Trembling

Put The Rural Alberta Advantage's 'Don't Haunt This Place' on.

There are too many things which have happened in my life for me to be able to write them all down, but I think I have comunicated almost all of them at one point or another, because I am a veracious story teller. The story doesn't always have to be true, it just has to interest me.

This one's true though, and it's horrific, but I have to set it out clearly and if you're following my blog you'll already know how screwed up I am so you'll have to forgive me. Sex, drugs and rock and roll. Drugs being tea. Rock and roll being clubbing. Sex being un-wished for.

What happened last thursday:

A couple of friends and I had decided to go on a 'Harry Potter' themed pub crawl. The university charity group has organised it and their themed pub crawls are always hilarious. So we got tickets, and then on the night, they all chickened out. So I called my friend Jess who had been looking for tickets after they sold out, and her and Cain, the guy who ought to be gay but gets with girls, were overjoyed to take the spare tickets. We predrank a bottle of whisky and a good amount of jager, and headed out.

(Mistakes 1 and 2 of the night - not sticking with my flat mates, and, pre-drinking, then bringing drinks in plastic bottles with us so that we wouldn't sober up on the walk there.)

We were late onto the crawl so we joined up with them on their third 'pub' - the downstairs of Timepiece, which has a club upstairs which wasn't open yet, and which is kind of dark and wooden and I rather like it. I had some nice neat whisky and realised I knew hella people on the crawl, so started chatting with various groups, one of which involved my friend Rob from my old school, which was funny to me in the state I was in.

(Mistake 3 - not sticking with one group of friends.)

We then hit the last bar (Pitcher and Piano) before running off to the club. I cannot actually remember the walk between them aside from standing on a bench with the folks from B1.

(Mistake 4 - hanging out with people I had already gotten off with.)

Once I was there I didn't even bother getting a drink, I was that gone. I went up to the smoking area and felt upset that there was no one there I really knew. The next thing I remember is this dark south-african guy putting his hands down my pants but not kissing me. Intriguing.

(Mistake 5 - allowing that to happen.)

He then drags me off the dance floor and I agree that I want to go home as WOW he lives just up the hill from me so maybe we could just share a taxi back. As we exit the club I realise I don't want to leave but his arm's around me and we're in a cab and he's doing unmentionable things to me and then we're in his room and he's on facebook. I'm serious. He said something like, don't you always check facebook when you get home from a night out. I say no. He gets me naked, has a rather large dick (terrifyingly large) and I tell him I don't think I can do this. I feel absolutely horrified at the idea of anything that large approaching my delicate self. His friend calls him and he holds me down with one hand whilst answering the phone. He then gets me all het up and so on, and it ends up with us having sex. I don't say 'no' until about half way through when I'm in major pain and he either doesn't hear me or pretends not to. I don't say it that forcefully.

(Mistake 6 - not making myself clear. The words I wanted were, 'I'm saying no, and if you keep going, that will be classed as rape.')

He keeps going on about wanting to make me come, but I don't and I eventually manage to slide out of bed and lock myself in his bathroom. I come out and ask why he didn't kiss me at all, whilst I get dressed. He says he only kisses his girlfriend. I tell him I don't think my boyfriend would be too impressed with me (you expect me to tell him the truth about anything?) and run out the door, ask someone down his hall for the way out. Yes I was too drunk to remember which door was which.

Once outside, I run down the hill crying my eyes out and thinking 'I'm going to go cry on everyone in my flat and then Will won't be mad at me.' I don't know why this is the thought I'm thinking, but I was mainly worried about Will being mad at me as I'd told his friend something I shouldn't have earlier (see post before this one). I notice a guy in a big coat ahead of me, am half terrified but then the hill gets really steep and he's concerned and I end up holding his arm. He's french. He says, What happened? I say, Someone had sex with me, and, I didn't want them to, and, I'm all wrong, and, look, I'm even doing this wrong.

He says he's going back to his room. I ask if I could come and have tea. He says yes. I go and have tea and he has posters of John Lennon and Spiderman cartoons around his room and two left handed guitars and his room is just perfectly messy enough.

(This ought to have been a mistake but it wasn't. Hurrah.)

I leave and run home.

I get here, go into my room, get scared, wonder where everyone is, put on a hoody, go into Reshi's room, that's where a load of people are, and collapse crying. They take notes on the details and tell me I should report him. I go sleep in Eva's spare bed.

I don't think I want to report him. What if they don't believe me? What if he gets deported? What if he really did think I wanted to do stuff? I just hope to god I didn't imagine the bit where he put on a condom.

And I have two massive hickeys.

Afraid of everyone.

well.

Positives: Crying and running home, I bumped into a random french guy called something like Jean-something. Who had a big coat and glasses. Who I immediately fell deeply in love with. Who likes John Lennon. Who has a spiderman poster. Who has perfect glasses and hair. Who has heard of J M G Le Clezio, even read some of him. So what I was hysterical and forced him to let me go to his room and drink tea without milk or sugar. So what I can't remember if I was awful. He was amazing.
And, the pub crawl was fun. Saw Jack of the curly red hair who was wearing a green hat and dancing like an elf. Why is he always in my life? Why can I never decide what he's thinking? Freekin drama students.


Negatives: Will's mad with me for mentioning about his girlfriend to anyone else. He didn't say it was private but I guess I should have known it was his news to tell. I was drunk and someone who has really personal conversations with him and has known him since he was six asked me how he was. 'Not so good.' 'why not? I thought his girlfriend came down?' 'Well, exactly. Don't think that panned out quite right.' 'Oh... I should call him.' 'Okay.' And then he's mad with me!
And, I am bruised and have huge marks on my neck and sobbed all over my flat mates. I don't know I don't know 'report him for rape' 'no he's south african'.

Fuck's sake.

THE NATIONAL. hide in them.

Had a bath. The ceiling seemed really far away. Bath's don't make me feel clean unless I have two of them. One to get grime off, one to get soap off. First rediculously hot. Second comfortable temperature, or just below it. The room is freaky coloured, made me feel like in The Yellow Wallpaper. Or like the scary woman in the bath in The Shining.

I wonder if Will hates me now.

This would be a love song, if the sky wasn't on fire.

That essay was rediculously bad.
I'm starting the next one NOW. not the morning it's due. NOW.

Falling for The Low Anthem. And The Tallest Man on Earth.

Will's girlfriend's told him they're on a break. He comes into my room (without knocking, as usual, if he'd been a few seconds earlier he could have seen my sexyful victoria's secret underwear which I'm only wearing because I've run out of the boring stuff. This makes me sad. I don't like wearing it if no one's going to see it. Ho. Ho. Ho.) and says 'She pecked me on the cheek, hugged me as a friend, and got on the bus. She's gone.'
-She told me she was going to do this. Why did I not yell at her and scream protestations. Look at him. Is this my fault? How could this be my fault?
'Are you okay?'
'No I'm fucking not okay.'
-He's not okay, stupid question. Stop talking. Maybe he needs to rant.
He rants.
He apologises for ranting. I wish he wouldn't aplogise. I like being here for him. I suddenly think of Alice and Paddy.


Gemma sits between the stone walls outside the club, her shadow-slick eyelids lowered to gaze into her phone. There's nothing on it, but you look rediculous if you sit alone outside a club and aren't smoking or looking at your phone, and she's run out of fags. Her legs are stretched before her and her mind is elsewhere, examining the reflected stars in her phone screen, wondering where her friends have gone, what she's going to do now. She doesn't know the answers any more.

She stands up unsteadily, wanders towards the door to the club. A guy with short, blonde hair and stubble stretches a hand towards her. She stares at it. Someone did that earlier, put out their hand towards her. She hesitantly takes it, wondering if this is shaking hands or what. Within seconds he's kissing her. She's shuddering inside but she was alone before and she's not now so she lets him.

did i tell you about the cushion?

'Rorty, writing in the introduction to the aptly-named Everyman Library edition of Pale Fire, traces the way “we readers” experience the novel: the way “we” become immediately seduced by Kinbote, experience mild irritation at the poem’s interruption of his narrative, reconnect with our hero in the commentary as the dazzling story of Zembla unfolds, only gradually apprehend that we are in the company of a madman, and then realize, with guilt and remorse, that we’ve too hastily overlooked the novel’s central event, Hazel’s tragic death. Through a timed-release reaction, the novel’s meaning lodges itself in the reader’s psyche, “for there is now a small dent in the real world, right at the place where we forgot about Hazel,” and we finish the book “worrying about whether we are all right, wondering whether we like ourselves” (Introduction xii–xiii). Rorty believes that for Nabokov, as for Shade, the password is pity.'

WORRYING ABOUT WHETHER WE ARE ALL RIGHT, WONDERING WHETHER WE LIKE OURSELVES.

obsolete venacular

my brand of freedom
falls through roofs;
spins in rain splattered spirals,
like blowing bubbles;
finds death in the flower beds.
you'll never understand
why a teddy's torn skull
equates to liberty,
but you'll take advantage
of the alternate colours on my
nails like shells - will explode
my jaw simply because you thought you knew
what independence meant.

you'll never drain sense into me
through all those shots twisted on my tongue,
and i will fly away
away from your certain face.

listened to Carla Bruni all day. think i have conjunctivitis.

'Nabokov's art grows out of Romanticism in the Platonic tradition; because
he sees this world as a pale reflection of another, his novels abound in
doublings, mirrorings and inversions. 4 The glimmerings of another existence
beyond our own may occasionally be discerned in nature, in fate's workings,
and in art; the puzzles and rich referentiality of Nabokov's texts are designed
to send the reader on a quest for the transcendent.'

'beyond the 'real', a word Nabokov said must always be used with quotation marks'

'structured on the idea that reality has an infinite succession
of false bottoms.'

'If we consider Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde as an allegory - the
struggle between Good and Evil within every man - then this allegory is
tasteless and childish.' - Nabokov

'the double theme began to be popularized in ways that trivialized the real/ideal opposition, reducing it to an allegory of Good/ Evil. Double tales illustrating German Romantic philosophy depict the dilemma of the impossibility of embodying the ideal in the real world; characters go mad attempting to reconcile the irreconcilable'

'The varieties of doubling convey how difficult it is to discern the ideal through the veil of the everyday; Nabokov uses them to show art and reality intertwine. The mirrors reflect a succession of (illusory?) images of eternity barely perceptible from the shifting vantage points of our world. Zemblan, the "tongue of the mirror" (note to line 678), reflects these resemblances.'

...cross referencing makes into further hall of mirrors.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALICE

once upon a time there was a little girl called Alice who invited Florence to her Bat Mitzvah. They had really shiny apples there.

Once upon a time there was a girl called Alice who went to school with Florence for eight years, which is the longest anyone's ever gone to school with her (and still talked to her at the end of it all!).

Once upon a time Alice and Florence went to a folky festival and were a little retarded but it's all good.

Once upon a time there was someone called Alice who was best friends with Florence and they dated two best friends and even sometimes double dated and it was funny while it lasted.

Once upon a time Alice and Florence when clubbing at Alice's university and got a little bit trashed and Alice threw up.

Once upon a time there were two people who shared too many experiences to write into a single blog post.