Today's Muse: What happened to those lights?

I have a laundry list of things that need getting done.

I also have a laundry list of things I want to get done.

So far, I've managed to get a headstart on finishing the rest of Asimov's works. Now just to get through the rest of the fiction section at the library...

I would have made a list here, but why bore myself and you? Yes, you, way in the back. I always have to sit in the back. So how can they call me callous when I walk ahead? Callous, callous, callous...

I fear the Aeon Flux movie may be another Tank Girl fiasco.

Today's Muse: Cold Tea

For the kids outside next to the pool swearing because you think it makes you sound older;

Please shut the fuck up and quit trying to shag each other whilst tied to the pillars. Happy birthday to you, screech-of-a-girl, many happy returns and all that. Kindly take your guests somewhere else.

Thank you.

I threw a water balloon at them just now, from the third floor room I'm situated in at the moment. Didn't shut them up, but felt curiously satisfying.

Speaking of apartments, a long-overdue announcement: Due to unforeseen circumstances and all-too-obvious fucktarded behaviour I am moving for the second time this month, up north to Sengkang.

I'm not angry. Not now, anyway. It's more of a resignation. Occasionally I feel it, a fierce bubbling, and I rage to the nearest person who will listen. Then as quickly as it came, it goes; the beast falls dormant and I move as though asleep.

Which isn't just some poetic babble; I've walked into so many varied things this week I must be sleep-walking. Walls, boxes, desks, people, doors, over-stuffed turkey mascots, you name it.

You know what? I am angry. Annoyed at how wishy-washy she is about the whole thing. Enraged with him for using us to mask the real cause of his discomfort. Worried sick over the children. STAND ON YOUR OWN TWO FEET, WOMAN.

You look at my brothers and sisters, and you'll see an entire spectrum - the different ways a relationship can turn out, y'see. One couple, too young, but might work if they grow up at the same time. Another pair who've never had anything in common and only lasted this long because

Fuuuuck. (Always wanted to actually write that.)

Fallen into that trap again. Mountains out of molehills.

What a dreary post.

Um.

G'night.

Today's Muse: Black Windows

So, today I wrote an essay supposedly explaining why I had "angry, rubbish music" playing in my discman. It mutated into a horribly deviant spew on the appeal of buying entire identities off shelves, a psycho-analysis of my brother, the macabre movement, public transport, and why I want a cowboy hat. Only one page was wanted, but I thought, hell, you want an explanation, I'll give you an explanation.

When I go off-point, I make it a point to really go off-point. And yet keep to my point. Or summat. I am staring at my floor. I have the fecking nicest floor in the world.

I thought I might upload it, but it was ridiculously long. When I get it back I'll probably put it up. I remember writing something about how the confrontational stance adopted by the band in question - the swearing, the controversial performances - appealed not because they were railing at a specific object, but because of the stance itself. That they were larger than life, a deviant from realilty; a group that didn't go "Fuck you Goths/Rednecks/Nazis/Poseurs/Bush/School/The World." but simply went "Fuck!" A personification of the feeling, if you will. I am allowed to swear because I'm studying "I'm the King of the Castle". Hah.

Personally the "rubbish" music appeals to me because of the sheer energy behind it. Music by Simple Plan, Green Day or Linkin Park - I acknowledge the talent behind them, but the energy strikes me as whiny. Boo-hoo-hoo-Life's-a-piece-of-shit. Gets one down, y'know?

I'm not looking to music for answers; for moral guidance. I know people who do, who claim they feel exactly like whatever the music conveys, and I think "You moron." But to be fair, people do identify themselves with songs. But as to looking to lyrics penned by someone else to magically solve your problems?

Hm. I'm hungry. I would like some mushrooms, with cheese, right now.

What I listen to does not define who I am. Nor does what I wear, nor read, nor eat (Damnit!). For other people, that may be the case. I am not my horoscope, or zodiac sign, or whatever else. Aw shit. My shoulder just seized. What was my point?

Damnit. I want a cowboy hat and a poofy skirt. And a little spoilt girl with black curls, while we're at it. Oh, and someone gift-wrapped and Fed-ex'ed to my door. I'd keep 'im under the sink, and feed 'im salmon roe.

My new bathroom is the size of my old bedroom. And the bathtub is miniscule. Too many bloody mirrors.

Poofy skirt. And pretty purple boots. And my cat. Cat is at Lewis. I regress to Angry mode. Back hurts. Should stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.

Stopped.

Todays Muse: The Beat-up Suitcase

I'm at the new apartment. Huddled in the narrow walk-in closet, to be exact. Its actually a row of open shelves facing the wall, creating a cosy corner away from the rest of the house.

I'm staring at the floor for inspiration. I like the floor. Lovely light shade.

I had planned for this to be a long, possibly mediative, post. Honest.

Ugh. Tomorrow comes the beast. Will he be slain? The bards will sing of it forever either way, be it sweet victory...

Or the Sig's fall.