Musik: Juliet - Emilie Autumn
Klieden: Protest top, PJ bottoms
Filme: Primary Colors (Nichols)
Buchen: Twelfth Night by Shakespeare
I wrote this poem today, sitting alone at university like the saddo I am. However, I did feel it was of good enough quality to post here.
The Ant Hill
It’s so busy!
Can you see the ants swarming?
Picking up bits of food,
Hoarding it sociably, in togetherness.
The food consists of paper, ink;
It’s made of words and abstraction.
It fills bellies:
They glut themselves on it,
Till they cannot move,
Cannot do anything useful anymore.
They follow one another in thin little lines,
Congregating to a central point:
The Ant Hill.
They’re told that it is glorious there,
But that is a lie.
The lie is cold, calculated.
The lie costs over a thousand pounds,
More than that, even,
If you wish to reach the centre of the Ant Hill.
Inside there is a hollow, dark space,
A stretching abyss of emptiness.
Of course, the food is stored there
And you can eat your fill,
Eat until you’re sick
Because it’s sickly sweet.
And soon you’ll find you can eat no more.
Yet, you’re almost starving
Your belly expands, ugly and round,
Like a full moon.
Inside The Ant Hill you cease to be
That youthful dream of a fat, full life.
All you can do now is to drink your own tears;
The salt dries you up.
The Ant Hill is just dirt, stuck with glue.
Soon you’ll be that very dirt, too.
31 January 2011
26 January 2011
Emotional Fruits
Musik: 100 percent - Angelspit
Klieden: Checked dress, blazer, jeans
Filme: Doctor Strangelove: Or how I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb (Kubrick)
Buchen: The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides
I wrote this series of stories a while ago. They're very simple to write, so I write them when I'm not in a very intellectually challenging mood or when I'm sad. I thought I'd share them, as they're at times amusing, though at others heart-breaking. Judge for yourselves.
The Sad Banana
The banana was very sad. Most other bananas were yellow and bright coloured whereas he was an odd green shade, like a leaf. In fact, that was the insult the other bananas had jeered at him in the jungle.
“You’re not a fruit at all! You’re just a silly little leaf!” laughed his brothers and sisters.
The sad banana was therefore alienated from the rest of his family and wanted very much to leave them. All they ever did was laugh at him; it wasn’t fair. They all used to be green, too! But as his brothers and sister had begun to turn a rich shade of golden yellow with brown dots he remained stubbornly green.
One day, though, everything began to change. The sad banana and his family were struck down from their tree and separated from one another into smaller bunches. They were driven through many wonderful places, but the sad bananas sister’s were frightened.
“We want to go home!” they cried.
“Don’t worry, sisters. We’re going to a better place than home,” he comforted them.
His sisters crowded towards him and did not make fun of him anymore. The sad banana felt strong and protected his sisters for the entire journey. Eventually they found themselves on a large wooden market stall with lots of people shouting and some singing. The sad banana began to notice that the bananas around him came in all shapes and sizes. Some were as green as him, others slightly more bent whilst some were completely straight. But the people seemed not to care about any of this; they were merely happy to see the bananas. And this made the sad banana very happy indeed.
The Happy Apple
Mrs Apple had seen her fair share of this world. She’d seen orchards, back gardens, fruits bowls and corner shop stalls. She’d been fitfully transported all over the place, never settled in one for very long. She was a very old apple, getting on for five months away from her tree. Therefore, she was beginning to become rotten but Mrs Apple would not allow this to happen to her. She was determined to keep her chin up and spread cheer among her fellow fruity friends.
“Oh, yes I’m sure a cheery disposition is bound to stop the forces of nature,” jeered an unhelpful mandarin.
“Yes, dear. I’m quite sure it will,” grinned Mrs Apple, pleased that the mandarin seemed to share her optimism.
Mrs Apple currently resided in a very busy fruit bowl and had lots of friends to keep her company. There were bananas, pears, grapes, one enormous melon and, of course, the mandarins. But Mrs Apple best friend in the whole entire fruit bowl was Mr Pear.
“They’ll throw you out soon, I expect,” Mr Pear chortled.
“Oh you’re always so very amusing, Mr Pear,” giggled Mrs Apple. Mr Pear had a wonderful sense of humour.
“I can see you turning brown already, and your skins gone all soft,” Mr Pear pointed out.
“Now, Mr Pear!” said Mrs Apple, alarmed.
She tried to ignore Mr Pear’s observations but that night she could not sleep for thinking about them. The next day Mrs Apple was somewhat subdued.
“What’s wrong, Little Miss Sunshine?” asked the mandarin, with a nasty grin.
Mrs Apple shook her head. She didn’t feel like speaking to anyone. Her skin began to soften and a terrible pain was enveloping her from the inside. Soon hair and mould began to grow upon her. The other fruits avoided her as her melancholy overtook her cheerful disposition. Soon there was nothing left of Mrs Apple at all; and Mr Pear cried out with regret. If only he hadn’t destroyed Mrs Apple’s optimism – she might have survived!
The Bitter Tomato
Throughout his short life the bitter tomato had always been discriminated against. The fruits were suspicious of him:
“How do we know you’re really one of us?” the mandarins would sneer, whilst the others hissed their agreement.
However, the bitter tomato knew that he was a fruit… if only he could prove it! The vegetables were not particularly friendly to him either; the carrots giggled whenever he came near and the broccoli asked him if had gone red from the embarrassment of being neither a fruit nor a vegetable.
Being constantly chastised had caused the bitter tomato to hate pretty much everyone he came across and when he met Mr Pear this was no different. Mr Pear was known for being very amusing and this made the bitter tomato hate him all the more. Mr Pear was liked and accepted and would probably be even more unkind to bitter tomato as a result. However, on that particular day Mr Pear was not in a very amusing mood. In fact, he seemed rather sad.
“What’s eating you?” snapped the bitter tomato.
“Mrs Apple has rotted away,” he cried, “And it’s all my fault!”
Bitter tomato snorted. “I don’t doubt that,” he said, coldly.
Mr Pear looked up at bitter tomato angrily and before the bitter tomato realised what was happening Mr Pear had given him such a blow that the bitter tomato began to leak all over the place!
“You…you…,” the bitter tomato had no words to describe his astonishment.
“Hey,” said Mr Pear, distracted, “You have seeds. That means you must be a fruit!”
Mr Pear laughed in surprise. “Hey everyone, the tomato really is one of us!”
The fruits gathered around the bitter tomato, shouting and cheering. Mr Pear smiled. The bitter tomato was finally one of the fruits.
The Angry Pineapple
The somewhat angry pineapple had not always been that way. In fact, at one point in his life when he had still been upon the great pineapple tree, he had been rather happy. He’d been popular among the other fruits and had even made friends with the usually hostile mandarins. But one day tragedy had struck. He had been plucked from the enormous tree by eager human hands and thrown into a barrel along with a load of other pineapples he didn’t know. They’d been crushed together rather inappropriately and been most uncomfortable. They had therefore argued for almost the entire journey across the terrifying, raged sea for they were all frightened and away from their friends and family. Some fell into a mere melancholy but the angry pineapple became what he became; an extremely angry pineapple. His eyes bulged menacingly and all the other pineapples were very wary of him. Even the humans avoided him when he reached his final destination on a supermarket shelf. He snapped and screamed at anyone who went near him, making his eyes saucer wide and full of the madness that was slowly over-taking him. He continued until he found himself to be the only pineapple left on the shelf. Then he realised that he was no longer angry he was just…lonely.
Klieden: Checked dress, blazer, jeans
Filme: Doctor Strangelove: Or how I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb (Kubrick)
Buchen: The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides
I wrote this series of stories a while ago. They're very simple to write, so I write them when I'm not in a very intellectually challenging mood or when I'm sad. I thought I'd share them, as they're at times amusing, though at others heart-breaking. Judge for yourselves.
The Sad Banana
The banana was very sad. Most other bananas were yellow and bright coloured whereas he was an odd green shade, like a leaf. In fact, that was the insult the other bananas had jeered at him in the jungle.
“You’re not a fruit at all! You’re just a silly little leaf!” laughed his brothers and sisters.
The sad banana was therefore alienated from the rest of his family and wanted very much to leave them. All they ever did was laugh at him; it wasn’t fair. They all used to be green, too! But as his brothers and sister had begun to turn a rich shade of golden yellow with brown dots he remained stubbornly green.
One day, though, everything began to change. The sad banana and his family were struck down from their tree and separated from one another into smaller bunches. They were driven through many wonderful places, but the sad bananas sister’s were frightened.
“We want to go home!” they cried.
“Don’t worry, sisters. We’re going to a better place than home,” he comforted them.
His sisters crowded towards him and did not make fun of him anymore. The sad banana felt strong and protected his sisters for the entire journey. Eventually they found themselves on a large wooden market stall with lots of people shouting and some singing. The sad banana began to notice that the bananas around him came in all shapes and sizes. Some were as green as him, others slightly more bent whilst some were completely straight. But the people seemed not to care about any of this; they were merely happy to see the bananas. And this made the sad banana very happy indeed.
The Happy Apple
Mrs Apple had seen her fair share of this world. She’d seen orchards, back gardens, fruits bowls and corner shop stalls. She’d been fitfully transported all over the place, never settled in one for very long. She was a very old apple, getting on for five months away from her tree. Therefore, she was beginning to become rotten but Mrs Apple would not allow this to happen to her. She was determined to keep her chin up and spread cheer among her fellow fruity friends.
“Oh, yes I’m sure a cheery disposition is bound to stop the forces of nature,” jeered an unhelpful mandarin.
“Yes, dear. I’m quite sure it will,” grinned Mrs Apple, pleased that the mandarin seemed to share her optimism.
Mrs Apple currently resided in a very busy fruit bowl and had lots of friends to keep her company. There were bananas, pears, grapes, one enormous melon and, of course, the mandarins. But Mrs Apple best friend in the whole entire fruit bowl was Mr Pear.
“They’ll throw you out soon, I expect,” Mr Pear chortled.
“Oh you’re always so very amusing, Mr Pear,” giggled Mrs Apple. Mr Pear had a wonderful sense of humour.
“I can see you turning brown already, and your skins gone all soft,” Mr Pear pointed out.
“Now, Mr Pear!” said Mrs Apple, alarmed.
She tried to ignore Mr Pear’s observations but that night she could not sleep for thinking about them. The next day Mrs Apple was somewhat subdued.
“What’s wrong, Little Miss Sunshine?” asked the mandarin, with a nasty grin.
Mrs Apple shook her head. She didn’t feel like speaking to anyone. Her skin began to soften and a terrible pain was enveloping her from the inside. Soon hair and mould began to grow upon her. The other fruits avoided her as her melancholy overtook her cheerful disposition. Soon there was nothing left of Mrs Apple at all; and Mr Pear cried out with regret. If only he hadn’t destroyed Mrs Apple’s optimism – she might have survived!
The Bitter Tomato
Throughout his short life the bitter tomato had always been discriminated against. The fruits were suspicious of him:
“How do we know you’re really one of us?” the mandarins would sneer, whilst the others hissed their agreement.
However, the bitter tomato knew that he was a fruit… if only he could prove it! The vegetables were not particularly friendly to him either; the carrots giggled whenever he came near and the broccoli asked him if had gone red from the embarrassment of being neither a fruit nor a vegetable.
Being constantly chastised had caused the bitter tomato to hate pretty much everyone he came across and when he met Mr Pear this was no different. Mr Pear was known for being very amusing and this made the bitter tomato hate him all the more. Mr Pear was liked and accepted and would probably be even more unkind to bitter tomato as a result. However, on that particular day Mr Pear was not in a very amusing mood. In fact, he seemed rather sad.
“What’s eating you?” snapped the bitter tomato.
“Mrs Apple has rotted away,” he cried, “And it’s all my fault!”
Bitter tomato snorted. “I don’t doubt that,” he said, coldly.
Mr Pear looked up at bitter tomato angrily and before the bitter tomato realised what was happening Mr Pear had given him such a blow that the bitter tomato began to leak all over the place!
“You…you…,” the bitter tomato had no words to describe his astonishment.
“Hey,” said Mr Pear, distracted, “You have seeds. That means you must be a fruit!”
Mr Pear laughed in surprise. “Hey everyone, the tomato really is one of us!”
The fruits gathered around the bitter tomato, shouting and cheering. Mr Pear smiled. The bitter tomato was finally one of the fruits.
The Angry Pineapple
The somewhat angry pineapple had not always been that way. In fact, at one point in his life when he had still been upon the great pineapple tree, he had been rather happy. He’d been popular among the other fruits and had even made friends with the usually hostile mandarins. But one day tragedy had struck. He had been plucked from the enormous tree by eager human hands and thrown into a barrel along with a load of other pineapples he didn’t know. They’d been crushed together rather inappropriately and been most uncomfortable. They had therefore argued for almost the entire journey across the terrifying, raged sea for they were all frightened and away from their friends and family. Some fell into a mere melancholy but the angry pineapple became what he became; an extremely angry pineapple. His eyes bulged menacingly and all the other pineapples were very wary of him. Even the humans avoided him when he reached his final destination on a supermarket shelf. He snapped and screamed at anyone who went near him, making his eyes saucer wide and full of the madness that was slowly over-taking him. He continued until he found himself to be the only pineapple left on the shelf. Then he realised that he was no longer angry he was just…lonely.
11 January 2011
Cellar Door
Musik: Glosoli - Sigur Ros
Kleiden: Birmingham protest shirt and PJ bottoms
Filme: Mean Girls (Waters)
Buchen: A Season In The Life Of Emmanuel by Marie-Claire Blais
Tolkien discovered that linguistically the words 'cellar door' were the most beautiful in the English language. Say them to yourself; let the syllables slide from your lips like a smooth-flowing current in a river; feel the softness of them, like the folds of morning bedsheets. You understand?
O cellar door, cellar door
You'll be there forevermore,
For I am standing on the brink;
Staring, abyss - black as ink;
Falling, crawling - drunk despised,
Met with stares of wandering eyes.
I'm nothing but a Stella whore,
Standing at the cellar door.
Kleiden: Birmingham protest shirt and PJ bottoms
Filme: Mean Girls (Waters)
Buchen: A Season In The Life Of Emmanuel by Marie-Claire Blais
Tolkien discovered that linguistically the words 'cellar door' were the most beautiful in the English language. Say them to yourself; let the syllables slide from your lips like a smooth-flowing current in a river; feel the softness of them, like the folds of morning bedsheets. You understand?
O cellar door, cellar door
You'll be there forevermore,
For I am standing on the brink;
Staring, abyss - black as ink;
Falling, crawling - drunk despised,
Met with stares of wandering eyes.
I'm nothing but a Stella whore,
Standing at the cellar door.
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