It might not seem like useful information, but it's true, and will come in handy if you ever have to placate a cranky genie.
Yesterday I decided it was a good idea to bake my genie a cake.
It was actually an apologetic gesture, a peace offering, because the last week has been a tad unsettling (no thanks to the genie, mind you) and, feeling all hard done by and disillusioned, I decided that I was actually Done Wishing. Kinda didn't go down too well.
A couple of days later I forgot my resolve, as well as the fact that genies have wicked senses of hearing and humour, and made the cavalier wish that I'd never seen the film Field Of Dreams. Result: one very haughty and sarcastic genie. I think I'm lucky to still have my eyes, but I now have a minor baking obsession and I can't get the phrase If you bake it, they'll have buns out of my head.
Anyway, I made the cake, but I guess my genie was still feeling a bit slighted because the whole baking thing was still stuck in my head. So I figured maybe I need to knead it - get out all the ridiculous cookie dough analogies, hearts made of icing etc - and thought maybe I should go get me my star-cutter and make something of it. I could handle starry eyes, or ears.
This ended up in my writing a poem, of sorts. It's not something I usually do, at least not since I was a teenager and thought my angsty BS was incredibly deep.
These days it's not only extremely rare for something that I write to be a poem, it's also completely unintentional. I don't even know how it happens, really. It just kinda sits there on the page and says "I'm taking this shape, thank you. Also - just a heads up - I may occasionally feel the urge to rhyme in random places". Which is odd, and also possibly not the point.
I might not actually have a point, come to think of it. Rather, I'm just pleased that I still have the capacity to surprise myself when I write. Which is good enough for me.
Right, I'm taking my now starry eyes into the kitchen - my gingerbread men have cooled and need to be iced.
Genies are kinda greedy.
I sat down on a bench - under a tree - at lunch today and picked up pen and paper. Initially, I was going to write a letter to a friend (yes, I'm one of those people, still handwriting letters. It's just that these days I have the strong urge to include 's in my letters...) Anyway, I ended up just writing whatever came to mind, beginning with the things I saw and heard, and seeing where it took me. This is the result - unedited and probably uninteresting to anyone but me.
(NB When I get to a point where I'm attempting to describe something and can't quite put my finger on the turn of phrase I'm looking for, I tend to jot down fragments - words that will evoke the image when I read it back, so if it gets a little disjointed, that's what's happening).
Sitting outside waiting for my maths class to begin. It's a warm day - a little too warm. This would be more successful if I could imbue my words with a suspicious tone. And beady eyes. The weather is suspicious. Lurking. Not like the people.
There aren't many people on campus right now. I can only see one other person. Perhaps everyone else knows what the weather's up to. The girl is sitting at a table, alone, but talking on a phone. She's wearing sun glasses. My uneasiness for impending weather's plots heighten.
Me, I'm just sitting here drinking a can of V - caffeinated goodness! A siren is blasting in the distance. It's not as ominous as the weather. The siren is drowned out by the sounds of other traffic and jangling keys as someone else arrives and walks to the head office. Oh! I see some other dude off in the distance. He's wearing a searingly bright yellow shirt. And it looks like he's eating. I damn him for the shirt.
The clouds in the sky are thin and white - almost skeletal, but softer. Perhaps they're the bones of a wraith, bleached white and drifting over head. changing shape. formless. smattered. I see a dissipating ribcage...
Trees suddenly look like old, gnarled fingers of the earth, pale green leaves drifting on a moderate breeze like feelers, moving with the flow and current of water without substance. I wait for them to curl over, to attempt to grasp something.
If the wraith bones descended, became form: other, suitable for earth, would I drown? Stuck in the grip of a tree at the bottom of a new sea and wondering where my loved one is, if he's breathing.
The bell rang, and I still have no idea how I got to drowning in wraith bones, because the trees/fingers grabbed a hold of me, just from not liking the warm weather. I'm pretty sure I don't want to, especially considering the next page is still blank.
Once upon a time, staying up after midnight had to be done undercover - bed cover, that is, complete with a torch rapidly being drained of power and squinting in the dim light so that I could continue to read Pinquo by Colin Thiele and pretend I was asleep whenever necessary. After a while, Colin Thiele was replaced with Agatha Christie, who was in turn - sadly - replaced by Dolly and teenage romance novels like Sweet Valley High (or magazines 'borrowed' from my brother's bedroom - a veritable treasure trove of information on boys ). Occasionally, when all in the house were assuredly asleep, I would creep into the lounge room and spend the rest of the night watching MTV and falling in love with various guitarists, then penning awesome (read: terrible) poetry about all my crushes.
Skip ahead a few years and I strangely find myself an insomniac.
That's probably a lie. It's far more likely that I developed a taste for the guilty indulgence of staying up 'way past my bed time' and engaging in pursuits that cause my contemporaries to roll their eyes and 'tsk' at my reasoning behind the choice. I feel nonchalantly defiant towards said tsk-ing. The things I am able to achieve at night, when all is quiet and no one is pestering me to fulfil certain obligations, are incredibly important. With unbroken concentration, I can achieve far more in the hours past midnight than I've ever been able to when my eyes are stinging from being exposed to natural light. My pursuits may be of a leisurely nature, but I most certainly approach them with fervent dedication, and can not rest until all goals have been ticked off the list.
So, on that note, at 2 am I find myself with the compulsion to make the following declaration. (There's every possibility I'll wake up in the morning and smack myself in the head, lamenting the fact that I overslept and thus will not have enough time to log on and delete this entry before having to leave for class... Incidentally, I wonder if I am continually smacking myself in the head for all the dumb things I say and do, the repeated blunt trauma will kill what brain cells I have left and subsequently cause increasingly stupid behaviour. I once heard that it's been scientifically proven impact of that kind does not kill brain cells. I, however, am determined to test the theory to the best of my ability).
Anyway, I simply must announce that I have found the greatest smilie in existence (image code isn't allowed ):
Before clicking on this link, be sure to prepare yourself for impending awesomeness.
My work here is done.
I was walking to the supermarket today when I passed a neighbour of mine. I know his name - Michael - and he said I looked good in red as I passed. (Not actually the point, but I am nothing if not narcissistic!) There, in a nutshell, however, is almost everything I know about that particular neighbour - his name, and that (he says) he thinks I look good in red.
After I brought the shopping home, I switched on my computer and saw that I had a private message on MySpace from a different Michael - a neighbour in the sense that he now lives in Tasmania, a neighbouring state, but I have never actually met him. Our conversation has, in effect, lasted several months - albeit intermittently and via cyberspace. My message back today consisted of the usual oddities we seem to find so damn amusing (I told him my theory of the sky actually consisting of a big sleeping dragon, and if everyone on the earth jumped at the same time, it would sense the surge in energy and awaken. Then, it would swoop down and gather us all on it's back. I'm not sure what would happen after that, but I suspect something along the lines of us riding around the universe much like Bastian and Falcor in The Neverending Story). I also said that I had bought apricots, and that I didn't like them as much as I used to...
And here we - finally - get to the point, because that got me thinking. First of all, MySpace Michael has no clue how much I used to like apricots, so the statement is going to be a little lost on him, methinks. Then I started thinking about how easy it is to develop a vicarious sense of neighbourliness and feel like you know someone, when you haven't even met them!
Some of my neighbours I would actually prefer not to know. It is a well known fact amongst those that do actually know me that I greatly fear visits from the elderly gentlemen directly next door to me. I grew up spending plenty of time in Hell's Angels club houses (I mostly remember lots of red velvet, and a very old slot machine that took 20 cent coins - which I think I liked a little too much ), but when he works on his car, he uses swear words that even I'm not accustomed to hearing. On top of his very obviously abusive relationship with his car, he does not like my taste in music. Which I have to respect, because if I didn't and played it a little too loud, he will show up at my front door - wearing his favourite, pale-blue transparent trousers with a distinct lack of underwear of any kind underneath - and start yelling words which offend my delicate sensibilities.
My other neighbours primarily keep to themselves, a habit I have developed myself - excepting the neighbour on the other side of me, who regularly insists I accept copious amounts of plums from her tree. I have given up trying to refuse - she won't take no for an answer - so I now smile graciously and accept them, but I don't actually like plums all that much. I like them about as much as I now like apricots - which is nowhere near as much as I like cherries, just so you know. But the neighbour who supplies the plums, has just as much clue about my fruit-likability scale as MySpace Michael. Hmm...
It would appear that my conclusion is no matter how near or far someone is, you can only know them as much as you are willing to, and/or as much as they are willing to allow.
And that riding around the universe on a dragon would be very, very cool.
I've a few reasons for posting this, and choosing to post it on a my blog. Technically, I suppose it's spam, but I'm pretty sure I can spam my own blog...
I'm just going to cut to the chase.
Late last year I started building a website based around an existing blog I had elswhere and primarily just shared with friends. It is, admittedly, a vanity project, and I have no grand illusions of recieving accolades - I just wanted to share the site... (It's a series of romantic fairytales based around five main characters, and told in an episodic format, from the perspective of any of the main characters). If anyone out there is interested...yay. XD
(Also, even though I haven't posted any of the episodes that require it yet, I need to issue a warning for mature content).
It's not quite finished yet, but it's close to being so - or at least it's about as good as I can make it with my miniscule knowledge on website building :redface: - and if anyone does take a look I'd be more than grateful for any feedback on how I can improve it.
Lastly, one of the things I'd really love to do there is collect a variety of visual art to feature in a gallery. If you're an artist with a flair for fantasy, of just like drawing fairies and such, and don't mind your work being featured on the site (fully credited, with links to any of your own sites, like Deviantart), well...that would be awesome.
My site is Tales from the House of Sunsets
My most sincere and humble thanks to anyone that does decide to take a look.
Separate names with a comma.