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A requiem for adamantine Mnemosyne. - http://turkeyphant.livejournal.com/
A requiem for adamantine Mnemosyne.
I'd loathe to devote another desultory entry to the memory of that girl, but I wanted to write something because, even though there's nothing of any merit to mention, it's been far too long.

___________


Sunday, 15th December. 00:08.

Lambent moonlight flickered gently over the tiny puddles that were formed by minute pits in the slightly uneven cemented ground. Far away, a train siren sounded somewhere among thickly wooded dells, and the sound of distant parties; rowdy but jolly with all the cheer of Christmas, was just reaching my ears.

It made me remember, made me think back to a time, about two weeks ago, when I was still at school. I was sitting at my desk, concentrating on the whirring hum of a computer's fan - the music and laughter streaming through the window from outside meant I didn't want to put any mp3s on. What I was thinking about and feeling; I had experienced phenomena like this many times before. My dreams had twisted away, rolling into carbon smoke from an extinguished match. I knew that out there, just beyond my reach, were people having fun and enjoying themselves - people I see every day but who I will never know.

It seemed our house was the only one not allowed a proper Christmas party this year. And, cruel world that it is, it would only have been shared with Philly's house. But still, this wasn't what made me feel so upset and such an overwhelming sensation of loneliness. It wasn't only me that was missing out on a few glasses of cheap supermarket wine and a shifting of the feet to the latest Now That's What I Call Music compilation album and hired disco lights. I felt lonely because, again, I was reminded how woefully I failed to fit in at this horrid place. How I had so few friends who I desperately clung on to with those chipped nails, and how I found it so difficult to be accepted through the strong bonds formed over the years. I want to meet new people, and vowed to really make an effort.

But I have been making effort all the time, and I still find it impossibly hard. There's no use blaming it on them, saying they have an élitist attitude and that they're all posh snobs. It's not them, it's me, and I can't change myself, so I don't know what to do. I'm not the most labile person ever, but I never even thought I'd be this bad. I didn't ever expect to reach the highest echelons of the social ladder, but believed I may get a grasp of the first rung. Even when I'm not feeling too depressed to acknowledge anyone else, I find it so hard to engage people in conversation and say the right thing in firmly established groups of friends.

And, as always, it seems to come back to one person in the end.


I was still there at the train station. Blurred by soft drizzle, playful and hoydenish shrieks ring out down the empty platform. The sound waves whooped gracefully through the air, passing through thousands of minute ethereal raindrops and the flexible perspex scarred by adolescents' etchings I'm leaning my head against. I looked back, peering through the steamy, water-smeared glass, and watched the three beaming teenagers prance along beside me.

I was smiling to myself as they trailed off, beaten by the train's acceleration. I watched those three people gradually fade away into the damp evening mist, and I was gleeful and happy. All this, even though I could no longer see their outlines as they inevitably turned back and headed toward the ramshackle exit, my momentary role played out and forgotten. No; right then for that fleeting ephemeron, I was happy deep inside because, at that very time, I truly felt that I was loved for the first time in ages.

I was smiling because I knew people still cared.

Royal yuletide gift

Yes, I really enjoyed Saturday night. It was unspectacular and disorganised, but I slept that night feeling good about myself. I'm content with that.

It started with David losing because he dragged us across the dreary town despite innumerable protests from me. I had just met Catriona (and Lois's) friend named Tara. When we arrived at a predictably empty Red Chris's house, I was perhaps a little harsh on him, but we had trudged through nearly a mile of freezing puddles to the benefit of no one.

However, when we arrived all the way back again and walked through the door into the noisy warmth, it really was a "nice" atmosphere. Mafro talked to me and, despite my barely-concealed spite, Chown wasn't being the sort of vicious wanker I'd learned to anticipate. We got up and jumped across town through the dark streets feeling like the coolest people in the world, even though we were only running away from Pendy.

Mr. O'Brien was in the same pub as us and Mafro got served with his cut-out-and-keep cereal packet fake ID complete with grade-school spelling errors. I talked to TD about the bnad and cussed their demo tape for no reason other than that is what is expected from me. I had a conversation with Robert (possibly about younger sisters) and, when I glanced over at Ian manifestly flirting with young Tara, it felt just like old times. I drolly joked as though I felt I was five again - it was good to see everyone.

As I sat, glass in my hand and full of pretension, I felt I could flowingly opine about anything and all the adults around me would listen. I was mesmerised by the amazing double bassist with an über-fast magic strummy hand playing inches in front of me and I no longer felt like the ignorant young teenager who relies on his parents for lifts into the nearest town. Casually asking Daws for a pint, I was surprised when he actually bought me one. But I saw why when, looking across at Suda in his arms, they truly looked happy together (at last). Trying not to sound overly full of condescension, it seems he has grown up a little too.

Still, I did fell somewhat left out and rejected as an outsider in some groups - they were a little élitist. I was annoyed by Hugh, because he won't speak to me anymore. That, and I can't feel for him what I would consider to be enough. It's sad: he seemed to resent my presence but I really want to make an effort for him because I know I would care. Of course he'd care too, just I don't want to do anything wrong. I have never known who he is at all. We were never proper friends, but even though I'd like to think I could help, I don't know what to do. I should really have gotten him a present.

But anyway, what sentiment remained with me most of all from that evening was from when David, Catriona and Tara waited with me at the station for a train that came late. What I will remember most fondly from that night was when they ran down alongside the train track after me, expressions of glee and ear-to-ear radiant floodlit smiles that melted the chilling rain spread across their faces as they skipped down the yellow line.

I will remember that I smiled too.

Laconic reminiscing

Amongst the smorgasbord of emotions aroused, I'm not sure what going back to Reigate on Friday made me feel. In some ways I wistfully yearned after the days I remember having there (through rose spectacles), and in others, it's no different to where I am now. I can see myself continuing to slowly rot away there, learning nothing that matters and just wallowing in the lack of emotional challenge and change. The worn-out triteness of everyday life and the bitter bromide of such boring people mean that vital parts begin to shut down through lack of use.

The new people seem interesting, though - the fit twins live up to their appellation and Hannah was sweet. Even the hilarious kaplan.com raised a smirk and brought back memories of an era now passed but which began so long ago. I remember so many great times. Hah, I even just thought back to the awesome time I had at the end of the fourth year after I was in the park with Lois, and Jen divulged her secrets to me in the only time we've ever really spoken. I remember not ever getting to know people like Arthur. Oh, tempus fugit... The trouble is, I can't see myself gaining anything from remaining in that place. Even though it's the hard way, I can see that I may learn some valuable lessons where I am now. Back at Reigate, I would only get bitter and jealous at Sam's seduction of Alice Art Woman.

It was interesting to note how greatly one's relationship with teaching staff changes after leaving around my age bracket. Mr. Russell was still a gimp, but it was a novel experience talking to Mr. Matthews as an adult. Not only as an adult, but as a friend - there was no need for the array of conversational macros utilised with friends of parents. I could almost invite him down the pub for a drink round the fire some winter's evening. But still, there was some strange awkwardness around him and I felt strangely uncomfortable talking to Mr. Tinney again after he had shaken my hand.

Punitive Melodrama

But now, I'm still annoyed because, even though I recognise its inconceivability, if I saw Philly right now and she said she cared again, I'd instantly forgive her and, unquestioning, start on up the astatic sand stairs all over again. It makes me hate myself even though, now I think about it, she probably has far more reasons to hate me than I her. What a pathetic little boy I am...

But perhaps it's no so bad after all. What sort of person am I if I am unable to forgive and forget? Okay, scratch the forget part. But I can't help feeling just a little tragic and pitiable because I let people trample all over me again and again (or do I make them?) just because I can't curb my emotions effectively. I remember back in that journal entry when I wrote, "i will want this girl for as long as i live or until i hate her. there is no grey in between."

There's one last anecdotal interlocution I have to tell of:

I was at supper on the Monday evening after they had retuned from the fabulous two night England fencing trials. Sitting down near Rob Jennings, I said "Hello Robert," then blithely asked with complete innocence, "how did the fencing go?"

"Superb," he said, full of pompous public schoolboy charm, "I had sex with Philippa five times."

I instantly died, as though his licentious quip had been an expertly measured epée strike to the chest. When I could look back up again to feign impassivity, he had already turned away to make jokes with others; I was instantly forgotten. I was sure he must have known exactly what effect saying that to me would have. I didn't finish my food, but meekly went straight back to my room to nurse my re-opened wounds and deep bruises. Being familiar with the way my life seems to go, with the knack she has of hurting me, I wasn't even sure that he was joking.

And still, I'm living my life to someone else's tune.

___________


Lancinating words from the soul

The lyrics alone on a computer screen aren't really done justice, but anyway I'll make you look at them. This song is something special; the hypnotic-but-haunting voice, the angelic tune and the words combine to create something as irreproachably perfect and beautiful as a human being. A real person with a tarred, coal-black heart.

A devilish light traps, defines my shape.
Oh, you are easier than me.
Oh me; envious, naked and strong:
Envious, and different in time.
What brings you back to me again?
Again, oh.

You touched my life this way.
I don't know you,
You said I was
You said I was beautiful.
And then you let everyone touch you;
I don't know who.

You say, "Don't you know, I'm happy for your sake,
Can't you see - it's easier for me?"
Everyone, everyone could tell me it's true.
Everyone, everyone but me.
What takes you away from me?
So soon, so...
You're taking it all away.

I don't know you,
But you said I was,
You said I was beautiful.
And then you let everyone touch you;
I don't know who.

Come down, down, down.
Ribbons;
They're falling down.
And they're loosening around my neck.
Inside bloated seeds of silence is you,
The sound of beauty's song;
A heart broken on a jagged edge.
A heart broken on your unkempt melody and face.
My love, disentangle me.
I don't know you.
If you see me, unable to see from miles away,
The beauty of me.

I feel like I could be hanging on your door,
I know I'll never have your soul,
But say we'll always be good friends,
Say that you'll always be...
I feel like I could be hanging on your door,
I know I'll never have your soul,
But say we'll always be good friends,
Say that you'll always be...
I feel like I could be hanging on your door,
I never I'll never have your soul,
But say we'll always be good friends,
Say that you'll always be here.
I was contemplating incurring the wrath of my parents by asking if I could go out on Friday night - one of the last chances before relatives start tumbling through the door. The only TV I wanted to get back for is Jools Holland, but I could record that, and Daws had promised me fit people and naked pictures of his sister. But, doubtless, that will be a let down as always. I decided not to bother - it's too much trouble and it's raining. It's all been heard before.

I'm eating a fruit scone - it's a little dry.

    mood: insipid
    choon: Carina Round – Ribbons
Comments
From:ickleprincess [.]
Posted: Friday 27th December, 2002 at 14:28.24
 Re: What the hell did that mean?
Was that my name?
From:amoe [.]
Posted: Friday 27th December, 2002 at 14:34.42
 Re: What the hell did that mean?

Do you know anyone else named Helen who works in a charity shop?

From:ickleprincess [.]
Posted: Friday 27th December, 2002 at 14:55.57
 Re: What the hell did that mean?
Actually, yes. I am known as Saturday Helen as there is an old(er) lady called Helen who also works at Marie Curie.
From:turkeyphant [.]
Posted: Saturday 28th December, 2002 at 07:31.03
 You mean Helen Welen...
The Oxfam bookstore isn't any old charity shop. Sure, it may not have the entire Brer Fox collection, but it does rock abnormally large Christmas-decorated bells.
for $44 | anyone can conceive a god on video