's 1967 Book of Imaginary Beings. Borges claimed that he had found the legend in the book On Malay Witchcraft (1937), by C.C. Iturvuru.
The Á Bao A Qu lived in the Tower of Victory in Chitor. The Tower of Victory consisted of many spiraling steps, from the top of which one can see the most beautiful landscape in the world. The Á Bao A Qu waits on the first step for a man brave enough to try to climb up. Until that point, it lies sleeping, a translucent blob, until someone passes. Then, when a man starts climbing, the creature wakes, and follows close behind. As it progresses further and further up, it begins to become clearer and more colorful. It gives off a blue light which increases as it ascends. When the climber ascends halfway up the Tower, the Á Bao A Qu's tentacles become visible. But it only reaches perfection when the climber reaches the top, and achieves Nirvana, so his acts don't cast any shadows. But almost all the time, the climber cannot reach the top, for they are not perfect. When the Á Bao A Qu realizes this, it hangs back, losing color and visibility, and tumbles back down the staircase until it reaches the bottom, once more a colorless, dormant blob. In doing so, it gives a small cry, so soft that it sounds similar to the rustling of silk. The creature has no eyes, but can see with its entire body. When touched, it feels like the fuzz on the skin of a peach. Only once in its everlasting life has the Á Bao A Qu reached its destination at the top of the tower.'
It is not normal to spend all night sitting in one's room with no food making up monsters. But that's what I just did.
A Gwickling is a seven-to-eight-foot-tall, troll-like being from the island of Brog. A Gwickling’s features are covered in a film of pink gloop which is produced by their pores and is said to repel the huge insects which their native land is infested with. They have three nostrils, from one of which a peach-coloured slime continually drips. Their single eye is usual placed high in what serves as their face, and consists of a heavily lidded black orb, generally surprisingly small for the large expanse of flesh it seems to float in, rather like an egg yolk in a fried egg. Their mouths have thick, rubbery rims, and open in all directions at once rather than simply up and down as usual mouths do – this is due to an umbrella-type arrangement in their large jaws, which allows them to swallow their prey whole (including hooves and antlers). They have two very long arms which end in two (per arm) fleshy, pincer-type appendages rather than hands. They have short, fat, hairy legs on which the pink goop tends to congeal, often crusting over around the bottom, which creates a protective, elastic encasing, which helps create the huge bouncing leaps with which they move. Their thought patterns are known to be minimal, although their instincts are keen and shrewd. A Gwickling will eat almost any living thing, although they are known to be partial to mushrooms. They tend to travel alone, although they do have tribal gatherings in order to combat large numbers of threats.
Gwickling have the following traits and abilities:
1. They have poison arrows.
2. They can create sand at will, which they use as a weapon.
3. They control strange shadow creatures which are believed to be the souls of those they have killed.
4. They tend to kidnap children rather than killing them.
The Nalim (or, Nahleem) are creatures which are supposedly the offspring of a piranha and a hyena. The early monk Gwen Lin wrote this description in his legendary work, ‘Beyond the Gates of Oden’:
‘Like a piranha, it has a huge and terrifying jaw and a slim, finned body, the rest of it being in all ways equipped as that of a hyena, including fur and legs armed with claws. On the ground, they have a distinctively bear-like gait, but usual they prefer to use their magical gifts to swim through the air, much like their fishy ancestors. They are distinguishable by their spotted fur coats, from which we derive their name: 'nah', meaning furred, '-lim', meaning fish.’
Nalim tend to travel in groups of over twenty or so individuals, and if one somehow finds itself alone it will swiftly go mad, turning its frustration at being isolated in on itself, eventually chewing itself to pieces. They have short front legs and longer back ones, like hyenas, which trail below them when they fly, as they are propelled as fish, partially by magic and partially by the movements of their bodies, and thus have little use for them. Their plentiful teeth are more like those of a hyena in individual shape, but are arranged like those of a piranha - by organising their teeth so that the bone-crushing premolars do not interfere with the meat-slicing carnassials to the rear, nalim can crush bone without blunting the carnassials' blades. They are inexplicably given to chewing off only small portions of their prey, but their practice of travelling as a group means that this can be effective and lethal to even large groups of people. They are opportunistic feeders like hyenas, with the ability to process and obtain nutrients even from skin and bone. As a group they are notable for their patterns of dominance, co-dependence and submission. Their general appearance is like that of a shoal of misshapen fish, except that they are in the air. They have two magical abilities: the first is being able to fly, the second is to control their size, and so, although they are usually quite small, about the size of one’s hand, which is the smallest they can go, they can grow to be the size of a large dog. To defend oneself it is necessary to wear heavy, tough amour, shield oneself effectively, or take arms against them – it is also rumoured that they are put off by the scent of lavender.
Borogoves: Small creatures resembling sea urchins which run on extendable legs, their feet being rather like flamingos. Their natural habitats are beaches. Their spines are poisonous and hard, sharp as needles and projectile. They come in all colours, on beaches they tend to be yellow, beige, or brown, but once taken from their natural habitats they often become brightly coloured, particularly pinks and blues. In their natural habitats they generally have their numbers kept down by freak storms or by each other, but once taken away from beaches their natural cannibalism stops and they breed hugely, often overrunning areas until everything on them is consumed and they start to resemble beaches. No features or markings apart from their spines and extendable legs and feet are noticeable, so it is impossible to tell their gender or individuals apart, aside from by their colour. It is also hard to discover any sort of mouth, so it is hard to tell how they consume, anything, although digestive juices have been known to be squirted from them onto their victims. The only noise they make is squeaking, which they emit generally from their center.
....
Can you imagine meeting one, though?! Why do I do things like this? Why couldn't I just write a nice story about some kid going on holiday and jumping off a cliff? Maybe I can write some sort of myth about the Nalim eating some wizards. Fucks sake. The scent of lavander?? Doesn't even make any sense biologically.
The Á Bao A Qu lived in the Tower of Victory in Chitor. The Tower of Victory consisted of many spiraling steps, from the top of which one can see the most beautiful landscape in the world. The Á Bao A Qu waits on the first step for a man brave enough to try to climb up. Until that point, it lies sleeping, a translucent blob, until someone passes. Then, when a man starts climbing, the creature wakes, and follows close behind. As it progresses further and further up, it begins to become clearer and more colorful. It gives off a blue light which increases as it ascends. When the climber ascends halfway up the Tower, the Á Bao A Qu's tentacles become visible. But it only reaches perfection when the climber reaches the top, and achieves Nirvana, so his acts don't cast any shadows. But almost all the time, the climber cannot reach the top, for they are not perfect. When the Á Bao A Qu realizes this, it hangs back, losing color and visibility, and tumbles back down the staircase until it reaches the bottom, once more a colorless, dormant blob. In doing so, it gives a small cry, so soft that it sounds similar to the rustling of silk. The creature has no eyes, but can see with its entire body. When touched, it feels like the fuzz on the skin of a peach. Only once in its everlasting life has the Á Bao A Qu reached its destination at the top of the tower.'
It is not normal to spend all night sitting in one's room with no food making up monsters. But that's what I just did.
A Gwickling is a seven-to-eight-foot-tall, troll-like being from the island of Brog. A Gwickling’s features are covered in a film of pink gloop which is produced by their pores and is said to repel the huge insects which their native land is infested with. They have three nostrils, from one of which a peach-coloured slime continually drips. Their single eye is usual placed high in what serves as their face, and consists of a heavily lidded black orb, generally surprisingly small for the large expanse of flesh it seems to float in, rather like an egg yolk in a fried egg. Their mouths have thick, rubbery rims, and open in all directions at once rather than simply up and down as usual mouths do – this is due to an umbrella-type arrangement in their large jaws, which allows them to swallow their prey whole (including hooves and antlers). They have two very long arms which end in two (per arm) fleshy, pincer-type appendages rather than hands. They have short, fat, hairy legs on which the pink goop tends to congeal, often crusting over around the bottom, which creates a protective, elastic encasing, which helps create the huge bouncing leaps with which they move. Their thought patterns are known to be minimal, although their instincts are keen and shrewd. A Gwickling will eat almost any living thing, although they are known to be partial to mushrooms. They tend to travel alone, although they do have tribal gatherings in order to combat large numbers of threats.
Gwickling have the following traits and abilities:
1. They have poison arrows.
2. They can create sand at will, which they use as a weapon.
3. They control strange shadow creatures which are believed to be the souls of those they have killed.
4. They tend to kidnap children rather than killing them.
The Nalim (or, Nahleem) are creatures which are supposedly the offspring of a piranha and a hyena. The early monk Gwen Lin wrote this description in his legendary work, ‘Beyond the Gates of Oden’:
‘Like a piranha, it has a huge and terrifying jaw and a slim, finned body, the rest of it being in all ways equipped as that of a hyena, including fur and legs armed with claws. On the ground, they have a distinctively bear-like gait, but usual they prefer to use their magical gifts to swim through the air, much like their fishy ancestors. They are distinguishable by their spotted fur coats, from which we derive their name: 'nah', meaning furred, '-lim', meaning fish.’
Nalim tend to travel in groups of over twenty or so individuals, and if one somehow finds itself alone it will swiftly go mad, turning its frustration at being isolated in on itself, eventually chewing itself to pieces. They have short front legs and longer back ones, like hyenas, which trail below them when they fly, as they are propelled as fish, partially by magic and partially by the movements of their bodies, and thus have little use for them. Their plentiful teeth are more like those of a hyena in individual shape, but are arranged like those of a piranha - by organising their teeth so that the bone-crushing premolars do not interfere with the meat-slicing carnassials to the rear, nalim can crush bone without blunting the carnassials' blades. They are inexplicably given to chewing off only small portions of their prey, but their practice of travelling as a group means that this can be effective and lethal to even large groups of people. They are opportunistic feeders like hyenas, with the ability to process and obtain nutrients even from skin and bone. As a group they are notable for their patterns of dominance, co-dependence and submission. Their general appearance is like that of a shoal of misshapen fish, except that they are in the air. They have two magical abilities: the first is being able to fly, the second is to control their size, and so, although they are usually quite small, about the size of one’s hand, which is the smallest they can go, they can grow to be the size of a large dog. To defend oneself it is necessary to wear heavy, tough amour, shield oneself effectively, or take arms against them – it is also rumoured that they are put off by the scent of lavender.
Borogoves: Small creatures resembling sea urchins which run on extendable legs, their feet being rather like flamingos. Their natural habitats are beaches. Their spines are poisonous and hard, sharp as needles and projectile. They come in all colours, on beaches they tend to be yellow, beige, or brown, but once taken from their natural habitats they often become brightly coloured, particularly pinks and blues. In their natural habitats they generally have their numbers kept down by freak storms or by each other, but once taken away from beaches their natural cannibalism stops and they breed hugely, often overrunning areas until everything on them is consumed and they start to resemble beaches. No features or markings apart from their spines and extendable legs and feet are noticeable, so it is impossible to tell their gender or individuals apart, aside from by their colour. It is also hard to discover any sort of mouth, so it is hard to tell how they consume, anything, although digestive juices have been known to be squirted from them onto their victims. The only noise they make is squeaking, which they emit generally from their center.
....
Can you imagine meeting one, though?! Why do I do things like this? Why couldn't I just write a nice story about some kid going on holiday and jumping off a cliff? Maybe I can write some sort of myth about the Nalim eating some wizards. Fucks sake. The scent of lavander?? Doesn't even make any sense biologically.
Wednesday, 15 September 2010
Not that
anyone's responsible for my emotions, in fact, if you think you know what I'm upset about, and you're not Maya, then you're wrong. I'm not upset about anything that happened in the last few days. It's totally unrelated, although those things didn't help. In fact, I'd say my main issue here is that I can't seem to get anything done, and I never cope well with being at home for too long (just over a week not including the fact I went away for two of those nights and Alice came over on one of them this is shocking how is that too long). I kind of also am stressing over the fact that there is a neighbour who is my age who I haven't met yet and I can't decide whether I should 'just go over and make friends'.
I'll just stand here with my back against the wall.
I'll just stand here with my back against the wall.
Maya's awesome. Did I mention?
'He must have known it would be impossible for you to change your plans at that stage. And what a shit reason. Shadow board meeting? Shadows can't even speak. Idiot. Feel free to forward this to him. Hope you've vented hour anger now. Sorry I can't be there/wasn't there. Xxxxx'
...might be inappropriate to write this on here.
Also, totally singing Two Little Girls to her. Not that it applies :P (we were always half crazy... REALLY? here comes naked little me... SHOWERS)
...might be inappropriate to write this on here.
Also, totally singing Two Little Girls to her. Not that it applies :P (we were always half crazy... REALLY? here comes naked little me... SHOWERS)
Maybe
it's a bit strange, all this Independence. Maybe realising that I can be significant in other people's lives should have happened earlier. Maybe I can burst into tears over words much more easily than I should do, and then be completely unable to write what I mean out. Maybe I haven't been writing enough. Maybe I'm hearing the term 'smiling' used about why I'm good to have around too often, and excusing it with 'I'm always happy to be where I am' too much. Maybe I always wanted to be dark and setting fire to trash cans and not caring or at least really wanting not to care, maybe I can't deal with how sunshiney some people think I am. Maybe I can't say what I want to with words, right now, because I haven't been practising enough. Maybe I should just throw away that bottle of spray because I never even liked the smell of fake vanilla. Maybe I shouldn't try to put cigarette tobacco into a pipe. Maybe I couldn't even feel content with being there for people even when it's not writing, even speaking. Maybe being unable to express myself makes me feel weak. Maybe I hate being a physical being. Maybe I'm worried about Germain Greer. Maybe I'm scared of what I'm going to do at university. Maybe I'm scared of what I do right now. Maybe I'm scared. Maybe I wanted to be kind and loving and when I turned back to watch my actions fall, they were brusque and cruel. Maybe I can't spell. Maybe I just want to be back somewhere where I'm not. Maybe I'll end up doing things which I'll regret just to shut the fucking row in my head up. Maybe it terrifies me that sometimes I can't control a full orchestra playing in my head, or a accordian, or a piano, and it sounds so real, and that's a sign of mental illness. Maybe I never had much of a chance, never had those certainties they suspected in me.
I enjoyed being in Dorset. I also hated it. I had lots of fun. I don't regret anything because who believes in regret? I disliked the sea being beyond the groynes. I enjoyed talking at 2am. The first time round it was light and white and soft and the second time it was dark and red and hard and choking. Maybe I talked to someone at the bar of a pub just because I'm going fucking CRAZY with all these voices in my head and all those eyes outside my head, all those eyes everywhere looking at me, and it's enough to make me crazy, the number of men who are taking me far too seriously. Just imagine this all said in a totally hysterical voice.
Who the fuck am I now? I know who I am I can point to a letter someone wrote to me and I know it's to me.
I enjoyed being in Dorset. I also hated it. I had lots of fun. I don't regret anything because who believes in regret? I disliked the sea being beyond the groynes. I enjoyed talking at 2am. The first time round it was light and white and soft and the second time it was dark and red and hard and choking. Maybe I talked to someone at the bar of a pub just because I'm going fucking CRAZY with all these voices in my head and all those eyes outside my head, all those eyes everywhere looking at me, and it's enough to make me crazy, the number of men who are taking me far too seriously. Just imagine this all said in a totally hysterical voice.
Who the fuck am I now? I know who I am I can point to a letter someone wrote to me and I know it's to me.
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