Tuesday, March 27, 2007
I like this picture for three reasons. One, it proves my point about never knowing guy's names. Two, me and Han have the same display pic. Three, it makes me look like I have friends, because I have FOUR conversations open. Mwahahhaha.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
In my school, you hardly ever hear a male referred to by name. It's "blonde, bad clothes", or "ginger barman", "washing machine", if they're a particularly bad kisser. This is the sort of thing that happens to you when you're in an all girls school for an overly long period of time. Guys lose their identity. Online people are referred to by geographical location: "Geordie cunt" or "Geordie sweetie", "Widnes pervert", "Irish love of life". "Real" people are condensed into two or three word gobbits to help identify. The personality of someone's boyfriend is cut down into a short phrase.
I wonder what I'd be like if I'd been to a mixed school. I think I'd be thinner. Guys watching me eat freaks me out. Another thing I've noticed about the girls in our school. We can't eat in front of guys because we've never had to do it before. I would never eat if there was guys near me. Ever. I'm so worried about us.
What the fuck is going to happen when we go to uni? This group of emotionally castrated girls who are in denial about the existence of men?
I wonder what I'd be like if I'd been to a mixed school. I think I'd be thinner. Guys watching me eat freaks me out. Another thing I've noticed about the girls in our school. We can't eat in front of guys because we've never had to do it before. I would never eat if there was guys near me. Ever. I'm so worried about us.
What the fuck is going to happen when we go to uni? This group of emotionally castrated girls who are in denial about the existence of men?
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
2 As... and a D. HA!
Sunday, March 11, 2007
under the iron bridge
This is not fact. It isn't even fiction. But it's all true...every word.
There was no bridge; I'm being needlessly poetical. There was three girls, two boys. Awkward silence. Cheap drinks. Being nudged with a glass by a drunk man. A really awful film (The Number 23...if you're interested).
Linking whilst we walked. Not knowing what to do with my other arm. That same perfume. That same hairstyle. That same bag. That same messy room. Even the house smelt the same. But we're older. Everyone's older. Wiser. Nicer. Less damaged. And yet the crook of your arm is still the same shape. Your hair smells the same. We both act the same.
When I'm scared I go for your hand. When I'm upset...you go for mine. On the bus. The soundtrack of Amélie. Audrey Tautou skims stones on the Canal St Martin and we are in comfortable silence.
All this, to anyone else, might seem perfectly innocent. Maybe there's a hint of something past; a shadow. A realization that maybe things will never be the same. That by the past we are bound. Of course, I could have just been drunk. You could have just been drunk. But there's also that hope. That shadow.
There was no bridge; I'm being needlessly poetical. There was three girls, two boys. Awkward silence. Cheap drinks. Being nudged with a glass by a drunk man. A really awful film (The Number 23...if you're interested).
Linking whilst we walked. Not knowing what to do with my other arm. That same perfume. That same hairstyle. That same bag. That same messy room. Even the house smelt the same. But we're older. Everyone's older. Wiser. Nicer. Less damaged. And yet the crook of your arm is still the same shape. Your hair smells the same. We both act the same.
When I'm scared I go for your hand. When I'm upset...you go for mine. On the bus. The soundtrack of Amélie. Audrey Tautou skims stones on the Canal St Martin and we are in comfortable silence.
All this, to anyone else, might seem perfectly innocent. Maybe there's a hint of something past; a shadow. A realization that maybe things will never be the same. That by the past we are bound. Of course, I could have just been drunk. You could have just been drunk. But there's also that hope. That shadow.
