Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Heroine of the Day: Marion Eaton

Who portrayed a brilliant Mrs. Gert Hammond in the 70's cult classic 'Thundercrack'
"Oh Charlie, people come and go, but cucumbers must stay."

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Part Fore-Toe

I'm sitting across a man. The room is filled with smoke, a children's choir is singing a devil's hymn behind us, a woman, one leg, brings us drinks. Mi madre ha muerto, she says. I smile empathically. The man is an alchemist, he is here to teach me. He is my Señor Zenith. I know all of the Artes Liberales, now the forbidden arts are in order. The Alchemist drinks and smiles. I wish he would look into my eyes and see my conviction. The Alchemist is more handsome than I imagined, his voice warmer, his gestures soothing. I lean back. I hear the woman repeat herself, mi madre ha muerto, to the harpies sitting next to us. They shriek and laugh and spit in her face. A boy, a soprano clearly, yells out: 'look, she's back!' and as in a vision I see the Bride walk into the smoky room. She waltzes to our table and introduces herself to my Alchemist. My Señor Zenith.
"Forgive me, I should have warned you," I stumble. But he merely smiles and for the first time he looks into my eyes.
"I studied Ibn Hayyan, Hermes Trismegistus, Alain de Lisle, Masini and Boehme, but never did I find the symbol I need." The Bride takes my hand and we both look to the Alchemist for an answer.

Part Fore-Won


Thursday, November 15, 2007

Distant Voices: George Orwell

The great mass of human beings are not acutely selfish. After the age of about thirty they abandon individual ambition - in many cases, indeed, they abandon the sense of being individuals at all - and live chiefly for others or are simply smothered under drudgery. But there is also the minority of gifted, wilful people who are determined to live their own lives to the end, and writers belong to this class.

- from Why I write

Thursday, November 08, 2007

Part Fore-Zewo

Because I was thinking and didn't know where to begin, a rough translation from the poem 'Eind van de Eeuw' by Leonard Nolens;

End of the Century

So What, Achmatova, we aren't in love anymore
with your pain, that iron fall of seventeen.
Other moustaches and Octobers have grieved us
before we were born, before we could see
Afterwards how blind we were in the crib
of this cold war. The enemy without a trace.
That's why we hated ourselves, our clattering lies
of this armed peace, a heaven without a saviour.

Yes, Achmatova, so what!

I feel conflicted about what I wrote about the actor I met last Friday. It is what happened, but it's my subjective version of the facts, fictionalized so it could fit in my story. I feel that he comes across as too arrogant and at the same time needy, and that I'm a cool-acting bitch. That's not how it felt at the time, but that's problem isn't it? If you write about things like that, it's always a lie. What I remember most is his smile, but I can't put that in words. I could try, but I could never give an accurate description of that smile and how I reacted to it. I also don't want to blow it out of proportions, after all it was just a drunk encounter on a Friday night, so I'm conflicted.

Distance and saying goodbye is the horny metaphysics of men who keep their love moist and damp in a faraway place where they can boil their days.
- From the hurting that I am, I have no part.

I talked to some people today, I want to remember what they said to me, although it's of no great significance.

"If your parents had sent you to art school when you were younger like you wanted, imagine what your life would have been like."
-My ex.

"Sure, you can borrow this book. It's only on the table because my sister asked what sort of books I enjoy. I couldn't get away with anything else, that would just have been ridiculous."
-My best friend.

"My shop looks way too pink from outside if you stand across the street. It just doesn't go with my chandeliers, it's like Barbie's dream house in here. Damn, now I have to paint again."
-My boss.

"If my former teacher could see how I'm fumbling with this html code he would yank my hair right out of my skull."
-My flatmate.

"Why can you never find work that's legal?"
-My mum.

"Oh right, I forgot you're still young and naive. When gay men discuss outdoor activities, they don't talk about camping or fishing."
- A friend

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Part Tree-Nain

Step away from the computer.
Turn off the phone.
Put out the television.
Shut down the music.
And step into my darkened room.

A room with heavy curtains drawn over the windows. A room with no furniture. Close the door behind you. Come stand in the middle, together with me. Take off all your clothes and throw them away. Think about what you're doing. Do you feel alright? Are you scared? What are you thinking about? Just try to relax and tell me your first thoughts. Take your time.

An escalator.
Bathing when I was little.
The woman from the grocery store.
Maggie Simpson.
Smoking a cigarette.
A dead bird.
A sharp knife.
A dead bird.
A sharp knife.
A dead bird.

Let's try this another day. Try not to think anymore, open the curtains and put on your clothes. Log in, put on your music and chat away. Just don't think. Stay away from dark rooms. Drown your thoughts with sounds.

Whatever you do, never log off.