Sunday, April 27, 2008

I hear the word for love, I hear the word for death, but I don't hear any answers

I'm feeling somewhat recovered but suspect that's due to the studious application of red wine. Yes, good reader, I am somewhat inebriated. I'm also writing which is a good thing. In a recent critiquing session my fellow students very kindly said they liked this passage from my novel, so I'll share it with you:

"In truth my father was a tall man with hollow shoulders that stooped slightly as he walked. Like all of our family he looked younger than his proscribed years but his hair had greyed preternaturally and I can’t recall him ever looking fully rested, even when on holiday. There was an overt gentleness to him that masked a hidden core of strength and practicality. I watched him once wringing the neck of small bird found cat injured on the path leading to our house. He told me to go in whilst he saw to it but I turned and watched instead, saw those pale long fingers caressing the bird gently before the sudden twist and crack and his unflinching eyes that met mine over the small carcass. Sometimes, he said, sometimes you have to make hard decisions. He could never fly again. What life could a bird have when it can no longer ride the thermals, when their wings no longer send them spinning into the sky? And through the tears I understood what he meant."

Through my tears I wonder when the thermals stopped catching me up like they used to. Do birds know, when they get old, what they're about to lose? Or does nature and no forewarning of death protect them?

NB. Don't fret about me. I'll be fine come the morrow. I'm just mourning the passing of time and opportunity. And my fingernails.

GD is currently: drinking more Shiraz than recommended, scared witless but rather thrilled by the spectacular thunder / lightening storm outside her window...facking hell, the sky's gone out....all whilst listening to Nightwish's Nemo...

Defeated in Body

The Snot Monster cameth. He saw, he conquered, he torn my little chest apart, shook me up and filled me with mucus and sputum, then left me drown in a pool of codiene, asthma meds and inertia.

Yours from the Land of Nod, The Sickly Redhead.

Who is currently: eating her own fingers, nails and all, listening to excessive amounts of Guns and Roses and feeling very very sick.

Friday, April 18, 2008

Read My Mind

I’m feeling a little washed out (or maybe up?) at present. Hence I’ve been listening to this a little overmuch. I’m also mangling the English language marvellously well in a whole three sentences. Go me!

"Read My Mind" The Killers

On the corner of main street
Just tryin' to keep it in line
You say you wanna move on and
You say I'm falling behind

Can you read my mind?
Can you read my mind?

I never really gave up on
Breakin' out of this two-star town
I got the green light
I got a little fight
I'm gonna turn this thing around

Can you read my mind?
Can you read my mind?

The good old days, the honest man;
The restless heart, the Promised Land
A subtle kiss that no one sees;
A broken wrist and a big trapeze

Oh well I don't mind, if you don't mind
'Cause I don't shine if you don't shine
Before you go, can you read my mind?

It’s funny how you just break down
Waitin' on some sign
I pull up to the front of your driveway
With magic soakin' my spine

Can you read my mind?
Can you read my mind?

The teenage queen, the loaded gun;
The drop dead dream, the Chosen One
A southern drawl, a world unseen;
A city wall and a trampoline

Oh well I don't mind, if you don't mind
'Cause I don't shine if you don't shine
Before you jump
Tell me what you find when you read my mind

Slippin’ in my faith until I fall
You never returned that call
Woman, open the door, don't let it sting
I wanna breathe that fire again

She said I don't mind, if you don't mind
'Cause I don't shine if you don't shine

Put your back on me
Put your back on me
Put your back on me

The stars are blazing like rebel diamonds cut out of the sun
When you read my mind

Today I is: tired, vulnerable and emotional, a big fat shoulder to cry on, shuddering at the thought of alcohol tonight and yet knowing I do not have the willpower to say no.

Saturday, April 12, 2008


I'm turning into a batty old lady. What else explains my current compulsion to dress like Alice in Wonderland on a regular basis?

Normal posting will probably resume tomorrow, right now I'm off to find a white pinny and I'll leave you with a quote that stopped me in my tracks when I saw it inscribed in white marble at the Baltic on Thursday:

"He whose face gives no light, shall never become a star"
William Blake

Jane is: listening to The Mission's God's Own Medicine (retro still strong in my world), reading Wide Sargasso Sea (the story of the mad woman in the attic, marvellous!), freezing her tits off in her study (common occurrence, I need mittens), lusting after all the pretty spring frocks she can't afford, feeling emotionally asleep whilst trying to write a scene of developing love which really doesn't help.

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

Declaration of Intent

Before, I was just playing.

Now, I'm serious.

Let's see what the year brings.

Today GD is mostly: washing her hair with a jug, playing Consolers of the Lonely by the Raconteurs (though bizarrely I'm convinced it's called Connoisseurs of the Lonely), repenting excessive birthday consumption, eschewing meat again, wondering when personal grooming became so reliant on umpteen product applications (including 3 types - yes 3!!! - of moisturizer)....