"She said it clears your head when you come back from the dead...
With your sword as sharp as anything that cuts
And to prove it she bisected three young tourists from Utrecht
Which rapidly displayed a lot of guts..."
On my way home I stopped at the war memorial and discovered that I'm not the only crazy person with a grounding in Classics who talks to ghosts. That was quite a shock. I don't expect to see blood neatly left on stone and poppies when it's not mine. That's.... um... unsettling. I didn't imagine there'd be anyone else as unhinged as me in the locale. I left them a note.
A bloke on a bike appeared and asked for smoke; I give one to him 'cos a girl at the bus stop had given me a lighter for free. Bloke wanted to know why I was sitting at the memorial at 2.30am. I tried to explain; a mix of the rational and the ‘ahhh, well, I'm a bit unhinged, don’t mind me'.
He started to preach at me in a very ‘I am a boy and older than you. Despite being actually less intelligent than you, I must be superior. Worship me' manner. Errrgghh. He said 'everyone believes in magic and stuff at some point - then they grow out of it'.
I retorted that actually I knew several people who had never believed in magic or gods or anything that wasn't scientific or rational. Then I asked how old did he think I was? Both my tone and expression were similar to someone leveling and priming a pistol.
He looked worried. 'Uh, well... 23? I mean, probably younger...’
I laughed like a lunatic - bang, you're dead. 'You can go now,' I waved him away, 'go on, fekk off. 23? Ha! Try 33, you’d be closer. I’m not a poor inexperienced little thing who needs to learn the truth of the world - and especially not from you.'
'Y-you have a younger face,’ he defended.
I smiled like a cat on crack. 'Yes, but if you'd paid any attention at all you'd have noticed I have very old eyes,' a second grin, even colder, 'and very old arms.'
He recoiled slightly; I think it was a mix of the scars and his ego finally sensing I was not in awe of his obvious brilliance nor was after a shag and most importantly of all was wishing I’d never wasted a smoke on him. He left without a goodbye.
And now - Ten things I’ve done that you probably haven’t... (although with you lot there’s no guarantee.)
1) Made everyone in the Royal Albert Hall gasp.
2) Necromancy.
3) Hacked into my own tendon in the hope it was a vein.
4) Been to Ljubljana.
5) Written and performed in a circus show for the Fringe in Edinburgh, and for Macey’s Parade in New York
6) Made laudanum and absinthe. And drunk it.
7) Made screen prints and painted leather jackets.
8) Stopped a drunk from terrorizing people on a tram by telling him to stop being silly, sit down and drink his cider. He did.
9) Made my own tarot deck (forever in the process of being updated).
10) Created the mythos of Neurons.
I have so many things to do it’s not true. It’s got to the point when I’m concidering buying a blackboard or a lump of slate and pinning it to my wall so I can write a grand and ever-increasing list of Stuff I Should Have Done By Now (TM).
All of them are quite cool things - art and writing and such - and they’re all for other people, and they’re all grossly overdue... Neurons want to say 'morbidly overdue' in the same way you'd say 'morbidly obese'. Not sure why, I think just in an attempt to show how appallingly overdue most things are. Y'know, so overdue the likelihood of me or someone else dying before I ever finish them is quite high. *sigh*
Yesterday was quite fun. There was gallivanting. In no particular order:
What does green grasshopper pie taste like?
Is it possible to eat a lollipop this large without looking like an idiot or a porn star?
If sarcasm is a come on, does that make me a slut?
Just how good do you have to be to raise the dead? Can Ash have an encore?
Why on earth do my neurons think a sonic screwdriver would be a cool thing to have? They never have previously.
Where can I buy a cheap blackboard from?
If I get a blackboard will that stop me wanting to write on the walls?
Anti-penultimate - can I scribble enough and kick photoshop filters enough to make something look like an 18th C engraving without actually having to learn how to engrave? (I’m interested but honestly haven’t the time right now - I just have vodka and a very large lollipop that tastes of vanilla icecream.)
Penultimate - were my cards fibbing about what they said in the churchyard? Or, more to the point, am I translating it right?
Ultimate - How long ‘til my personal catastrophe curve catches up? ‘Cos it’s never that far behind...
Lalala.
I probably owe you a picture. Or a parcel. Or a story. Or an email. Or something else.
Erm.
We are sorry to inform you of a delay to the current Corvidic service, we apologise for the inconvenience this may cause to your life journey. Normal service shall be resumed as soon as possible. Thank you.
PS: I probably shouldn't be so amused at being called a necromantic harlot or a thaumatalogical jezebel. But I am. So there.
"She says it was a mistake to let them burn her at the stake
And she learned a lesson back there in the flames
So she’s going to kill the queen and then she’ll rescue Old Orleans -
And it’s really hard to hang around with saints..."
And to prove it she bisected three young tourists from Utrecht
Which rapidly displayed a lot of guts..."
On my way home I stopped at the war memorial and discovered that I'm not the only crazy person with a grounding in Classics who talks to ghosts. That was quite a shock. I don't expect to see blood neatly left on stone and poppies when it's not mine. That's.... um... unsettling. I didn't imagine there'd be anyone else as unhinged as me in the locale. I left them a note.
A bloke on a bike appeared and asked for smoke; I give one to him 'cos a girl at the bus stop had given me a lighter for free. Bloke wanted to know why I was sitting at the memorial at 2.30am. I tried to explain; a mix of the rational and the ‘ahhh, well, I'm a bit unhinged, don’t mind me'.
He started to preach at me in a very ‘I am a boy and older than you. Despite being actually less intelligent than you, I must be superior. Worship me' manner. Errrgghh. He said 'everyone believes in magic and stuff at some point - then they grow out of it'.
I retorted that actually I knew several people who had never believed in magic or gods or anything that wasn't scientific or rational. Then I asked how old did he think I was? Both my tone and expression were similar to someone leveling and priming a pistol.
He looked worried. 'Uh, well... 23? I mean, probably younger...’
I laughed like a lunatic - bang, you're dead. 'You can go now,' I waved him away, 'go on, fekk off. 23? Ha! Try 33, you’d be closer. I’m not a poor inexperienced little thing who needs to learn the truth of the world - and especially not from you.'
'Y-you have a younger face,’ he defended.
I smiled like a cat on crack. 'Yes, but if you'd paid any attention at all you'd have noticed I have very old eyes,' a second grin, even colder, 'and very old arms.'
He recoiled slightly; I think it was a mix of the scars and his ego finally sensing I was not in awe of his obvious brilliance nor was after a shag and most importantly of all was wishing I’d never wasted a smoke on him. He left without a goodbye.
And now - Ten things I’ve done that you probably haven’t... (although with you lot there’s no guarantee.)
1) Made everyone in the Royal Albert Hall gasp.
2) Necromancy.
3) Hacked into my own tendon in the hope it was a vein.
4) Been to Ljubljana.
5) Written and performed in a circus show for the Fringe in Edinburgh, and for Macey’s Parade in New York
6) Made laudanum and absinthe. And drunk it.
7) Made screen prints and painted leather jackets.
8) Stopped a drunk from terrorizing people on a tram by telling him to stop being silly, sit down and drink his cider. He did.
9) Made my own tarot deck (forever in the process of being updated).
10) Created the mythos of Neurons.
I have so many things to do it’s not true. It’s got to the point when I’m concidering buying a blackboard or a lump of slate and pinning it to my wall so I can write a grand and ever-increasing list of Stuff I Should Have Done By Now (TM).
All of them are quite cool things - art and writing and such - and they’re all for other people, and they’re all grossly overdue... Neurons want to say 'morbidly overdue' in the same way you'd say 'morbidly obese'. Not sure why, I think just in an attempt to show how appallingly overdue most things are. Y'know, so overdue the likelihood of me or someone else dying before I ever finish them is quite high. *sigh*
Yesterday was quite fun. There was gallivanting. In no particular order:
What does green grasshopper pie taste like?
Is it possible to eat a lollipop this large without looking like an idiot or a porn star?
If sarcasm is a come on, does that make me a slut?
Just how good do you have to be to raise the dead? Can Ash have an encore?
Why on earth do my neurons think a sonic screwdriver would be a cool thing to have? They never have previously.
Where can I buy a cheap blackboard from?
If I get a blackboard will that stop me wanting to write on the walls?
Anti-penultimate - can I scribble enough and kick photoshop filters enough to make something look like an 18th C engraving without actually having to learn how to engrave? (I’m interested but honestly haven’t the time right now - I just have vodka and a very large lollipop that tastes of vanilla icecream.)
Penultimate - were my cards fibbing about what they said in the churchyard? Or, more to the point, am I translating it right?
Ultimate - How long ‘til my personal catastrophe curve catches up? ‘Cos it’s never that far behind...
Lalala.
I probably owe you a picture. Or a parcel. Or a story. Or an email. Or something else.
Erm.
We are sorry to inform you of a delay to the current Corvidic service, we apologise for the inconvenience this may cause to your life journey. Normal service shall be resumed as soon as possible. Thank you.
PS: I probably shouldn't be so amused at being called a necromantic harlot or a thaumatalogical jezebel. But I am. So there.
"She says it was a mistake to let them burn her at the stake
And she learned a lesson back there in the flames
So she’s going to kill the queen and then she’ll rescue Old Orleans -
And it’s really hard to hang around with saints..."