the dancing nomad

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Thu, 24 Dec 2009 18:49:34 GMT

I've been a little lazy this year (and feeling slightly guilty consequently); usually I write something with a little festive cheer, like I did last year, but it's Christmas Eve, I'm tired, Friends is on and I'm full to the back teeth with pick 'n' mix, so...

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!

And Happy New Year.

And sorry for the multiple exclamation marks :)

Love, Garen

Other People's Roses

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 15:54:48 GMT

A rose without a scent is no rose at all.

I sniff the ones by the roadside greedily,

gorging myself on their smell,

robbing them of their essence.

Sometimes, I can’t resist the urge

to become a thief.

They’ll look out of the window next morning

and be greeted by nothing but a graveyard

of thorny branches waving a sad hello

while at home, I, like Love,

lie on a bed of dying or dead roses –

roses never smell as sweet as when

they are about to die.

After some time, I throw them all out,

every last petal, stamen, stem and leaf,

sick of the stink of their deaths

clinging to my skin.

(There were two versions of this poem, but I think I'm beginning to bore you all :/ this is the revised version)

Exorcising You

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 22:19:04 GMT

The ghost of you still haunts

my dreams

my memories

the errant fantasies I have once a week

when I am cold and lonely.

Why are you still here?

Why does it still feel the way it did?

Why do I still hear your laughter,

just out of reach,

still see you near me,

in the corner of my eye?

Why can I still feel the shape of your mouth?

This isn’t fair.

Dream-kisses should not taste this good.

Dream-embraces should not leave me trembling.

I should not still smell you on my skin

or feel your hair when I touch silk.

You, after all, do not see the words I wrote for you

in the curves of somebody else’s.

Your heart does not skip a beat

every time you see a girl in bright blue and white.

You do not shake and sweat and struggle for control

when my name is mentioned in conversation.

You simply do not grieve for me

the way I grieve for you.

You do not miss my scent

or my chatter

or my bad lyrics

or the long conversations we had

with my thigh resting against yours

as we talked and we loved

under the dying summer sun.

Freedom

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 22:15:50 GMT

When I kissed you,

I tasted wedding cake,

its marzipan laced with arsenic.

When I touched you,

I felt the coolness of champagne

sipped from the same flute.

A poisoned chalice.

And when you called out my name,

I heard at the back of your throat

the gentle clink of manacles

in the form of two perfect, golden rings.

Matching; his, hers.

His her.

The rock feels heavy on my finger.

You fall asleep.

I plan my escape.

In Appreciation of the Beautiful Black Woman (revised version)

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 22:09:43 GMT

You make me want to weep.

But then, there always was something

about a beautiful black woman

that brought me to tears.

Maybe it’s those lips.

Full and fleshy,

the first kiss God ever created.

Switching from a debate on politics

To pressing kisses against my mouth.

Perhaps it’s the skin.

As slick and as sleek as the night

and more radiant than it, too.

It makes me want to commit it to memory,

to make a map of every hill and every valley

of your perfection in my mind.

It could be that hair;

a world of comfort and warmth

and spice,

soft against my palms.

It might be the way that

the whites of your eyes and of your teeth

and the fleshy, hot, pink of your tongue flash

against the glowing darkness of your skin.

Maybe it’s none of these.

I don’t know why a smile from you

feels as if you’ve reached out to me,

or why your voice can stop me dead,

or why a simple glance from you

is enough to make the world feel at rights.

Perhaps the sum of the parts

is not more than the whole.

Perhaps I can pin your appeal to no particular feature,

but to you, the beautiful black woman,

as a whole.

Perhaps everything about you

is a something

to bring me to tears.

(Yep. I was that pedantic. I wrote a second version.)

I Fall a Little in Love With Every Boy I Meet

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 22:07:07 GMT

You’re sitting idly,

doodling, drawing, doing anything

but the work

and the teacher is just a

relaxing drone from somewhere far away.

I’m hyper-aware of

the sound of your pen on the paper,

your ankles moving against each other,

the soft sh-sh of the fingers in your hair,

(God, to be one of those fingers)

and I could swear that the taste

of you lingers in the air.

But then the shaft of sunlight moves,

and the moment shifts

and you are stripped of your divinity

and it is the next boy’s turn

to be an angel.

Urgh... so here it is.

Sat, 24 Oct 2009 22:55:10 GMT

In Appreciation of the Beautiful Black Woman

You make me want to weep.

But then, there always was something

about a beautiful black woman

that brought me to tears.

Maybe it’s those lips.

Full and fleshy,

the first kiss God ever created.

Switching from a debate on politics

To dropping kisses onto my mouth.

Perhaps it’s the skin.

As slick and as sleek as the night

and more radiant than it, too.

It makes me want to commit it to memory,

to make a map of every hill and every valley

of your perfection in my mind.

It could be that hair;

a world of comfort and warmth

and spice,

soft against my palms.

It might be the way that

the whites of your eyes and of your teeth

and the fleshy, hot, pink of your tongue flashes

against the glowing darkness of your skin.

Maybe it’s none of these.

I don’t know why a smile from you

feels as if you’ve reached out and stroked me,

or why your voice melts my knees,

or why a simple glance from you

can make me giddy.

Perhaps the sum of the parts

is not more than the whole.

Perhaps I can pin your appeal to no particular feature,

but to you, the beautiful black woman,

as a whole.

Perhaps everything about you

is a something

to bring me to tears.

(Nope, I didn't win any prizes. So you have to suffer with my poetry for the next God only knows how long :/ be kind, comment!)

The day I breathed all over Robert Pattinson.

Thu, 13 Aug 2009 15:33:19 GMT

I've been meaning to write this for a while, and for some reason, even though I talked about it CONSTANTLY in real life, I never got round to telling you guys.

Okay, here goes *takes deep breath*

I met Robert Pattinson. Oh, yeah, be jealous!!

No, I'm only joking. And I didn't meet him so much as gasp in shock into his face and thrust my copy of Eclipse into his face for him to sign. God, that was amazing. I went to the London premiere with my friend Rosie (who, if you get so bored sometimes that you follow my comments, is the anonymous commenter) and it was freezing and kind of wet (you have to remember; it was in December).

My feet were sore, my ribs were bruised and I was pretty sure I had a black eye. I'd pretty much given up all hope of ever getting to the front until:

"AAAAARRRGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! ROBERT!!!! ROB, OVER HERE!!! EDWARD, BITE ME!!!! I LOOOOOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!"

The screams of fangirls rent the air and I knew that my moment had come. Now was not the time to be decorous or polite, now was not the time to give a shit about whether my elbow had made (painful) contact with someone's face. I knew that if I didn't push my way forward, I would regret it FOREVER.

I honestly thought I wasn't going to make it to the front in time; I can still remember the gut lurching panic that I wouldn't be able to get close enough, the sound and the feel of the maelstrom of human limbs surrounding me and the utter shock when I found myself face to face with the man himself.

Let me tell you something now: anyone who says that they don't get starstruck is a big, fat LIAR. All the interesting questions I'd planned on asking him ("What's your honest opinion of Breaking Dawn?" "Have you even read it?" "How did you feel about Midnight Sun?") withered in my brain. It was like being Semele in the full force of Jupiter's Olympian amazingness. The most I could do (and to be honest, I'm surprised I even managed that) was to gasp in shock and thrust my open copy of Eclipse out. He looked slightly confused and wiggled his pen in a scribble in the air.
"Are you sure want me to sign here?" he asked (and he sounds as lovely and as articulate as he does in all the YouTube videos of him that I've watched).
I nodded, my face still in a rictus grin and he signed my book (page 324 of the English hardback cover copy, if you're wondering).

And that was the day I met Robert Pattinson.

On a not quite as exciting note, I did see Bonnie Wright in the toilets at the Serpentine Cafe in Hyde Park on Saturday 18th July. Very detailed, non? It was so strange. There I was, queuing quietly for the toilets and I turn around to see who'd come to stand beside me when I found Bonnie Wright standing unobtrusively behind me.

It was a little weird. I realised there and then that I'd joined the ranks of people who meet famous people in ~~awkward~~ excruciatingly embarrassing places like toilets. There was a split second where I wanted to ask for her autograph and then I remembered where we were.

We were in a toilet, waiting to partake of a function that is truly a great human leveller, because whether you're the Queen or the tramp begging at her gates, everyone pisses. No escaping it. I also did not want to be that girl who asks for an autograph just before she goes to the toilet, so I simply raised my eyebrows slightly and slowly angled myself away from her.

Of course, I sprinted out of the toilets at the speed of light to go and tell my friends who were waiting for me at the entrance that I'd just seen Ginny Weasley and of course, they didn't believe me without written proof. They were convinced that I'd just mistaken a normal redheaded girl for the actress, but then she walked out. The looks on their faces as she swept out (she did sweep; it was very odd) were absolutely priceless.

Wuthering Heights is not a bloody love story, Stephenie Meyer.

Fri, 17 Jul 2009 14:29:16 GMT

I just had to get this out of my system. I know it's been said before (and more eloquently) but I kind of took for granted the total idiocy of Twilight, mainly because I hadn't read Wuthering Heights until a few minutes ago, so forgive me. Okay, let's go through this quote by quote:

1) "If all else perished and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained and he were annihilated, the Universe should turn to a mighty stranger."

Okay, so Bella uses this quote to illustrate her undying love for Edward. But in the actual book, Cathy had said previously that to marrry Heathcliff would degrade her and that they would both be beggars if she did. So despite her consuming love for Heathcliff, she still goes off and marries poor old Edgar Linton for his money and elevated social status. Stephenie Meyer has taken the bits that she liked out of this book and used it to try and make some sort of vague allusion to Wuthering Heights (Edward = Edgar, Bella = Cathy, Jacob = Heathcliff. Bleeeurgh). This is not romantic. Next quote!

2) "I never would have banished him from her society, as long as she desired his. The moment her regard ceased, I would have torn out his heart and drunk his blood!"

So, this is the one quote she uses accurately; I'm not childish enough to say that she doesn't just because of the atrocity that was Breaking Dawn, but I still kind of hate the way she uses it. We're meant to see Edward as some big protector/provider sort of thing, but this sort of mentality make me both cringe and laugh, because we all know that Edward is only this way because he is a melodramatic, annoying, angsty teenager (Direct quote from Midnight Sun: 'Goodbye, Bella. I love you in so many dark and dangerous ways.'). And in his one hundred and ten years or whatever, he hasn't ever had sex, so as none other than Robert Pattinson himself so wonderfully put it, 'he must have some issues'.

3) "I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!"

Oh, this is the one that reeeeaaally gets my goat. Let's put this supposedly heartwarmingly romantic quote into context, shall we? Cathy has just died and Ellen Dean, the servant, comes out to tell him. He is not saying that he wishes to die and join her, he is not even saying that it is sad that she died. He is actually cursing her for leaving him alone - he gets really pissed off that she's died. This is what he's said previously:

'And I pray one prayer - I repeat it till my tongue stiffens - Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest, as long as I am living! You said I killed you - haunt me then! The murdered do haunt their murderers. I believe - I know that! ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable!"

and then then 'I cannot live...' bit comes in. As romantic as that might sound, Heathcliff is being a selfish bastard. Rather than letting Cathy go to her rest and to a better place, he wishes her bound to the mortal earth just so that he can enjoy her society and not be left utterly alone. He doesn't love her more than himself if he wished that upon her, and Edward is just as stupid as Bella for using that to illustrate his point about his 'undying' love.

Sometimes I read Twilight and actually quite enjoy it. Then I read the second one, and the third one and I just shake my head and wish that she'd stopped with the first one.

I also thought that her use of Romeo and Juliet was stupid as well, as I've always thought of that couple as being in lust, or just having huge crushes on each other, rather than actually being in love.

SPOILER ALERT Review of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

Wed, 15 Jul 2009 21:59:45 GMT

Today is the 15^th of July, and I guess you all know what that means (all of you who live in the UK anyway).

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince came out in cinemas today.

So why do I feel so empty, so utterly devoid of emotional investment and hope for the next movie? Easy: I’ve been disappointed. This was not the movie I was expecting to get. Instead of an 8.5 out of ten at the very least, I have been presented with a 6 out of 10 film, and it makes me miserable.

I know that it’s a film and that they won’t get everything in if they want to make a film that’s both long and short enough to watch and easy for non-fangirls to follow the story, but leaving out the memory of Tom Riddle’s interview for the post of Defence against the Dark Arts? This was a stupid move in my eyes, because it didn’t bridge the gap between Tom Riddle and Voldemort AT ALL. It’s the whole reason that students get a new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher every single year, something that in the films will now be left unresolved. It also marks the turning point, the moment in which Dumbledore realises that he has lost Tom forever to the Dark side and that he is up against someone dangerous and power-hungry, a quality which Dumbledore himself fears.

I also think that the importance of the Horcruxes have been HUGELY underplayed because in this film, Harry actually asks, “So they could be anything?”, to which Dumbledore replies, “Yes, commonplace objects, they could be anything.”

NO, Horcruxes CANNOT be just anything, otherwise there’s no point in making them. There is no explanation of the glamour that Voldemort believes his Horcruxes to possess, no explanation of Voldemort’s attachment to objects steeped in Hogwarts’ history (this isn’t even touched on), no explanation of why Voldemort would want to be immortal; Riddle’s family are unmentioned. Even the memory of the locket is left unturned, which means that when the fake locket is found at the end of the film, no-one actually gives a damn, because no-one knows what the hell it is. We don’t even get an insight into what Voldemort was doing in the First War; this film makes it seem far too much as if this is the first time Voldemort has risen to power. There is nowhere near enough history to satisfy my needs.

Half-Blood Prince also focuses on the Trio waaaay too much; Dean Thomas doesn’t get a word to say and I mean this in the most literal sense; he lolls around snogging Ginny (which was kind of weird to see actually, because none of the actors seem to mention that bit when they’re being interviewed about the romance in the film) but he utters not a sound. Even Blaise Zabini, who says precious little in canon, gets to grunt/laugh at Malfoy when he insinuates that he’s a Death Eater, the subject of which brings me onto the stellar performances of this whole film.

Tom Felton is a revelation as Draco Malfoy, and I say that not because I have a substantial soft spot for him, but because he was brilliant. That was truly the first time that Draco was a person with conflicting feelings and troubles and stresses rather than your typical cookie-cutter playground bully. He’s not a pantomime villain anymore, not someone to be turned into a ferret and mocked in front of the whole school, he is a Malfoy. The use of the Daily Prophet to show that Lucius Malfoy had been imprisoned was fantastic and Draco’s lack of patience and vitriol towards the Trio was great; the only times Harry and Draco encountered each other was on the train and in the bathroom duelling scene.

Draco was truly scary; I honestly thought he wouldn’t break Harry’s nose on the train, but he did and it terrified me. Draco didn’t even waste his breath on insulting Harry properly; “That was for my father,” and he was out, carrying his briefcase and wearing his wonderfully cut suits.

Of course, the scriptwriters ruined him not more than five minutes later with the line “It’s not a cane, it’s a walking stick!” I didn’t know there was a difference. While I hated that line because it induced inappropriate laughter towards Draco (I admit it, I’m guilty as well), what I loved was that it was Lucius’ walking stick, which is where he used to keep his wand, which we can assume is now in Draco’s safekeeping... see where I’m going with this? I thought that was a really lovely moment. It was also great that we saw him on his own a lot of the time: his whole Slytherin posse were nowhere to be seen, not even Crabbe and Goyle and it was really great that his isolation was emphasised. If you think about it in terms of politics, it would be very shrewd of the people in his House to be friends with him so that they could make alliances with him and his family; for Draco to shuck all of this off for the sake of Voldemort is pretty intense.

Alan Rickman as Snape was also pretty good; his character had more complexity. Like Draco, he is no longer just a ‘bad guy’, he is a human. His reputation as Hogwarts’ Darkest Teacher is severely infringed by the conversation that he has with Dumbledore anyway (damn, it eats into The Prince’s Tale screen-time for Deathly Hallows). Nothing’s black and white anymore, and that’s wonderful.

Romance, however, is in a very strange way, a lot clearer than it should seem. Ron and Hermione’s attraction to each other comes to the forefront, as it should because of the appearance of Lavender Brown and Cormac McLaggen on the romantic scene. This is a fertile ground for comedy, and indeed, Yates milks it for all he’s worth.

There is this absolutely wonderful, hilarious moment at the first Slug Club dinner party when they’re all eating dessert and Cormac is staring at Hermione over the table, really staring at her, and all of a sudden, he starts licking his fingers and holding her gaze in what I think he’s hoping is a seductive gaze. Perfect; utterly, utterly perfect.

Another really lovely moment that follows on from this is when Ginny comes to the table and Harry is the only person at the table who does the gentlemanly thing of getting up when a lady comes to the table; not even Slughorn rises.

Jessie Cave was brilliant. I was fully expecting to hate her because she looked far too close to Luna for comfort, not to mention the disastrous open auditions. But she was really fantastic; her Weasley-fervour and her obsession were just done so brilliantly and were so funny. And she actually called him Won-Won! She clings to him like a pink, puppy-eyed limpet and she makes me laugh. She has my hearty approval.

I could go on and on about all the stuff the missed out, but if you’re reading this, I’ll assume that you either have watched this movie or don’t care about spoilers. They cut out the Dursleys completely, Seamus Finnegan only gets one proper scene, McGonagall gets two, Neville Longbottom gets about a quarter of a scene and doesn’t speak and they didn’t even do the battle with people from the DA and Order of the Phoenix against the Death Eaters.... I think you get the picture.

What I do think about this film was that it was stunning visually. David Yates is a man who really, really likes his explosions and special effects; he had the windows in the Great Hall and the crockery and cutlery on the table explode for no apparent reason, which sometimes gives you the feeling that he’s trying too hard to put his own stamp on it. The main problem for me was similar to that of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix; there was no cohesive storyline. It jumped from scene to scene far too much and there was no indicator of season like Alfonso Cúaron’s genius use of the Whomping Willow to show the seasons in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

It’s almost as if he focuses way too much on scenes rather than the film as a whole. But that said, there were some fantastic scenes; opening the film with the wizarding equivalent of the paparazzi waving their smoking flashbulbs at Harry as he walks out of the Ministry after the battle with Voldemort right in the heart of the wizarding authorities was inspired.

My favourite scene out of the whole film has to be the scene where Harry and Ron start talking about Ginny and Hermione’s skin; if you’ve seen it, you’ll get what I mean. If not, go and see the damn movie!

Thank you for bothering to read this. I love you, really I do. I’m now going to finish up with favourite quotes, especially the ones I see being on icons in a few weeks later.

DUMBLEDORE: You need a shave, Harry.
Harry [grinning and rubbing his chin]: Yeah, I do.
(I guess that was done to emphasise the changing relationship between Harry and Dumbledore; Harry’s becoming a man. But still, it’s weird.)

DRACO MALFOY [to Argus Filch]: It’s not a cane, it’s a walking stick!

RANDOM MUGGLE WAITRESS: I’ve seen you reading that strange paper of yours quite a bit now. Once or twice, I could have sworn I’d seen the pictures move. [Smiles] You must think I’m going round the twist. There’s quite a bit about someone called Harry Potter...
HARRY: Yeah, I know him. Bit of a tosser, really.

RON [on seeing Dean with his sister]: Slick git.

RON [five hours later]: Dean? He’s brilliant.

EDIT 16/7/09: Sorry, but I've just realised that Neville DID have a speaking scene; he was a waiter at the Slug Club Christmas party!! I remembered when I was on the bus, and I made a squeaking noise and the man standing next to me gave me a really weird look. But it really broke my heart to see that: 'Hi, Harry! I didn't make the Slug Club, but I got to be a waiter!"
Oh, Neville, how we love you. Old Sluggie was wrong about you anyway.

EDIT 17/07/09: The way the Death Eaters broke through the brick wall to Diagon Alley instead of turning back into humans and using their wands was INCREDIBLE. David Yates managed to capture the brutal merging of the magical and Muggle world IN ONE SCENE. I could marry him for that. And yes, I will keep editing this entry as I remember the best and worst scenes.

Genesis as it is, or should have been

Fri, 10 Jul 2009 19:53:43 GMT

OR Why Catholicism Drives a Misogynistic, Patriarchal Wedge Between the Masses and God.

God said, “It is not right that the man should be what he is. What I have made is not what I intended. I shall make him a companion, an improved version of my vision. This companion will guide him through all the perils and woes of life.”

So from the soil God fashioned all the wild animals and all the birds of heaven. These God brought to the man to see what he would call them; each one was to bear the name the man would give it. The man gave names to all the cattle, all the birds of heaven and all the wild animals. But no companion suitable for the man was found for him. Then, God made the man fall into a sleep. And while he was asleep, God took one of his ribs and closed the flesh up again forthwith. God fashioned the rib taken from the man into a woman, with the thought that at least one good thing could be salvaged from the mistake of the man, and brought her to the man. When the man saw her, he began to quake with fear as he could see the Hand of God surrounding her. And from that day on, he resolved to make life as difficult as he could for her without incurring the wrath of God.

The first part of his plan would be claiming God as Father, instead of Her rightful title as Mother Supreme.

I bet no-one's ever written fanfic for the Bible before...

Well,

Sun, 28 Jun 2009 17:32:46 GMT

the incarceration has begun for real. I asked my mother if I could go and see Little Ashes in London, but she went all crazy about it, saying that I wanted to become a fan / groupie and saying that I might as well go and camp ouside his house.

All of this because I want to go and see a film? What the hell?

My parents do this brand of weird for no particular reason; sometimes, I wish they were proper Bible-thumpers, not wishy-washy Catholics like they are now, at least then they'd have an excuse for their nuttiness. They say that they want to protect me from everything 'out there' (their words not mine) but making me into a socially retarded hermit doesn't really equip me with skills for things like paying taxes / conversng at dinner parties / behaving like an actual human being rather than a very friendly but utterly confused Martian. My mother can be so odd at times, and I get the feeling I'm in for one of her Big Talks About Life, in which she will tell me that fangirl!love is wrong and that I should ground myself in real life and stop daydreaming about being in Harry Potter et cetera, but I would if there was a real life to ground myself in.

I'm sorry to sound so spoiled; I know that my life could be a lot worse, but I am sixteen years old. My problems are big to me. Cut me some slack.

To put this in to persepctive, my parents are the kind of parents who scream if they can see my kneecaps under a skirt and do not want me to have ANY contact withnon-familial males until I get married to my (first and last) boyfriend. And when I told them that I didn't want children, they said that any woman who doesn't have children is a witch. Just so you know.

Writer's Block: RIP Michael Jackson

Fri, 26 Jun 2009 10:45:11 GMT

In honor of the King of Pop: What is your favorite Michael Jackson song?

Submitted By deathbylies

View 509 Answers

God, where do I start? Earth song, Dirty Diana, Thriller (I always wanted to learn the dance), but Smooth Criminal is THE best song ever and he video?? God, I watch that and and still can't believe he's dead.

I heard about his death on the 25th of June at about quarter to midnight and it was such a shock that I almost fell over. My brother said it in such a nonchalant manner that his tone and the words were worlds apart. It's true when people say that they always remember where they were when really iconic people, a person of the age, dies and I always will. That was awful, really.

It's been so long

Tue, 02 Jun 2009 16:17:55 GMT

since I've written, and there's probably no-one reading this right now, but I thought I'd post a little something to tell you all that I'm still alive - just buried under exam revision. Yes, the Almighty General Certificates of Secondary Education are upon us; I've got History tomorrow and I want to throw up with fear - it's all just one big blur of tanks and A-bombs. I REMEMBER NOTHING.

*Sigh*

I've written a few poems and entered them into competitions and whatnot; if nothing happens with them, I'll swallow my embarrassment and post them on here, if they win, I'll post a link. Ah, how exciting.

I have another little somthing for you my friends, but when I muster up the courage, I'll post.

I love you all,

be back soon

G-Man xx

Writer's Block: Comped

Sat, 07 Mar 2009 17:40:51 GMT

What's the best compliment you've ever received?

Submitted By krizzzie

View 501 Answers

'There are no superlatives to describe this piece of work' in relation to Death and the Girl (see journal). Sigh.

I knew I forgot something...

Mon, 16 Feb 2009 11:59:52 GMT

sorry it's late guys.

Love, I have decided, is akin to the art of baking without a recipe. You start off as a novice, feeling your way around, adding ingredients here and there when it feels right, modifying your mental recipe, mixing as hard as you can and putting your first effort into the oven.

The cakes don’t always turn out right.

Sometimes, they come out blackened and smoking, sometimes, they’re too soft. Other times, they’re not soft enough. Sometimes, it’s not sweet enough or the flavours you’ve used don’t quite go together. You’ll become so exasperated that you’ll be on the verge of giving up, fed up of what you feel is wastage of resources on a futile effort.

It’ll be on one of those days that, without warning, you’ll hit upon a perfect cake.

Sweet, but not too sweet. Firm but with give. Flavours are present but not overwhelming.

What happens after that? What do you do when you have the perfect cake?

Well, you stick to the recipe you used for that perfect cake, of course.

Valentine's day is a cheesy festival that deserved a cheesy celebration, hence this entry. Feel free to flame/love as necessary.

I was disappointed

Mon, 16 Feb 2009 11:41:28 GMT

with Twilight, weren't you? I feel that the actors weren't given enoug space to work with their characters; I could Stephenie Meyer's pervasive influence everywhere and to be honest, that isn't fair. The actors are meant to get to know their characters by themselves and as a film, it isn't meant to be exactly like the book; it should be a separate entity, not hero worship.

Hero worship was the main problem I had with the Twilight film actually. In an effort to make the vampires seem mysterious and amazing and inhuman, the humans were made deliberately plain and ugly. It was awful; seen on screen, Edward and Bella's relationship seems psychopathic - "How long have you been watching me sleep?" "Just a couple of months - you're kind of fascinating." Instead of freaking out like any normal girl, she smiles and nods as if it's normal.

The homage to the front cover in the cafeteria scene, S.M's cameo, the cheesy lines lifted straight from the book... I was hoping for so much more. It frustrated me. Eeeeeeeh.

Merry Christmas (albeit a very belated one)

Sat, 27 Dec 2008 15:04:11 GMT

I lay in bed, listening to the sounds of pre-dawn light; the birds, the wind the trees, the gurgling of the now defunct radiator... I breathed out cautiously waiting. Yep, there it was. My breath rose up in a misty fug. Getting out of bed was going to be hellishly cold today, but there was no need to think of that right now, for a long, warm body was pressed up against mine and the slow, even breathing of a person sleeping pulsed against the skin on my neck. I smiled contentedly and watched the new light of day bleed into the room and over her and me. The fresh morning light illuminated everything; the piles of books everywhere, a stack of old newspapers and our intermingled clothes, heaped in a pile on the floor from where we’d hastily thrown them last night. The memory of it brought yet another smile to my face and a warm feeling in a place that was considerably lower than my stomach. I lay like that for a very long and unspecified time, semi-conscious and dreaming of pleasant things, a warm and comforting presence reassuringly solid against my back.

Eventually, the breathing sped up and she stirred, pulling her semi-nude body slightly out of the covers.

“Good morning,” she murmured sleepily, kissing my shoulder.

“Good morning, sleepy-head,” I smiled gently at her; her beauty was apparent even with her pillow-face and the sleep-sand in her eyes. “Welcome back to the world of the living.” She was a horrifically heavy sleeper and I never failed to enjoy teasing her about it.

“I was not that” – she gave a giant yawn, revealing her tonsils – “out of it. ’Snot my fault you sleep like a bird.”

I joshed her lightly and she shoved me playfully back and soon we were play-fighting, squealing like piglets and laughing, not letting the tangled covers get in the way of our fun. Naturally enough, the fighting segued into an altogether more pleasurable pursuit, though one slightly marred by the fact that we both had morning breath. They say that familiarity breeds contempt, but whoever said that was obviously single and bored of his or her own right hand; I loved the way I could trace her skin like a map, the way I could find the sensitive spots with my eyes closed. The warm, clean scent of her skin, now as familiar to me as the back of my hand, filled my nose and almost overwhelmed me. It was a pleasant suffocation, though.

“Sam?” She’d pulled back so that she was doing a press-up above my body. Her whole face was a frown; I could almost see the question mark floating above her head.

“Yes?” I answered, slightly out of breath and wishing to get back to what we’d been doing before and reach the natural conclusion – the back-arching, skin-tingling, breathlessly blissful conclusion that marked the beginnings of most of our mornings these days. I curled my hand around her waist in the hope of distracting her.

She was having none of it. “What’s the date?”

I frowned at her, nonplussed. “Um... Tuesday?”

“The date, not the day...” Without warning, she climbed out of the bed, leaving me cold and alone in the covers. I sat up to see her checking the wall calendar.

“Oh, no...”

“What is it? If it’s your mother’s birthday, there’s still time to get her a present,” I joked, lying back.

“No,” she said baldly. “It’s Christmas Day.”

“Oh,” I said inadequately.

“I didn’t get you a present,” she said almost sadly.

I bit my lip. “I didn’t get you one either.” There was an awkward pause between the two of us. “But you didn’t need to. Not really.”

She frowned yet again; she was going to have a terrible crease there one day. “Why not?”

“Well,” I said, feeling slightly uncomfortable under her scrutiny. “Finding you undressed in my bed every morning and night has been a pretty fantastic Christmas present, if you ask me.” I looked down and back up at her, feeling somewhat embarrassed; sentimentality, romance... it wasn’t really my forte.

She blushed then, and for once, I could see where the blush carried on and I swear to you, I’ve never seen such a beautiful flush on a human being. Her eyes darkened slightly and I could read what it meant. I felt myself reacting to her stare.

“Are you going to come over here, then?” I whispered, but I knew she could hear me. She walked over and lay next to me on the bed. She cradled my face in her hands for a long moment before she touched her lips to mine. It wasn’t the most passionate of kisses and was barely even a kiss, more just a touching of lips, but it spoke volumes.

When she pulled away, her eyes were glistening slightly. “Merry Christmas, darling,” she breathed against my mouth.

Writer's Block: Now Showing

Fri, 19 Dec 2008 17:40:01 GMT

The holiday season is a big time for box office revenues. What Hollywood releases are you looking forward to seeing in the theater this month? What would you not go see even if someone paid you?

View 500 Answers

I went to see Twilight. Yeah, yeah, I know, it was awful, but I had to judge it on my own terms. I had to see it for myself. And see I did.

Oh, dear. Ohhhhh, dear.

Writer's Block: Crepuscular Drama

Fri, 21 Nov 2008 19:48:47 GMT

The Twilight movie comes out today. A lot of people are really excited about seeing Bella and Edward on the big screen. Others couldn't care less. Where do you fall on the issue?

View 502 Answers

It comes out today??? Well whoop-de-doo for you!! Why don't you try living in England where all the best films, even when they're British, i.e. Harry Potter come out a month after they've been out in America. Grrrr. It's awful.

That said, I can't wait to seee it, despite the lovey-dovey slushfest I just know it's going to be (see previous entries). And cream of the British crop, Robert Pattinson is playing Edward!!! Teee heee heee. I do wish they'd leave off the make-up, though :(

Writer's Block: Secret Ballot

Tue, 04 Nov 2008 19:42:49 GMT

It's hard to ignore the fact that today is Election Day in the U.S. If you went to the polls today, tell us what it was like. Long line? Free stickers? Hanging chads? We want the details.

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Well, I go to school in England, but this election is so significant in America's history that it affects everyone, so the Government and Politics students of Lower and Upper Sixth Form (roughly the end of high school; the students are 16-18) held a mock rally and a mock vote (results tomorrow). It was actually a lot of fun and I finally learnt something about the parties and what thye stand for; Barack Obama is not really against Propostion 8 (hooray for Californians!) and Sarah Palin thinks that even if a 15-year-old girl is raped by her father, she would counsel against abortion.

Anyway, i'm only sixteen, so it was lovely to pretend I was eligible to vote. : )

P.S Can someone tell me the voting age in America? Many thanks xx

This is yet another piece of English homewrk...

Sat, 25 Oct 2008 11:17:09 GMT

read and enjoy. (I hope.)

The Four-Six-Six Bus Shelter in East Croydon, as Observed at Day and at Night

My feet are cold.

My feet are very cold and this is extraordinary because the rest of me is not. My whole body above the ankles is insulated against the bitter winter by the sheer crush of people at the bus shelter, the androids we call commuters. They stand five abreast, momentarily united by the grim determination to push their way onto the next available bus. A mist rises from them through the chill air, pulsing with every breath they take.

Despite the number of people, the bus shelter is quiet; the only noise comes from a teenage boy shouting happily into his mobile phone. Eye contact is not allowed either. It one of the unspoken rules of being an android; if you look into someone’s eyes for too long, you are either challenging them or flirting with them, two prospects that are not particularly welcome early on a Monday morning.

Grey sky and grey ground merge together in the distant horizon; the whole world and its people are grey and the only colour comes from my school fellows, who are dressed in the same brash blue as me. Carefully, I pull my bag into a more comfortable position, eliciting a dark look from an indistinct person beside me who might be female, might be male.

A mechanically feral growl rips into life near me, and for one excited second I think a fight might break out, commuter on commuter, but I see that it is just the bus, which trundles wearily to the side of the bus shelter, a flaming red vessel. A quick glance tells me that it is not my bus, and the lucky commuters who travel on this often empty bus get on hurriedly, glancing shiftily at the poor souls still waiting at the shelter.

A seat is vacated; a girl is following her friend through the crowd. Eyes are drawn to the seat as if it is bedecked in flashing lights. A suitably polite pause is left and then people start making their moves towards it. I am lucky; I am close to it, and so before anyone can take it, I sit, casting my eyes down and radiating an air of smugness. However, it is my fellow commuters who have the last – silent – laugh when the correct bus rolls into the bus stop and I am forced to push my way into the crowd. In a rush of grey and black and blue blue blue, I leave the bus stop and begin my journey to school.

Of course, that selfsame bus shelter is like a different world after dark. For one thing, there is a distinct lack of human presence. This place feels colder, lonelier and somehow more savage. Anything could happen and no-one would ever see it. I pull my coat tightly around me.

A pat-pat-pat noise against the black tarmac of the road echoes over the road and I turn my head to see a red scavenger brazenly squaring up against the bus stop near me, leaving a revolting present for another type of scavenger.

The wind screams around me, a banshee wailing her death-moan into my ears. I look up and the stars are obscured, by not only clouds and the light pollution so particular to towns like Croydon, but also by the roof of the bus shelter, which is marked by previous downpours.

Two girls – or girl-women, rather, for they are at the in-between stages – clatter their way over to me, staggering ridiculously in their high heels. It is not the commute, we are not androids anymore, so we are allowed to size each other up; both of them are scantily clad, not dressed for the cold at all. However, the bottle of Malibu rum one of them is holding is probably doing a good job of keeping Jack Frost at bay. After a moment’s silence, both of them start laughing and falling over with the mirth that only inebriation can bring. I say and do nothing but avert my eyes; they are making fools of themselves and it would be perverse of me to be party to their unwitting self-humiliation by bearing witness to it.

The bus, an alien creature when the sun sets, swallows them and drives away. I am alone again; even the fox has abandoned me. The world around me is one I know but it feels slightly wrong, much like a familiar song with wrong notes.

It’s getting colder now. Even my thick jacket is not protecting me from the icy clutches of the weather.

The hairs prick up on the back of my neck and my sixth sense is piqued, a throwback to the times of when humans were much more aware of any potential dangers around them. I turn around slowly to a sight that makes my stomach drop horribly: there is a man at the bus shelter staring intently at me. He is standing up, hands in his pockets and is unnaturally still. I look him in the eyes and he does not even have the grace to look ashamed, to pretend he was not staring at me. All of a sudden, I am uncomfortably aware of what I am: female, adolescent and alone in the dark heart of Croydon at night. I get up slowly and walk to the bus stop, strolling almost, and stand facing him, signalling to him that I am unafraid, however I may feel inside.

A sound incongruous to my surroundings makes itself heard and both the strange staring man and I are taken by surprise: the sound is birdsong. What brave, mad songbird would dare make its nest in this machine town?

As if on cue, the first bus of the day rolls into the bus shelter and I notice for the first time that the sky has gradually been getting lighter.

I get on it, leaving behind the bus shelter, letting the cycle of day and night continue without me.

The summer is dying....

Tue, 02 Sep 2008 16:50:39 GMT

but the new school year has just begun. I am elated to be back at school; if my summer holidays had ben any longer I might have killed someone.

Being back at school, getting back into the routine, looking at how everyone's changed, and listening to what everyone got up to is just wondreful. I haven't laughed or smiled so much in AEONS. Even in Maths I couldn't stop grinning.

It's great to be back at school.... and yes, i am perfectly aware that there are several people out there who would like to chop off my grinning head and boil it in oil because they want Year Eleven to be over as quickly as possible coughannnacough, but I love you all really. I'm only grinning like an idiot because of you guys. You know who you are

: ))

The Twilight Saga is over... SPOILER

Mon, 01 Sep 2008 14:45:13 GMT

...and what do I have to show for it emotionally?

Not much, if I'm honest.

Twilight: loved it. I liked the spice between Bella and Edward, how they would banter with each other and he was amused by her. I even liked Jacob, as small a character as he was back then.
She moaned a lot about being lonely, and I disliked her sanctimonious tone of self-sacrifice (no-one forced her to live in Forks) and her pity for Charlie - evidently, he's been doing fine apart from the crap food.

New Moon: depressing, but still a compelling read. Jacob is brought to the forefront here. He is sunny, happy and optimistic and even from the pages that attitude is infectious. Of course, Bella being Bella, she mopes, cries, lies around doing nothing, turns into a veritable zombie blah blah. She rants a little about the hole in her chest which is all very well and poetic, but a little wearisome after a while.

Eclipse: the appeal is waning (no pun intended). There is far too much romance for me to stomach and while I love Jacob as he is a an antidote to Edward's perfection (which I love, but still), he's a little too angry and emotionally manipulative for my liking. He is all too warm and human for bella to deal with, her being so used to Edward.

Breaking Dawn: ew. Just ew. Okay let's go from the beginning. I liked the wedding; it was lovely in a wedding sort of way.
The honeymoon - was that not the funniest thing you've ever read??? Apparently, Edward likes it rough... broken beds, ripped pillows and torn lingerie ha ha ha. Basically, throughout the whole holiday, they are sex crazed and even Bella is not above a little manipulation to get some (the dream she woke up from).
Then, Bella gets pregnant. *sigh* From this point on, we are in territory we have charted before: fanfiction. The feel of the novel changes massively as she realises she's pregnant with Edward's child. Twilight fans will know that Stephenie Meyer has gone on record to say that vampires cannot produce bodily fluids, hence the lack of crying or spitting or chemical digestion. So, therefore, Edward wouldn't have been able to ejaculate or create sperm or even get it up. The point Bella/SM makes about men's fertility cycles is a moot one, because unless you are in the middle of climax when you're changed, you can't make sperm as a vampire.

Jacob's chapters provide a breath of fresh air as we are pulled away from Bella's constant introspection into Jacob's observant, forthright perspective. He simply sees so much more than Bella becuase he is less self-absorbed. The splitting of the packs saddened me but I understood why it was necessary. Seth and Leah join him and I enjoy their minds as well as they are both very different people with very different motives. I love Jacob's chapter titles (Waiting For The Damn Fight To Start Already) and I love love love how close he and Seth become close to Edward. Even Jacob's arguments with 'Blondie' are funny and as Rosie said ( :D ) they are almost flirting. i love his swearing, his tell-it-like-it-is-ness and the fact that he doesn't use overly flowery language to describe the fact that he fancies the pants off Bella (edward's nakedness is hinted at but never fully described). only Jacob could openly say that he'd fantasised about Bella naked while she WAS naked, albeit on an operating table covered in blood. He doesn't cry when he is in pain - he does things, he moves around. And the nudity when speaking to the rest of the Quileute pack - I was rolling around on the floor laughing. Jacob's six seven - it's not as if the forest bushes would have covered HIS bush. I liked Leah as a character - she is not one-dimensional anymore and there are reasons for her latent pain and bitterness. Through Jacob's eyes, we see things differently, even Edward, who is much more interesting when viewed by Jacob. A lot of back story was introduced in this part, but it didn't feel rushed or transplanted on for convenience as through Bella (roll of eyes) we don't know that much about the pack, and all the new stuff makes sense anyway.

BUT

there was no need for him to imprint on Bella's dauhgter. Come on!! I know his intent isn't pervy, but srill. It's strange. And he just changed. he was so... nice. Jacob is not nice. Funny, sharp-mouthed, pissed off, bitter, angry, frustrated, sarcastic or iriitable. But not nice.

Back to Bella again (sarcastic whoop here). Edward's perfect. WE KNOW. Rosalie is beautiful. WE KNOW. Bella is super-grafecul and super pretty as a vampire. Again, WE KNOW. Weirdly enough, even though she is a different person, we don't see anything fresh apart from the physical - she couldn't see, hear or smell very well as a human. WE KNOW ALREADY.
She feels horny for Edward, Alice makes her look in a mirror and she is surprisingly good at this new vampire thing. Nothing new really happens.

The Volturi 'battle'. I expected something a lot more climactic - in the end, it was rather wet and as deflated as a dodgy souffle.

Renesmee - WHY??? I hated and I just know there are going to be some strange people out there who name their child Renesmee. I really don't like the name. Eeeeh.

Alice and Jasper. I was upset when they left but in a perverse way, I was glad. Sometimes, you need the gall to balance out the saccharine. But of course, they came back and it turns out there was a plan all along.... yeah.

It really annoyed me that charlie was so blase about the whole 'Bella-is-a-supermodel-with-a-windchime-voice', becuase when they announced they were going to get married, Charlie wanted to SHOOT Edward. I don't quite understand how he would just take it. But I absolutely love that Jacob just stripped off in front of Charlie. Butt naked!!!

And of course, in the end, everyone lives in Volturi-free happiness, everyone's a vegetarian blah blah blah. Bleurgh bleurgh bleurgh more like.
And Bella and Edward spend the rest of their lives having sex. Yay.

I am sorely disappointed by Breaking Dawn, just in case you didn't catch that.

Writer's Block: You and A Fictional Character of Your Choice

Wed, 27 Aug 2008 09:55:33 GMT

If you were stranded on an island with a fictional character, who would it be and why?

Submitted By mesnyder_92

View 500 Answers

my goodness... how do I answer that! Hmmm. My obvious choice would be someone from Harry Potter but without their wand, so would be stuck being a muggle just like me. Ha!

the dancing nomad

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Other People's Roses

Exorcising You

Freedom

In Appreciation of the Beautiful Black Woman (revised version)

I Fall a Little in Love With Every Boy I Meet

Urgh... so here it is.

The day I breathed all over Robert Pattinson.

Wuthering Heights is not a bloody love story, Stephenie Meyer.

*SPOILER ALERT* Review of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

Genesis as it is, or should have been

Well,

Writer's Block: RIP Michael Jackson

It's been so long

Writer's Block: Comped

I knew I forgot something...

I was disappointed

Merry Christmas (albeit a very belated one)

Writer's Block: Now Showing

Writer's Block: Crepuscular Drama

Writer's Block: Secret Ballot

This is yet another piece of English homewrk...

The summer is dying....

The Twilight Saga is over... *SPOILER*

Writer's Block: You and A Fictional Character of Your Choice

SPOILER ALERT Review of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

The Twilight Saga is over... SPOILER