Days 0 et 1

Day Zero
The first thing that became England for me this morning was the scent of coffee. We were reaching the end of the long process to get outside of the airport when the stale and disinfectant air faded and instead become filled with the aroma of coffee. And not a subtle one at that, oh no, it was one so thick that you could probably see it in the air, so thick that it got inside your mouth, into your lungs and miraculously spread to the brain (from the smell alone). The next scent was smoke, cigarette; in the beginning it mixed with the coffee and together created a cosy atmosphere of a smokefilled coffee shop.

Many of you I'm sure have wondered why is it that I have such wild imagination; today the answer came to me quite inexplicably. It is quite simply because I live in a book. Don't believe me? Let me quote the beginning of the Wikipedia page on the place where I'm going to live in (am living): "Wantage is a town and civil parish in the Vale of the White Horse, near the Thames Valley, in the English county of Oxfordshire"
Now, if that doesn't sound like a book here are some more fact about my life that I discovered today:

• It is possible to pick up a taxi at London Heathrow Airport and for it to be a London Cab, with a driver who doesn't own a map, doesn't have a clue about Oxfordshire, and manages to do the following things while driving us to the new house: smoke 5 cigarettes (in his own cab which has 5 'no smoking' stickers) eat and read the newspaper.
  
• If you take a piece of paper and scrunch it up and pretend it's actually 2D, with the creases being roads it is quite possible that you have an accurate map of Oxfordshire. If anything, following the roads makes the whole place probably 3 times bigger.
  
• Wantage according to Mum is a hole (although I'm sure she means it in a loving way) and in a way it is. Nobody know where it is, what it is, and more importantly why it is.

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Day 1
I spent the first day lazing about, deservingly getting over jet-lag and 5 hours of sleep for the whole journey and the day before and after it. Today walked about the town a bit. Town maybe a too big word for it. It certainly is a town; by late dark ages, early middle ages standards but to today's standards it is rather tiny (on googlemaps). It doesn't however feel like a village, it may certainly be smaller than many villages I seen, but, it is a town. It's like the people took the essence of that ancient probably Roman founded town and build around it through the ages creating a small patchwork of history.
While I didn't manage to get a booklamp (utter essentials) I did manage to get my hand on my very own library card today. About which I'm going to natter happily about in this paragraph. The libraries in all of Oxfordshire are interconnected (apart of the Bodleian I suspect) so you can pick a book anywhere and drop it off anywhere. While there are charges for somethings, most of them don't apply to under 18. I was also given a selection of designs for my card, which made me rather happy.
And now the confession. Yes, I borrowed books, yes I should have written to people I miss rather than indulge myself it these treasures but...then I wouldn't be me. So, read around 130 pages of biographical material called 'The Film Club' I believe. It's about a father and a drop-out from school son, and how they connected through watching 3 movies a week together. I haven't read all of it, but it already sound like a movie to me. A good philosophical edged one.

And now jet-lag is catching up with me and all my semi-eloquent phrases are turning into noodles. I will email. (Just remember the time difference)

Up for Sale Trade *sigh* Grabs

(Although profit or donations to charity/needy/funds are always very appreciated)

Also, Watch this space technology and furniture may become available! (Plus other useless stuff)

Paper, white technically for printer but usable for anything: 70-100 sheets
Lined A4 tare away Notebook- 120 or so pages left
Ummm, a board, like a noticeboard where you use pins to pin things up, A2 size I guess-totally unused
Vase, glass modern style, see-through, large, heavy and useless. New. I may even find a box.
2 cheap tennis balls
black hole puncher
a handful of colourful paperclips
some pencils/pens
150-250 plastic folder pockets
flat folder thingies, you know the ones, the have metal that bend for hole punched stuff.... no? well if you interested I'll show you (available in white x2, light blue x2, black, grey, red, dark blue, green, yellow)
standard white envelopes
Folders, (like the ones Sarah and I have) colours: light green, red x2, pink, green, orange x 2, blue, purple, dark green.

(if nobody wants/needs these I'll give them to library)

Commerce Pathways: Yr 10 textbook
The Wife of Martin Guerre by Janet Lewis (this is a maybe)
A cage of butterflies by Brian Caswell
Chinese Cinderella by Adeline Yen Mah
Art is... Yr 9 textbook
Health and Physical Education 2 (textbook)
Feuerwerk 2 (German yr 9 workbook (not the textbook!))
Humanities alive geography 2 (yr 9 textbook)

A small proportion of my calender for the next month or so. (Birthdays not included yet). Prior Booking Preferred :)

Also, Manifest anyone? I'm really really want to go at least once...

July:
30-Rita Day Trip to City
31-Packing
August
1-Trip Somewhere
2-Packing
3
4-Packing get's picked up
5-
6
7
8
9-Singapore
10-Singapore
11-Singapore
12-Singapore
13-Singapore
14-Singapore
15-Singapore
16-Singapore
17-Singapore
18
19
20
21-Manifest?
22-Manifest?
23-Manifest?
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31-Leaving House
September
1
2
3
4
5
6-Possible Leaving Date
7
8
9

Away this weekend. Tell you all about it later!

My writing block has not returned per say, however I do have a slight blockage when it comes to writing at the moment. I want to write, I'm in the right mood, I have inspiration and I have ideas/plans. What I don't posses at the moment is the ability to write and make sense. I've lost articulation. My attempt at writing a poem got me in such state that it came out all nonsense and I refuse to even post it here.

I need to be able to write again, the best way it seems is to flex my writing muscles, which is why I'm asking for help. Prompt me. Give me a quote, a word, a piece of dialogue, a couple of names. Anything. And I promise to write at least a paragraph to it. Probably more.
All of my own ideas don't seem to flow at the moment, even this blog post feels clunky.

Anyone? Anything?

I would like to know why computers persist at making my life harder. I have never hit them, I care for them and often talk to them properly. For god's sake according to some people (who think I'm a robot AI) we're practically related. And yet my troubles continue.

My first ever personal computer was a desktop named Chiro. It was huge, heavy and constantly covered in dust and I loved it to bits. I made all my newbie mistakes in it. And yes I admit it may have been slightly neglected, and yes at one time it got a bad virus infection but it got better. With help, Chiro did recover.

I was against Chiro being scraped; in my opinion as retirement it deserved to serve a happy life as a computer in the art block; Mr Turley's room. I somehow never got round to it, and Chiro ended up being scraped. And now I suspect its ghost haunts me.

Then came the second hand apple laptop, creatively name Chiro 2. (Well it was better than MSSL 5 which was what it was called before). I think out of all my computers to date I miss that one the most. My only apple. Perfect in every way. Until it died. Around my birthday last year. It seems that 'milk to the motherboard' was fatal. (And god that would make a good title: 'Milk to the Motherboard')

It took me weeks of selection to choose my current one. Assuming that getting a windows would be cheaper we searched for one that was not infected by Vista. (If you don't know about the evils of Vista ask Burnie, and I'm sure he'll be more than happy to educate the ignorant). This time I decided that a new name was needed and born was 'Ianto Jones' (Thing is, now that somebody understands where the name cames from it's quite embarrassing. Yes, I did name my laptop after a fictional welsh administrator and self-proclaimed coffee lover. So what?)

Now Ianto Jones has served me well until about a month ago. That was the time around which the wires went to hell. The last few weeks have been a battle with technology wich I have now lost due to the wires melting.

In my mind I can not help that wonder that the name I choose influenced a bit the events. If we look at it from a certain angle (and squint, stand on one leg while singing Christmas carols) we may see that the laptop was Ianto and the wires were Lisa. The last month was post Canary Wharf and now that Lisa was finally died it is obvious that my computer needs a new companion in life.

Stopwatch, anyone?

My life is not that insane, but I do my best to make it so.

(I'm going to have to name my wires as well now, won't I?)

PS Yes my camera does have a name. It's Emrys. Somehow all technology around me is turning up to be male.

PSS. And yes Emrys is also a character. Although I'm rethinking my decision of that particular name.

PSSS I'm also currently ill. And I suspect it should be Pps rather than Pss. Actually let's just say 'Nota Bene; and be done with it.

Nota Bene: Not totally ill; I don't have a temperature. But! I do have a runny nose, sore throat, headache and am both coughing and sneezing. And my head is fuzzy.

Another Note: On being a robot. When insomnia gets to me I generally try to imagine I'm in a secluded forest meadow, with a murmur of human conversation around me. It sometimes helps to calm my mind down. After work experience I was in a state where any human contact was prone to set me for. (A bit like a hay fever allergy when its bad on its own, but you know that just a bit more and it will set of an allergic reaction severe enough for hospital). And that night I didn't think of warmth and sun filled grasslands but rather of a dark cold room full of chrome and metal. And that worked as well. So sometimes, just sometimes I like to think that maybe having a dream and future similar to that of Kimiko Ross wouldn't be so bad.

Would you change for the person you loved? Because for me the people I love are absolute everything, I'm pretty sure I'd murder for them (or at least cover one up) and I'm quite sure I'd sacrifice a whole lot for them. So what about little bit's of my self? Surprising despite the whole subculture of that you can't change people, I'm quite sure I'd change on purpose for the person I love. I'd do everything else. Compared to that it is a little thing.
I'm sure you'd say that if they loved me they wouldn't ask that of me, but love ain't pure, it's passionate and jealous; love covers a range of emotions and most of them dangerous. I think I'd be willing to do that, to change; for them.
I know a lot of people just skim my blog without commenting, once in a while, but for this I want replies, call it a survey if you wish. I want to know your opinion, even anonymously. Please.
Would you change for the people you love? Think about it.

There is something to be said about standing in front of a wasted printer, with grey-on-white stack of script pages in your hands. It's not finished, I hope some day it will be, but at the moment I can't help feel proud when seeing the 39 pages that came out from 1-2 weeks of work. It was worth it. It was really worth it: to ignore sleep, common sense, homework, holidays; everything and to simply write. It sound more romantic that it was. It was hard, and daunting, and exhilarating and I stopped, didn't reach the finishing line, gave up; gave in. But not before 60 pages of work. 39 of those being this newly printed script.

In these pages you can track my everyday life, the events that influenced me scene by scene; here let me show you:

Scene Three: We danced in the rain that day. It was the last day of term 1 and it was raining. The school got flooded in the end. After science, me and Sarah run about in the rain until we were breathless and our legs were covered in mud. We attempted to dry our clothes and hair in the toilets by the canteen. Yesterday Amy remembering that day, called Matt a hobbit. Rita was sensible and a boy from year 11 -takes my bus from my station, Nick-gave us an odd look as we ran past. In Maths the sky was purple, or maybe another fantastic colour; no work was done: naturally. The boys (year 8?) corridor was flooded. Arriving at writers workshop (R1) I stood in the doorway letting rain drip on me, the I sat by the doorway, took of my socks and attempted to squeeze the water out of them. We made a trip to get our bags from the locker room, and I returned with an umbrella. We watched Rowan Atkinson talk about humour.

Scene Four, A few days before I've been browsing youtube, and one song got stuck in my head. Relativ, by Wise Guys. It was in German. My amusement could go a long way. I wrote it in two scenes, only one was in this play.

Scene Seven, we went to the Casino, that day or the day before. The one on south bank, near the river. It was grand, no specific decorations for Easter. There were lights however glittering from the celling in front hallway/grand staircase. They had a chocolate shop with painted wooded eggs, they reminded me of Russia. Mum too. I couldn't breathe in that place, my thought were morbid, and somewhat tainted by the unobservable sleaziness of the place. I realized it was due to the fact, that there were no windows, no wood. Only stone, metal and people. I hated it.

Scene Eight, we were in Adelaide. We visited a garden there, a gift from a twined city in Japan. There was a African wedding leaving, bright colourful clothes. It was the first time I've seen a zen garden, but what forced me still was a deer scarer. I'm not sure why.

Scene Eleven, I've been obsessing with one phrase that day, attempting to remember it right: "Yesterday upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there, He wasn't there again today, Oh, how I wish he'd go away". For some reason those words remind me of the stairs leading up to my grandparents flat. More memories. I also mention the bush fires. Then quickly make up for that mistake.

Just a small insight in my writing process. A small glimpse in to my memories of times past.

A few people asked me for recommendations lately, so I decided I'd make a short list: (that turned out to be not so short, so maybe choose the category that interests you?)

Crime/Mystery

Agatha Christie.

Everything. Absolutely everything. Those who know me well know that I worship the woman. They're not only very good mysteries, but also they have an atmosphere of eternal elegance. These books deserve to be savoured, don't rush them, don't look ahead; enjoy them. I promise you you'd never guess the murderer.
My personal favourites: the Hollow and the Murder of Roger Ackroyd.

Nero Wolfe Series by Rex Stout

I haven't read enough of them. Last time I read one my internal temperature was between 38-40 C so... but amazing. the structure and story, while you may suspect the killer, the surrounding and personalities of the characters are brilliant.

Both of the above writers make very good studies of human character, this makes the detail of the interactions incredible.

Fantasy

Darkweaver/Imperial Series by Mark Robson

Technically the Series are connected and are in the same universe/same decade. However the stories are quite different. What I love about this writer is the fact that he doesn't make excuses, there is no introduction; these books employ the sink or swim method. And once you get the hang of the storyline you really appreciate the detail - which is very intricate and rather, well, creative.

The Cry of the Icemark by Stuart Hill

Only the first book; it is a series but in this case the first book is the best. I suppose it counts as a young adult book, but not a lot of morals and lessons to be learned. So I see it more as one of my comfort books; it is a very sweet desperate story with bits of every genre included.

Cozy Mysteries

This is a genre I'm still discovering, it is a mysteries but I guess softer. In Rita's newly discovered maths: cozy=mystery - thriller.

Gray Whale Inn Series by Karen MacInerney

I guess these are more focused on a female audience, but they really are feel-good books despite being murder centered. I especially love the main character, the reality of her life and the homey feeling of the books. It's a combination that makes these books irresistible to me and easily consumed in a day.

Humour

Absolute Power (DVD)

Not a book, I know. But there is such power and dedication in the script. I think the idea(s) are the things that makes this series really really consuming. It has a modern feel without becoming all chrome and angles. It also shows the world, media and people in a unique and rather harsh yet humorous light. It also challenges the popular conceptions we have about truth, morals and deception. Rather sharp, sarcastic humour very often at the expense of others.

Art/Photography/Unconventional Writing



This is a photographer that really inspires me, his photographs show a lot of skill and reality. I am in awe of how he shows human nature through a combination of photographs and writing. His projects are unique and in a way he really has the dream job. I also am drawn like a moth to a flame, to his thought process and personal reception of his work.
One of my favourite photographs of his is this one. For me it's the simplicity and the relaxed atmosphere.
However to fully appreciate it you really need look at his photographs as a group, project by project.

Kmye Chan

This artist creates something we often see with very good fantasy writing. She creates universes, proper structured universes that you see in you mind with her art. Her pieces aren't in proportion or conventional and yet they give of the feelings and atmosphere that I generally get from a very good book.
My favourite art of hers is the one I've seen first. Yes it was the theme that drew me in, but it is the unrealistic detailed that captured me. Most people when doing a fantasy setting simplify the art and focus on a few aspects, she does the opposite and this is what makes it so much more real.

Being an artist:

is staring at ones fingers
covered in food colouring
and stained
and thinking about how
body painting with
food colouring
is actually
quite cool.

(noting down now
later will search for designs)

Living with an artist:

is looking at the commandeered dinner table
covered in recycled paper and art
and telling to clean it up yourself.

it's coming home to a dirty kitchen
and noting that "these will look good on the wall".

it's considering that it will make a
good cover for the next album
and forgiving the blue
stains on the counter.

It's resigned acceptance.