(no subject)

[minervasolo]

So I went to bed last night, got up, turned on the desk light and scribbled down the first four lines of the following. I love random midnight inspiration.


I'm standing in a street in Amsterdam
And I'm wondering who I am.
I'm standing with my arms spread wide
Trying hard to crush this feeling inside.

I'm sitting on a road in Tokyo
Sometimes thinking yes, sometimes no.
Sitting with the world passing by
Some times I want to laugh and others cry.

I'm walking down a causeway in Milan
Stepping from the girl to the woman.
I'm walking with my head thrown back
And making no attempt my path to track.

I'm pausing in the centre of London
Thinking of the things that I have done.
I'm pausing, free to move again
When I so choose, but waiting now and then

To think of all the cities I have seen,
Of all the people I have been,
Of all the paths that I have walked,
Of the nonsense and the wisdom I talked
And knowing from my path I never baulked.



On that note, I love the poem I borrowed the title from. Had to sing it once, and there's a church at home which had the first few lines in darker brick covering one side.

And now I'm in the mood, typing up Friday's writing game. Because I wrote slashy fluff at writer's soc ^_^



Derida had fallen in love. This, in itself, was a good thing, since he found himself smiling even when the apple of his eye was absent. When said apple was present he found himself almosst floating.

There was one blight on his happiness. Well, two, if you counter the fact that so far the love was unrequited, though evidence suggested this might change. The big, glaring problem, however, was one of gender.

Derida was a heterosexual male. John was a heterosexual male. Derida was in love with John.

People occasionally failed to realise that Derida was straight. He was, he admitted easily, somewhat flamboyant. He liked the world to notice him, to look at him, to envy him. He was also known for being preprared to try anything once, from skydiving to eating raw snails. He reccomended neither.

The thing was, John was smart, and witty, and charming, and unusually tolerant. He accepted all of Derida's quirks, despite having few of his own, and never backed down. What had begun as a kind of respect and admiration for John had since mutated, and now lef Derida with a frequently knotted brow and pursed lip.

"You know," John said one day, "you can tell me if something's bothering you."

"I know," Derida said blithely, happy simply to be in the presence of his much exalted friend, his stomach simultaneously curdling as a result.

"We are friends, aren't we?" John coaxed.

"That statement sets off whole symphonies of alarm bells in my head," Derida declared.

"What's that sound like?" John teased.

"A metaphor," Derida said, more shaprly than he intended. John backed off.

Derida was aware that chance after chance after oppurtunity to admit his feelings where slipping away. John had been casting glances in Elizabeth's direction, but always the excuse "tomorrow is another day" pacified Derida's anxieties. John was straight. He was straight. This was madness, but surely all love is madness? Surely this throbbing of the heart and beating of the brain could be construed no other way? His heart took wing at every casual glance, his joy immusurable at every smile, his self-loathing ever increased by every word of purple prose hyperbole. Honestly, where did his brain get off, feeding him this poetic trash?

One day, many tomorrow's later, he was approached by Elizabeth, who was smiling shyly. For the first time since he'd fallen in love, his heart truly sank.

"I've been talking to John," she said without preamble. "He's been telling me a lot about how he feels, though to be honest I thought it was perfectly obvious." Derida suppressed a groan. "Anyway," she continued cheerfully, "he asked me to tell you that he's madly in love with you, and he'd like it if the two of you shagged each other senseless this Saturday in the back of a cinema under the pretext of watching that new Hugh Grant film that's bound to be sickeningly sweet crap anyway."

Oh. Uh, oh. Oh right, he had to answer out loud, because Elizabeth never had been the patient sort.

"Oh," he said. "Uh, oh."

"Yes, then?"

"Uh, yes."

"Good. Have fun!"

So, that Saturday night, Derida and John found themselves together in the cinema. Elizabeth had somewhat exagerated the message to fulfill her own fantasies, but it wasn't a bad first date even if it didn't live up to the warped promises. The two previously heterosexual men shared a distinctly homosexual kiss, and as far as Derida was concerned this had all turned out to be less of a problem than he had thought.


"Tomorrow is another day", "It had turned out to be less of a problem than he had thought."



If it wasn't for the essay, I might actually get some proper writing done today/this week. For once, I'm in the mood. But no, to the library it is, and the only writing I shall do which isn't copying stuff out of text books will be that long overdue thank you card to my gran.

Comments

[abydos6.livejournal.com]

and, may i say, that if there is no more of this sweet little fantasy...i will scream, and you will hear it.

nice, very, very nice

[toasty-renfield.livejournal.com]

Erm...have you considered putting that there poem to music...it would work so well.

[minervasolo.livejournal.com]

You're assuming I can still remember anything about music! If you want to have a go, feel free. It's mostly 10 beats, 8, 8, 10, though in a few places it slips to 9 instead of 8 to keep some semblance of rhythm, if that's any help.

[toasty-renfield.livejournal.com]

That's the great thing about chord songs - you don't need to know owt about music - and the length of the line is irrelevant you just expand or squish syllables to fit ;-)