Friday, December 06, 2002

Oh and by the way. My resolve as far as knowing exactly how Angel got out of that coffin just broke and


OK, *Now* I accept that Doyle is gone....
I cannot even see straight, let alone type until 'be been sick a few times... excuse me......
And excuse my excessive use of elispses also.

Oh for fuck's sakes. Let me just add "Allow yourself to get so acclimatised to emetic substances such as salt water, vinegar and cheap whiskey that when you need to puke they don't help and no, fingers down the throat won't do it either, you have ho gag reflex, remember" to the list of Things Not To Do.

I love my gay male friends. At least they don't have to feel they should contribute to the sad attention seeking need to be needed of at least two so called people I Know. And yes I do use the capital for a reason. It's pathetic really. If I had enough human feeling left I'd feel sorry for them.

One day there will be the big wide real world and such behaviour simply won't be acceptable. Me? I'm a Godwinist. For those of you who don't understand that, it means I believe in free love wthout meaningless promiscuity which demeans all concerned. And that word just doesn't look right, 'demeans' I mean. But my point stands. If you want to behave like that - fine - enjoy it while you can. One day you''ll have a real life and you have no idea how unhappy you'll be.

I look forward to that day. And you know who you are.
"I've had my fun
Had my day in the sun
Now my body's a map of a cracked Arizona"
- Nuno "Gravity"

So, adding "stay up until 3am watching Hitch Hiker's Guide THEN work" to my list of things you shouldn't ever do.

Hmmm.. I've had mixed receptions lately. First Rollerboy tells me my poetry breaks his head and takes him a while to get through to, which is admittedly what is bound to happen if you truck with certain *entities* long enough. Those of you who have read "The Stress Of Her Regard" have no fear - I'm not making bargains with and/or being seduced by any Lamia... it's just a little conversation I'm having. Then today, Hot French Emilie (I'm sorry Emilie but you don't get away without an epithet here, charming or otherwise) tells me she read my 'blog and that my prose is much better than my poetry. Now personally I find it places too many restraints on your direction to write prose rather than poetry, and I am very much a poet. However, I do like my prose better myself... She also said it's nice to know that though I appear to be a Bouddica (her phrase) I am a sweet, insecure fragile person underneath. "Counterpoints the richness of the underlying sureality of the metaphor" eh Hot French? Big misquote I'm sure, but I think perhaps my poetry IS slightly better than Vogons.

Hey look - the words "vogon" and "vegan" are really similar! So is Vegan poetry the fourth worst in the universe? Or should it be the third worst, as the worst (that of Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings) was destroyed, bumping Vogons up to second, therefore making me third? Hmmm.. I shall have to give that one some thought. Probably a great deal more than it actually deserves.

Damn I hate it when I quote myself. But then again my characters do tend to talk like me sometimes - my little phrases are also theirs. Like Shiloh's "To use the words of a great thinker, I'm a poet, but I'm not the publishing kind" or "We all aim for greatness, some of us lack the ability to shoot straight" or Penny Harker's "Give it thought, probably more than it deserves" or "gone to Hell in a handbasket" Though I can't for as moment think of anything I share with Jude phrase wise, apart from possibly "Damn right. I'm the best you've got" Though I do freely admit I'm a great big luvvie like him.

"Down once more to the dungeon of my black despair,
Down we plunge to the prison of my mind
Down that path into darkness deep as Hell"

As if I'm going to credit that one. If you don't know it's just not worth telling you, because people who don't know (especially when actually sung to the tune, which is a variation of "Music of The Night") tend to then need me to Start At The Very Beginning with "well there's this young girl in the chorus, and this dumbschitt Viscomte likes her, but also there's...." and frankly it's tedious. Nobody should need POTO explained to them, it should be studied in all schools as early as possible in both music and literature classes. By the by does it annoy the heck out of anyone else that the posters say "London's greatest love story" when it's set in Paris and nothing to do with London? Grrr damn you Sir Andy, I am indeed your bitch, but get it right! Oh I heard the new guy in POTO on the new run is a very sympathetic and sensitive Erik as opposed to the deeply sensual and erotic portrayl of Mr Crawford. Now, sorry, but I just don't believe this guy can be as good, witness the fact my family knows Mr Crawford as "Phantom Bloke" - He IS Erik.

Now this new guy may indeed be very good. I'm not saying everyone else is crap - Mr Ball was reasonable, he was the second singing Erik. But sadly I won't be able to go and see POTO to check, for a very simple and logical reason. For those of you who don't know about my schoolday ALW revues and the fact that until I hit puberty I played and sang male roles all the time, then got hips and nobody wants a Judas or an Erik with hips, here's the reasoning process;

1. When at the theatre and can't afford a box (or can't blackmail a private one out of the management) get the best seats in the house - cenre of row E or so is best.
2. If I hadn't stepped a bit to the left, that stupid plastic chandelier would have come down on my head. Now guys, I KNOW the chandelier is *supposed* to fall but it was the wrong point, and you could have fixed it up a bit better.
3. West End POTO has that famous chandelier swinging up to about row F backwards, and yes I know it's just an optical effect but it does happen.
4. I don't even like walking under stable chandeliers held in place by large visible titanuim girders, let alone sitting right under seven tonnes of swinging glass and metal.
5. Therefore, I cannot go to see POTO. *sigh*

Led a Pathworking on Wednesday night for Byron, Muppet Boy, Miss Lucy and Yvette (who has no epithet as yet) which was the first time I'd ever led one. I do them myself all the time, but I'd never done it for another person before. It went really well, but sadly I forgot until the day I was doing it that I'm terrified of drowning and took them down to see the Undines. Ooops. Scared the hell out of me, went to meet Yvette's snakes afterwards which helped me calm down - but not before I'd sat around with her and Muppet Boy for a while feeling my accent slipping because they were looking at my tarot deck and asking me questions about what they depict - and of course I have an Irish deck so I was telling them all about Cuchullain and Co and my accent was going haywire.

Well.. back to writting that Requiem I suppose.. sorry, I meant essay..... I can't help it, I'm overworked, undrpaid and my liver hates me. *sheepish grin in the general direction of Canterbury* Love you, my wickle Stanzi...

Actually the main reason I make that joke isn't even that I feel like crap and look even worse when I work like this, but because if I'm deprived of sleep I get The Laugh. I bray uncontrollably in the manner of a hyaena with some sort of hideous and recently inflicted injury, hence the Requiem joke. What's that, viewing public? You don't get it? Oh for heaven's sakes go watch Pater Shaffer's "Amadeus" it's worth two and a half hours of people in huge wigs just for the music, the laugh, Constanze's shelf (which makes me want my wife...) and Wolferl's legs. Well towards the end it's worth it for his legs anyway - he did kind of have fat ankles at the start of the film. Speaking of wigs I haven't given my new one an outing yet. Hmmm - PULSAR bar crawl I think!

"Captured alive,
Found as guilty as charged
Evil eye from the past
Chaos carved
Home at last"