Tuesday 28 November 2006

Social Obligations

I must be one of the few people at uni to say "Oh, I really should go out tonight." Yes, I have an essay to finish, but I haven't been out with my floormates for ages - they might have even forgotten how bad my dancing is by now.

But, as you can tell from this blog, I am in tonight, not out. I just can't be bothered with all the effort. To be fair, I did have four hours of solid teaching, followed by a dash home and a very quick meal before heading down to the bar to check out the hustings for the Junior Common Room Committee. So, I can't be bothered to go out a-dancin'.

Yours lazily,

B.

Monday 27 November 2006

Tomato Soup

“Blood is only blood, after all.”
So. Pour it down the sink,
Pour it on the desert floor,
Pour it on the bones of a man
Dead for a thousand years.

I wrote that poem after pouring a bowl of disgusting tomato soup down the sink. I was feeling pretty down anyway, but the soup just finished things off. It meant I actually had to cook. Still, is there any excuse for something that sounds so teen angsty? It's still something I'm struggling with. I suppose the answer is just to keep reading, to understand how other people express these things.

Tired tonight,

B.

All work and no play

It's amazing. I actually did some work today. Despite my best procrastinatory (is that a real word?) efforts, I wrote 1000 words about motivations to violence in Shakespearean England. Exciting, no?

I also attended a lecture, resolved to watch Black Books on Youtube and played the guitar a lot. I am trying to refine my acoustic version of 'The Mercy Seat' by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, but the walls between the bedrooms are really thin, and I don't want other people to hear my amateurish vocals. I don't mind them hearing me play the guitar, because I am reasonably good at that, but singing is a leap into the unknown.

Talking of which, we're going carol singing around town soon. Methinks a couple of Yuletide whiskeys might be in order before that.

Cin cin,

B.

Sunday 26 November 2006

Invocation

Ripped sharply from the edges of sleep,
I hear the crowds beneath my window.

The sounds inside the room die down,
Flare up, then stop.

As if in some ancient tapestry, the moon,
The stars devour your skin.
The grass eats your soul,
Every blade takes a bite.

I read of scarecrows,
Guarding the cliff top fields,
But now they are gone.
The mariner’s seagulls have flown,
And the first frost creeps on the window pane
Like a quiet invasion of tiny stars.

B.

Impressions


Who are you, who sleep alone
While the dream ship waits beside your bed?
You start awake, and turn your face
To chase the sunflower’s petalled head.
Who are you, who raise your eyes
And lift your arms into the sky?
And who are you, whose waxen wings
Are cold, and unprepared to die?

Who am I, who sleep alone
Long after all the ships have gone?
I start awake, and turn my eyes,
To see the dusk but not the dawn.
Who am I, who raise my face
Into a sky all filled with rain?
And who am I, afraid to fly
Lest I should fall to earth again?

B.

Saturday 25 November 2006

Sweet Dreams

I had the most bizarre dream last night.

It was like being in some fantasy novel, with huge, artificial scenery all around. There were castles, ziggurats and forests, all solid, but with a tinge of unreality about them, and I had a feeling that something was about to happen.

Suddenly, hundreds of creatures came streaming down the castle walls and through the forests towards me. There were strange lizards and birds and indescribable things. I tried to pick up weapons that I found on the floor, but they kept snapping, and I found spears and tridents, but they were all blunt and useless.

I ran, and ended up in a little building, perhaps a cottage, with these things all around outside. I could see them through the window, and they began to throw things at the glass. Then the glass broke and I woke up.

It's frustrating in a way, I would have liked to know what happened next.

B.

Friday 24 November 2006

Lingua Mortuus

Ego sum Bookworm. Bookworm est iratus. "Jesu!" Clamat Bookworm. Latinus Bookwormum superavit.

Safe as Houses

Next year, I will be shunted from cosy university accomodation into a shared house, which is going to be a lot of hassle.

My problem is as follows: There is a person on my floor whom nobody particularly likes (including me, although I do sometimes feel a bit sorry for him). He seems to think that I am his friend, although I have given him a decidedly lukewarm reception. What happens if everyone else tries to avoid living with him next year? They will, perhaps, make it clear that they dislike him. It is virtually impossible to refuse someone something like that without offending them. Am I going to be stuck with someone I dislike for another year, simply due to politeness?

Social Etiquette, thou art a cruel mistress.

B.

A day in the life...

What a bloody farce. I returned from my seminar to find the kitchen knee-deep in poorly defrosted raw turkey. Apparently, it's for thanksgiving. We have an American student with us, so we are all celebrating it this year, but the girls who were trying to prepare the turkeys were a little squeamish. All, that is, except for L, "The Butcher", who was really getting into things. It looked like the Somme, but with marginally less mud.

I just went around pouring boiling water on everything to assuage the collective salmonella paranoia. A day in the life of our kitchen, and that's before we've even eaten and created the inevitable Everest of washing up. If I'd wanted massacres and mountaineering, I would have joined the Outdoor Society.

B.

The First Post

So, here it is. Contrary to popular attitudes, I'm not going to spend ages wittering on about the fact that this is my first post. In fact, I think I'm finished.

I don't have long to write this, as my seminar starts in 45 minutes, so I'll just write whatever I feel like. Fortunately, I finished cobbling together my 500 word case study yesterday, so it has been a relaxed morning, and after my 1 hour seminar, it will surely be a relaxing afternoon, too. Ah, the life of a history student.

I have been at the University of York for almost 8 weeks now, and have begun to write this blog beause I have been told that it is the best way to start if you are thinking of a career in writing. So, please read me, O reading public, leave comments, and I hope you like the way things go.

That's all for now,

B.