Saturday, March 26, 2005
Schooling -- Heather McGowan.
(pg 122)
'Crossroads don't exist except in mythology don't be taken in by those who would have you believe. An eye has no resolve of its own. An eye is not a thing unto itself like bear or chicken you see it is attached by an optical nerve to an object called brain or the old grey matter. An eye cannot be set upon the world to make its fortune. It needs constant attention and cannot simply be left to fend for itself. I ask you, have you ever seen an eye at a junction, stick over one shoulder, red handkerchief knotted at one end? Or in a lorry headed south for winter? Be to an eye any sort of independence. Think of the optical nerve as a sort of highway. Along that highway to the eye comes a message from your brain. The message might read Blink. It might read Wink or Stare. The brain is the decision-maker here. The brain is in charge. In this way, if an eye wants to cry, a brain must give permission first. '
--
'In this way, if an eye wants to cry, a brain must give permission first.'
u asked me how.
n yes, its that technical.
Friday, March 25, 2005
i woke up at 5am.
n realised that i missed u.
alot.
(i meant to send that to u via sms. but in the end, i didnt.)
--
it's just like how i always end up doing nothing.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Schooling -- Heather McGowan.
this bk makes tedious reading.
felt as if i did not understand the eng language at all.
--
'Through the village green past the fountain with the rearing horse. As if she needed Paul with his rattlesnake neck always saying Yank. Past the church, its stopped clock. Tea at five-thirty. Half past. Great mattress of white bread to baffle stomachs needing more than a sliver of fish. Jam sandwiches three times a day. Twice. Be fair, there's marmalade in the morning. Which she eats because Father likes marmalade. Past Wenley Smith. Into the Chemist's.
Lavender grannie soaps in crenulated wrappers, shelves of orthopedic devices, plasters. Pumping a solution for eczema. Never warm at Monstead, not like this at least. Never nearly hot. Crossing to linger at the lip display. Behind her a woman curses her child. Salmon to mud with something plummy in the middle range.
The word chutney. Why. Maybe Ploughman's for Tea. Hard roll, cheese and chutney. Fifteen minutes by the clock above the door. Late for chutney. In the mirror she tries FireFire. Hair chaotic, you could say. She didn't pack a brush and why would Father remember. Forgotten pencils, lost hairpins stick her when she lies down at night.
Form a comb with your fingers. Or use a palm to smooth it. Chutney chutney. Might have seen it on the menu outside the dining hall. Posted there to temper appetite. Gilbert never says anything about her wild hair among the jokes he makes. Calling attention to her teeth when they studied calcium, blonde gags when the topic was hydrogen peroxide. As if she didn't have enough problems with hair.
I know things on you... Brickie against the counter, his cuffs are torn... What's on your mouth?
Wiping away FireFire.
What's this do?... he's picked up a silver tin from the display.
Eyelashes. You have to wet the paint.
Move it... knocking her from the mirror spitting in the tin.
What is it you know on me?
Brickie, reflected... Something... mouth open in concentration painting an eyelash masterpiece... You'll find out soon enough.
Hastening over, the clerk What, blustering in misbuttoned smock Do You Think, as if they have personally degraded her commented on her exposed roots You're Doing, with rising indignation With That? Brickie all the while unwavering in his careful application, Young Man?
Testing it.
The clerk snatches for the tin but leftover glue has affixed it to Brickie's hand launching the blondish woman into an attack of You public school You think you're the Well I'll tell you Think you can Give it over and Brickie into a dramatically pained Ow You're hurting me That's skin Watch it. Until the woman rips free the mascara with a terrifying smile.
Calm yourself... Brickie rubbing his palm, batting thick eyelashes... You're hysterical.
Brickie's downturned mouth like that of his trouty father. The ambassador presented Catrine with five dead fish saying It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance so she understood that it was a hand being offered. That she was to shake it. Then the ambassador handed Brickie a handkerchief. Discreetly indicated nose care.
Brickie and his eyelashes turn to hang elbows against the glass counter... You're a snob.
Lend me some money.
What for?
Just lend it to me.
If her hair were wet first she might get a comb through it. What could Brickie possibly know on her. How much did a comb cost. Gilbert was two days away. Bath night tomorrow. Enough time to shampoo.'
--
'Midnight maybe at least a few hours since Lights Out. What has she woken to mourners the stories of hauntings white lady headless man breathing of the other eight a grunt here Mareka Holland talks in sleep the nine beds the blue bobbled bedspread pulled up so cold she wears wool socks hat beginning of November what awakened her? Moonlight through a slice in the curtains the windows reach up to the ceiling. What's the book where a girl hides behind a curtain on a wide sill. Weary night. Pull your head under the covers to get it hot with breathing. Alone now. Not like in Maine because there was always Isabelle but there was never herself so much as here. '
--
-roars!
give me back my ben elton or jeff noon.
--
but then again, i cant seem to put the bk down.
*mutters.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
a Cat named Cow
i am the mucus machine.
i reckon ive used at least 50 sheets of tissue today.
Sunday, March 20, 2005
i smell like babyshit says:
we're man.
tea lady says:
?
i smell like babyshit says:
n we have facial hair.
i smell like babyshit says:
we're man
tea lady says:
men !
i smell like babyshit says:
n ive changed my underwear.
tea lady says:
-laughs
i smell like babyshit says:
MAN!
tea lady says:
...
i smell like babyshit says:
grin.
--
i have bad english.
this is too much.
too much.
i've been ill for close to 3 wks.
n yet i'm still coughing (w/o phlegm for now, thankfully)
n my throat hurts like fuck. (itchy itchy scratchy scratchy.)
stayed home. (again.)
n worked on detoxifying my body.
since 11am, i've drank 2l of water
n now, my mom has given me a whole flask filled with a strange dark purple liquid which she claims will help in removing heatiness.
--
'more tea, mr bear?'
-grimaces.
'yes, pls.'
--
tried so many things but i cant quite seem to ease the irritation in my throat.
took strepsils.
took difflam antiseptic throat wash.
took pi par gao.
all useless!
--
well, maybe i shld c a doc?
stop eating fish n chips?
no more ice coke?
dont go out in the sun?
sleep earlier?
sleep more?
--
maybe, i shld just stop my whinings.
----joraffe----
