Entropy- everything disintegrating around me. Notable events of the last week – bought myself a PSP – a sleek, black PSP (I can’t work out why anyone would want a white one). Currently playing Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Mother visited over the weekend – she bought me a new double bed as an early birthday present. And the debts keep accumulating. I am very behind on my IT course – I am stuck. I don’t feel as though I can (or even want to) carry on.
Archive for June, 2006
Elongated woman – a whole head taller
Than me. In this students’ kitchen
She walks in a circle and although
Distressed, we turn away, we talk
She mutters on, clutching her winter coat
It is the beginning of June
She will not stop dancing through our lives
‘I’ll never stop,’ she cries and we laugh
We stare, turn away and look back again
She is nothing like her former self
Who sucked this girl’s essence out of her
While she was sleeping?
We did not know what to do so we turn
Our backs upon her. We are afraid but will never admit it
The muttering goes on but in our eyes
This girl is a stranger among us. We force her out of our minds
Then some thick set sensible girl stands and stalks off
I feel the silk of her skirt as she passes
Hours pass and we still sit around that table
We are people made of crystal. Distorted glass.
And the dancing girl can feel our fear
Like some ferocious dog, poised to pounce
And then the doors opens and the doctors come
To drag that mad girl away
The door closes behind them and we exhale
And we collapse in a heap of shattered crystals
Onto the floor for when the mad, dancing girl has gone
There is no one left to entertain and amuse.
Class prejudice is the New Racism, it would seem. Both are bad as each other but, it seems, that, as we approach the end of the first decade of the Twenty First Century it seems as though the ‘lower classes’ are ‘fair game’ The Poll on ‘SnobsReunited’ elicited a wide range of differing responses. Hardly anyone admitted to being ‘Working Class’ Some were cheerleaders for their own class – lower-middle, middle, upper-middle. I was pleased to see some questioning the very validity of the class system.
I am one of those people who has a rather covoluted background – ostensibly, not terribly well off – but my parents own their own property and are paying the mortgage on my flat.
I tried to remain aloof from the thread but was dragged in anyway. ‘I choose not to be classified,’ was my reply. Another poster commented, ‘Don’t worry. Even if you don’t do it, someone else will do it for you.’ to which I retorted, I’m not worrying. At the moment I am in a position in employment and uni which makes it easy to dismiss the simplistic views of others. What other people think of me is none of my concern.
Besides I spent my teenage years in Youth theatre so, with me, what you see isn’t necessarily what you’ll get.
I’ve always wondered why such scorn is poured upon certain members of society for the class into which they were born – a little irrational because, as far as I am aware an individual has no control over the circumstances into which they were born. Unless you know something I don’t. Perhaps there was some kind of pre-birth gladiatorial contest, the outcome of which was to determine our status in life.
From behind the camouflage
Of my broadsheet, I watch
Dowagers devour everything
They are corpulent dressed
In a manner that fails to flatter
Those fleshed-out physiques
Pink skin spilling out,
Blistered flesh in scarlet dresses
I am a miniature doll
Through their shrill words
The world intrudes. They discuss
The latest and greatest
Their careless words are weapons,
Torpedoes that soar across the room
They are widows, they are matriarchs
And they wound
They wound, together, while I
Set myself apart for mine
Is a solitary heart and the divide
Is too wide
I saw myself in a mirror at Boots. When I was going to collect the very medication that is causing all this hideous weightgain. Embtittered and angry. Calorie counting the food in Pret a Manger. Up to the counter. The woman serving me was stick thin. A flash of envy. Then she looked up and smiled. She had a harelip. I felt awkward and guilty and all twisted up inside. Especially when she responded to me with kindness and sensitivity.
Watercolour trees in springtime
Lustrous, like puddles in the rain
We are not willing to do this again
The lambs shed their blood for us
Their bones will soon grace the table
These long days, move forward
They advance across pastures and grasslands
As we contemplate the emptiness, the distance
They call this discovery, they call this recovery
And I am the one the others look upon
Consuming me like overripe, pulpy fruit
I have flourished and then declined
But those who devour me do not seem to mind
Once refined, now decayed. They bite into me
My blood surges forth like an ocean.
I am still here. A monument to that red flood remains
Rejected by my own college or should that be ‘ejected’? No PhD there then,
Oh, well, looks like lt’s NYU!!!!!
Or Carnegie Mellon
Or Colmunbia or maybe Pulitzer Shcool of Journalism
Or maybe Colorado.
Or maybe I should lower my sites:
Any where in London (I’ve always wanted to live in London just to convice myself that I could conquer LONDON,)