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Do you wear designer lables because you want people to remember you? Do you not wear designer lables because you don't want someone to remember you by your clothes? Do you not wear them because you can't afford it? Do you wear them even though you can't afford it?
Do you wear them to impress? Do you not wear them because you don't want to look like you're trying to impress?
What is the point of Designer lables? More expensive, but more pointless.
On the other hand, school tomorrow. Watch the corridors.
First day of School. I don't know if I will be told to start writing on here for my creative writing class, or if I will look like a goody-two-shoes because I've already discovered this site. School was good today - better than I thought it'd be. I helped a year seven, a friend of my brother's. I've never seen him look so vunerable before. Already under a mountain of homework, but I'm minus a mountain of hair. It's never been so short!
Ps. If you had a 100 words party, I would send you a card.
What is creativity?
My creative writing teacher asked my class of 6 girls, 2 boys. Creativity is the second day back at school. Creativity is being so excited about this class. Creativity is a 'well done' from my PE teacher. Creativity is going into town with some of my best friends after school. Creativity is seeing you in the corridor, too scared to say hello. Creativity is trying to put up a tent while having hysterics (Laura!). Creativity is losing my greatest ally. Creativity is not crying in front of her. Creativity is the word on my soul.
Today my best friend's family had their leaving party, on the village green. Everyone came, and there was a barbeque, plenty of drink and a couple of footballs being passed around. We had a bumper game of around-the-town hide and seek, and we all brought her presents. The boys taught us a little contact rugby, which was hilarious. I only cried when everyone else had gone, although there were a lot of tears throughout the day. It's not like I'll never see her again. So my final words to her were these simple ones:
'See you later, Georgie'
It was wonderful to wake up this morning.
The nightmare is back.
The one where it's dark. And I'm drowning in something cold. And it fills my mouth, and I can't breathe. I get it when I'm nervous, or scared. When I'm worried about something. When my chest feels tight, and my throat cloggs up. The one where the covers are wrapped tight around me when I wake up. The dream that pulls me in and ties me down. My breathing is heavy. My limbs won't move. The tears come. I cry out, no one hears.
The nightmare is back.
It rained again today, which in the circumstances was rather appropriate.
When I read your words, I try to put a face to the name. I don't know if you do that for me, but it wouldn't matter anyway. My face has changed beyond recognition in the last week.
First I cut off most of my hair. This may not seem like a big change, but for me it is. The second development where the traintracks, which were fitted today. They hurt. A lot.
Oh, the pain I will go through for a nice smile.
I've got a whole year of this...
I haven't even been at school a week and already I've missed a day and a half. The half was due to the fitting of the dreaded TRAINTRACKS and the day was due to the fact that they hurt me so bad I was sick. Seriously.
So pain echoing from my mouth, a flutter of butterflies in my stomach (please don't make have to do my English presentaion tomorrow) and maths homework looming over my head. I need to get my life organised....
Then again, I'd rather just sit on my bed and play bass for ages. What a mess.
So near and yet so far.
There was eye contact, if only for a second. Maybe even the hint of a smile. Then you disappeared into music block. I resisted the temptation to follow, merely waiting for you to emerge, telling myself that when you did I would finally introduce myself.
Alas, I never saw you come out. Then my bus arrived, and I was called away. My eyes desperately roamed the pavement, but they could not find you.
Do you remember the girl with the short hair and braces, holding the bass guitar case?
That was me.
Nice to see them all again - I have missed them over the summer without really realising. TB(the guy, not the disease) made me laugh - competitive much??? JH on a role again, JN: what a rastafarien! I feel like pain on a good day, wax on my teeth, blood on my gums, calpol in my stomach. Marmite sandwich. Tea, cake, coffee, buns, benchball. Thia makes no sense, so don't try to understand. Just filling up space. Spelling mistakes. Nervous. About what? Tired now. Stuff to do. But bed first. First, last and everything in between.
Bed now. Sleep....
The boy walks down the street, bag slung across his chest, arms by his sides. He does not stare ahead, or glance from side to side, but keeps his eyes fixed on some small point on the ground, just beyond his feet.
He walks alone, but only to those who percieve him. Sometimes he smiles slightly, as if listening to an inner voice, perhaps a tune.
What is he thinking? We will never know. Perhaps about the day gone by, or maybe the one ahead. Buses pass him, others wrapped in their mundanities. Not him.
Pain, fear, anger. Tears, cries, screams. I was six years old. I did not understand what was happening - I doubt I even knew that anything was wrong. I was wrapped up in my own personal little bubble of childhood. My mother was not. She said to me once that she couldn't believe it; no one could believe it.
Although I did not understand at the time, I cannot help but feel the sadness now. I resent people who think they are making a statment by killing others.
And now silence, in rememberance for those who suffered.
An old shirt, shorts, Boots hairbrush, herbal essence shampoo, aussome aussie conditioner, shower gel, standard hairdryer, straightners (sometimes), a plain white comb, something elegant earrings, french face wash, colgate standard toothpaste, new look jeans, a three-sizes-too-big hoodie, tesco standard brown bread, toasted, lurpack butter and marmite, or mayonnaise in summer, Twinings tea in a cookshop pot, john lewis mug, bare feet on a warm patio, the smell of fresh grass cuttings, clear nail polish, four bracelets, an old watch, three types of toothbrush and a sense of school tomorrow.
I like Sundays.
Unlucky for some.
Strange then, that today was the day I finally plucked up the courage to introduce myself (if only in the knowlage that I would kick myself later if I let the moment pass).
Hello, it's nice to meet you.
There was the dreaded awkward moment of 'who are you?' but I was saved by your quick memory. Thank you. I will now no longer feel guilty when I pass you in the corridors. You have a nice smile.
The rain made the moment.
I grinned the whole way home.
I had a bad day, the peak of which was coming home to find my mother crying. It put me in mind of last year...
Picture it. November 26th, when the leaves were turning brown. She yelled at me, and I yelled back. My mother protected me, but not for long. I had to endure the day of whispers, about what I'd done to her, about my lies. I don't lie. She twisted their minds and left me cold.That evening my mother burnt herself, badly, hospital badly.
That day is a bad day. Love Labours Lost.
Sometimes I hear music when no music is playing. But it's muffled, like the sensation you get when you're swimming. You bob up and down, your head dipping in and out of the water, and the sound changes. In the water it wavers, and out of the water it becomes very echoy. I like that wavering feeling, but it differs depending on the placement.
Now I hear music. Not just "there's a song stuck in my head" music; I can actually
it, very faintly. Sometimes I don't know the song, so I can't be making it up.
Random things from my Random life:
- "The sun rose, having no alternative, on the nothing new"
-LiOH; it looks like lion....but not.
-textmessages: 1 "oooh, who is it? oh it's, it's....the phone company."
-"Luuuuucy, I love you"
"eew, you scare me" -_-
-Anni 'no-shit-sherlock' = my new name
-Are you a BFG yet?
-I still love you Beatles!
-We no speak Americano - classic
-Mr Hardingham - legend
-The boy with crutches can still run faster than me
-How I wish I had my best friend's dress....only joking, it's her socks I'm after.
A tentative smile, a song (jazz number), a couple of hastily written words, some purple tights with polka-dot shoes, a camera made from a tin, the periodic table, the news that she's struggling, handfuls of grass, undone shoelaces, freshly made scones, feminism, an example, very violent basketball, fire, two ipods but only one set of headphones, another 16th, cold sun, the 6th from, another discussion, ginger furball, headbanging, majorly pink lamp, a headphone hairbrush, noise, quiet, 3-sizes-too-big hoodie, laughter, and another, much stronger smile that lasted a little while...
was all it took to make my day.
Everything that was ever written was meant to be read.
It's true. No one has ever written something that they don't want to be read, ever. Even if they only want it as a reminder for themselves. That's what writing is for.
All those ancient civilisations wrote stuff down, and now we can look back and see what life was like thousands of years ago.
One day, in a long long time, the people of the future will read our words, words that will represent the 21st century.
Let's make them worth reading.
Yes, I know.
Funny, because I did exactly the same class the other day.
And that one was also my favourite.
Which was probably why I wrote it down, but never mind.
My teacher asked why I like it so much.
And I said it was because I like the "dark, sarcastic and ironic side of the human nature".
What does this mean I am infering about myself?
And if you are (seemingly) insulted by what she may be infering about you, should I feel insulted that you feel insulted bacause I infered the same thing.....?
My piano teacher is a wonderful person. Sure, he may hit me over the head with the book occasionallly (he can tell when I haven't practised) or mock me when I am stupid, or make me play something ridiculously awful, but in essence he has done well. He has opened my mind to the wonders of being able to create music with my own fingers, calmed my rage at my inabilities, and taught me instead to focus on playing to perfection. He has taught me the scales that form the basis to the soul.
Even if it did take him eight years to do it.
In that case you are dark, sarcastic and ironic, therefore you are unique. It's good to know you are you, and maybe I am me.
Thank you Perkin, for making this essential discovery. Without you we would still be draped in the browns and greys, which are lovely, but a little monotonous after two thousand years.
I thank you. The world thanks you. For without you there would be no blue hills, which symbolise the coming of new, (dark, sarcastic and ironic) beautiful words.
So thank you for Indigo.
No one knew your name or cared at school, Everybody knows that kids are cruel, You went from troubled teen, And became a beauty queen, I got mixed up somewhere in between.
You took me in, just for a little while, Don't know why you got me with that smile, I knew you were a fake, I'd get left in your wake, But I loved you like you were my world.
It was like living in a dream, The only way to wake up is to scream, Why would I want to, Wanna hold on to you, Please don't go away and leave me.
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, may I have the pleasure of introducing you to the one and only...
Yes, it's Yollom, ladies and gentlemen!
Please put your hands together, give a big welcome ladies and gentlemen - Yollom is among us. Yes, I repeat, among
, ladies and gentlemen.
You should be.
This is not a joke - today is September 23rd, not April 1st!
That's right, a round of applause please - put your hands together!
Still 10 words left...
And a big welcome to the wonderful YOLLOM!!!
Uncontrollable, itching, creeping across my face, like some mutated insect. It touches up the corners of my mouth, prises my lips apart, forces my face into some contorted feature. But it makes me happy. Some sort of pinky-purple floods through my veins, makes my blood flow faster, makes me want to run, to jump. I want to dance in this lifting rain, want to sing, want to scream. I want to let it all out - instead, I bottle it, save it for later, so that I may taste it again...
When I see you, all I want to do is smile.
Today I realised something that made my life better, that put a smile on my face...
I have four genuine soulmates:
One I've known since birth, two I've met through school/ other friends, and one I met the other day. I love them all, not only with my heart, but with my soul. I am so lucky to have these people here to support me, even though they don't know it.
My heart lifts when I'm with them, they understand me totally, completely. They understand my ways and my words. Best of all, they accept me for who I am.
Your chest is warm next to my ear, your heartbeat is the only sound I hear, you lie with me late into the night, your voice makes me feel like it's alright.
And when we're together it's like we're in outer space, and we are looking down on the whole human race, but part of us holds us tight here on this earth, the finish line seems like a good place for us to start.
Your soul holds mine and all that is dear, your eyes are dark, they're dark but they're clear...
Stay Right Here.
Unanswerable questions from my long and unanswerable day:
- Why do 2wo, 3hree, 4our and 5ive look so normal?
- Why does her brother make coffins?
-If the universe is doughnut shaped, how is it infinate?
-Is the universe doughnut shaped?
-Why do I struggle to learn piano better than a first attempt?
-Why am I vegetarian?
-Why can I not remember the really good idea I had for a batch earlier?
-Why will I remember this good idea after I've submitted this?
-Why do I make mountains out of mole hills?
I thought not.
What do I think? I don't know. I don't know what to think.
I have spun myself a complicated web in my quest for simplicity. Should I consider how life befuddles me in all it's confusing simplicity? What do I do fist, what do I say, what do I think? How should I moniter myself? How should I regulate my feelings, my expressions? Should I allow myself indulgence in a lie? Or disappointment in the truth? What is the truth? How do I know what you're thinking, and should I try to work you out?
Or should I just forget?
The girl, wearing a short black skirt, brown top and smoke grey jacket, hides in the bushes. She crouches behind trees, scuttles closer and closer. Her heart pendant bobs against her chest, it's pace matching the thud inside her.
The black box is lifted to her face, a pale hand deftly focuses the lense, the aperture, the shutter speed. All is still. All is silent. Slowly, ever so slowly, she leans in to breathe the moment. Time pauses to watch her, the world tilts...
A list of messages to different people: you know who you are.
-2nd of August right back at ya
-"knock knock knockin' on heaven's door"
-EllyJelly you are pretty
-*cough* clear off!
-"wouldn't it be nice if we were older, then we wouldn't have to wait so long"
-Well done on passing your theory :)
-You're happier now you have a girlfriend
-You up for dancing on tuesday?
-Hope you had a nice evening
-I might be going to 'stralia for christmas!!!
-Rain all day and all of the night
The Tip Jar