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Percy

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[10 Jul 2006|06:53pm]
[ mood | undead. and apprently on fire. ]

DEAR ME. sea water is EVER SO brackish and grating on the lungs.

i return, from the deep! have you seen that "pirates of the caribbean" movie? i feel that perhaps they ought to pay me a royalty or two. drowning and coming back to life? heart in a chest? drunk, homoerotic, hunky outcast? how is that NOT a direct lift from my own glorious tale? you tell me, o vampiric progeny of mr. disney.

alas, drowning is not so glamorous, gentle readers. do you know what it feels like to have barnacles take up shelter in your esophogus? prometheus could never DREAM such agony!

but painful as it is, i fear my heart is hurting more, as i suspect that george is angry with me. oh woe. whatever shall i do to win him back? i'm going to put my money on "intense month-long drug bender" and see where it goes. right-o! off to it!

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[22 Dec 2005|12:42pm]
[ mood | quixotic ]

oh, happy day! after much too long an absence, last night my darling george and i were finally reunited. yea, and there was much rejoicing.

we spent the evening helping the cook decorate festive holiday goods, saw a play about a villainous, manipulating author (byron seemed a bit uncomfortable throughout the whole thing... i hope the previous meal hadn't conspired against his stomach), and retired to my chambers to partake of hookah and talk of matters both serious and frivilous. i fell asleep with my head in his lap, as he stroked my locks with a gentle caress.

when i awoke he was gone (as were, curiously enough, my trousers), but i feel fairly confident i shall see him again ere the year is out.

but alas, the holiday season is yet tinged with melancholy, for although i have been reunited with one dear friend, i find myself still missing another terribly... wherever have you gone, my darling junky johnny? you made both my (and byron's, though he'd never admit it) life so much brighter. on this, the coldest day of the year, i wish you'd come warm my heart with your presence. and brandy. bring brandy.

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[01 Dec 2005|12:21am]
[ mood | anxious ]

oh dear! i fear i've been neglecting my journal quite terribly. i'd like to say it's because i've been having glorious adventures in the far away wilds of the world, but, to be quite perfectly frank, because that's what i'd like to be with you, dear readers, frank, (not, of course, to say my that name is frank; no, my name is percy and i quite like it that way) i've mainly been producing and burying children. and ingesting quite a bit of laundenum. so the usual.

but something called me to pull out these dusty old pages and reexamine the online world ...something i hope is true and not merely a sinister phantasm.

for lo, i swear, one night several weeks ago, i woke up from a fretful sleep, sweating, but feeling a strange calling within my chest, an odd longing, pulsating light. shaken, but unable to figure out what exactly it was that troubled me, i returned to an uneasy sleep. i puzzled over the feeling for the following weeks, wracking my brain for possible solutions, when suddenly i recognized where i'd felt the feeling before... the last time i received a letter from george, so many months ago.

and now i wonder, was it him calling out to me? oh B, wherever you are, please answer my call as i have answered yours! but preferably in a more prompt fashion.

right.

1 comment|post comment

[05 Feb 2005|04:09am]
I AM SO DRUNK.

BUT I'M TAKING A CLASS ABOUT MYSELF.

I AM OUT OF CHARACTER. I WILL NOT WRITE ABOUT HOW I FIND MEN ATTRACTIVE.
2 comments|post comment

[04 Jan 2005|08:44pm]
[ mood | pensive ]

What ho!

Do you suppose it's time for an update?

...

No.

1 comment|post comment

[20 Aug 2004|08:26pm]
I don't know whether to be angry or simply piss my pants laughing.

http://www.jengajam.com/r/Book-Of-British-Smile
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Urgency [20 Aug 2004|08:18pm]
[ mood | stressed ]

I'm, uh... back in Geneva. I just... uhm... well, I got back from Cornwall, only to find that Harriet was dead. Drowned. Suicide. In the Serpentine. Oh dear.

Anyway, I just couldn't take that. They wouldn't let me see little... uh... see... the children, and I... well, I just can't take these sorts of stresses!

So I ran back to Byron.

Oh, I am a horrible person. And I don't care right now because we're very drunk and it's very hot.

Oh, woe. <:(

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No Place Like London [15 Aug 2004|10:56pm]
[ mood | quixotic ]

Whoever decided to repair all the roads on a mid-August weekend really deserves a good, hard, kick in the teeth.

But I am back. All of my belongings reek of mud and sweat and cemetaries. I am in need of a terribly long bubble bath.

And some milk. Oh, my kingdom for some milk. Oh! I met a darling actor today, currently playing Richard III. Quite villanous he was, and also quite free with his pub monies. Almost made me forget about the way his foot kept rubbing mine under the table.

Ah, but I fear I perhaps am delirious yet again...

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Leaving Again! [08 Aug 2004|07:38pm]
[ mood | excited ]

Ho ho! It seems that my coach leaves for Cornwall early tomorrow morning. I've little idea how the trip crept upon me so soon, but... here's a little ditty to keep you all from crying too hard at my parting. I call it The Packing Ballad, and it can be sung to the tune of that one song whose name I always forget. You know, 'Sailing, sailing, over the ocean blue...' To be sung in two parts, the Friend and the Traveller.

Packing, packing, where are you off today?
It's not the end, my darling friend,
But soon I shall away!

Packing, packing, oh I shall miss you so!
I shed a tear, my darling dear
But I can't stand not to go!

3 comments|post comment

Groan. [07 Aug 2004|03:33pm]
[ mood | sick ]

Oh dear. I am feeling quite under the weather today, and unfortunately that weather is so bloody hot I burnt my hand on the doorknob this morning.

Last night Hunt (for that devil has returned to England, sometimes I think he has nothing better to do than follow me about) and I paid a visit to this Turkish fellow Hunt somehow knows. I'm afraid to say I never did catch his name, and if I did, I certainly don't remember it... the alcohol (naturally) flowed abundantly, and to add to this, the man introduced me to the wonderful danger that is the hookah pipe. It belies description, it truly does. The Turk described it as 'like a dream.' I would describe it more as 'like a drug.' They assured me that it's perfectly licit, but the tingling in my blood tells me otherwise.

Needless to say, we sat up until nearly 4 in the morning smoking and arguing increasingly bizarre politics. I remember very little after this, but I hope I merely passed out and didn't do anything too foolish.

I woke and made my escape from the dreadful place around 7 AM, long before the others had stirred, but I feel this was the wisest course of action. Now I feel so ill that I am even refusing offers of cake. Dear me. I need a nap.

5 comments|post comment

Ah... [05 Aug 2004|10:44am]
[ mood | pleased ]

A belated birthday present appears to be the absence of a hangover. Thank you, Mr. Blood Stream.

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Happy Birthday? [04 Aug 2004|05:15pm]
[ mood | quixotic ]

Today I am twenty four years of age. It surprises me; my body usually feels at least fifty years more.

It's been a middling day so far. It certainly started out pleasent enough (Mary saw to that, haha), but as the day drags on it becomes more and more apparent that most of my friends are very far away from me. We're going out later, but for now I sit in the garden and try to battle the heat and my nagging depression.

On a happier note, I've begun to make plans for a solitary trip to Cornwall and back, a little respite to ease the weight of rather trying times. I've promised Mary to get both a little color in my cheeks as well as some choice ghost stories for her to sample. She's been quite the busy lady with her little story.

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Tosh! [02 Aug 2004|06:01pm]
[ mood | angry ]

Why do people find such joy in poking fun at me? If I ever find the person who wrote this I shall... well, probably write a nasty poem about them and fly it away in a hot air balloon. Pacifism tends to make revenge difficult.

Gothic

When daytime drowns and night descends
Over houses, forests, fens
Gothic thoughts begin to wind
And doubt intoxicates your mind

Are these mirrors or window panes?
Can you see monsters in the rain?
Like beasts that crawl from out the mud
And vampires come to suck your blood?

Will you show your yellow belly?
Do you scream like Percy Shelley?
In a dark and foreign night
Where truth flickers like candlelight?

Is God now close, or far away?
Does Faith decrease by light of day?
Will you pray to stave off spooks?
Are your convictions resolute?

Or will you flee to midnight mass
And celebrate that grim repast?
Or will you dance the Black Sabbat
And submit your heart to Satan's lot?

And did your wits all turn to jelly?
Did you dream of Mary Shelley?
The morning sun will shade the truth
And keep you safe from absolutes

For dark ignites our heart's true fires
And by dawn we're all yet liars


At least the rhymes are horrible enough to somewhat soothe my wounded pride. But oh! Yellow belly my foot. You tell them, Byron. I'm not a coward! I'm not I'm not I'm not!

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[01 Aug 2004|06:29pm]
[ mood | exanimate ]

Is there yet a month or country I can inhabit without acquiring heat stroke? I fear I have it again...

We took William to the lake today, as he seemed rather glum about leaving the one in Geneva behind. Unfortunately, I was still rather hung over from last night's adventures (which including discovering an absolutely delightful new drink called 'Tequila Gold'- it makes your belly a festive pot of warmth and spice indeed), and accordingly passed out on the shore for several hours. One cannot accuse me of bad parenting, however, for I allowed dear Wilmouse to build castles on me and later showed him how to make paper boats. I think perhaps Mary would rather I had illustrated this art with materials other than her new manuscript, but one can't be a good parent and spouse, now can they?

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Beeware [31 Jul 2004|02:46pm]
[ mood | cranky ]

Ere dusk had come,
The Magus Zoroaster, my dear friends,
Stepped on a bee while walking through the garden
Which pierced his sole, ere he saw it.
And there are two worlds of medicine:
The good kind, and that called 'Homeopathic'
And only the latter availiable to this miserable mortal-
a pity, as it's absolute shite.
Now his foot is enflamed in pain,
And he does fear that it is beginning to swell beyond control.

So goes my day thus far. I am grumpy and going to make a cake.

8 comments|post comment

[30 Jul 2004|11:59am]
What kind of bread are YOU? :o
by moondust313
Username:
Do you even like bread?
Describe bread in one word.
You are:white bread
You expire:never, muaha!
We love your:crust
Quiz created with MemeGen!


I thought as much.
7 comments|post comment

[28 Jul 2004|05:44pm]
[ mood | thoughtful ]

The weather's finally cleared somewhat, so today we celebrated by doing a bit of shopping. Oh! How I do love shopping! I got some books and some new boots and some undergarments with little pink hearts on it.

Sigh. I am a woman.

On a more frightening note, I believe that all this talk of gods and monsters has taken a toll on my body and mind. Today whilst putting on my shoes I fancied I saw a monstrous talon where my toenail used to be. I screamed and fell off the bed, but upon closer inspection it was just a toenail, albeit overgrown. Still, my foot is much too grey and leathery to truly be unchanged... I shall have to investigate this further.

10 comments|post comment

Back "Home" [27 Jul 2004|11:20am]
[ mood | depressed ]

I've made it back to England. Surprisingly (but rather unfortunately) very little hs changed. Our home is a mess, overflowing with boxes and clothing and various other articles. This, after we unpacked.

Yesterday I met up with Thomas and we went out for a drink or two (hundred), and some dirty brute tried to pick a fight. He was about to throw the first punch, then stopped, turned red, and apologised, saying he just couldn't punch a lady. Thomas spent the rest of the evening trying to console me. It didn't work. Much.

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Parting's Eve [22 Jul 2004|09:43pm]
[ mood | irritated ]

Today Leigh and Frank came over to help with the final packing and loading into the carriages and all that. Unfortunately, as I was helping them to lift a final box onto the roof of the carriage, Leigh's grip slipped (so he asserts) and the entire thing upended on my head! The welt it gave me would be aggravating enough, but for some inexplicable reason the box happened to contain painting powders, and an entire jar of some Indian red spilt in my hair. I now look positively Irish. Mary pokes fun at me and says I make her homesick for her native land. I guess it's best we're off tomorrow, then.

The neighbor's children have been screaming nonstop for several hours now. I thought at first someone was murdering them, but if such is the case then I wish they'd do it more quickly. Oh, that reminds me-- William died sometime last week. What of his toys now?

34 comments|post comment

Leaving [19 Jul 2004|12:36pm]
[ mood | low ]

I have to return to England. I've been avoiding it for some time now, touring the continent and all. But I need to go. We're all packing madly, and the boat leaves this Friday.

I'm not certain when I'll be back. I hope I will be back.

I feel terrible about this. I know I need to go back. I've needed to return for sometime now. I know I've just been avoiding and ignoring the inevitable. I know I need to... finalize everything. And I do want my children back. But I really don't want to go. Not after I finally found a place I actually feel at home. Complete with people I feel at home with. In England, everything is a challenge. Everyone demands an explanation for everything, but no one takes the time to actually listen to it. I certainly don't understand why my own politics disagree with so many people, but for some reason my concept of love has produced more enemies than I could make if I tried.

But it's different here. The people are different here. Possibly because most of them speak a different language. However, there are the other Britons I've been fortunate enough to meet here, people I never would have imagined could actually exist. People who simply can't exist back home. People who only challenge my drinking abilities. People who will listen, even if they don't agree with me, and who would rather raise a glass than a voice to settle disagreements. People I can call friends without fear of retribution. I've made more friends in these two months than I've ever made in my life. And I don't want to leave them. Because for the first time in my life I have more than just one person to be happy with. For the first time in as long as I can remember, it's not "us against the world", it's "us, and the world, should it choose to join us in enjoying this delectable slice of cake." It just doesn't seem fair. Which, I suppose, signifies that staying here would be the immature thing to do.

I apologise for the decided lack of coherency. But then, even on my best days that skill seems to elude me...

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