?

Log in

D.
14 April 2015 @ 03:35 pm
As much as I'm less than fond of Julian's music, one must admit that the title he thinks suits me so well - "Savages", by that Marina girl - carries a lyrical message I can indeed agree with.

Perhaps he does not misunderstand me as much as I previously thought. ;)
 
 
D.
25 January 2015 @ 12:29 am
Mmm.  
The perfect ending to a day.

Chocolates and two alcoholic drinks.

Chocolates have been appropriately thanked by letter, for those wondering.
 
 
Current Mood: contentcontent
 
 
D.
08 December 2014 @ 12:59 am
Ah, to be in love.

How tender it looks from the outside.
 
 
D.
10 October 2014 @ 11:15 pm
Once I thought London a constant. Its great beastly workings growled with organic mechanism which seemed unstoppable, a perfect matrimony to the great march of onslaughting technology. Its inhabitants, minor as they were on individual reckoning, became en-masse the veins and blood vessels of this magnificent creature, the City. London in all it harboured beneath its great wings and in the sputtering underbelly of industry glowed with the bright light of immortality.

Its changes were subtle, but many, fusing into a perfect timeline of indistinguishable events from which a lifeline could not be untangled. Does a flea, surrounded by the dog-fur on which it lives, notice that the dog has grown old? Does it see that its coat is now greyer than the days of yore? Does it spot these things among the impenetrable forest of hairs in which it has made its home? A flea can no more see the hulking mass of that canine grow weak and alter than can a Londoner, wrapped up in her mother's streets and bustling activities, see the land upon which she stands sink a little further into the dark chasm which has already swallowed up the cobbles of Vikings, Romans, Elizabethans, civilizations which once thought themselves as unending as the ones we find ourselves in now.

London is not the same as I remember it. I confess, as every young person I found it immeasurable, unable even to consider its presence as a concrete abstract, let alone its absence in a theoretical world of future intent, under a society which would care nothing for what we had once endured. We are now, or were, mere eccentricities of the past. My London and my people are lost to an unnoticed death, a silent slipping sideways to join the layers of those before us. It lives now unrecognisable but for the worn features of its faces, Big Ben chiming mournfully for a grave it does not know it grieves, Grosvenor Square now embittered to newer residents in the teeth of its borders.

I thought my time a constant. I thought there would never come a moment when I did not feel at home in my city. Upon occasion, I linger my hand on a well-hewn wall with its years of servitude and I feel the echoes of that creature I found so familiar, whispering up unto me from its burial, calling me back to my remembrances and twisting something deep and naive in my heart. 'Oh, London,' I whisper, with the only reverence left in my black soul, and I feel it hum back, weaker still than even the shadows of ghosts.

We stand a moment still; myself, and the London of my memories that once cradled me in its cruel and unforgiving mistressy, and we give a thought to the tubes of smoke and clacking hoofbeats that christened daily the heart of Queen Victoria's capital. I weep dry for the home I cannot return to.
 
 
D.
29 September 2014 @ 02:43 pm
Do you know what bothers me? When people blithely assume that because you have not spoken to them in many months, that you have somehow ceased to be. My dear woman, if you wished to speak with me so much all you need do is ask. After all, I yet live. What bemuses me all the further is that she has barely spoken to Julian in that time so to assert the assumption that Julian - or even worse, that one of our newer members - has become Top Dog simply because... Because, is insulting beyond all belief. 

I still live. Frankly I'd be damned well sure that no-one could push me out before my time, thank you very much. And for what concern it is, I've been talking with many people, merely not people who are you

Eugh. I just hate it when I am constantly dismissed, shrugged off as one would shrug off an unfashionable jacket. For God's sake, don't doubt my spirit to live. I hate this stupid fictional business continually creating an artificial sense that my acquaintances ought to assume I should vanish at a moment's notice. If anything, I am a greater presence here than both our newer members. I have been here for years without disappearing. I probably could not leave even if I wanted to. 

Disgusting.
 
 
Current Mood: annoyedannoyed
 
 
 
D.
21 September 2014 @ 10:53 am
That is all. 
 
 
Current Mood: happydelighted
 
 
D.
13 August 2014 @ 12:00 pm
England, in this great fight to which you go
Because, where Honour calls you, go you must,
Be glad, whatever comes, at least to know
You have your quarrel just.

Peace was your care; before the nations’ bar
Her cause you pleaded and her ends you sought;
But not for her sake, being what you are,
Could you be bribed and bought.

Others may spurn the pledge of land to land,
May with the brute sword stain a gallant past;
But by the seal to which you set your hand,
Thank God, you still stand fast!

Forth, then, to front that peril of the deep
With smiling lips and in your eyes the light,
Steadfast and confident, of those who keep
Their storied ’scutcheon bright.

And we, whose burden is to watch and wait,—
High-hearted ever, strong in faith and prayer,—
We ask what offering we may consecrate,
What humble service share.

To steel our souls against the lust of ease;
To bear in silence though our hearts may bleed;
To spend ourselves, and never count the cost,
For others’ greater need;—

To go our quiet ways, subdued and sane;
To hush all vulgar clamour of the street;
With level calm to face alike the strain
Of triumph or defeat;

This be our part, for so we serve you best,
So best confirm their prowess and their pride,
Your warrior sons, to whom in this high test
Our fortunes we confide.

(Owen Seaman. August 12, 1914.)

This spoke words to me.
 
 
Current Mood: mellowsombre
 
 
D.
11 April 2014 @ 09:46 pm
Bored bored bored bored bored. 
Tags:
 
 
Current Mood: boredbored
 
 
D.
22 January 2014 @ 06:16 pm
I wonder how old I am.

Ugh, no, don't.
 
 
D.
14 January 2014 @ 11:08 pm
Yes, fine, I admit it: I would like Victor back, too. Happy now, Julian?