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How can anyone watch the news?!
More importantly, how can anyone watch the news and take it seriously anymore? Channel Ten seems to me to be blatantly biased towards Bush and Howard and against protesters and the like, Channel Nine shows things I don't think they should be allowed to, and Channel Seven mentioned the "female drivers" of two cars in an accident 6 times while I was watching it. If the drivers had been guys, would they have stressed the "male" part? I don't think so. I thought the news was supposed to be impartial. I couldn't watch anymore, particularly not after the "human interest" story about a little Iraqi boy who had his arms blown off and became the "symbol of civilian casualties." I know people need to feel sorry for and individual to understand the plight of the society, but I really think that's exploitative and unfair. Leave the poor kid alone.
I'm actually in a pretty shitty mood. My day wasn't too bad, I got up for my Written Jap tute and found out I've failed 3 assignments coz I didn't know about them. Then I picked up my film assignment and picked up another Written Jap assignment. Okay, you can talk about how something affects someone, and not effects them, right?! My tutor said it was a spelling error, which I though was rather unfair. I saw T&N for a bit. I was actually feeling kinda weird. I'm almost finished the very long twisted complex LotR story. Moving on, I then saw Anna, and we talked about Harry Potter and questions for our Anth tute sitting on the grass outside the room where I was supposed to be attending a lecture. Oops. Bumped into T&N again, then went to tute, which was fun coz we discussed witchcraft. My sister is having her budgie-obsessed friend over for the night, so we played cards and happy families for a bit. I've had The Jabberwocky (yes, the poem) stuck in my head all day, which is driving me mad. It's a bloody POEM!!! *grr* I watched the end of Survivor. Most of the contestant this time around just seem...wimpier. I don't like many of them much, and one of the few I do like was voted off tonight.
Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll.
Twas brillig and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe
All mimsy were the borogroves
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch
Beware the Jubjub bird and shun
the frumious Bandersnatch."
He took his vorpal sword in hand
Long time the manxome foe he sought--
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
And stood a while in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame
Cam whiffling through the tulgey wood
And burbled as it came.
One, two! One, two! And through and through,
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack
He left it dead, and with its head
He went gallumphing back.
"And has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe
All mimsy were the borogroves
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Just remembered, I was also insulted today, which kinda upset me. I'd gotten used to pretty much everything being accepted, now that I'm out of high school, you know? I used to get this sort of thing all the time, but I just found it surprising now.
"GQ- are you straight, gay, bi or curious? Just want to know as having read your fic you appear to have an obsession with projecting homosexual activity onto straight men, which IMO is a pretty whack and desperate way to get ones jollies."
Make of it what you will.
Link of the day is Angel Gal's blog, another friend of mine from the Bronze now signed up with Xanga. She's a Harry Potter fan, too.
Pics of the day--no icons, but a cute James Marsters/Nick Brendon pic (I love the caption) and a cute pic of the HP trio I picked up. Only 65 days!!! *excited* More of quebrante below too.
Coz squee.
quebrante
ELIJAH
Somebody ought to take you in
Try to make you love again
Try to make you like the way they feel
When they’re under your skin
I understood when you came by that first night that you probably weren’t going to leave for a while. Even though I’d never seen you go through one I knew you had trouble with break-ups. You didn’t want to be alone, and you know that I’ll always be there for you. That’s my job. I don’t resent or regret it, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad to take care of you, and I really wish you wouldn’t end up feeling guilty about it and try to make up for it by cooking me dinner for a week. Not just because your cooking is terrible, though I admit that’s part of it. I’ve told you time and time again that you don’t need to cook for me. I don’t have the heart to tell you how horrendous your cooking really is. That’s part of it, see. It’s what I’m here for, to love you, and that’s okay with me, even when it hurts.
Even when you don’t love me back.
Everything you predicted would happen did, you know. It’s been almost two months since you broke up with him, and we watched him bounce straight to Viggo, only to break his heart yet again. Viggo never could stand up to him. We watched him submerge himself in another project, in booze and drugs and sex, and I watched you cry and hurt, try to push the world away. You tried to push me away, too, but I wouldn’t let you. I think you’re grateful for that. I know you’re grateful for me. I’m on the phone to him, explaining that you’re sleeping, but he’s too smashed to understand. As furious as I am with him, I guess it’s always been impossible to hate him. Crazysexycool and all that, with eyes that melt, and you could never deny him anything. When I sigh heavily, he vaguely asks what’s wrong. I’m worried. I tell him that. He says he’s fine, but I can feel the tightness in his voice as he makes up some excuse about the director and hangs up. You walk down the stairs, in your blue flannel pyjamas, all rumpled hair and sleep-heavy eyes, and I forget about him when you flash me a smile and reach for the orange juice.
Our hands touch as you take it from me.
You start to wonder
If you’re ever gonna make it by
You start to think you were born blind
I turn over in bed, glance at the luminous hands of the clock, and groan into my pillow. Do you really think I don’t hear you crying at night? You’re trying to stifle it, but you’ve always been a really loud crier. For pity’s sake, it’s been over three months. How can you miss him that much? You never show it during the day, you’re almost normal now. When you sleep is beyond me. Then again, you always did have a gift for that. Me, I’m not sleeping, and you’ve noticed and apologised almost more than I can bear. Today I almost fell asleep on Billy’s shoulder as he told us a story, until he woke me up with some sort of fluttering hand gesture. Boy’s always talked with his hands, how people still think he’s straight is beyond me. The second hand on the click ticks past the twelve. I realise I’d been staring at it for almost a full five minutes, just thinking about you, what’s wrong, how to help. The blankets feel too warm across my back and too cold over my feet. I need to drink something. My neck hurts. My head is too heavy. I roll over and out of bed, stroll towards your room with determination in my stance.
It’s time to fix you, once and for all.
Why you couldn’t have told me about all this before I don’t know. I sit and stroke your back in long up and down movements. Then I notice that your top pulls up each time I get near your neck, and it reveals the tops of your purple Calvin Klein and the smooth skin on the small of your back, and it’s too much for me. You’re so beautiful, and you’re sitting there bearing your soul to me and all I can think of is how hot you are, and the exposure suddenly seems cruel and voyeuristic, so I start to move my hand in circles instead. You notice, and glance at me questioningly, but I just try an encouraging smile and soon you’re talking again. About how you feel like you’re stilted, and stuck, and how you thought you’d be over him since you’d stopped loving him, but you haven’t seen him in so long and suddenly it doesn’t work that way. There’s still parts of him all through you. You want to know how you missed that when you broke up with him. You want me to tell you you did the right thing in breaking it up. If maybe you should have stuck with him for the long haul, because you knew he’d end up hurting himself, because it’s hurting you so much, and because now you’re hurting me. You tell me that you know I’m in love with you. I nod, softly, once.
“Everyone knows I’m in love with you.”
You’re so heavy
You’re so misunderstood
And I spent all my wishes
Wishing times were good
When I still could
I hate that you’re staying back at your own place now. I never meant to scare you off, and finally I regret something I’ve said to you, done for you. I can’t wish it away, though. I’m not owed enough good karma for that. I think maybe you hate me now. He came by, and crashed at mine one night, and that’s only made matters worse. I couldn’t turn him away, not when he looked at me with those eyes, and that face. He’s broken, as broken as you, maybe more so. At least you’re improving. You’ve been laughing lately, really laughing, the way you used to, with your hands near your face, cackling like some wicked witch. Endearing barely does your laughter justice. He doesn’t laugh like that. He’s only been here a day but I can see the whole relationship etched into his face, his movements, his speech. I can see when you stopped falling for him, and when you started pulling yourself out. I can see the hole you left.
I’ll send him away tomorrow, then maybe we’ll be okay again.
You stopped by here, and you saw him, and the heart-to-heart lasted what felt like a lifetime. I waited downstairs, flicking through the hundreds of channels on American cable TV, wishing for something British, anything from home for me to hold on to. I need an anchor, especially now that I’ve lost you. He comes downstairs first, and even though he’s impeccable on the surface, the darkness in his eyes betray his anguish. You look a lot better, though, and you come to sit by me on the couch. You smile at me and sneak your hand into mine, and tell me that you didn’t hate me, that you felt better, that you’d said what you had to and you needed to get on with your life. That’s why you moved back. Not because of what I’d said, not because I was in love with you. You’d known that for ages. Anger, frustration, relief passed before my eyes in seconds. This couch, I realise, is where we’d been that first night you came to me. I breathed in, hard, and asked you whether the appropriate “mourning period” for a lost relationship had passed. I asked you if you loved me back. You just shrugged, and I watched the words escape your open mouth, and you lay down with your head so full of thoughts in my lap. I stroked your hair and tried to stop my tears from falling in it.
He stood outside, alone, cold, watching.
For all you know
This could be
The difference between what you need
And what you wanna be
((giggles just started reading Weebl….can’t continue train of thought. Have to continue later.))
I know perfectly well you don’t need this in your life right now. Relationships mean complications, no matter how you look at them, and a relationship with me would be more complicated than even we can imagine. But you made it work with him. We could make it work, and I know you want it to work. I understand, though, why you’re holding us up. It’s not really too soon, but I know you think it is. You think you need time. I think time is too abstract to need. Minutes can feel like days, years can fly by in seconds. God knows the last few months have been longer than any I’ve ever known. So yes, I understand, but that doesn’t mean I agree. I fully intend to make sure you believe in our future, starting now. So I lean down to kiss you, and when I pull back your eyes are warm and inviting, your lips are parted, you’re breathless and sexy and I can see that you want it, you want me. You just don’t want to want me. So I kiss you again, for longer this time, and soon I’m lying on top of you on the couch. I look through the glass doors to the patio where he stands, and I think he’s crying. I try to apologise with my eyes, but he shrugs and goes upstairs. You don’t even see him.
You only see me.
In the semi-darkness of the room you shift beneath the sheets and I sigh, this time contentedly. The covers don’t feel too warm or too cold, my head’s the right weight, and…well, my neck hurts, but for an entirely different reason. I made you happy. I can tell because your sleep is so peaceful, unfettered. I gently pull the covers up to your shoulder and your eyes flutter open.
“Go back to sleep,” I whisper as I kiss you, and you go easily. I slide out of the bed and pull on a robe, then head downstairs to the kitchen. It’s dark and cold and the wood feels smooth under my feet. Everything feels so perfect, until I see him standing there crying. He’s standing completely still, half dressed, in the dark in my kitchen, staring at a postcard on the fridge that you sent me when you were away. I walk over to touch his arm, to try and help, but he shakes his moves away and shakes his head, dislodging more tears.
”I’m sorry Orli.”
”It’s better this way, I guess. I still wish I had him.” He turns to me. “Take care of him, asshole.” He kisses my forehead, and the salty tears run down right into my mouth so I can taste them too. I nod.
He leaves quietly so as not to wake you, still only half dressed.
You betcha by golly gee whiz.
Green Queen
More importantly, how can anyone watch the news and take it seriously anymore? Channel Ten seems to me to be blatantly biased towards Bush and Howard and against protesters and the like, Channel Nine shows things I don't think they should be allowed to, and Channel Seven mentioned the "female drivers" of two cars in an accident 6 times while I was watching it. If the drivers had been guys, would they have stressed the "male" part? I don't think so. I thought the news was supposed to be impartial. I couldn't watch anymore, particularly not after the "human interest" story about a little Iraqi boy who had his arms blown off and became the "symbol of civilian casualties." I know people need to feel sorry for and individual to understand the plight of the society, but I really think that's exploitative and unfair. Leave the poor kid alone.
I'm actually in a pretty shitty mood. My day wasn't too bad, I got up for my Written Jap tute and found out I've failed 3 assignments coz I didn't know about them. Then I picked up my film assignment and picked up another Written Jap assignment. Okay, you can talk about how something affects someone, and not effects them, right?! My tutor said it was a spelling error, which I though was rather unfair. I saw T&N for a bit. I was actually feeling kinda weird. I'm almost finished the very long twisted complex LotR story. Moving on, I then saw Anna, and we talked about Harry Potter and questions for our Anth tute sitting on the grass outside the room where I was supposed to be attending a lecture. Oops. Bumped into T&N again, then went to tute, which was fun coz we discussed witchcraft. My sister is having her budgie-obsessed friend over for the night, so we played cards and happy families for a bit. I've had The Jabberwocky (yes, the poem) stuck in my head all day, which is driving me mad. It's a bloody POEM!!! *grr* I watched the end of Survivor. Most of the contestant this time around just seem...wimpier. I don't like many of them much, and one of the few I do like was voted off tonight.
Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll.
Twas brillig and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe
All mimsy were the borogroves
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch
Beware the Jubjub bird and shun
the frumious Bandersnatch."
He took his vorpal sword in hand
Long time the manxome foe he sought--
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
And stood a while in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame
Cam whiffling through the tulgey wood
And burbled as it came.
One, two! One, two! And through and through,
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack
He left it dead, and with its head
He went gallumphing back.
"And has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe
All mimsy were the borogroves
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Just remembered, I was also insulted today, which kinda upset me. I'd gotten used to pretty much everything being accepted, now that I'm out of high school, you know? I used to get this sort of thing all the time, but I just found it surprising now.
"GQ- are you straight, gay, bi or curious? Just want to know as having read your fic you appear to have an obsession with projecting homosexual activity onto straight men, which IMO is a pretty whack and desperate way to get ones jollies."
Make of it what you will.
Link of the day is Angel Gal's blog, another friend of mine from the Bronze now signed up with Xanga. She's a Harry Potter fan, too.
Pics of the day--no icons, but a cute James Marsters/Nick Brendon pic (I love the caption) and a cute pic of the HP trio I picked up. Only 65 days!!! *excited* More of quebrante below too.
Coz squee.
quebrante
ELIJAH
Somebody ought to take you in
Try to make you love again
Try to make you like the way they feel
When they’re under your skin
I understood when you came by that first night that you probably weren’t going to leave for a while. Even though I’d never seen you go through one I knew you had trouble with break-ups. You didn’t want to be alone, and you know that I’ll always be there for you. That’s my job. I don’t resent or regret it, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad to take care of you, and I really wish you wouldn’t end up feeling guilty about it and try to make up for it by cooking me dinner for a week. Not just because your cooking is terrible, though I admit that’s part of it. I’ve told you time and time again that you don’t need to cook for me. I don’t have the heart to tell you how horrendous your cooking really is. That’s part of it, see. It’s what I’m here for, to love you, and that’s okay with me, even when it hurts.
Even when you don’t love me back.
Everything you predicted would happen did, you know. It’s been almost two months since you broke up with him, and we watched him bounce straight to Viggo, only to break his heart yet again. Viggo never could stand up to him. We watched him submerge himself in another project, in booze and drugs and sex, and I watched you cry and hurt, try to push the world away. You tried to push me away, too, but I wouldn’t let you. I think you’re grateful for that. I know you’re grateful for me. I’m on the phone to him, explaining that you’re sleeping, but he’s too smashed to understand. As furious as I am with him, I guess it’s always been impossible to hate him. Crazysexycool and all that, with eyes that melt, and you could never deny him anything. When I sigh heavily, he vaguely asks what’s wrong. I’m worried. I tell him that. He says he’s fine, but I can feel the tightness in his voice as he makes up some excuse about the director and hangs up. You walk down the stairs, in your blue flannel pyjamas, all rumpled hair and sleep-heavy eyes, and I forget about him when you flash me a smile and reach for the orange juice.
Our hands touch as you take it from me.
You start to wonder
If you’re ever gonna make it by
You start to think you were born blind
I turn over in bed, glance at the luminous hands of the clock, and groan into my pillow. Do you really think I don’t hear you crying at night? You’re trying to stifle it, but you’ve always been a really loud crier. For pity’s sake, it’s been over three months. How can you miss him that much? You never show it during the day, you’re almost normal now. When you sleep is beyond me. Then again, you always did have a gift for that. Me, I’m not sleeping, and you’ve noticed and apologised almost more than I can bear. Today I almost fell asleep on Billy’s shoulder as he told us a story, until he woke me up with some sort of fluttering hand gesture. Boy’s always talked with his hands, how people still think he’s straight is beyond me. The second hand on the click ticks past the twelve. I realise I’d been staring at it for almost a full five minutes, just thinking about you, what’s wrong, how to help. The blankets feel too warm across my back and too cold over my feet. I need to drink something. My neck hurts. My head is too heavy. I roll over and out of bed, stroll towards your room with determination in my stance.
It’s time to fix you, once and for all.
Why you couldn’t have told me about all this before I don’t know. I sit and stroke your back in long up and down movements. Then I notice that your top pulls up each time I get near your neck, and it reveals the tops of your purple Calvin Klein and the smooth skin on the small of your back, and it’s too much for me. You’re so beautiful, and you’re sitting there bearing your soul to me and all I can think of is how hot you are, and the exposure suddenly seems cruel and voyeuristic, so I start to move my hand in circles instead. You notice, and glance at me questioningly, but I just try an encouraging smile and soon you’re talking again. About how you feel like you’re stilted, and stuck, and how you thought you’d be over him since you’d stopped loving him, but you haven’t seen him in so long and suddenly it doesn’t work that way. There’s still parts of him all through you. You want to know how you missed that when you broke up with him. You want me to tell you you did the right thing in breaking it up. If maybe you should have stuck with him for the long haul, because you knew he’d end up hurting himself, because it’s hurting you so much, and because now you’re hurting me. You tell me that you know I’m in love with you. I nod, softly, once.
“Everyone knows I’m in love with you.”
You’re so heavy
You’re so misunderstood
And I spent all my wishes
Wishing times were good
When I still could
I hate that you’re staying back at your own place now. I never meant to scare you off, and finally I regret something I’ve said to you, done for you. I can’t wish it away, though. I’m not owed enough good karma for that. I think maybe you hate me now. He came by, and crashed at mine one night, and that’s only made matters worse. I couldn’t turn him away, not when he looked at me with those eyes, and that face. He’s broken, as broken as you, maybe more so. At least you’re improving. You’ve been laughing lately, really laughing, the way you used to, with your hands near your face, cackling like some wicked witch. Endearing barely does your laughter justice. He doesn’t laugh like that. He’s only been here a day but I can see the whole relationship etched into his face, his movements, his speech. I can see when you stopped falling for him, and when you started pulling yourself out. I can see the hole you left.
I’ll send him away tomorrow, then maybe we’ll be okay again.
You stopped by here, and you saw him, and the heart-to-heart lasted what felt like a lifetime. I waited downstairs, flicking through the hundreds of channels on American cable TV, wishing for something British, anything from home for me to hold on to. I need an anchor, especially now that I’ve lost you. He comes downstairs first, and even though he’s impeccable on the surface, the darkness in his eyes betray his anguish. You look a lot better, though, and you come to sit by me on the couch. You smile at me and sneak your hand into mine, and tell me that you didn’t hate me, that you felt better, that you’d said what you had to and you needed to get on with your life. That’s why you moved back. Not because of what I’d said, not because I was in love with you. You’d known that for ages. Anger, frustration, relief passed before my eyes in seconds. This couch, I realise, is where we’d been that first night you came to me. I breathed in, hard, and asked you whether the appropriate “mourning period” for a lost relationship had passed. I asked you if you loved me back. You just shrugged, and I watched the words escape your open mouth, and you lay down with your head so full of thoughts in my lap. I stroked your hair and tried to stop my tears from falling in it.
He stood outside, alone, cold, watching.
For all you know
This could be
The difference between what you need
And what you wanna be
((giggles just started reading Weebl….can’t continue train of thought. Have to continue later.))
I know perfectly well you don’t need this in your life right now. Relationships mean complications, no matter how you look at them, and a relationship with me would be more complicated than even we can imagine. But you made it work with him. We could make it work, and I know you want it to work. I understand, though, why you’re holding us up. It’s not really too soon, but I know you think it is. You think you need time. I think time is too abstract to need. Minutes can feel like days, years can fly by in seconds. God knows the last few months have been longer than any I’ve ever known. So yes, I understand, but that doesn’t mean I agree. I fully intend to make sure you believe in our future, starting now. So I lean down to kiss you, and when I pull back your eyes are warm and inviting, your lips are parted, you’re breathless and sexy and I can see that you want it, you want me. You just don’t want to want me. So I kiss you again, for longer this time, and soon I’m lying on top of you on the couch. I look through the glass doors to the patio where he stands, and I think he’s crying. I try to apologise with my eyes, but he shrugs and goes upstairs. You don’t even see him.
You only see me.
In the semi-darkness of the room you shift beneath the sheets and I sigh, this time contentedly. The covers don’t feel too warm or too cold, my head’s the right weight, and…well, my neck hurts, but for an entirely different reason. I made you happy. I can tell because your sleep is so peaceful, unfettered. I gently pull the covers up to your shoulder and your eyes flutter open.
“Go back to sleep,” I whisper as I kiss you, and you go easily. I slide out of the bed and pull on a robe, then head downstairs to the kitchen. It’s dark and cold and the wood feels smooth under my feet. Everything feels so perfect, until I see him standing there crying. He’s standing completely still, half dressed, in the dark in my kitchen, staring at a postcard on the fridge that you sent me when you were away. I walk over to touch his arm, to try and help, but he shakes his moves away and shakes his head, dislodging more tears.
”I’m sorry Orli.”
”It’s better this way, I guess. I still wish I had him.” He turns to me. “Take care of him, asshole.” He kisses my forehead, and the salty tears run down right into my mouth so I can taste them too. I nod.
He leaves quietly so as not to wake you, still only half dressed.
You betcha by golly gee whiz.
Green Queen
From: (Anonymous)
I know!!
Arrow
P.S. How was I & S tutorial? I was sick, and couldn't get there. =/