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INFORMATION

Someone speaks softly through the horror and pain:
'Love has gone, but it could come again.'
Spring arrives quietly, warming her skin
Her heart, now red, is beating again
- Hannah Fury, 'Someone Speaks Softly'

Not a writer but a professional student. Instead I can be the jaded passer-by that caught a glimpse of a fling or a fatal mistake, a murder in the back alley, and I keep it all to myself so I don't lose any of it during the spilling from heart to paper on an unimaginary dark night. I write opinions, facts, emotions and other satisfied sentences that are the offspring of my imagination and external influences. And I do not need your validation to live, for the record.

CONTACT

FS/augustkills
FP/thepapercult
LJ/snipethedoctor
WP/electricsleeves

CREDITS

Icon: DW/tablesaw
Layout: tuesdaynight
Inspiration: DayBefore!Misery
Stresses and books.
Written on: Friday, January 8, 2010
Time: 11:27 PM

Dated: 10 July 2009
No, I am not stressed. Rather, I am...

I have been looking for words to replace that lately. Somehow I feel that 'stressed' isn't the right word to use in the case of myself. That word conjures up a protagonist at her wits' end, and nothing could help her out of her messes. Her heart is knotted into itself like a ball of yarn gone awry that someone had tried unsuccessfully to put it back together. the only possible actions she could take would simply worsen her dismal plight, hence she has decided on the least harmful: sitting at her desk, moping with her face in her hands.

Which is, as she knows, ineffective anyway.

But, as I had reasoned to myself countless times, I am not a picture of dull despair. Not always, for I have my own moments when I wished I was behind closed doors and alone, but not to the extend where I would shriek, call my friends up, shriek some more on the phone and shatter their brief moment of peace. Even so, surprisingly, this description even seems understated when compared to some others. I wouldn't even scream.

My stress (all of a sudden the keenness to spill it out on the pavement is overwhelming) reflected in my view, with the uncomprehended thoughts chained to it cut away, is plainly fear. Trepidation of a major examination inching ever nearer and myself, jammed into a tight corner and watching its advance helplessly. It's like being in a ship with a threatening kraken under the waters, or a lamb hiding in the bush in the path of a ravenous lion, hoping with every beat of its tiny heart that it wouldn't be spotted and its heart'll lie in shreds. How many masks can this often underestimated emotion wear? At times she seems so harmless, but when she hears your shields drop she'll come at you, all spindly fingers and bloodlust.

Especially today. I tried assuring myself that the Additional Math mock exam is nothing but just a serious bit of practice, but as much as I looked as the epitome of calmness, I. Just. Wasn't. I could be fooling myself for all I--No, I think I was. Sometimes I think it boils down to not how I feel, but how convinced I am.

I still dislike people who scream for the slightest things. I know I'm susceptible to that, but as much as I can help it, the battle rages on the inside of the closet doors. What is wrong with keeping your anxiety away from crowds? Let it through the back door; to a carnival, a rifle ranch, or out on the streets where it gleefully feeds on imaginary, unsuspecting souls. Rather than making my windows rattle.

Being nice is nice, but after a while, my facial muscles ache. Still, I will try, if you say it suits me.

On a brighter note, I am looking forward to reading The Chemistry of Death this evening as it elevates stress. My first proper reading session! since I snatched reading time from between precious subject periods yesterday just to complete Let The Right One In as it was already overdue. Thoughts? Besides the fact the that author's name still escapes me, and the translator's name isn't prominently featured on the cover, I like the dreamy-yet-factual tones of the whole book. Even when the characters are angered, the pure rage doesn't seep through the pages, instead I felt it was akin to watching the whole scene from behind glass. Its potrayal is beautifully intense, yet it doesn't run away from the snow-heavy, poetic, slightly-somber atmosphere of Stockholm. Scenes of Eli and Oskar together throughout the book are beautifully echoed by the strains of Hannah Fury's The Vampire Waltz I played in the background. All in all, it's an unforgettable comparable classic romance that I actually like.

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Literally.
Time: 11:23 PM

Dated: 11 July 2009
Hannah Fury, Emilie Autumn and a hefty dosage of Neil Gaiman's work is the perfect concoction for another short story, but as it uplifts and gives hope it also tells me my talent would never match up to those authors/poets. Like I mentioned to a friend, 'Neil's a genius'.

I wish my way with words would be just as admiring, but I think not. They give me the impression they've been writing since the day they found out that moving a pencil in a structured direction produces a letter, and many repeated similar actions produce words. Well, if only life was better. Then again, without cruelty nothing could be accomplished. Hannah Fury is the perfect lovelorn, jaded poet who seems to know everything and deeper and sings about it in her whispery vocals. Emilie Autumn is the Victorian revolutionist, pretty and frightening in a thrilling way, with lace, blood and surprises in store. Her outbursts of emotion are far more outspoken: while she screams, Hannah's voice trembles quietly in the background. Blood will spill at her feet, but in Hannah's case it seeps through the carpet, soaking like wine.

I came up with another plot an hour before this, but woe, I won't be able to finish it till come December. It's depressing, but priorities are after all, priorities. I've taken an enormous amount of effort to push its beckoning tendrils away to a corner. It'll stew a little further till it's perfectly preserved and ready. Meanwhile the only thing I allow myself to do is to sketch out its structure, minute character details and some useless setting information, preserving it's nature, so it'll be the way it is when revisited. I wonder how Peishwen does it. If she was in my place, she would have finished the whole shebang there and then, no questions asked, no lingering doubts.

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