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While I renounce most things 80's as unholy, Cyndi Lauper *rocks.*
I realised this tonight while watching Kasey Chambers try to sing True Colours. It pissed me off so much, I could barely stand it. Cyndi also did the Goonies theme, which is more than enough for me to decide she's cool. By the way, I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but if there are any Goonies fans out there BUY THE DVD. The commentary on it is the best commentary I've heard in my life. They get all the kids together as adults and it's just fantastic. Have I mentioned I love Sean Astin? The others are great too. My only wish is that they'd sat Martha Plimpton next to Corey Feldman for some fantastic witty repartee.
The funniest ad currently on TV in Oz is the Wild Turkey one. You know, with the fake turkey, where the real one ends up kicking it. Cracks me up *every* time. Not as good as the Carnival icecream one ("He's not your dad. We never knew who your dad was.) but it's the best right now. Today I got up, vaccuumed some more, went to uni, had my film studies tute (I *still* don't like Blue, but at least I get it a little more now), talked to Melissa for an hour about Harry Potter and the merits of having a crush on a 14 year old boy (meep!), went to anth lecture where I FINALLY got unstuck on that fic I've been writing (I'm almost 2/3 or 2,900 words of the way through it now), bumped into Alana in the library, came home, watched Pirates of Penzance, typed up the fic, had dinner, called Tom, watched Rove. Rove was cool tonight. If Emmanuel thingo is straight, I'll eat my hat. He has a cute gap between his teeth though. Shame he can't sing, I *despise* that awful song. Grr, can't remember what else happened on Rove! Oh well.
I was thinking about cultures and their different ways of doing things from Anthropology and I can't help thinking about every little thing I do now. I'm very confused about what culture I belong to. Is there a diplobrat culture? Can I belong to that? Tom, be a good psychology student studying anthropology hon and go find out for me :) kidding. Seirously though, it's a very odd thing to think about. We're all so culturally screwed up. (PS If Tom ever becomes a tutor, like he hopes to be, I fully intend to sign up for whatever class he's tutoring in and make it...erm (:o *fun*).
Link of the day is Weebl and Bob. I hear it's a Web cult thing. I hadn't heard of it until yesterday but suddenly I've seen it everywhere--on my LJ groups, in the uni newspaper, in emails. It's crazy. So I went there, and I *LOVE* it!!! I was laughing so hard I had to stop writing my fic, which is annoying because I was finally getting somewhere. By the way, it's the most complex fic I've ever written and it's really taking hold of my brain. I hope to finish it soon.
Pics of the day are two LJ icons I couldn't resist making and a little Clark and Lex (actually from the show.) Have I mentioned that Heat was one of the gayest episodes *ever*?!? Also, I posted Part 1 of my very long fic, and a Clex drabble.
I know that Sean Biggerstaff is actually the right age for me, but the boy's just too gorgeous not to be sinful in some way. The accent....*drools* And here's a pressie for Emma Watson fans.
quebrante
ORLANDO
Yes I am
I hope you think you read me
Hope I start talkin’ crazy
Before you understand me
You know we’ve been growing apart for a year, easily. Those common bonds that kept us together at first were working against us. My leaving was just the last step. I went away to escape. You still think I went away because I needed “space” and wanted to “get out on my own,” “be an adult,” “explore the world.” Well, of course you think that; it’s what I told you. You still think I’m in love with you. I send you postcards on which I rant and babble and bullshit and always end with “Love, Lij,” like that means something. I mean, I do love you; I’m just not in love with you anymore, I guess. You were beautiful, daring, dangerous. Everything I wanted.
I didn’t know how damn empty you were.
Well, here we are, I’m back now. You’re acting like nothing’s changed of course, and I really should’ve stopped you, but I’m going along right now. I’ve been gone for months, but you haven’t really missed me. You’re always off having one adventure after another; from elf to bushranger, to pirate and soon Greek warrior. You want to escape into beauty. I’ve never been enough of it for you, no matter how beautiful you say I am. Every knows you’re beautiful, everyone, and they play it up constantly. They keep you busy with their photo shoots, their swooning over you. You love it. I haven’t been busy, not really. I’ve had a few little public appearances, but mostly I’ve been travelling and thinking. A tourist. I’ve missed you, more than I thought I would. I guess I love you more than you’ve ever loved me. That hurts.
I’m breaking up with you now.
Are we through
You think that I’m beneath you
But you like the things that I do
Wrap ‘em up and take ‘em with you
If I weren’t crying, I’d be laughing. Even when I’m dumping you, you keep your air of superiority. You won’t say it, of course, but you’re acting like you were dating me through sympathy. Patronising, infuriating, but I still hate seeing you this low. I don’t really want to see “us” dissipate; I don’t really want to see you go. You don’t want me to leave, either. You want me to keep acting like I love you. You want me to keep writing to you, calling you, seeing you. Fucking you. You’ve always liked me best in bed. Suddenly, you change tracks; you’re blaming him. I thought he might come up. It’s true, I’ve been talking to him more than you lately; but I can’t talk to you anymore, and he’s always there. I can rely on him. He called me from that Oscar party, you know, just to share the excitement with me. Just because he wanted to hear from me. You never did that.
He just wanted to know I was okay.
We’ve moved outside, now. You kicked me out, then thought of something new to say. I’m silent, crying and silent. And I thought I was supposed to be the one dumping you. I’m already thinking about what will happen next. You’ll go inside and call Viggo, because he’s yours, really, and the other hobbits are mine and they won’t be on your side. You’ll be upset, and go sleep with a few people, and get over it. I hope you won’t hold a grudge. I can’t imagine life completely without you. As for me, I think I’ll go to him. He’ll take care of me until I can take care of myself again. I know I’ll be lost for a while. I never take break-ups well. I tell you you can call me if you want. I hail a cab.
Then I’m gone.
I’m a wreck I’m a mess I’m a spot on the pavement
I’m a number on your wall I make you so tired
Yeah well I don’t think I like this game no more
You’re probably already at Viggo’s as I pull up outside a familiar house, paying the cabbie and stepping out, little lost boy crying on the pavement. A light’s on; shadows move inside, laughing, and I realise that Billy’s over and they’re probably drunk. Then again, it’s only 9 pm. I’ve forgotten what day of the week it is, so I sit on the footpath to try to work it out. Then I realise I don’t really want to make a scene. Maybe I’ll just stay outside a little longer. The street is shiny, I don’t know why, and the streetlights are somewhat blurry, refracted. I’m trying to be as small as possible, but I still feel huge, like a great lump in the middle of the sidewalk. I put my hands over my head to hide from the people walking by. You enter my thoughts, unbidden; you’re naked, now, and Viggo’s hands are all over you. He won’t be able to do it like I do, though. You’ll do it with him, but it’s me you’ll be wanting. I don’t want you anymore, that’s the difference. I miss you, I love you, but I don’t want you.
I wonder if you’ll ever stop wanting me.
An hour and more than a few strange looks later and I finally raise my tear-filled gaze from the ground to the sky, and its orange-lit darkness as the bright lights of the city reflect off the thick pollution, giving the world an eerie glow. I miss having you there to talk to about it, which sucks because I’d finally forgotten to think about you. A fresh sting at the back of my eyes forces my head back down; a piece of paper drifts aimlessly by and I stomp down on it as I lean my head back to the door; it hits a little harder than expected, with a dull thump. Too hard, as it turns out. The voices inside stop and soon the yellow light and the warmth of the house flood over me. I hadn’t noticed how cold I was. I also hadn’t noticed it was raining. Delight and happiness at seeing me are replaced with worry and fear as two pairs of hands pull me up and inside. My teeth are chattering; I’m shirtless; I’m wrapped in a blanket; I’m looking into a pair of concerned eyes; Billy’s heavily accented voice tells me to take care; I’m embraced; I’m forced onto a couch as a door closes in the distance.
I’m alone.
Lay it down
I’ve always been with you
Hear me now
With all that’s within you
Be my saviour
And I’ll be your downfall
By the time I’ve rejoined the living, he’s forced a cup of coffee into my (once blue slowly getting pinker) hands and sat by me, blowing gently on his own coffee, hands wrapped around it and grey-blue eyes staring into mine. I almost forget about you completely, then, but your face quickly replaces his and I look down into the murky brown of my warm drink and sniffle, loudly. A hand snakes up my arm to rest on my shoulder, and I’m gone. You’d love it here tonight, you really would, because your name comes up in conversation every second sentence. What you did, what you said, not just during the break-up but during the entire relationship, and I’m crying and pouring my heart out while he sits there, the very image of patience and concern, so unlike him to be inactive. Then I realise he’s not inactive, but his brain is going so fast that it has no time to devote to his body. I can almost see thoughts ticking over in his mind. I ignore it, though, because I have to tell him everything; I have to, or I’ll never be rid of you. I tell him that, too; that I’m terrified that I’ll never get over you. His expression is unreadable, but his action isn’t; he just pulls me into his arms, against his chest, and tells me to calm down, and that everything will be all right.
I swear I can hear his heart breaking.
“I don’t know what I want to happen next.”
”I sit up, surprised and confused. I can feel the red, raised imprint that the stitching on his shirt left on my cheek. I’d been comfortable, less miserable—almost asleep. Now I know, though. I know that what you’ve suspected to be true all along, is. I don’t want him to be my Viggo, though. I won’t abuse, or use, or take advantage. I just nod, and stand up. Too shaky, though, and I almost fall before he slips his arm around my waist. Keeps me from drowning. I run my finger up and down his sleeve, and all the world but its soft material vanishes for a while. I can feel his arm through it, just a little, and everything’s blurry again and a tear falls onto that sleek fabric. I wipe it away, but the darkness stays.
“Elijah?”
”Just be here.” He nods, half-carries me to bed.
I go to sleep with you in my head and him in my heart.
Inkstains
Clark always chewed on the end of his pen when he wrote. He had to be careful not to bite down too hard, though. He still hadn’t forgotten the embarrassment the day Pete had caught him with busted pieces of plastic in his teeth and teeth all over his mouth. Now he sat in Lex’s library, a thing beam of light illuminating his hair, his eye, the corner of his mouth, the middle of the pen, the white paper and lacquered mahogany of the desk.
Lex sat, forced casualness, in the shadow opposite. His pale hands folded on desk. He shifted, his gaze intensified. Clark felt it like pins and needles on his forehead. He looked up. Smiled, still with the pen in his mouth.
Stood up, leaned over, kissed Lex, sat down, went on studying.
I need you, to rescue me...this world's got its hold on me.
Green Queen
PS. Happy birthday Emma Watson!
I realised this tonight while watching Kasey Chambers try to sing True Colours. It pissed me off so much, I could barely stand it. Cyndi also did the Goonies theme, which is more than enough for me to decide she's cool. By the way, I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but if there are any Goonies fans out there BUY THE DVD. The commentary on it is the best commentary I've heard in my life. They get all the kids together as adults and it's just fantastic. Have I mentioned I love Sean Astin? The others are great too. My only wish is that they'd sat Martha Plimpton next to Corey Feldman for some fantastic witty repartee.
The funniest ad currently on TV in Oz is the Wild Turkey one. You know, with the fake turkey, where the real one ends up kicking it. Cracks me up *every* time. Not as good as the Carnival icecream one ("He's not your dad. We never knew who your dad was.) but it's the best right now. Today I got up, vaccuumed some more, went to uni, had my film studies tute (I *still* don't like Blue, but at least I get it a little more now), talked to Melissa for an hour about Harry Potter and the merits of having a crush on a 14 year old boy (meep!), went to anth lecture where I FINALLY got unstuck on that fic I've been writing (I'm almost 2/3 or 2,900 words of the way through it now), bumped into Alana in the library, came home, watched Pirates of Penzance, typed up the fic, had dinner, called Tom, watched Rove. Rove was cool tonight. If Emmanuel thingo is straight, I'll eat my hat. He has a cute gap between his teeth though. Shame he can't sing, I *despise* that awful song. Grr, can't remember what else happened on Rove! Oh well.
I was thinking about cultures and their different ways of doing things from Anthropology and I can't help thinking about every little thing I do now. I'm very confused about what culture I belong to. Is there a diplobrat culture? Can I belong to that? Tom, be a good psychology student studying anthropology hon and go find out for me :) kidding. Seirously though, it's a very odd thing to think about. We're all so culturally screwed up. (PS If Tom ever becomes a tutor, like he hopes to be, I fully intend to sign up for whatever class he's tutoring in and make it...erm (:o *fun*).
Link of the day is Weebl and Bob. I hear it's a Web cult thing. I hadn't heard of it until yesterday but suddenly I've seen it everywhere--on my LJ groups, in the uni newspaper, in emails. It's crazy. So I went there, and I *LOVE* it!!! I was laughing so hard I had to stop writing my fic, which is annoying because I was finally getting somewhere. By the way, it's the most complex fic I've ever written and it's really taking hold of my brain. I hope to finish it soon.
Pics of the day are two LJ icons I couldn't resist making and a little Clark and Lex (actually from the show.) Have I mentioned that Heat was one of the gayest episodes *ever*?!? Also, I posted Part 1 of my very long fic, and a Clex drabble.
I know that Sean Biggerstaff is actually the right age for me, but the boy's just too gorgeous not to be sinful in some way. The accent....*drools* And here's a pressie for Emma Watson fans.
quebrante
ORLANDO
Yes I am
I hope you think you read me
Hope I start talkin’ crazy
Before you understand me
You know we’ve been growing apart for a year, easily. Those common bonds that kept us together at first were working against us. My leaving was just the last step. I went away to escape. You still think I went away because I needed “space” and wanted to “get out on my own,” “be an adult,” “explore the world.” Well, of course you think that; it’s what I told you. You still think I’m in love with you. I send you postcards on which I rant and babble and bullshit and always end with “Love, Lij,” like that means something. I mean, I do love you; I’m just not in love with you anymore, I guess. You were beautiful, daring, dangerous. Everything I wanted.
I didn’t know how damn empty you were.
Well, here we are, I’m back now. You’re acting like nothing’s changed of course, and I really should’ve stopped you, but I’m going along right now. I’ve been gone for months, but you haven’t really missed me. You’re always off having one adventure after another; from elf to bushranger, to pirate and soon Greek warrior. You want to escape into beauty. I’ve never been enough of it for you, no matter how beautiful you say I am. Every knows you’re beautiful, everyone, and they play it up constantly. They keep you busy with their photo shoots, their swooning over you. You love it. I haven’t been busy, not really. I’ve had a few little public appearances, but mostly I’ve been travelling and thinking. A tourist. I’ve missed you, more than I thought I would. I guess I love you more than you’ve ever loved me. That hurts.
I’m breaking up with you now.
Are we through
You think that I’m beneath you
But you like the things that I do
Wrap ‘em up and take ‘em with you
If I weren’t crying, I’d be laughing. Even when I’m dumping you, you keep your air of superiority. You won’t say it, of course, but you’re acting like you were dating me through sympathy. Patronising, infuriating, but I still hate seeing you this low. I don’t really want to see “us” dissipate; I don’t really want to see you go. You don’t want me to leave, either. You want me to keep acting like I love you. You want me to keep writing to you, calling you, seeing you. Fucking you. You’ve always liked me best in bed. Suddenly, you change tracks; you’re blaming him. I thought he might come up. It’s true, I’ve been talking to him more than you lately; but I can’t talk to you anymore, and he’s always there. I can rely on him. He called me from that Oscar party, you know, just to share the excitement with me. Just because he wanted to hear from me. You never did that.
He just wanted to know I was okay.
We’ve moved outside, now. You kicked me out, then thought of something new to say. I’m silent, crying and silent. And I thought I was supposed to be the one dumping you. I’m already thinking about what will happen next. You’ll go inside and call Viggo, because he’s yours, really, and the other hobbits are mine and they won’t be on your side. You’ll be upset, and go sleep with a few people, and get over it. I hope you won’t hold a grudge. I can’t imagine life completely without you. As for me, I think I’ll go to him. He’ll take care of me until I can take care of myself again. I know I’ll be lost for a while. I never take break-ups well. I tell you you can call me if you want. I hail a cab.
Then I’m gone.
I’m a wreck I’m a mess I’m a spot on the pavement
I’m a number on your wall I make you so tired
Yeah well I don’t think I like this game no more
You’re probably already at Viggo’s as I pull up outside a familiar house, paying the cabbie and stepping out, little lost boy crying on the pavement. A light’s on; shadows move inside, laughing, and I realise that Billy’s over and they’re probably drunk. Then again, it’s only 9 pm. I’ve forgotten what day of the week it is, so I sit on the footpath to try to work it out. Then I realise I don’t really want to make a scene. Maybe I’ll just stay outside a little longer. The street is shiny, I don’t know why, and the streetlights are somewhat blurry, refracted. I’m trying to be as small as possible, but I still feel huge, like a great lump in the middle of the sidewalk. I put my hands over my head to hide from the people walking by. You enter my thoughts, unbidden; you’re naked, now, and Viggo’s hands are all over you. He won’t be able to do it like I do, though. You’ll do it with him, but it’s me you’ll be wanting. I don’t want you anymore, that’s the difference. I miss you, I love you, but I don’t want you.
I wonder if you’ll ever stop wanting me.
An hour and more than a few strange looks later and I finally raise my tear-filled gaze from the ground to the sky, and its orange-lit darkness as the bright lights of the city reflect off the thick pollution, giving the world an eerie glow. I miss having you there to talk to about it, which sucks because I’d finally forgotten to think about you. A fresh sting at the back of my eyes forces my head back down; a piece of paper drifts aimlessly by and I stomp down on it as I lean my head back to the door; it hits a little harder than expected, with a dull thump. Too hard, as it turns out. The voices inside stop and soon the yellow light and the warmth of the house flood over me. I hadn’t noticed how cold I was. I also hadn’t noticed it was raining. Delight and happiness at seeing me are replaced with worry and fear as two pairs of hands pull me up and inside. My teeth are chattering; I’m shirtless; I’m wrapped in a blanket; I’m looking into a pair of concerned eyes; Billy’s heavily accented voice tells me to take care; I’m embraced; I’m forced onto a couch as a door closes in the distance.
I’m alone.
Lay it down
I’ve always been with you
Hear me now
With all that’s within you
Be my saviour
And I’ll be your downfall
By the time I’ve rejoined the living, he’s forced a cup of coffee into my (once blue slowly getting pinker) hands and sat by me, blowing gently on his own coffee, hands wrapped around it and grey-blue eyes staring into mine. I almost forget about you completely, then, but your face quickly replaces his and I look down into the murky brown of my warm drink and sniffle, loudly. A hand snakes up my arm to rest on my shoulder, and I’m gone. You’d love it here tonight, you really would, because your name comes up in conversation every second sentence. What you did, what you said, not just during the break-up but during the entire relationship, and I’m crying and pouring my heart out while he sits there, the very image of patience and concern, so unlike him to be inactive. Then I realise he’s not inactive, but his brain is going so fast that it has no time to devote to his body. I can almost see thoughts ticking over in his mind. I ignore it, though, because I have to tell him everything; I have to, or I’ll never be rid of you. I tell him that, too; that I’m terrified that I’ll never get over you. His expression is unreadable, but his action isn’t; he just pulls me into his arms, against his chest, and tells me to calm down, and that everything will be all right.
I swear I can hear his heart breaking.
“I don’t know what I want to happen next.”
”I sit up, surprised and confused. I can feel the red, raised imprint that the stitching on his shirt left on my cheek. I’d been comfortable, less miserable—almost asleep. Now I know, though. I know that what you’ve suspected to be true all along, is. I don’t want him to be my Viggo, though. I won’t abuse, or use, or take advantage. I just nod, and stand up. Too shaky, though, and I almost fall before he slips his arm around my waist. Keeps me from drowning. I run my finger up and down his sleeve, and all the world but its soft material vanishes for a while. I can feel his arm through it, just a little, and everything’s blurry again and a tear falls onto that sleek fabric. I wipe it away, but the darkness stays.
“Elijah?”
”Just be here.” He nods, half-carries me to bed.
I go to sleep with you in my head and him in my heart.
Inkstains
Clark always chewed on the end of his pen when he wrote. He had to be careful not to bite down too hard, though. He still hadn’t forgotten the embarrassment the day Pete had caught him with busted pieces of plastic in his teeth and teeth all over his mouth. Now he sat in Lex’s library, a thing beam of light illuminating his hair, his eye, the corner of his mouth, the middle of the pen, the white paper and lacquered mahogany of the desk.
Lex sat, forced casualness, in the shadow opposite. His pale hands folded on desk. He shifted, his gaze intensified. Clark felt it like pins and needles on his forehead. He looked up. Smiled, still with the pen in his mouth.
Stood up, leaned over, kissed Lex, sat down, went on studying.
I need you, to rescue me...this world's got its hold on me.
Green Queen
PS. Happy birthday Emma Watson!
