Tag Archives: book

3 Days 3 Quotes – Day 1

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Oooooh, a tag! Haven’t seen one of those in while! (Well if you bothered to actually stick around on WordPress for more than 5 minutes at a time…)

-ahem- Big thanks to the ever-lovely Irena S. for the nomination! Not sure if I’ll manage to do the full thing, small as it is, I’m on essay writing mode right now… Here goes anyway!

The rules:

  • Thank the person who nominated you
  • Post three different quotes in three consecutive days
  • Nominate three new bloggers each day

And quote #1, from literally the first book next to me right now. It’s from Diary of a Witchcraft Shop by Trevor Jones and Liz Williams and every page of it is hilarious!

“Walking down the High St last night, I was suddenly accosted by St George, in full armour and a sword, who leaped out of the doorway of the George and Pilgrim, exclaiming, ‘Ah! A damsel!’ I explained that I was not, however, in distress and St George disappeared. But it’s the thought that counts.”

If you fancy seeing what living in as crazy a place as Glastonbury is like, I’d say check it out.

Now…who to nominate…Oh, I know! -cue the Pokemon theme- I choose Cora and Brittany! Yes, I know it says three people on the tin but my list of blogs I follow isn’t exactly huge, so if I’m going to do all three days I need to have people to keep tagging! Of course, since the people in question are not stuffed in Pokeballs, there’s no pressure to do the tag. Gotta admit it’s fun though!

Fictional Li(v)es

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Sometimes I miss those years long gone,

When one book’s word was Gospel.

When people were just good or bad,

When morals were no concept.

 

But, pity me! I loved my books,

Perhaps more than there was reason.

I read and read and through their eyes

I saw the golden lines

That tie one’s lies to another’s truth.

 

A story’s not alive unless told,

But never two tellings are the same.

The crinkle of paper, the smell of ink,

The only constants in a mad dream.

 

The knight in black armour that as a girl,

I was both frightened and allured by,

Now to a woman he returns, still same,

Now called an archetype.

 

Animus, Trickster, Shadow self,

Serpent and Traitor, Villain, Antihero,

What does it matter what he’s called?

He haunts my every step, my djinn familiar.

 

From midnight’s furtive reads

To bookstore chance encounters

To hidden corners in a library,

Reading lists, modules, projects.

 

Some have to search for what their calling is,

Mine has been ramming at my door.

In the end all stories need be told

And even the condemned do need a voice.

In which I consider portraits

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I’ve been told by several people that I am a relatively calm, organised person and to a certain extent they are right. I try to remain calm and I certainly try to make my life easier by being organised. Unfortunately this means to any time I allow my inner panic to show, it’s not taken seriously. Truth is… I am not a calm person. I just internalise a lot, partly because I don’t like people asking me too many questions, partly because I feel the people around me have enough problems on their own, without me adding to them. Frankly, if people could hear my internal monologue (dialogue/full scale argument) at times, they’d be sure to back away…real fast. I like to blame the fact that I was born slap-bang in the heart of summer for my temper. Everything comes to boil faster when it’s hot.

It used not to bother me that people would assume I’m the accommodating one, the “mother” of any group I find myself in. I mean, I don’t mind taking care of people and I certainly enjoy the adrenalin rush of trying to coordinate multiple things at the same time. (Pre-performance and backstage work were the parts I enjoyed most when I was on my school’s theatre group.) Lately, however, I find my goodwill rapidly diminishing and what little patience I had is following swiftly. I’m so tired all the time. It’s not physical tiredness, it’s more of that soul-crashing sensation of knowing you can’t expect more from someone and yet hoping to be pleasantly surprised. And the worst part is that I know it’s all in my head.

I’ve always had trouble reading people in real life (not in stories, which is why I tend to prefer the company of a book). I make assumptions about motives and opinions and I struggle to combine my perception of a person (and the inevitable expectations that come along) with who they actually are, or at least who they perceive themselves to be. For a very long time I simply did not make the effort, after all what’s the point of getting to know people when you know for a fact that after a few years you will not see them again. (Schoolyard friendships, my left foot…) Sadly as I grew older I discovered that people can be as intriguing as books (and that came as quite the shock, let me tell you). I tried and still try to figure them out. The results are mixed at best. I’m stubborn though, so I hope eventually I’ll manage it.

So what do I do in the meantime? Especially on the days when the effort is just too much? I’ve tried different things, from long (loooooong) solitary walks to forcing myself to stay around people in a social setting and I think I may have managed to find a middle ground: I take whichever book I’m reading at the time, walk to town and sit in a cafe. That way I can be around people and get the human contact I need and at the same time I don’t actually have to pretend anything. I’ll just get a tea or a mocha or whatever tickles my fancy (which requires a mercifully small amount of words being spoken), sit back and read/people watch for a few hours. You should try it. It’s amazing how much it clears the head to take a step back and look at any given situation from the outside.

Automatic writing exercise (aka why I must not stay up late)

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It was cold, it was wet, and I wanted to punch someone. So….a typical Monday morning. The mist curled around my ankles as I leaned tiredly against the bus stop, like wet fingers crawling up my spine. Yawn after half-formed yawn I shook myself. Staying up late last night had not been a good idea but the alternative -an eight-hour roller coaster of nightmares- didn’t sound very inviting either. A shiver ran through my spine as it started to actually rain and the shadows of the nearby trees lengthened sinisterly. Great! Just what I needed! I’m running late for my class and now I’m to have an encounter with a semi-immortal being with a shtick for showy entrances before my first cup of coffee.

“I swear, whoever-you-are, if you so much as materialise a finger, I will bind you in a circle and hit you with my bag.”

I let said bag fall to the ground with an impressive THUD. The shadows shrink back to their proper place hastily and I smirk. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Nothing like the comforting wight of Shakespeare’s Complete Works to make a girl feel safe…

Pages flying everywhere…

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Last day in London and I am tireeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed! And if I were a more reasonable person that would have meant finding somewhere cosy and spending most of the day there. Did I do that? No! Bookshops to see, museum exhibitions to gawk at and, busted ankle or no busted ankle, the day was fine and I’d take advantage of that. Which is why this post will be fairly short. At this point I am too tired to even put some shoes on and walk to the corner takeaway from some dinner. Nope, it’ll be a bubblebath and early night for me, thank you very much!

My day was fairly uneventful at any case. I had breakfast at this fancy place downtown, called Kahve Dunyasi. As someone who takes her chocolate seriously I can give them my seal of approval and a double thumbs up. Plus they serve hot drinks with chocolate spoons. Chocolate spoons! How cool is that?

Not my best photo, I admit.

Not my best photo, I admit.

From then it was round two of my bookshop spree and I discovered this tiny, tucked away place, Cecil Court. Less than 50 metres long but every other shop sold books. Glee! Joy! Money spent! I regret nothing! Haha!

Cecil Court and its many bookshops.

Cecil Court and its many bookshops.

From there it was back to the tube and all the way to South Kensington for a coffee break before my ankle gave away from right under me and then off to explore the Victoria & Albert Museum. No photos taken there, sorry to  disappoint. I was too busy gawking at medieval and renaissance works of art. So I’m a sucker for all things past-1789. Sue me! Unfortunately the museum was too large and interesting. I skipped some of the collections and figured it was time for lunch when I realised that I had to sit down and rest every ten minutes. -sob-

Back to Piccadilly for me then and off to Fridays because it’s been a while since I had a proper burger and I was craving it. Luckily kitchen was slow so by the time I was done eating I felt secure walking as well. I had been meaning to have a quick look around Regent Street, not for shopping, heck I half expected to be asked to pay to look at some of those shops, just for the experience. Last time I was in London and in that area I headed straight for the H&M but this time I took my time. (And limited myself to buying only one bath bomb from Lush.) Made it all the way to Oxford Circus and then it was back to the hotel and a well-needed rest.

And on a side note addressed to the guy that tried to chat me up outside the Trocaddero today: Asking for my phone number and offering to give me a ride to the airport (not my fault he assumed I was flying home when I mentioned leaving tomorrow), while STILL not having given me your name is not going to win you points buddy! In fact it will firmly place you in the creepy-category and it will definitely NOT break my heart to tell you I’m busy tonight. Jeez! Why is it always the random guys on the street that do this and not a nice guy at my uni that I would actually been willing to date?

uuuuum...why? Just why?

uuuuum…why? Just why?

Oh, hello there! Isn't he cute?

Oh, hello there! Isn’t he cute?