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Waiting for the storm
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143 Views
07/21/10
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The storm appeared on the distant horizon but two months ago, a swirl of possibilities shaded in hues of dapped greys with the slightest flecks of indigo haze. Seated at a distance I stared into the eyes of the oracle after bringing to him a list of conditions held over several years that others before him had misread, their desire in such perhaps to make the situation simpler or just brush me away so that another might come to the shrine of knowledge for there were always many pilgrims. Yet the temple was on a different continent, and perhaps indeed it was why the reading became more clearer for it was once called home and the people went about things differently.
Yet as many a traveller often finds when reaching their destination, the view was not as breathtaking as hoped and if anything revealed only more paths winding away with the knowledge of weary steps soon to tread. Time stopped, surprise and shock building and a sudden burden felt of disillusionment and confusion, because the final answer he could not offer and like a tarot reader only formed more questions to roll off the tip of my tongue in an attempt to soothe myself.
Outside I stepped, from silence into the bustle of those who had come with me, a smile of ease forged onto my lips that attempted to offer them what they wished. Yet it was a brittle thing, cracks soon enough appearing in the traitorous voice that attempted to soften the croak that came. I could not look in their eyes now for the pity and sadness that reflected in them, and worse came such inner self-contempt and unworthiness that I could find no comfort in the embraces of word or touch offered.
What was to be two weeks of relaxation and rekindling family ties turned into a nervous day-to-day approximation of whether once returned from where I had come that the other oracles would continue where this one had guided me. Worse I fear was how I came to view my companion who had travelled to the other side of the world for adventure and exploration, for I could feel nothing more now other then shame and insecurity where even the briefest touch or word of encouragement had my stomach twisting and eyes swell with tears.
A cold chill settled within, whispering with it the knowledge and acceptance that I needed to face the path ahead alone and feared so greatly in hurting him. However with the uncertainties around the condition why impose problems onto him when he had so much more to do, and when by this stage I feared that my actions, the distance I desired so greatly would have him hurt by rejection. So I ended it yet took solace in the fact he desired to remain friends and understood my reasoning's.
It has taken this long waiting, watching the storm gather closer and loom always on the edge of sight and never from mind. Words, fluid and paper crosses hands, yet never the single golden coined response desired from the gypsies that deem I wait another two weeks after the two months it has taken to get to this point in the ridge with the peak standing mockingly out of reach.
I thought myself a patient person until this moment, but there are only so many shrines, so many oracles and so many words that can be used before you just want to hide from them all.
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Little Pierrot
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76 Views
12/16/09
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In an attempt to make work sweep by in a blur I settled into some online old BBC radio shows by a comic I listened to on vinyl in my misspent youth. Tony Hancock, one of my favourite British Comedians and if you havent heard of him before do seek out Radio Ham and Blood Bank for I think they are his best.
Clicking through the series with my attentions flickering back to the work at hand I discovered a link to a documentary about him. While listening there sprung thoughts of a friend towards the end, someone Ive known for awhile and someone I cant imagine not featuring in my life. Many that meet him think hes outgoing and full of confidence, displaying a devil-may-care grin with outbursts of such brow-arching vibrancy they all declare him the life of the party. As so eloquently spoken in the documentary, He comes on all smiles and confidence to recite, to sing, to dance, but is quickly reduced by the malice of circumstances to a gasping pitiable wreck; his gleaming, rolling eye pleading for our tolerance for just another chance. This is all in a high tradition of clowning, good clowns never try to be funny they are very serious, but eager hopeful creatures lost in a hostile world.. (Id post the link to the documentary but know that GM will take it down. If youd like it please do get in contact)
It has been difficult seeing him hurt so much over the last year and not aided by people from GM that play games both on and offline, having him jump through hoops and leaving him in a tangled mess of confusion for what they actually want. To be honest I am quietly furious by several from here that say theyre one thing and turn out to be otherwise, that their open-mindedness is about as open as a door come the fall of snow.
He is one of the loveliest most open people you would ever come across, generous in nature however becoming ever more guarded in his attempts to break out and into the social scene. There is nothing worse as well then sitting down with him at our usual drink during the week to stare into his eyes and know yet again that some stupid tart slayed the knight before he managed to try an placate their dragon-like nature. He is my little Pierrot, my gentle giant of a friend.
I sometimes wonder if the people that use him as a focal point of humour really understand the damage they do, that they cannot see deeper than the entertainer. This in turn only makes me disgusted by just how many shallow creatures are out there to make declarations of others characters they wish to see, whether to enjoy for pure intent or to bend it into something cruel and vindictive to sustain their sadistic pleasure. Perhaps they were the children that pulled wings off a fly to watch it run around or burn ants with a magnifying glass, utterly pointless pieces of cruelty to make them feel godlike and powerful for a few moments.
To the men and women out there that play with peoples hearts, dreams and hopes like pawns upon a chess board, may mistress Karma find you when you least expect it. For those of you that are here to find a new handbag to wear upon your arm and boast about their private lives and fears so readily before others to fill the gap in your life that deems you in need of being seen as popular or in the know, I pity you. For no matter how much gossip and rumours you are able to collect it will never fill the empty oubliette of your pathetic life.
Pierrot, keep smiling darling for you are a complete treasure and one I am so grateful to have in my life. Ignore the silly girls that play their games and keep on the quest for the grail because she is out there and waiting for her knight, be he clad in the rusty and dented armour that you see, or the shining light that is so blinding for those that dare to look deeper.
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Plastic pine needles
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59 Views
12/14/09
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In my usual Spirit I have side-stepped the work Christmas Party, deeming it easier not to go as Christmas often has me missing my parents with an increased loneliness from almost six years spent away from Australia. The theme this year was Childrens Storybook Characters and my department as a whole decided to go as Wheres Wally which still has me in part rather confused.
Looking back through the years I think one of the best Christmases I ever had was after my father had been made redundant, several months before December when I was 15. I remember making crackers with my mother using the cardboard cylinders from finished rolls of toilet paper, filling them with tacky toys we had bought cheap and writing jokes to put inside them. At that time my mother and I were the only ones bringing money in from her job at a warehouse and when Id join her there on school holidays.
My father felt like he had failed us all and was a broken man after the company he had worked for nearly all his life had cast him aside, just after we had moved into a new house and were struggling selling the old due to the new buyers constantly changing their mind. I remember being seated at the dinner table, my father becoming quiet during a meal before quietly announcing that we would not be getting any presents that year as we could not afford them and how that admission took a little more of the light from him.
We did not mind though and broke the silence he perhaps thought would be taken by sorrow, instead with words of encouragement and contentment for what we did have and what we could do to try and make this Christmas special. It also helped my siblings and I realise that we would need to pull together more and try to keep my fathers spirits up that had already depleted so greatly.
December came and with the utmost glee my brother, sister and I snuck into the garage and dragged out our old plastic Christmas tree, something wed had for the last twelve years to put up and try and to make the house more festive before my parents arrived home. It was only then we discovered it somehow had got broken, our hearts sinking as we had placed so much hope in its rising to bring us all a little cheer. The image of the tree had become something for us to latch onto, for its towering form dripping in all the sparkly tat, flashing lights and fake pine needles would also be dispersed with the homemade decorations we had all made over the years. It had been stable, a recurring object in our lives and now lay snapped at our feet. Christmas now looked grim and my father a little more broken from the news as we could not afford another, but from the loss came something more treasured.
A call early one morning had my father gather us around, his smile at that moment more desired than anything in the world as he announced, to a chorus of cheers, that my Grandfather from the UK would be coming to visit. We would see him generally every two to three years if we could afford the trip the England and only twice before had he and my grandmother come out to Australia before she was diagnosed with Alzheimers. He had been nervous leaving her behind however my fathers brothers promised to take good care of her.
Soft hands, bright blue eyes, a kind smile, razor sharp wit and the ability to seamlessly quote poetry, plays and literature at the right moment are how I shall always recall my grandfather. Sadly it was unknown to us at the time that this would be the last we would see of him before he passed away when I was seventeen. The memories of my grandfathers arrival are a mix of us near mobbing him when he stepped out at Sydney Airport, being unable to gently dissuade him from buying us a new Christmas tree, from feeling guilty we could not, and finding ourselves treated to two weeks of generosity and mischief. His arrival was like a balm to my fathers wounded soul and rekindled its spark once more.
From that I learnt that for me Christmas is a time to remember, to embrace the good and the bad and find some form of joy in what can be one of the loneliest and difficult seasons of the year. My own will be spent in a tiny little village in Norfolk, seated around a log fire with my dear eccentric Uncle and Aunt, their mischievous dogs, a friend of theirs and my lovely and ever patient man.
Christmas is not about the presents, it is about the company that you share it with even if it is your own by choice or otherwise. Just do not live in regret for not making contact with at least one person if you do spend it alone, because everyone deserves to reach out and be reached out to, even at times if something within us tells us otherwise.
I wish you all a wonderful Christmas, warm thoughts, best wishes and hope of a brilliant New Year.
Raph x
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When No means No.
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74 Views
10/26/09
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A week or so ago I logged into an online messaging service to deliver a link to a mate that had texted a request for.¿ I hadn¿t used the service for awhile and the updates were rather new to me, discovering two requests asking for me to be added to their friend¿s page.¿ Clicking through I found to my horror my first English Boyfriend attempting to add me to his!¿ A mixture of fury, fear and complete and utter sickness coiled my stomach that he would do such for this was the bastard that had stalked me for three months after I had broken up with him, and had turned violent.¿ Yes, this was the guy who attacked me saying he only did it because he had an ex that used to beat him.¿ This guy is over 6 feet and damned stronger than me, not to mention I never laid a hand on him so it had to be one of the lowest reasons behind his actions.
For four years I¿d been clear of him, enjoying the fact I did not have to look over my shoulder or fear the sound of my phone every time it began to ring or buzzed a text through.¿ Because the problem with this guy is that he did not understand that No meant No.¿ I texted him politely at first, telling him I did not want anymore correspondence to which he¿d phone and phone and phone until I picked up, forcing me to be downright rude and ask him to fuck off and leave me alone which did not prevent him either.¿ I had to keep the house phone unplugged as the endless ringing would drive me to my wits end, I feared arriving home by myself in case he was waiting outside and would wedge a mop against the door with the inane hope that if he got by the chain while I had a few hours sleep it would prevent him from coming through.¿ When he found I turned off my mobile and would delete all his texts without reading them he started asking through friends how I was, where I was, what I was doing etc etc because he and I were going to get back together and they should all understand that.¿ Yes, as they say out here he was proper mental.
Holding myself back from writing a rather scalding message on his profile, as his mother had posted there and I pitied her for having spawned a creature like him as she was such a sweetie, I instead clicked on the ¿refuse¿ link and put it all down to him just trying his luck.¿ But he had sown the seed of nervous uncertainty and I began to worry that he¿d do to my current boyfriend what he did to my ex, phoning him constantly to let him know that only psycho and myself had a future together and that I¿d leave him for the madman.
Then on Friday logging into another socialising network I found a friendship request from someone with a Cat image as the picture and a name that was plain drivel.¿ The nagging sensation began and clicking through to what little I could see of their profile had me view they were in Northamptonshire and we shared but one friend.¿ I was pretty certain now it was the stalker and clicking through to who the cat was apparently in a relationship with, it turned out it was a teddy bear owned by guess who.¿ Yes.. the psychopathic ex.
Caution and the hope of being proven wrong had me ask the friend that we both ¿knew¿ who confirmed such, leaving me feeling just completely lost for words and deflated that the bastard was up to his tricks again and sending him an email before blocking him that I did not consider him a friend, did not want to ever communicate with him again and how many times in how many ways did I have to tell him such before he¿d leave me alone!¿ I changed my phone number earlier this year so he won¿t have it, I stopped going to LARP several years back so I would not have to see him there, I have blocked all his accounts I know on social sites, sent out the request to all friends for them not to tell him anything about me as he has started up again in his sick desire to stalk again.
But coming into work today I realised just how this will affect my career because now I have to ask any online business magazines to remove my name from their articles or at least where I work for fear he¿ll find me through that will hamper my dreams of becoming a consultant in the future.¿ I spent this morning removing my name from several business websites, looking for any online articles that include my name and fearing having to tell reception to screen all of my calls, while keeping a log with his name if he should try it.
So I own a new notebook and have set into it two dates so far of him trying contact again, because this time I am not going to put up with everything he put me through.¿ If it continues I am going to press for a restraining order, however am at the same time stuck with the anguish that I would have to give the courts my address and they in turn would pass it on to him.¿ Then there is the problem that even if I put one on him he¿ll most like ignore it as he did the one that his girlfriend after me put on him.
Why can't some people just accept that No means No?
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And that made all the difference
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109 Views
10/16/09
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I have lost many friends and acquaintances along the way due to not wanting to conform to their sense of society¿s beliefs.¿ Perhaps it was a selfish move, however being that which they believed was ¿normal¿ and ¿correct¿ had me only clawing at my skin and wanting to break free from the lies.¿ I don¿t want to mould.¿ I want to just be.¿ I want to be me and not feel guilty for such.¿ I don¿t care for masks to wear for some people and change for others, sliding them into place to suit what is fashionable or right so I can be seen with them.¿ Because that¿s just a lie and I don¿t like lying, just makes me feel ugly inside.
The beasts back home have begun their fake-filled tirade of ¿you must come along¿, ¿we should all meet like we used to¿, where all I know is that they just want to do as they did before I left.. play the ¿my life is more normal and perfect than yours¿ to make themselves feel happy that they are married, have three kids and don¿t work, with days spent doing nothing other than speaking with other ¿yummy mummies¿ that have never known any of life¿s harshness or difficulties.
While they desired big houses, rich husbands and kids I wanted to achieve dreams of travelling and gaining a career, of bettering and accepting myself rather than feeling the shame they had settled upon my shoulders of who I was.¿ My first breakdown had them feeling very happy with themselves that they were normal and not what they perceived as being fucked up, that they didn¿t have depression and were thus so much more superior than I whose life was falling in tatters.¿ Their behaviour, comments and vulture-like antics plunged me into another that had me excluded from all social occasions other than when they would drop by my parent¿s bookshop, where I struggled through each day just to force myself there to try gain some sort of semblance of normality to keep going.
Spiralling around a pair of them would herd me outside to find out how I was, knowing well enough that they would be seeing others that night to dish up the delicious dirt on the ¿whore¿ they had gone to school and University with.¿ Because that¿s what I was in their eyes, I dared to have sex with my boyfriends, of which I had had so many of.. two.¿ Terrible that having sex at the age of 19 with my first was such an abhorrence to society and how it tainted them by the word friendship.
There was nothing worse then arriving home one day during these times to face my mother who reported they had phoned her to say that I was not a virgin anymore while I was with my first boyfriend.¿ Heart-breaking cannot even describe the words when my mother said she ¿could never look at me the same again¿.¿ Then lies began to swirl into the mixture of what else they had told her, filling her head with scenes and just making me spiral down and plunge into misery because she didn¿t believe me when I spoke against everything they had described.
I stopped going to any of the few social functions I was invited to because of the looks I would receive or the questions asked or accusations thrown at me from people I didn¿t even know.¿ Humans really are quite cruel monsters.¿ I became completely introverted and with insomnia kicking in from the depression had too much time to think which made it worse.¿ So I tried to fill the time for thinking taking up an additional University course and working another job, trying to fill the holes in my life with just studying and work, my contact with others left to just tutorials or with customers.¿ But I crashed after a time with the second fall and pretty much shattered.
To this day I don¿t trust or like women.¿ I tolerate them.¿ But I am not going to tolerate putting up with all of this again next year or the panic attacks I¿ve had over the last few weeks thinking about having to be near the beasts back home again.¿ I will be gracious, politely refusing them all and hope that one day I can confront them for everything they put me through, for after all the years I was there for them no matter what they needed they turned out to be faithless and faceless.
A guy I¿d known only a few years at University helped put me back together and showed me what a real friend was.¿ I forced myself to make goals and I leave the demons behind and accepted I wasn¿t the horrible whore that they made me believe, that I was important and deserved to be accepted for who I was and not what they labelled me as
I became me again and that made all the difference.
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Returning to Australia
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79 Views
10/13/09
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My mother¿s persistence, along with the knowledge that my last surviving grandparent turns 91 in November, started the gears in motion for returning to Australia in May or June next year.¿ Not for good mind, just two weeks and perhaps that is pushing it.¿ I do not like Australia which many people I meet out here find difficult to understand; after all it¿s the nation of sun, sport, surf and the outdoor lifestyle.¿ For me however it holds a hive of poisoned memories furiously buzzing and lying in wait for my return to savagely sting and swam me in misery¿s mantel.¿ It will be the second time I have returned in what will then be six years of living in the UK, much to my parent¿s annoyance and my own trepidation.
¿
It has been with mounting nervousness clicking through the cheapest online deals to Sydney, wondering just how late to leave booking and wishing as ever that there was a ¿beam-me-up-scotty¿ option.¿ I had hoped to bring my boyfriend or some friends along with me, however after my ex behaved so poorly when I visited last time my parents decided this was not an option as they ¿wanted me to themselves¿ with promise of release for a few days.¿ The ¿largest prison¿ jokes my friends crack here seems in part living up to expectations.¿ I only wish my parents had remained in Sydney and had not relocated to the Southern Highlands in NSW for the ability to escape will be not-so-great with wombats, roos and snakes patrolling the fences of the 25 acre property.¿ Thankfully no badgers in sight!
¿
With leave granted in the form of a Sleeper train to Melbourne, which luckily pulls in at a town nearby, I¿m thinking of perhaps spending a weekend there with my Mother¿s hopes riding on the fact I might ¿fall in love with it and decide to move back¿.¿ No pressure or anything!¿ Apparently I am to swap my jaded glasses for rose and come back home to put to rest the ghosts of old.¿ Well I know they do not hang out in St Kilda and if they still have the marvellous coffee houses they did when going there years ago I might re-think.
¿
My jaded regard for Australia is admittedly bound up in Sydney where my fall commenced first to despair and lead to the discovery of people¿s delight to destroy others.¿ It is a sick fascination that some hold tearing others lives apart so they can feed on their fears and scavenge what little they hold dear, lapping their life¿s drudgery away by toying and twisting another¿s, batting kitten-like and unravelling their entire being, rolling it out and tugging on the tapestry until it frays apart and falls to dust.
¿
Stitch-by-stitch I have worked hard, pulling the seams together, matching the scenes and bringing colour again to parts that had faded to grey.¿ But returning to Australia has me waver and more so alone with the fear that those that I ran from might try again to ruin what I have worked so hard to rebuild.¿ I shall do my best to concentrate on thinking of the faces I miss from home, of looking forward to those few treasures that meet the measure of friend and try to ignore what the beasts might try.
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D
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61 Views
08/17/09
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My guts are twisted up, stomach trying to regale what little I¿ve forced myself to eat, heart is squeezing and beating like a spitfire¿s guns, eyes on the brink of salt-water tides but the dam busters aren¿t going to get me. Throat tight but holding firm while the pure raw instinctual need to just flee work and hide is roaring me on in fidgeting twitches, just want to run and scream out everything inside while hiding from the sound of it. I can get through this. I need to do it. I have to do it.
But its hard to stand firm when the monster catches you, often when you least expect it and suddenly like a child fearful of what the gaping abyss in the wardrobe holds, you¿re smack back faced with what you fear and detest the most. You¿re inner demons, or in my case D. D¿s been with me since the age of 17 but I didn¿t know it then, it was only after my first breakdown and the different prescription drugs pressed my way and time spent in a small white-washed room with a psych wearing glasses trying to get me to unlock several years of clammed up emotions that kept leaking at the most impromptu moments. I¿ve done a lot of reading to try and control D over the years and much of it states that D appears to many people when something life changing triggers it.
I wish D would just leave me alone, and while he returns now and then to try and drag me down I do my best to flee circumstances or slam doors swiftly that would draw him on. I¿ve been on the run for five years without the prescribed pills to haze it all and feel some kind of fake contentment that doesn¿t last, forcing the refusal of becoming addicted to them had me leave it all behind in Aus to start afresh here, however D¿s laying siege and whittling away at my foundations and I am terrified of falling again.
Over the weekend I found it impossible to hide from him when slapped with frustrating news and stuck in a foreign country, unable to leave the presence of others visiting thus having to keep the mask of serenity and contentment in place which opposed to the utter desolation ebbing within. It¿s a form of lying and just makes me feel sick when doing it, but it makes others feel better and I just get plagued with guilt for ruining the time of others should I get it off my chest; something that D has forced me into through the years, along with the actions of so-called-friends back in Aus. Better to grin and bear it then appear like a freak to others and ruin their fun.
So I¿m raging against the dying of the light and willing Dylan to hurry on over and clutter the scene with voices soft and grim. Hiding has its uses but D has found me again and I¿m drowning in his mantle of maelstrom and willing myself to stop choking and trembling. I hate D, knowing too well his mask slides too easily over mine. D for Depression.
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Flailing legs up three flights
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54 Views
07/24/09
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An email received from my mother had me a little nervous before moving flats two weeks ago.¿ It wasn¿t the entirety of a rather long dictation of events that had recently assailed my folks that drew forth the fretting, but rather the last paragraph wishing me luck with moving flats and ¿hope you are both still together after it, moving is very traumatic¿.
Psh, I thought, for after the initial move to the UK this was to be my fifth relocation and I took the Friday off work to complete the packing so moving on Saturday would be lovely and easy with the help of my lovely man.
It started well, very well indeed for when Bonfire turned up on the Friday evening he had me close my eyes before placing a bouquet of roses in my hands and I was still smiling inside from lines of poetry he had sent me the day before at work.¿ Yes ok, so perhaps we¿re both sappy but I must admit he is a breath of fresh air in comparison to the guys I¿d dated since my last long-term boyfriend!
By the time he arrived I had finished the majority of the packing, just a few odds and ends lying around that could wait until Saturday after the contracts had been signed.¿ My old flatmate, Mainstream, was off down to Cornwall so it allowed me to move everything I had into the living room, and even after culling clothes and oddities that I¿d somehow collected I found that I had rather a lot of things.¿ Although according to Bonfire it really wasn¿t that much, but did take 2 car loads.
Remind me never again to select a flat at the top of a building!¿ Three flights Bonfire and I had to take my belongings down and pack into his car, then on arrival at the new flat it was another three flights up!¿ I tell you by the end of the evening my bad left knee was so swollen and aching I could barely walk on it.¿ Bless Bonfire though, he directed me to do other things (unpacking crockery & kitchenware and making him a cup of tea) while he shifted more items to save my knee more pain and never once did he complain.. ok some of you might not find that strange but to me considering some of the guys I¿ve been with it was brilliant!¿ He remained completely calm and collected, cheery and cheeky with a grin whenever I threatened to falter which speaks volumes when you consider the trouble we found ourselves in.
You see I am rather anal about losing my keys to the point where if anyone has them other than me I will be constantly checking they haven¿t lost them, for even though I have been out here for over 5 years I panic at the prospect of not being able to get home and be stuck roaming the streets like a lost puppy.¿ So when Bonfire asked me to pick up a box and precede him down the stairs of my old flat, I was so caught up in the need to finish packing the second car load that when the wedge keeping the door open slid out and the door closed behind us I had a near heart attack.¿ He looked at me and I him, and he said he¿d never seen me almost crumple with a mixture of silent fear, panic and stress before, so different from my usual calm and easy-going nature.
His reaction was amazing.¿ He didn¿t shout, cuss or huff, if anything he just flashed me a grin and suggested we finish packing the car with what we had taken down already and then think about what to do!¿ I felt utterly sick to the stomach and I¿ve not felt that in a long, long time.. well other than the April seafood incident back in Whitby.¿ But with Mainstream in Cornwall and there being no spare keys with any of her friends or the neighbours, my phone and wallet inside I was not looking forward to the options.. more so the one that Bonfire decided we should try for, climbing up the side of the house and going through one of the window¿s we¿d left open.
Knocking on the neighbours door in the flat below us drew me face-to-face with the odd woman who had only been living there a month with her son.¿ She is very strange, like horror movie strange when you know something isn¿t right about them but you can¿t put your finger on what until you¿re caught in a dark room with them and chilling music begins.¿ Moving along.¿ Bonfire and I were quite the sight, I was almost in tears and we were both wearing old clothes because of the move, thus sweaty from the humidity sweeping London and rather grubby.¿ Shiftily she appraised us, and there was a moment there where I thought she was going to tell us to go away but luckily she let us in and then promptly answered a phone call in another room.
Stepping out onto the Balcony, Bonfire and I glanced up to the windows of my flat and I must say the distance looks minimal when staring down.¿ Of course staring up it was like staring into a horizon of bricks and pipes where the wall just went on and on and on!¿ In fact it looked all too high for Bonfire to even attempt to climb up with a ladder or no ladder.¿ We waited for about 15 mins for the Lady to get off the phone, as we didn¿t want to interrupt her with asking if she had a ladder, however she continued on with a conversation that had Bonfire scuttle back to me looking rather nervous.¿ And for a 6'3" guy to look as nervous as him that moment had me carefully check behind him to make certain she hadn't crept up with a knife to hitchcock-psycho-stab him in the back!¿ Oh yes, she was definitely horror-film material.
Not wanting to wait longer as I was getting frazzled by the second we agreed to borrow her ladder he'd spied in the corridor and give the climb a go.¿ With the ladder set against the wall and me holding it in place, I voiced my doubt that it would be possible as he would have to leap from the top of the ladder and latch onto the window ledge.¿ He of course just smiled and said he¿d climb up and wouldn¿t attempt anything if he knew he couldn¿t do it.
I think Bonfire wanted to give me a heart attack as after climbing to the top he suddenly sprang up and grabbed the edge of the window frame, hanging there for a bit before dragging himself up to his elbows!¿ There was a time where all I could see was his legs flailing against the blue sky with a ¿Who left the ice wine here!¿ chuckled from above.¿ You see I had forgotten I¿d previously lined up my wine along the kitchen bench by the window he decided to climb through and he decided he couldn¿t thrust aside to let him get it, so then took the time to carefully move them away as he dangled before pulling himself in.¿ I wouldn¿t have cared!¿ A live and healthy boyfriend beats the images of him falling off the ladder, over the balcony and hitting the grim mosaics of birds that the ground floor neighbours had created last year!
Finally dragging himself through the rest of the window I heard several crashes.. now thinking if he had broken his neck or back sliding off the kitchen counter I¿d set him in new trouble!¿ But moments later his head poked out one of the other windows with a big grin and a, ¿Sweetie.. you can come up now.¿¿ Boys and climbing, I shall never understand the thrill!
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The only Goth & Metal Head in the Village
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48 Views
07/03/09
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Last week was a wander back through¿my parent's records and memories of childhood.¿ It featured two artists that I shall always synonymies with 6 hour car trips to my grandparents every school holidays, from Sydney to Gundagai ie Dog on the Tuckerbox territory.
Three kids in the back of the car, my cat Tiggy howling in his cage under my feet the entire way and music blaring out of the car's cassette player in my parnets attempt to prevent WW3 errupting in the back seats.¿ Macca on a Sunday Morning often was making its way through the recorder however my folks soon discovered that Johnny Cash, Tracey Chapman, The Travelling Wilburys and Bruce Springsteen would draw a hush or general joint singing from their children, offering them some solace.
As soon as Tracey's name flared up on Tickotek in May I bought two tickets, one for my lil sis as a birthday pressie and of course one of me.¿ I made certain to alert my mother after and make her incredibly jealous that we were going to see one of our favourite childhood musicians live at The Round House, Chalk Farm.
Grabbing a drink at the venue before heading into the auditorium my sis and I ventured outside and found we created the scratched record effect, as in our very own episode of little Britain we were the only¿Goth and Metal Head in the village.. much to the apparent surprise of townies, tourists and hippies.¿ Of course this also meant while we were waiting for Tracey to arrive on stage, after an ok performace by a solo artist, out attempts to chant her on had us realise this was the first folk concert we'd been to together, the most sedate one we'd ever been to and the crowd really weren't joining us in heckling her on.¿ There was a blown up condom making its way over the crowd, ok it was no blow-up sex doll but it held in part the feeling of going to a concert rather than cream tea with the Queen.
The crowd went wild when Tracey crossed the stage with guitar in hand, or as wild as a group of calm people can..¿clapping and polite woos.¿ We of course called forth some brisker howls and then discovered that my skirt was going for the Marilyn Monroe effect as we were standing over the air vents to keep cool.. drawing some attention away from Tracey.
Tracey hadn't aged a day and was stunning, if anything her voice had improved with age like a bottle of whiskey.. I mean wine; beautifully soft, deep and lined with velvet soulful meaning.¿ It was such a weird experience for when she played the classics, there wasn't a single word we had forgotten having us wonder just how many times we had been placated by that album.
"Behind the Wall" had to be one of the best songs I have ever seen performed live.¿ Single spotlight on her, just Tracey's vocals with the crowd joining in.¿ If smoking hadn't been banned in venues then the lighters would have been flickering amongst the swaying crowd.
On Sunday a mate from GM invited me along to see Bruce Springsteen, or Brucey Boy, for he had a spare ticket on the go and wondered if I'd like to go along.¿ Would I!!¿ Arriving at the gates we made a bee-line for the concert merchandise, discovering there was too much Hard Rock Cafe rubbish and if you didn't have¿big tits and appeared to be 16 then you were lucky to get served.¿ This meant that a lot of the original Brucey fans were starting to get just a lil pissed off waiting in the scorching heat, and curiously I waited to see if it would break into a riot.¿ But no, as usual the British public were very polite and continued queuing between grumbling about how awful the service was.
Damn Brucey can sing, however didn't belt out as many classics as I was hoping for.¿ He missed out "Born in the USA" which for me draws recollections of reading the back of the record and having my mother inform me one of the reasons she bought it was because it had a nice picture of Brucey's ass.¿ Not something a 13 yr old wasnt to hear their mother saying!
My mate told me to be patient and that it had to be night before Brucey Boy would even think about playing "Dancing in the Dark," but that didn't stop me trying to mind-link with the Boss man and get him to play it after every song.¿ In the end the mind-link must have worked as it was his last song and made my night!
I always regret not having seen Cash before he passed on and my attempts this year to see Cat Stevens were foiled by the ¿70 ticket charge.¿ I'll never see the Travelling Wilburys together and thank myself lucky that I can't have any Macca on a Sunday Morning in the UK.
A rubbish goth I am, no doubt many of you are thinking, but i know what I like and through my Dad's Rolling Stones, Beatles and Kinks records, my mother's Credence Clearwater Revival, Fleetwood Mac and Bob Dylan I found something warm and soothing to the soul, songs that no matter where I am when I hear them remind me of home and all those boring holidays stuck in a dying country town.. where the highlight was fishing and the music during the journey.
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Room enough to swing several cats lashed together
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50 Views
07/02/09
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I am dying.. dying I tell you! Dying from the worst hangover in the world! Well, maybe the third after the Scotch incident of 2006 and the Gin plot of 2002. Worse still is that I am at work, squinting at the screen in an attempt to understand emails after reading the blur several times and struggling to psych myself up with a large cappuccino and danish for a task that no one with a hangover should have to do.. testing out some sounds for a new title in our sound chip book range *cries*
Still though a girl can¿t complain with some rather good news, make that wonderful news, yes indeed. Mainstream, my flatmate/landlord, has decided to move in with Frog and live happily ever after in the white-picket fence haze. I am extremely happy for her when you consider that in the year we have lived together she has gone from crying for the initial three months over a guy she dated for two weeks, to spending nearly every week with Frog whom she met in the fourth month, for the last couple. I only wish she hadn¿t chosen the medium of email to inform me as it was a rather craven thing to do then tell me when I saw her last. The night before she sent it.
It placed me in an awkward situation as she informed me in the email the rent is increasing to ¿1250 a month and there is no way I can afford to stay unless I take an evening job on top of my day or sell my soul. I think not. So onward to google I rallied, skimming through various advertisements and hoping I wouldn¿t end up with an axe murderer and be the Time¿s leading story. Not that I could surpass MJ who I believe is currently having cream tea with 2Pac, Elvis, Walt Disney and Marilyn Monroe.
One place in Highgate was promising, beautiful high ceilings, tastefully decorated with a 1920¿s Parisian theme which was rather fun. Keeping me there for an hour I was soon to discover the guy ¿interviewing¿ me for the room hadn¿t just been there and done everything, he¿d MADE the t-shirts as well. With the viewing completed I was informed he would be ¿interviewing¿ people over the next three months for the room and taking his time. Great for him, not-so-great for me.
Thus an email making its rounds at work about a colleague¿s friend seeking a flatmate, prompted me to venture forth on Monday to meet the girl and hope it was the flat of my dreams. The place really wasn¿t for me and I was a little worried as the girl told me she had also been looking at places with another prospective flatmate she had met the week before, viewing the room I was seeing. Sadly though she hadn¿t heard from her since they viewed three flats together, one of apartments being one my workmate¿s friend really liked. Curious, I enquired where they were, the price etc just in case the other girl pulled out and I liked the other place myself. Seeing it yesterday I fell in love at first sight with its new carpets, fresh paint on the walls, a sparkling bathroom just waiting for a MacLean¿s moment, a new kitchen with all the room for creating gastronomical disasters, two bedrooms with room enough to swing several cats lashed together and a small lounge.
Needless to say the girl that hadn¿t phoned in days pulled out and the friend of my colleague and I signed up yesterday for the renovated flat. We get the keys in two weeks time and get to make the place ours! I am so glad to get out of where I am, and its amazing what a friendly alternative flatmate, double-glazing, and a large bedroom can do to lift one¿s spirits. Thus we celebrated with quite a few pints last night leading to my current disrepair.
PS Just had an email from Mainstream, apparently Take That were AMAZING last night for all of you die-hard-fans out there that couldn't make it ;)
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I found my gold amongst the fools
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61 Views
05/18/09
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Well, I have some news. I am stupidly happy and rather shocked, not to mention slightly nervous. In other words, I am now seeing someone. I found my gold amongst the fools ^^
I had seen him several times at Whitby with friends of friends, intrigued and curious as I was certain I had seen him from a website. On the last evening at the bonfire I wandered over and struck up conversation, keeping in contact through msn as he lives near Sheffield which is about 3 hours from me.
It was sweet moment yesterday for as he drove me to Doncaster Station after another visit, he confessed trying to find out my name from his friends and choose a moment to speak with me at the bonfire, grateful that I had approached him for conversation.
He is incredibly gentle, thoughtful and giving with an easy smile and a pair of green eyes that you can¿t help but fall into.. oh and wonderfully tall with hugs that just engulf you completely! It is all new and I am rather out of practice in ¿dating¿ but am just enjoying what comes.
Some people don¿t like long-distance relationships and I can understand that, however this will be my fourth and he is not so far away. To me I almost prefer them sometimes as it allows both parties ¿space¿ and ¿room¿ to breathe and do what they also want with their friends. A close relationship is beautiful but one that stifles is not for me.
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Mimes unsettle me, clowns frighten me
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33 Views
05/15/09
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Mimes unsettle me, clowns frighten me.. however admittedly the latter I have dressed up as for a skit on stage during my primary school years and my little brother¿s birthday party when he was 6 or so.
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A few weekends ago I met up with a friend from GM to meander along the South bank in London.¿ It was one of those rare sunny days (for London of late) with a few clouds smudging the crisp blue sky and a torrent of tourists wandering around taking photos of everything and everyone.¿ My neon knee-high blue & black stripey socks with new rocks became a new landmark for a couple.¿ Bless.
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We¿d had several drinks by the time we got to the area where most of the street performers gather around, one of my favourites being an older gentleman in his 70¿s or 80¿s grooving it down with his harmonica.¿ He was utterly brilliant!¿ Some weird chameleon-type people were seated on stationary bicycles, moving to ride them and squeak their hands when the jangle of money hit their tins.¿ Weird.¿ There was a Jack Sparrow impersonator who was brilliant except he was wearing jeans, and a ¿statue¿ of what I can only guess was Gandalf rocking it down rather than remaining still.
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All perfectly fun and random, however it was when walking back that we picked up a mime.¿ I¿d seen him make a beeline for us however thought he was off to ¿worry¿ someone else, and it was coincidently earlier in the day that my friend admitted to me his utter fear of mimes.¿ My friend noted that the mime was following me and I could sense my friend already tensing.¿ A glance over my shoulder had be see the mime¿s back to mine as he followed all-to-closely and completely invading.
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Now I¿ve been stalked by mimes before and know all-too-well if you ask them politely to leave they often just copy you for other people¿s entertainment to bring in a crowd and money for them.¿ So we travelled a few meters onward and I silently gave him the chance to find some other prey before my mate noted again that it was still following us.¿ My friend was even more tense by this stage so I turned and closed the short distance between the Mime and I and he in turn faced me with an ¿innocent¿ expression.¿ I leant in close then, staring into his eyes before dipping down to his right ear to whisper.
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Returning to my friend we continued on and I asked him if the mime was still following us, to which he replied ¿No, but he looks terrified and has literally run off, what did you actually say to him..?¿
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I ruefully replied, ¿Would you please mind fucking off, I am terrified of mimes¿¿¿ So I guess I was my 6¿4¿ friend¿s knight-in-shining armour for a few moments and perhaps I am one step closer to getting over my problems with confrontation.
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Flashed by proxy + WGW April 2009
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55 Views
05/08/09
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For five years I had wanted to attend the Whitby Goth Weekend and finally this year I had my chance!¿ To say I had a wonderful time would be playing it down.¿ I had an absolutely-frigging-brilliant-and-kick-ass-time!!
The house that my friend¿s mate had found for us all (there were six of us) was gorgeous, The Old Chapel found in the south area of the town.¿ The d¿cor was.. different, with models of ships, anchors, lanterns, paintings and prints of the titanic and the endeavour splattered around the house.¿ I¿d never seen so much nautical crap piled into a place since going to Portsmouth as a kid, and even then at least that had been tastefully done in the museum.. this was pure cheese ^^
Goths it seemed had stayed there before, for when reading through the visitors book we noted that there was an entry from a past WGW where the Goths had been happy as there was somewhere to hang their cloak, so it must be a fine place to stay.
My first night had me taken along to the Elsinore where my mate Pogg¿s did something I never dreamed he¿d even do.¿ He flashed me by proxy.¿ His excuse was to discover if his friend that came to chat with us was a ¿real¿ Scotsman as he had a kilt on.¿ Gripping the hem of his kilt, my mate told another girl that was with us to check as he lifted, but living in doubt that Pogg¿s would do it as he¿s usually so well behaved, I caught an eyeful.¿ The other girl screamed and I apparently went white, but I guess in that moment my virginity to the WGW was gone and it set a precedent for a wicked weekend.
The costumes and effort people went to was beyond words.¿ Elegant ladies and gentleman taking-a-turn around the town in sweeping skirts of satin, silk, velvet.. and polyester; top-hats and pocket watches, monocles and moustaches.¿ A Victorian delight!¿ I stuck to my anything-with-stripy knee-high socks and big-boots and thought it rather rational for as the weekend continued to get warmer some of the swans were wilting in their reverie.
The band events at the spa were a mixture of super-fantastical to utterly rubbish.¿ Perhaps I am a harsh wretch but I know what I like and it wasn¿t Zeitgiest Zero or House of Usher.¿ Zeitgiest¿s band were rather good however the singer was completely off key in the first song and I found only two others being rather good.¿ House of Usher had me wondering if they were at the pub or performing as they seemed more intent on drinking then they were impressing the crowd.¿ Never before had I been to a gig where the audience were clapping politely, to every song until the last two where the singer enraptured the crowd but then had to go.
The best bands had to be The Last Dance, Abney Park and Diary of Dreams.¿ After House of Usher¿s dismal performance and not knowing DOD I was somewhat nervous, really wanting a good end to the evening with an amazing band and they blew me away!¿ The utter energy of the singer, the show in its entirety, vocals, music and way he had us all yelling for encores and I admittedly gushing as he was rather good looking and had the *reow* factor in droves ^^
I didn¿t know much about the Steampunk band Abney Park but after hearing them I wanted to leave Whitby and head to their next gig!¿ If you haven¿t heard of them before and they are coming to play near you, definitely go and check them out!¿ You won¿t be disappointed :D
It was here my disgust and hatred for soccer melted away as I purchased my ¿Real Gothic¿ scarf and clambered into the stands for the only ¿goth¿ vs ¿norms¿ football match I had ever seen.¿ It was hilarious to watch for you could tell the newspaper team we were up against had the time to practice with one another where the goth¿s were here-there-and-everywhere.¿ There was a ¿band¿ in the stands with us to, their instruments consisting of a drum, a long trumpet and random objects.¿ Their sound was similar to a death-nell and a cat dying.¿ I wonder if they do kids parties.
My legs and feet haven¿t known such pain in ages though, all the walking up and down hills and cobbled streets, in and out of pubs and clubs ended up in me breaking a pair of boots and had my new rocks tear my feet asunder to the point I could see more band-aids at times then skin!¿ Totally worth it of course because I met so many wonderful people.. other than the chavs that liked to wind down their windows when driving by and yell out original things like ¿die goth die¿, ¿go and fuck a coffin¿ and ¿fuck off back to the cemetery.¿¿ Still, a friend came upon two townies shagging on the pavement outside subways, shrugged as he couldn¿t be bothered moving around and stepped over without them even noticing in their alcohol-and-lusted up state.¿ Chav romance.
So after all the parties, dancing, drinking, shopping, drinking, gigs, drinking, clubbing, drinking, football, drinking, random wanderings, drinking, and minor food poisioning (which I managed to get from the best fish & chip shop Magpies) the meet at the bonfire on the Monday night with a game of Mafball to watch ended the weekend on a high.
The next WGW is over the Halloween weekend and I can¿t wait for my second.¿ I will make it up to the Abbey next time, perhaps by the steam-powered bus.
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A gaggle of goths
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116 Views
04/14/09
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Last year I joined a 'meetup' for Goths which is basically a socialising group for those wanting to go to clubs, gigs, exhibitions and other points of interest with like minded people. It has been one of the best things I have done, for upon returning to London I found myself wanting to meet more people and go to events that otherwise might have been daunting alone.
One of the events run are historical walks around London, really informative and free tours led by one of the chaps that organises the group. Naughtily I had signed up for two or three previously however for one reason or another had pulled out. But, on Sunday sporting a hangover and still shaking mildly from it waltzed up to the pub meeting point to find over forty others ready and rearing to go.
This outing was about the last journey taken by felons, locked up at Newgate prison between the 17th - 18th Century, to the gallows at Tyburn or Marble Arch as we know it today. It is terrifying to think that during the 600 odd years the gallows were in operation around 500,000 people were hanged. That was until it was all put a stop due to the crowds vastly enjoying themselves at the hangings and said punishment was not preventing crime.
The trip was brilliant and one of the best things I have done with the group, as I have gone to the odd monthly social meet they hold in pubs across London along with clubbing when my friends haven't been up for the night I wanted to go.
It was rather amusing watching the reactions of those we passed, often spying them stopping mid-conversation with their companions wide-eyed and dropped jaw. After all, it isn't everyday you see a gaggle of Goths streaming along Oxford Street and the back streets and alleyways following a man in a tri-corn hat decked out in all his 18th Century splendour.
At various points we were even gathering some tourists that listened in and even edged close to have their photographs taken with us, or rather our backs as we were all listening intently to what Dex our guide was introducing us to.
There are a wonderful range of groups be it for those interested in vampires, tattoos, motorbikes, music, indi films, art, knitting, culture vultures etc. and definitely worth a try.
It can be hard going to the first event as you might go alone but the people are friendly and introductions made with conversations struck up soon after. At least it was so in the London Gothic meetup group.
I am wondering what the next walk might be about, but either way I met some new people and overcame a little more of my nerves along the three hour walk. By the end of it the Marlborough Head had never seemed so appetising, my feet feeling bruised from hours of walking in poorly selected shoes and left knee reminding me I was supposed to be resting it.
I will definitely be going along to the next one and am looking forward to the trip out to Nunhead Cemetery which is having an open day next month.
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Traitor!
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111 Views
04/07/09
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I feel rather rotten in a way, a traitor to that which I love and believe in.¿ Books.¿ I¿ll never forget the early memories of racing to my parents room at 6am on Saturdays with my siblings, demanding a story and bouncing on the bed until my father told us how badly behaved we all were, without able to hide a grin, and my mother insist we all to go away so she could sleep.¿ Then of course it was the battle of what to read, something from our library of ladybird books or one of Beatrix Potter¿s as when it came to books we were spoilt rotten for choice.¿ Toys we had but very few and it was always the books and the interaction that reading could bring the whole family that had me hooked from the beginning.
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And now here I am years down the line, working in the profession I adore and yet feel like a craven criminal for you see it is my task now to bring our books into the emarket.¿ For two weeks now I have been researching them, planning seminars that I shall attend at the London Bookfair and asking Techno-geek friends if they have purchased or used any ebook readers, their pros and cons etc.
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Progress comes whether we wish it or not; but to lose the feel, the smell, the tactileness of a book is just disheartening.¿ I love turning the pages, the crisp sound of the paper curling over and dusting against the next, fingertips skimming along the grain and if purchased second hand wondering how many sets of eyes sighted the print before mine, what did they think of the book, did they read it?
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Sometimes you find names in them, dates of purchase and notes along the columns, even corrections where the previous owner¿s editing skills outdo that of the original.¿ Perhaps I am a fool but when reading one of the many articles on ebook readers and finding CNN quote that in the future ¿paper books will become rare..¿ that there will ¿be (almost) no reason for p-books..¿ it just makes me wilt a little inside.
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Books don¿t freeze up on you, yes there might be a printing error from time-to-time however you can just phone a publisher for a replacement copy and not have to worry if you need to send your own faulty one back to china through only certain couriers etc.¿ Books don¿t get viruses in them and if you spill a cup of coffee over them while you might have to throw it out the replacement cost is far cheaper.¿ Books don¿t need to be insured against theft, unless of course they are antiquarian.¿ Books don¿t need batteries, even though admittedly I wish that ¿Tess of the D¿Urbervilles¿ had, for to this day it is one of my most hated reads.¿ I think I flung her at least three times across my bedroom during my last year at Highschool.
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Instead now we¿ll have pieces of plastic and metal embraced by our hands, our minds captured by not only the author¿s words but technology that will remove the almost organic-like sensation of reading.¿ Our eyes will strain when reading a screen no matter how you can enlarge the font or not and the ability to have the screen¿s brightness increased will only lead people to stare at them for hours in the dark which will only damage ones sight more.
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I can curl up with a book and store it easily in my bag, read in the bath or take it to the beach and not worry about the sand.¿ If I lose it, it won¿t matter as I can always buy another without too much cost while e-reader¿s are priced between ¿250 - ¿599 dependant on the model and make.¿ Yes prices will decrease as popularity rises and technology becomes more developed, but why should books become vinyl and ebooks mp3s?¿ Perhaps I should get into the second-hand book market now or become an out-of-print bookfinder like an Uncle, either that or start hoarding away all those that I love.
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To have read books like ¿1984¿ and ¿Fahrenheit 451¿ in such a way would have taken something from them, perhaps we should all just end up becoming a book, curl up with one another, tell our title and begin our tale.¿ But what book to be?
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May I service you?
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117 Views
04/03/09
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I dally on another site now and then, being the fickle creature I am, and idly wander through the pics and profile descriptions thinking what a lot of vain and verbally inane creatures there are out there. Pondering bed a private whisper popped up, displaying the picture of a petite blonde bombshell in rather 1960¿¿s cut little-black-dress. Now admittedly I don¿¿t have my settings to allow women through so already had guessed I had a tranny set on striking up conversation, to which after a few sentences he noted such as we were getting along so well. I have no issues with trannies and have a couple of them as friends that never cease to make me utterly jealous that they can walk in 6-inch high-heels better than I ever could. The bitches.
What I hadn¿¿t expected though was the offer of a ¿¿Personal Maid¿¿. I¿¿ve dallied in BDSM, dressing up and so forth but this was all rather new to me and rather intriguing. Thus began a discussion into the ins and outs of what being my maid would entail and none of it would be paid for in money and sex etc would not enter the equation. All I would have to accept was that she would wear a uniform, high heels and position herself around me carrying on with various tasks that I asked her to perform.
So in this I stood to gain someone to clean the dishes, do the laundry, vacuum the carpet, wash the windows, scrub the floors, dust the flat, water my herbs, clean my silver jewellery, polish my shoes and the list goes on. Tempting? Oh yes! However my flat is rather clean as it is and knowing my mainstream flatmate would freakout if she came home to Blondie vacuuming our lounge in a tight and short maids uniform, wearing 6inchers and shooting perhaps the odd cheeky wink I sadly had to turn her down.
Ah well. I¿¿ve offered her services thus out to other friends and as yet there have been no takers
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Voodoo Dolls & The London Ballet Calls
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85 Views
03/13/09
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I¿¿m beginning to think that someone, somewhere out there has crafted a Voodoo Doll in my image and has been taking delight in obliterating my social life for six weeks now! It all started with the snow that suddenly dumped itself in London in early February. After wandering back along the path from the local Irish pub where I¿¿d had dinner with a mate I ended up slipping on ice and really screwing up my left knee. Had the London Ballet Company seen my pirouette though I¿¿m sure I would have been snapped up then and there.
Annoyingly two weeks before Christmas in 2007 I managed to do the same thing, which led to a Knee operation in May 2008 after discovering I¿¿d cracked the cartilage in my knee. This meant then when I did it this time I was off work for three weeks, rejecting clubbing, dinner and any prospects of meeting up for people where stairs were involved.
A few days back at work and I managed to pick up the cold that¿¿s going around and have had it now for two freak¿¿n weeks! My guess is the maker of the doll has been handing it around to a group of disease ridden kids, because lets face it they usually pick up the nasty ones and fight them better then the grownups.
During both incidents I have also missed out on seeing the Tiamat concert with a 5 band lead up at the Electric Ballroom, two Vagabonds Club Nights and a Reptile Club Night. Reptile is on again tomorrow night and already I¿¿m feeling the blues from knowing that attempting attendance will have me sneezing, wheezing and blowing my nose more than having a chance to dance and natter away with mates.
Whoever has the doll.. please, be gentle. I¿¿m slowly going around the twist and having friends think I¿¿m rather anti-social due to the lack of apparent interest in going to events. I just don¿¿t like coughing and wheezing over everyone, I see it as being thoughtful however the desire to turn up and share the pain has been rather nagging of late.
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When Cod masquerades as Caviar
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67 Views
01/19/09
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First impressions can often make or break a situation. They can help you get the deal with a global oil baron keen on bending countries voting habits by one turn of a wheel; get the in-laws to believe you¿¿re level-headed and sweet and not using their son or daughter for a breeding scheme in the cult you just created; and have your boss think that you really are a eunuch and not shagging his wife on the side.. wink wink, nudge nudge.
We¿¿ve all had our successes and failures, however I was on the receiving end of quite the foul-up over the weekend and am still rather confused over it. I blame it on the ignorance of educated people more than anything, but even in this case I don¿¿t really think it was that acceptable as there weren¿¿t any apologies.
I met him finally, The Frog Prince. The man my flatmate has been rampantly describing, drooling and designating as her future husband-to-be. For months I heard tales of his greek-god like body, muscled and toned with satin-skin that you just can¿¿t help but touch; his gorgeous blue eyes that like twin pools of sapphire claimed her heart from the first time they met; his smile and how when caught by it like a deer-in-the-headlights she was his forever! Oh swoon, swoon, swoon¿¿ or dry retch depending on your mood. Admittedly mine is the latter at the moment.
It was Friday night and my plans to see the Gothic Circus at Shunt under London Bridge had sadly fallen through, so in an attempt to rally myself I dined on takeout Peking duck and a couple of glasses of wine. Hearing the familiar key-in-the-door sound I looked up from Horatio taking off his sunglasses for the umpteenth time, I¿¿m a CSI freak, and found to my intrigue my flatmate and a guy in tow that I guessed was Frog.
She jostled him into the room and Frog sported me a smile, saying ¿¿Hi¿¿ and soon following it with ¿¿oh my nephew would really like you..¿¿ A little odd I thought but offering a warm smile and trying to engage him in conversation as my flatmate rushed around, I asked why and had him reply, ¿¿Oh because he¿¿s a Goth Satanist to.¿¿
Utterly stunned I just stared at him, eyes wide in horror. Its not everyday someone says that to me.. well ok never. In fact other than the apparently sweet lil old lady at Whitechapel station screeching out that I was going to ¿¿burn in the fiery pits of liquid hell¿¿ after informing her I was questioning my religion, I have not been so taken-aback before.
While I was recovering and wondering how on earth he came to the conclusion I was a Satanist as I wasn¿¿t wearing my goat skull, light up tail and carrying my candy-cane pitch fork as I usually do on Fridays, my flatmate piped up that ¿¿Oh, no.. she¿¿s a nice Goth.¿¿
What? What?! Blinkingly I stared at the pair of University Educated Architects before me, mouth agape before clacking it shut as Frog continued on, ¿¿..yes, he¿¿s weird and his wife is a witch but she¿¿s nice.¿¿ Then they had a short discussion on if she was into evil magic or not before quieting as I just shook my head in disbelief.
I think it was only then that my flatmate thought she and frog had committed some ¿¿goth¿¿ faux pas rather than plain rudeness, perhaps because Horatio suddenly claimed my attentions while I bit my tongue. Glad for their speedy exit, after collecting her favourite Girls Aloud and Take That CD¿¿s, I looked towards the collection of books she had told me were purchased over a period of five years and was finally reading through.
She loves miserable tales about people that have suffered unbearably in life and rather enjoyed the ones in particular where they were still rather fucked up. From 10 years experience working in my parent¿¿s bookshop back in Australia, I often found the people that revelled reading them did so to feel better about themselves and their position in life which I personally found rather pathetic.
Her boyfriend was cod rather than caviar, then again what do you expect from a toad.
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GM
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01/13/09
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I have been very lucky using this site since returning to it last year. I signed up originally around 2006 and didn't return until receiving an email that someone had ¿¿winked¿¿ at me. In all honesty I had totally forgotten I was still signed up to GM.
I've met around six people or so from it in person and kept correspondence with others locally or overseas, and from such have created some really beautiful friendships.
One of them is my drinks/chat buddy who lives nearby, another a gig, music and market wanderer that visits from Nottingham and a third who has also introduced me to some amazing bands came and spent Christmas with my crazy sister, her boyfriend, her flatmate and myself. Pity the poor guy as my lil sis made us all watch one of the most ghastly zombie movies I have ever seen, a tradition I am certain all families take part in on Christmas day! I admit that luckily I was preparing lunch and missed out on the majority of it. My friend has the patience of a saint!
When I returned to London in July last year I was rather lonely and listless, in dire need of regaining myself and moving back into the social scene and not being afraid to. This site really helped with that, and admittedly it was due to the fact that I had and have a gold membership which made the difference. As others have said before me, if only you allowed all to have access to the entire site GM, it would benefit everyone. Advertising isn't a dirty word.
Because of these beautiful treasures I've gone clubbing once more, was introduced to and saw New Model Army live at the Astoria, spent New Years Eve in a club in Leicester where another was DJing and was able just to sit and chat in a relaxed pub environment and have stimulating conversations with drunken grins and giggles thrown in with others.
Perhaps its mushy, perhaps I am just a fool but you don't meet people like that very often and I really do appreciate you all. However to the guys I met that were concentrating on my breasts, focused more on themselves, sex and/or just bitched and moaned about how awful their lives were without any intention to do anything about it, there is a reason/s why I haven¿¿t got back to you!
I¿¿m meeting someone I haven¿¿t seen yet in person from GM this weekend, which shall be fun as he's a lovely chap before we gather with a group of Goths that get together for events ranging from going to galleries, gigs, clubs, ice skating, high tea.. anything and everything really.
It can be hard meeting people in person after you've spoken to them online and there are also a lot of people that aren't what they say they are whether it is their pictures, temperament or personality in general. But to those who are too shy or reserved to do so, you never know unless you try.
I came here looking for friends and I found them, I don't dare say their names in case they don't want them revealed. But to them and the ones that read my blogs and perhaps reply, that IM me in chat or through other methods, thank you.
x
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