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[Occupation: a) English Literature, b) Philosophy, c) Creative Writing student]
[Career Prospects: Starving to Death, as a result of a), b), and c)]
[Runs #pointlessfactsbelowrammpics / #messerstein / #tillchardfans]
The cat walked stiffly round a leg of the table with tail on high.
—O, there you are, Mr Bloom said, turning from the fire.
The cat mewed in answer and stalked again stiffly round a leg of the table, mewing. Just how she stalks over my writingtable. Prr. Scratch my head. Prr.
Mr Bloom watched curiously, kindly the lithe black form. Clean to see: the gloss of her sleek hide, the white button under the butt of her tail, the green flashing eyes. He bent down to her, his hands on his knees.
—Milk for the pussens, he said.
—Mrkgnao! the cat cried.
They call them stupid. They understand what we say better than we understand them. She understands all she wants to. Vindictive too. Cruel. Her nature. Curious mice never squeal. Seem to like it. Wonder what I look like to her. Height of a tower? No, she can jump me.
—Afraid of the chickens she is, he said mockingly. Afraid of the chookchooks. I never saw such a stupid pussens as the pussens.
Cruel. Her nature. Curious mice never squeal. Seem to like it.
—Mrkrgnao! the cat said loudly.
She blinked up out of her avid shameclosing eyes, mewing plaintively and long, showing him her milkwhite teeth. He watched the dark eyeslits narrowing with greed till her eyes were green stones. Then he went to the dresser, took the jug Hanlon’s milkman had just filled for him, poured warmbubbled milk on a saucer and set it slowly on the floor.
—Gurrhr! she cried, running to lap.
He watched the bristles shining wirily in the weak light as she tipped three times and licked lightly. Wonder is it true if you clip them they can’t mouse after. Why? They shine in the dark, perhaps, the tips. Or kind of feelers in the dark, perhaps.
He listened to her licking lap. Ham and eggs, no. No good eggs with this drouth. Want pure fresh water. Thursday: not a good day either for a mutton kidney at Buckley’s. Fried with butter, a shake of pepper. Better a pork kidney at Dlugacz’s. While the kettle is boiling. She lapped slower, then licking the saucer clean. Why are their tongues so rough? To lap better, all porous holes. Nothing she can eat? He glanced round him. No."
- from ‘Ulysses’, by James Joyce
(Reading this during what little leisure time I have. ‘Mrkrgnao’ is a very strange and yet affecting way of putting it)
"And that one-" Richard stretches his arm out towards a tiny bundle of leaves in a slightly-cracked pot. The plant in question is actually behind the counter, just out of reach, but that only means that he can lean towards the younger man, just so- "what’s that called?”
And then the magic is broken as Flake frowns at him and moves away, taking down the pot. “This one isn’t for sale,” he says, almost crossly, as he enters the small office and clears a space by the windowsill for the plant to go in; Richard has a full view of everything because the room is just that small and open, and even as the keyboardist sets down the pot and emerges he can see the sunlight streaking against its tiny leaves. “the shop doesn’t deal in those, I found it abandoned by the road - I’d like to find out who did that and give them a good talking to, they’re expensive in Germany.”
"That doesn’t answer my question, Flake."
The younger man gives him a slightly exasperated look, but his obligation as a florist takes over and he moves to lean against the counter again, deep in thought. “Begonia,” he says, peeling off his gloves and laying them (one atop the other) on the counter. His hands look softer and paler than the usual, somehow, perhaps by virtue of having been hidden all this time. “they aren’t native to Germany or even much of the western hemisphere, I think this particular species-” his fingers tap out a slow, lazed rhythm, evenly-cut fingernails making a soft clicking noise with each tap. He can’t keep his fingers still, Richard notes to himself, paying more attention to his hands than the actual explanation that he asked for. He’s a pianist and keyboardist first and foremost, he belongs with us, not here. “-comes from China and Japan. So quite a rare customer. I’d be very disappointed if we couldn’t save it. These are quite tender, they need plenty of sun and if you give them too much water their roots rot away and then they die.”
Richard lets out a low whistle. “You knew all of that when you rescued it?”
"Quite a lot of work, this begonia. Though if anyone could save it it’s probably you, what with you taking on so many responsibilities and still balancing them so perfectly."
Richard’s principle is that to get anyone to do anything, one must always coax them into the mood; and really, why wouldn’t he compliment Flake? It’s by no means false that he’s being sensible and splitting his time between rehearsals and work, instead of gambling his everything into a band that’s not guaranteed to succeed. (He has to grant that point, as much as he hates to acknowledge it.) Richard really has to wonder how the man even finds time to sleep, but at the same time, it is quite admirable. But time is running out, and he needs to decide. Either Flake joins, or they quickly discover a conflict in interests and can seek another keyboardist before it is too late. Richard wouldn’t have dreamt of trying to take the florist job away from him if he was absolutely reliant on it to survive (in which case that’s fair enough that he won’t commit to Rammstein) but he knows that this is not the case.
In his mind, this casual compliment is the first step to softening Flake’s demeanor and eventually gaining a full commitment out of him. The reality is that Flake takes off his glasses and just surveys him with his own severe, icy-blue eyes in response.
"I know someone who’s even more of a piece of work,” he says coolly. “I’ve answered three questions and that’s quite enough from you, Herr, and I don’t believe that you’re here to buy anything. If you won’t help me earn my living - well, then. Good afternoon. Hinaus!”
Then he puts his glasses and gloves back on, and turns his back on Richard to help a customer who’s just entered. The older man fails to get another word out of him afterwards, and leaves the shop five minutes later, flustered and very annoyed about being back to square one.
Dear person I'm jealous of
Dear me, as a child,
Stop smiling. I don’t know what you’re so happy about. You’re not going to be happy for much longer. Why are you smiling? Oh, that’s right, because you’re both foolish (because you’re a child) and you reside in a past that must have been happier than my current situation. I wish I could warn you sincerely and stop you getting hurt, but on one hand, I want to leave you be just so I’m not the only one who ended up with scars. Because it’s unfair that only I suffered.
Surely you understand.
The faintest possibility exists that you are going about life with no regrets at all about what you did to our sham of a family. In that case, I envy you. I only wish I could go about life that obliviously.
Dear loving friends who aren’t immediately suffering,
I’m not so callous as to imply that you never suffer. Suffering is the human condition. But I envy you most terribly for not immediately feeling this horrid angst, or even if you do, for being able to conceal it so well.
Dear fellow students who are richer than I,
Your/your family’s earnings are directly in GBP. I come from a country where most everything costs 4-5 times less than in England. It is no small feat in my country to have the kind of wealth to send a child abroad for so long. But every now and then I am reminded of the inferiority and shudder.
Dear millions of better writers than myself,
I fear you and love you at the same time. I don’t know what to feel about this combination and wonder if you look at other writers and feel the exact same.
Dear doctoral student tutors who are in charge of our university tutorials,
How can you be so admirably resolute and so full of purpose in this meaningless world?
How can you be so optimistic about mankind?
How can you be so happy?
Dear reader who may be reading this in utter revulsion,
Believe me, I would love to share your feelings! I’m full of envy and guilt over feeling said envy, then I become irrationally angry and sad as a result. I’m a swiss salad of negative emotions. The fact that you’d be revolted at reading this would imply that you don’t agree with my negativity, which would imply that you possess positivity, and that is what I’d love more than anything to have!
But you don’t honestly mean to tell me that you’ve never felt envy like this in your life? As I said before, suffering is the human condition; this monster is within all of us. If you’ve ever felt as envious as I, you have no right to judge me, you, hypocrite lecteur, — mon semblable, — mon frère!
My maths teacher tells us bad maths-related jokes and i feel you might appreciate: e^x goes to a party with his friend x^2. After they've been there an hour or so, x^2 wanders away from a conversation to find e^x standing all by himself in a corner, looking rather downcast and lonely. She asks him what's wrong, and he sighs and replies, 'it's like this at every party! I try my best to integrate myself but nothing ever happens...' BA-DOOM-TSSSHH :D
bwahahahaha that was just what I needed after half a week of hardcore literary analysis :DDDD
Leave your stories in my ask, I’m really curious to know!
SERIOUSLY WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE AND WHY ARE THERE SO MANY OF YOU
I am I admit curious to know.
i swear to god i got an essay to do and now you’ve opened the floodgates
finding well written fanfiction for your OTP
finding out it’s multichapter AND completed
finding out there’s smut in every chapter and it still maintains plot
As I promised, I share links on translation with you: http://reesh.diary.ru/p193310515.htm - my blog, http://ficbook.net/readfic/1413635 - my page on ficbook. Thank you for this great peace of fanfiction, I really enjoyed working on it!
Much apologies, Fraunebel, I’ve been up to my eyeballs in work! >_<
I visited both sites and can only assume that reception has been good from the amount of comments XD This would not have been done without an excellent translation.
Please feel free to translate more of my works :3 Thank you very much!
Dear future me
Dear future me,
Don’t procrastinate. You already don’t, but there was a time when you did and it was hellish. And I wouldn’t say that I shed that habit entirely. You’ll be wiser.
Look up that recipe for macarons. You’re going to make them at some point in the future, I’ll be damned if you never manage that.
Don’t be sad about not being able to see NIN during May (darned exam periods!) 2014. You saw NIN’s second concert after their long hiatus, before they even came to the USA and Europe back in summer. Also you ain’t missing Rammstein. It could be worse.
Keep up on your Knowledge/Reality readings. That module is kicking my ass now. Let’s not make that the two of us.
Email your dad more often. I like to think that reconcilation and full acceptance is not an option closed off at this point.
Eat healthy. Bring a duster when you volunteer in the Philosophy Departmental Library because these books are so damn old and flaking everywhere. Look at Till’s poems now and then. Don’t give up. Love yourself a little bit. Love your friends. You have plenty. And lastly don’t forget that people love you. You forget that very important fact every couple of years. It’s paramount that you keep that in mind otherwise your past will come back to haunt you over and over and you’ll never be able to silence your demons.
I still haven’t, but even as I write this I am fading into the past. I didn’t specifiy a time where you come into existence and then fade away, your momentary life rounded with a sleep. You will always be full of potential. We haven’t even met yet and I think I like you.
That’s more than what Kimby-in-the-distant-past did for me. If nothing else, keep that in mind.
I will write about the following. Leave one in my ask box:
Dear person I hate,
Dear person I like,
Dear ex boyfriend,
Dear ex girlfriend,
Dear ex bestfriend,
Dear future me,
Dear past me,
Dear person I’m jealous of,
Dear person I had a crush on,
Dear [future] girlfriend,
Dear [future] boyfriend,
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