Saturday, December 2

Uh-oh.

One of my parents is on the phone downstairs. Anyhow, they sound extremely frustrated and angry. All I can here from hear is mumbling, but the emotions are obvious. It reminded me of one of the stories in 'The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat' -- Oliver Sacks. http://www.amazon.co.uk/Man-Who-Mistook-Wife-Picador/dp/0330294911/sr=8-1/qid=1165079348/ref=pd_ka_1/026-9363733-3336439?ie=UTF8&s=books (yes, I realise I need to work out how to do links properly...) Something about people who could either 1) hear and understand words people were saying, but not recognise the intonation or the lull of their speech (who were basically deaf to the natural emotion, who would not recognise sounds of pain) or 2) those who could not understand the words, to whom words meant nothing, but sounds and emotion could be 'understood' so easily. It made me wonder which I'd prefer, and reminded me of something we'd been asked to do at Warwick -- to write in a 'made up' language, playing purely with sounds and stanza arrangement, line breaks and pacing.

Also, I couldn't decide which I'd prefer. Initially I thought to be able to understand the sounds, without the words, but, as someone who reads and writes a lot, it'd be like I'd had a huge chunk of me sliced off, messily.

Which reminds me about the cake. We have the reminants of a very tasty cake downstairs, which has especially tasty buttercream on the top. I think I'd just prefer the buttercream without the cake to be honest. I should make some, just some buttercream, and invite other friends round, those who like just the top of it too.

Either

1) they have gone walkabouts, magically (and also stolen my magic in the process.)

or

2) I have left them at school. In the locker.

My schoolbooks...

The progress of my day thus far: three hours sat trying to distinguish which paper was 1) worth keeping/ filing 2) to be recycled, or 3) to go in the maybe-keep pile. The entirity of my maybe-keep pile then got shoved into the 'to be recycled' pile as I couldn't decide.

This took about 4 hours, with mini-intervals, to do things such as drink some water.

On the plus side, I have an advent calender. Most deserving of being emboldened, naturally.

Wednesday, November 29

Bleurgh.

Quite simply, bleurgh to the world.

Tuesday, November 28

where do you want to go to?

Me, I want to go away. At first, I thought about a place with purely the people I adore. Of course though, that's impossible.

So perhaps just somewhere different, with new people. France wouldn't be a bad idea, & then I could buy more of the lovely hot chocolate. (I am running out of hot chocolate of the French variety, &, there is no pure chocolate in the house.) I suggested France to my dad last night, after he'd gone through some chemistry with me. It would be educational, after all. More convincing is required though, it seems.

Or Germany. I have a German exam tomorrow. Little late for practise, vielleicht, glaube ich. Aber ich muss versuchen, ich muss ein bisschen auf Deutsch reden, fuer morgen...

Monday, November 27

A draft, I repeat, *only* a draft.

For months, he'd been pulling a bag along
with him, his new-found friend

at first it grew slowly,
and then after a while
accelerated, and grew more and more rapidly
until it was cutting off
the lifeline.

Left him
to dangle
between shuffling in his bed
of thin cuttings of soft paper
bundled into a ball, a
cocoon, a coffin already made
for himself. I remember

the days we didn't need
to worry about the bulldog
clips on the cage, because
he wasn't going to
crawl up the chimney, not today,
and cleaning would only disturb.

I remember holding him, a baby
again awkward in
my hands, fragile. I remember
massaging the fur, slowly, so
slowly, circling, urging him to
warm up.

We passed him between us, his
last minutes, seconds, nano-seconds
split
between the family. My turn

I took him to the radiator,
kneeled down, prodding him,
waiting for him to wake up, warm up,
stop pretending to give up on me.

©Katy Murr 2006

--

(Don't slaughter me if you think it's crap, I know there's a lot more work to be done, it's only the sketches of something at the moment.)

Few things about it:

What do you think of the stanzas? Reckon I should try to regulate them? I tried to keep it so the line-lengths and the stanzas vaguely represented what I was talking about, or pushing at.

The repetition of 'remember' - perhaps I'm pushing this a bit, and it should be more subtle?

'accelerated, and grew more and more rapidly' I especially don't like this line, I like the repetition which strings it together, but overall, it seems weak: the language ought to be a lot more specific, I think.

Oh, and incase you're wondering, it's about a hamster. & yes, he did indeed climb up the chimney.

Sunday, November 26

The Strepsil People

should automatically make me their friend. I've consumed so many of those lovely strepsils recently, I am very well acquainted with the strepsils at least.

Yesterday

I bought three new books. Technically not 'new' (although one looked hardly read at all), as they were from Oxfam, but still.

Three more books. Oh deary dear. (I still try to convince myself it's all good though, because after all, they were from Oxfam, so, to a good cause.)

  1. Miscellany One - Dylan Thomas
  2. Birthday Letters - Ted Hughes ('Later, inside your poems/ Which they wore like gloves, the same hands/ Left big fingerprints. The same/ Inside your last-stand letters/ Which they wore like gloves.' -- From 'The Hands') I have a thing about hands. I have a thing about poems. I have a thing about letters. I have a thing about gloves. & I shall be reading some more of this. (One thing I wonder though, why the capital letters at the beginnings of the lines?)
  3. A sort of anthology. (Shall not elaborate on this - it seems brand new, barely looked through, and I think it would be ideal for a particular friend as part of their Christmas present. There is a slight problem though - I do want it for myself...)

Really need another bookcase, I really do. I think, however, desperate times call for desperate measures: I shall not be buying any more books until I have read every single book I possess.

Whether this will send me into frequent library visits, pleading friends to borrow theirs, or simply reading a lot more, I don't yet know.

We shall see.

PS A neighbour is trying to train their (presumably new) dog. Most amusing. I can see from the window, and hear. I don't think the dog understands at all.