Everyone should make it their personal mission to find their soul artiste.

Imogen Heap is mine.

Her concert was...spectacular. No; even "spectacular"'s too jarring a word, too overwritten, because it wasn't that- not at all.

She skipped onto stage, hair caught up in a messy forest-type bouffant, gangly limbs lithe in black harem pants; and something about the way she moved was very birdlike- little tilt of the head here, odd jaunty click of the elbows there.

I loved the way she hummed little random "la la laa's" under her breath as she fiddled around with her keyboard; the quiet tutting noises that the audience absolutely hung onto; every breath quick and quiet and deliberate.

Even her SILENCES were magical. You could feel people almost leaning in, as if craning to hear some strange unspoken secret.

And then the stage exploded in a phantasmagoria of white tree psychedelic body midsummer madness angel of WOW

and there was Imi's voice rising in half ocean, half howl,

and it was beautiful.

She fell into her seat and let her fingers trail over the keys that one time, and what ensued was a song that I'd never heard before

but it caught me by the throat on the very first line

then

"and lacklustre in dust we lay
around old magazines
fluorescent lighting sets the scene
for all we could and should be being
in the one life that we've got..."

and I just sat there, arms hugging boot-encased knees to chest, and thinking, "...Imi, how did you know??"

She came back onstage near the end, in rockstar sunglasses and with a electric keyboard slung around her shoulders; and then - h o l y s i l e n c e:

...before the first strains of "Hide And Seek".

The crowd roared.

and in those notes, played so softly, so reverently:

warm arms, bare skin, soft chill of morning air, a deep and sleepy darkness, hours ahead of us and time to spare.

Bleeding Love (a rewrite for the A-Levellers)

Closed off from life, cuz socializing is lame

Every day, every lecture, everyone looks the same

Time starts to pass before you know it, you're dozin'

But I will wake up at five AM, on the dot

Don't need to eat, so I can meet consolidation slots

And everybody's looking around; but they're all just as crazy

But I don't care what they say, I won't score a U

I'll get my As if it means I have to mug till 2

My arm's crippled from writing in the library frozen

CHORUS:

I'm barely copin', but I'll

Keep reading, keep keep reading, I'll

Keep reading, keep keep reading, I'll

Keep reading, keep keep reading, love

I'm barely copin'.

Trying hard to hear, when we're in the LT

Forgot Inflation as soon as we started BOP

And Complex Numbers is a topic that is simply appalling;

Cuz nothing's greater than the workload and the pressure in here

I've forgotten my name and I've forgotten the year

At least I know how to draw the graph when AD is falling...ohhh.

CHORUS:

I'm barely copin', but I'll

Keep reading, keep keep reading, I'll

Keep reading, keep keep reading, I'll

Keep reading, keep keep reading, love

I'm barely copin'.

And it's draining all of me

18 but I feel 80

And my life thus far has revolved around NJC

But I don't care what they say, I won't score a U

I'll get my As if it means I have to mug till 2

My arm's crippled from writing in the library frozen

CHORUS:

I'm barely copin', but I'll

Keep reading, keep keep reading, I'll

Keep reading, keep keep reading, I'll

Keep reading, keep keep reading, love

I'm barely copin'.

"i saw the werewolf, and the werewolf was crying

crying 'nobody knows, nobody knows, body knows' "

---

Is it really almost Friday?

I never thought I'd say this, but Weekend- I am not prepared for you. Days, won't you speed up in the passing? And won't you slow down in the looking back?

Today we were walking out of school and talking about how we'd look back and go "...what did we do when we were eighteen?" and I don't want to be the one who goes "...oh."

But it's not so bad, not as bad as I make it out to be.

I've tasted immortality, infinity, the "golden ichor of youth" and I've kissed the lips of mortals who- in that moment of brilliant ! the poets write with fevered pens of- stood, in that moment, swathed like gods. I've known Summer's middle name. I've tasted December's tears. I've run races and I've lost them; met hearts and won them, lost mine along the way.

That isn't so bad for eighteen, is it?

~~~

School has been non-conducive lately. The construction, relentless pounding of piles ("class, today we are moving on to - ( ( ( BAM ) ) ) -"), the DANGER KEEP OUT signs, the general newfound mazelikeness. Soon we're going to need a GPS system to get from the classroom to the canteen!

...I know, I know. It's for the best. I understand this, because I am totally cooperative and forward looking like that.

I think I'll stick to studying at Coffee Bean (yay dates with Arafat no more. Now it's Nehru. WILL THESE PEOPLE STOP FIGHTING OVER LAND PLZ) for now.

Cara: I lost my phone. In the back of his car.

Lisa: ...Sorry you lost your WHAT in the back of his car?

Whitby, during drama rehearsal: ...Oh shitbuggerballs, now I've got to redo this bit.

Michael, during drama rehearsal: So I stand like this? Facing the audience, but facing her too?

Whitby: Yes, Michael. The 3/4 Profile View rule.

Michael: ...But. Then how do I look at her, AND the audience; at the same time?

Whitby: ...Strangely enough, Michael. You have something under your head. It's called a neck.

Mkay, now.

It's back to the whetstone.

I've got Vectors 3 to tackle, and a half-written half-poem from last night that'll tug itself right out from my spiral bound book if I don't pin it down with a finish today.

It is 11:18PM on a Tuesday night

and an untouched slate of Microsoft Word is staring blankly at me, willing me to "WRITE SOMETHING WRITE ANYTHING"

but it's not just anything I have to write; it's a GP essay,

and my head is not letting me knuckle down to this arduous task.

...I used to love writing essays.

WHAT HAPPENED, LIFE?

...WHAT HAPPENED? LIFE.

On the bright side, Imogen Heap concert on Monday! which yes, is a school night, I am well aware. But when a pagan priestess reaches out her open palm and in her other hand sizzles a staff thrumming with low electronica; you do not say no.

Vectors 3, I promise you I will do you the next night.

WL: "I will bring my camera. And I will take infiniteloads of pictures of me standing next to Imogen Heap. And me singing with Imogen Heap. And me kissing Imogen Heap."

Cara: "...and Imogen Heap slapping you. And Imogen Heap calling security."

; soft-skinned Delilah took a scissors to your shoulders but Samson's growing his hair back out again, and I'm glad, and I hope for the best.

okay now getting late. time to get properly started on GP

gotta face tomorrow like BAM

"I thought our story was epic, you know, you and me. Spanning years and continents. Lives ruined, bloodshed. Epic. But summer's almost here, and we won't see each other at all. And then you leave town... and then it's over. I'm sorry about last summer. You know, if I could do it over..."

"Come on. Ruined lives? Bloodshed? You really think a relationship should be that hard?"

"...No one writes songs about the ones that come easy."

- Veronica Mars

---

^ One morning I will wake up to a murky Eden of a view like that one.

Life is good today.

Stayed up till 4AM last night talking to a familiar voice.

Unwise, definitely, and unguarded, maybe; but unguided? ...I don't think so. I'd still like to believe in kismet. The irony is that I'd like to believe in Fate; but only when Fate gives me what I want to have.

And whatever Lola wants, Lola gets, right?

Oh, don't we all wish.

Still.

It's a big risk, this.

Let it be a one-off. A long one.

"when we were in primary three

they should have taught us History

instead of soddin' ABC"

---

...Okay, so that statement's a little inaccurate.

When we were primary three, we weren't learning our ABCs. We were probably learning Advanced Trig or something like that.

But VALAR HELP US.

My head is filled up to here. But with nothing!!! It's, like. I've been studying the whole of the past week and a little bit before; and nothing's going in, but there isn't any space for anything else to go in, either!

And, because FB Statuses tell no lies...

Amanda Chong: China, china, china, china and russia, china and us, china and japan, china's foreign policy...and more china.

Cara Clandestine: Arab states, Israel, Arab Arab Arab Israel Arab Israel US INTERVENTION oh geez.

...Notice a running theme?

"...Welton Academy. Hello. Yes, he is. Just a moment.

Mr. Nolan, it's for you. It's God. He says we should have girls at Welton."

- Charlie, Dead Poets' Society

---

Lazy Tuesday almost-afternoon.

Smoky jazz rising like tendrils, deep chocolate voices, the velvet poets. A kiss.

Bedroom eyes are the price you pay for being strong.

I wrote a song yesterday, and it was nice- a fragile, simple little thing. The words came so easily, and the chords must have chosen my fingers.

I like it when things come to me that way. I've said it before- when it happens, it's not like I'm writing- it's like Something's writing through me; and that feeling makes me happy.

This week hasn't been much of a holiday week at all, to be perfectly honest. All the History Kidz are plowing through their veritable Encyclopaedia Britannica of History Notes, and even so nothing seems to get in(!). **panic. Don't even know if I have time on Thursday for dinner with Steve...I'm sorry. ): I wish I did, you have a cute accent.

Still, once Thursday is over (discounting the mounds of Econs and Math I will have to make up on ), Friday brings Midsummer, and an encore of today's lie-in which- btw- was luscious.

It annoys me, who you're becoming, or who you're trying to be.

With the last one, there were signs left along the way. Which hurt, sure, but there were little reminders of "I am still with you". He was in the air and in the walls and it felt like he had become some guiding spirit, like the boy had become cosmos and the essence of him: guardian

-- not so with you.

I don't know who you are now, and I'm not sure I want to.

Won't you give me a sign that there's still some part of the old you?

[/edit]

So, my day thus far.

Finished Lecture 5 at long last. Let's see how much actually went in.

Took the stroll down to Guthrie to get a box of truffles for Thursday's guest speaker, returned Gladiator, and borrowed Dead Poets' Society- which I watched half of while I was in the treadmill.

Such an amazing film. I never get tired of it.

And it doesn't even have any epic battle charges/eye candy (Ethan Hawke wasn't great-looking when he was younger)/ritzy music.

It's such a DWL film, too, and I'd invite everyone over for a study session + movie night sometime this week...only I know that with our schedules, nobody'd show up. It happens all the time- it's become something of a running joke between all of us.

So I guess I'll just do Lecture 1, and then curl up on the sofa with a hot mocha and finish watching it tonight.

I love days that go by like orinoco.

lament of the queen

You, general of the armada that sailed for the face of Helen-

Our men followed you.

You said Death and they roared like lions

You said Immortality and they ran their swords through sons

I, a barbarian empress on the pyre

of a kingdom that once was great

As a queen burns with her city

So God will go down with your ship.

I stood on an ancient horizon

and watched the dogs overrun Rome

watched as they brought the temples to their knees

like the way Orpheus must have pleaded when the dread god said:

you cannot go back.

They raped our Colosseum, my love

where were you?

They dragged our stone children from the breasts of tigers

And fed them to the midwives

where were you

The young men sobbed at the feet of still girls

The old women moaned for the men who were not there

were you

The bullocks thundered over the babies

were

shattered over the bodies of the priestesses

you

oblivious

Troy burned.

Where were you?

I thought you were a gladiator

Why did you not defend us?

I can tell already you think I'm the dragon,

that would be so like me, but I'm not. I'm not the dragon.

I'm not the princess either.

And the part where I push you

flush against the wall and every part of your body rubs against the bricks,

shut up

I'm getting to it.

- Richard Siken, "Litany In Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out".

---

Elbereth.

Preserve.

Me.

Three hours at Coffee Bean with the Mediaeval Baebes, The Kooks, The Dubliners, and a latte- and I'm currently on Page 17 of a 38-page History Lecture; oh hello, 19 more pages!

Thank God for half day today. To be fair- it wasn't really a half day for me anyway, cuz we had a drama rehearsal- but we all know how I feel about Drama.

i.e PSYCHED.

Seriously; I turn up for rehearsal every time with a spring in my step, and even when I don't, I love the feeling of just throwing myself into role.

Today's rehearsal was hilarious; I wish I could have filmed it. Carol came in to watch, and all of us ended up in stitches. You could just feel the energy in the room, too- the air was thick with it, electric; it was swelling and pushing round the edges and against the walls and turned the marrow in our bones to liquid fire- laughing ribcage rattling like bambambam.

I love the cast, and I love Whitby, and I love the way everyone greets each other now with adlibbed lines from the play.

"Lo, ducky!"

Lunch at Aston's (next to Good Good!) with Carol, after.

It felt a little strange; considering the last two times I went there was for the photoshoot with Joe and Carol, and the second time was me in school uniform and Joe in...not; and after we crossed over to Guthrie to get microwave popcorn and Old Gold, and considered getting B&J's (but decided not to because Uncle Gerry's freezer back home was stocked), and got Troy to watch for a movie afternoon in.

Good memories.

The lady said I got prettier. :>

Which was charitable, all things considered- since last time I was in full regalia (ie eyeliner, maxi dress, epick heels) and this time I was in grey military get-up and Isolde french braid.

One thing hasn't changed, though: I still put way too much chili sauce on my food.

Borrowed Gladiator to watch later, while I'm on the treadmill.

I'm running out of good old epic battle shows to watch. I've done Troy, Alexander, Tristan and Isolde, (don't like 300), the Tudors (too slow), Meet The Spartans (UGH), LotR ( x many many); and I can't think of anything else.

Come on, Hollywood, surprise me.

On another note, I have been thinking about my future quite a lot lately, and let me tell you- the Future is a scary, scary thing.

...But I have faith. I have faith that everything's going to be okay. Maybe not right now, and maybe never entirely; but I trust that God has a plan for me, and It Is Good.

Also pleasantly surprised to realize, upon rereading (before this, I hadn't touched it in eeeeons. New dimension to the adage "ashes to ashes, dust to dust", no kidding); that the Bible kinda sorta sounds like The Odyssey!!

...okay not really.

But how did I not realize, before this; that the Bible was actually full of so much drama?

Beautiful women bathing in moonlight. The undoing of proud kings. The deaths of good men- sent to the frontline and then abandoned. Temptresses of Babylon. An ocean parting for the children of Israel...

And the language, the richness.

So much for thinking it was a boring old book. Sorry bout that, God.

...So yeah.

Things haven't been the easiest lately, and there's still a lot that I'm unsure about.

But in the end it'll be all right- and that is the one thing this dreamer can say she can cleave to.

Okay now.

Mum's done with teaching piano; and I'm orf! to watch Gladiator and clock in some footwork.

Fight the A Level Spread, dammit, people.

xxx

#60709.

We all looked like goddesses

and gods, glowing and smooth, sheathed

from head to foot by a golden essence

that glistens and refracted its aura

of power- the wonderful ichor called youth.

We moved as easily as dolphins

surging out of the ocean,

cleaving massed tons of transparent water

streaming away in swathes of bubbling

Silver like the plasm of life.

Still potent from those black and white

photos, the palpable electric

charge between us, like the negative

and positive poles of a battery,

or the fingers of Adam and God.

We were beautiful, without exception.

I could hardly bear to look at those

old albums, to see the lost glamour

we never noticed when we were

first together- when we were young.

- Ruth Fainlight

LIT LECTURE: FUN, LAFFTER, AND HAPPY TAIMEZ~~

Whitby: So, you lot- what's a "caricature"?

Class: *silence*

Whitby: What's a "caricature of old age"?? *exasperation*

*jabs at own chest viciously* ...You don't have to look very far!!

Whitby: So what has the old man got?

Class: *silence*

Whitby: *clue* It's what you all STILL HAVE.

Class: *pondersome silence*

Whitby: ...So? What is it? The I-word!

*darkly, to self* ...You won't take very long to lose it; believe me.

Carol: ...Innocence?

Whitby: *headdesk*

Whitby, pained: Idealism. It's idealism, you eejits.

Whitby: According to this poem, our poet wants to break free of social convention. But what does society say to old people?

"...You! Sit there! Vegetate! You. Will. Be. A. Boring! Old! Fart!"

Whitby: Orl right now. What's this poem about..?

Class: *silence*

Whitby: Come ON! I know some of you know this.

Class: *silence*

Whitby: Oh, come ON. I KNOW some of you are thinking of it and it's the answer...!

Class: *silence*

Cara, tentatively: ...Sex?

** The poem turned out to about the "transcendental duality of soul and body in human nature". FML.

I raise my hands and praise the God who gives and takes away.

#good boys and girls go to heaven.


"The closest we got to hedonistic excess- spooning peanut butter chunks straight from the tub and talking about things we wanted and waited for and things we'd lost in the fire. A growing carelessness of the limbs. A lethargic hand here, the flash of a bare vanilla leg there, melted icecream, sticky lips and fingers, your head soft and seeking against my shoulder, my lamb,

and falling asleep after, in a sweet tangle of tired limbs.

Looking back in retrospect it would have been so easy to have done it, if we had wanted to; to have sex, then, all of us, all of those lonely, curious, ready bodies so far from home. But the boys didn't swing far enough our way to be interested and the girls were too comfortable to care.
...And so, with this guarantee on our purity, we slept; in the rare sweet knowledge between boys and girls that in the morning we would wake up and be able to look each other in the eye."

"you crawl in bed, it's 3am

you smell of wine and cigarettes

you're beautiful;

but you're not going anywhere. "

----

So, first post.

I realize this layout is a lot simpler than the last one; but I kind of like it, and I think I might keep it. I just needed a new start-- Deartimetraveller's shelf life has expired.

"Recently" has been a manic blur of ups and downs and middling in-betweens.

Last night

the (do you remember we were moonlit and I showed you that) corner I left devastated. ruined Parthenon in miniature. it's all broken bamboo and granite and late night whys now; i came back indoors at eleven and looked down to realize my hands and feet were scratched and bleeding.

Today

his arm was your arm, for a minute.

Went for the Make A Wish talk; and I'm actually kind of sort of looking forward to next Saturday a little more than a little bit. It's gonna be fun- raising funds for our wishchildren, and if I'd known community service could feel this rewarding I'd have joined sooner, and more often.

Plus we get to walk around in town wearing angel wings, which is always awesome.

Drama rehearsal was...flat.

I have an excuse- a bad night and bad bedroom eyes- but whenever I wasn't involved in the lines being spoken, I just kind of slumped in my chair and went vacant and I think Whitby noticed.

It was okay, though. Because whenever I'm up and it's Daphne's turn; everything...God, it's like something just comes alive in me and everything starts coming naturally; from the sway of the hips to the languid drawl to the shifting shoulders

Whitby: "...C'mon, Kaah-rah! It's DAPHNE. Sex appeal. Lots of it. Ooze sex appeal! OOZE IT!"

so I do my best to "ooze it"; although it's a little bit hard when you're in a grubby old house t-shirt and shorts and sport shoes and no fire-engine red lipstick.

Which is why I can't wait for Costumes to take over.

...AAAAND Michael made me crack up my line todaiii. I had to do my part; which was spin around with eyes wide and eyelashes a-flutter a la I Love Lucy; and crow, "....Lor, Mr 'Iggins! 'Ow ye start'led me!!" and when I did; HIS eyes went SO wide that I fell over laughing and everybody joined in the uproar, it was hilarious and I had to redo that line about three times over before I could say it again with a straight face.

...I love being Daphne, though. She takes me away from all the garbage sometimes- into her glitzy-trashy world of glossy clipouts and cheap champagne and faux fur and stilettos and latenight shifts and lipstick, reapplied.

That sort of garbage- I can deal with.

Okay now cue abrupt end to an abrupt start.

I'm going to do History notes and strum on le ukulele.

"y-y-you gotta cut your losses. even if it means cutting people out."

and she was right.