So maybe it won't be an actual bomb

Do they make chocolate bombs? Because I could do that. Whoppers/Maltesers are in the shape of a cannonball, so maybe I'll just eat lots of them.

I am still feeling a bit freaked out about the library job situation. What it's coming down to now is that I should have gotten some work experience and didn't, because I didn't know that I was going to be a librarian. I thought I was going to be an editor and possibly the ruler of a small right-thinking country. And now that I need the work experience, there's actually no time to get it, since I will graduate (if I can actually do this whole dissertation-thingy) in about 4 months. People are giving me good advice, and I'm going to see if there is any volunteer work or maybe a student library job that I can do this summer while I work on my dissertation, but other than that there's not much I can do at this point. I can also try to decide if my chances of getting a library job are better in the UK or in the States and then take it from there.

While I was pondering all of this, I got some news from my best friend Amyjane which served as an immediate perspective-realigner. Her husband Sean, who is also a dear friend even if he can rile me up like no other person on the planet (and even gets the better of me sometimes, dangit) has been diagnosed with cancer. They were just about to leave BYU for him to accept this great job, and she was about to quit her job and be a stay-at-home mom to their baby. So now all of that is completely derailed.

Amy and I lived together for 4 years, which is kind of amazing in Provo, where you can potentially cycle through 20 roommates in a calendar year. We had a Costco membership together and the next step would have been to adopt a baby from China, but then Sean came along. One thing she and I used to talk about late in bed on Sunday nights (separate beds, people) when we were sick of being Singletons was the idea--or, you know, desperate hope--that getting married would somehow mean that the future wouldn't be quite as nebulous and we wouldn't have to live these strange nomadic existences where life keeps throwing curveballs and we don't know where we'll be from one year to the next.

Only, as it turns out, I don't think we ever really reach that point, single or married. And so I can just buck up and stop being a big whiner, because I have so many blessings. I made the choice to quit my job and come out here, and I will never regret it. And I'll go on continuing to make choices and when my best-laid plans go awry I will do the best I can to make new choices.

(Please remind me in about 5 months when I'm lying in the gutter somewhere that I did say this.)

Amy & Sean are both being very positive and sensible and brave and funny about their new situation, but they will need lots and lots of faith and prayers. So, you know, if any of you have any of those things and can spare some, please do. Or even if you just have some good vibes or well-wishes and want to offer them, I'm sure that will help too.

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Dani updates the Minions.

Hereby lies an update from The Man himself, Count Dani Filth or Backwerdz, as he affectionately calls himself. The deprived minions who possessed insatisfiable hunger on the choice of title for the next Cradle of Filth opus are adequately updated.

Seen as the title 'THORNOGRAPHY' for the new album was released without our knowledge a few days ago, cradleoffilth.com asked the band direct for an exclusive explination as to what it means.

This title represents mankind's obsession with sin and self. The thorn combines images of that which troubled Christ, the crown of thorns, thus intimating man's seeming desire to hurt God and also, of the protecting thorn and the need to enclose a secret place or the soul from attack. An addiction to self punishment or something equally poisonous. A mania. Twisted desires. Barbed dreams. A fetish. An obsession with cruelty. Savage nature. Paganism over Christianity. The title can also represent a sexual attraction to religious iconography as in the case of the 'possessed' Lourdon nuns. I like the title because to me it invokes images of a darker, sexier pre-Raphaelite scene wherein Sleeping Beauty's castle is won and she is awoken by a poisonous kiss.A darker adult faerytale. Hopefully, the new album cover art will be posted as an exclusive here too!

A million thanks aren't sufficient,
Ling
30th April 2006 AD

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SRJC to stay...

That's it. I am to stay in SRJC. Sigh... All the wait. All the anticipation for one whole month for a positive reply... I feel like listening to Mutter and sulk all day long.

At this point of time, I feel like trash about my life. There is nothing comforting left, except for my cards and metal music to spur me on not to pick up that razorblade or take a plunge down the building.

Warum? Warum mich?

The sadness lingers,
Ling
28th April 2006AD

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Comatose

I am finally back here, updating this thing, trying my least bit to keep this dank journal alive. So, what's up this few days?

To cut it short; during Chemistry practical, I weighed 0.666g of an unknown substance and became very extremely proud of myself, that made my day, really. In addition to my strange existance on this planet, I dreamt of one terrible dream. I dreamt that Afrieen of Impiety got attacked by some chinese fuck at Megatherion and I cannot bear to continue describing such a dream so as not to dampen your day ahead, but trust me, all metalheads wouldn't want such an abdominable thing to happen.

And, yes, General Elections are round the corner now and for the first time, I am feeling the drama surfacing. Getting increasingly interested in politics, I would be glad to attend a few public rallies. Every corner, every pillar, every turn, you see placards with that same old usual PAP logo and their usual clean white look. But this year, it's different, there's getting more opposition parties swarming up to contest with the Grand Dictator, PAP. Which is a very favourable sign. =) More competition = more drama. Me likes.

Somehow, I am somewhat intrigued of how is it like to live during the Hilter's regime. It would be much much much more intense with the totalitarian propaganda going on. Random and totally on impulse: Ein Volk. Ein Krieg. Ein Fuhrer. Ein Reich. [Sieg Heil!] Haha!

Plus, I simply cannot wait for Cradle of Filth's new opus, Thornography to be released unto the unsuspecting masses, and then slaying them in a frenzied bout of auditory abuse. The Thornography Holocaust will spawn on 19th September 2006, via the help from the Roadrunner Records Extermination Unit. Dani, oh my Dani, or Toni's Dani, you never cease to amaze me with your foul presence and undying wit to be violently splurged on all Cradle of Filth works. You remain at the top of my Idol Shrine, Count Filth.

Not forgetting my German boys, Rammstein, they will be releasing a new DVD featuring shows from Nimes France, their Reise Reise Tour. It would be roughly in the month of September as well. So, I'd be fairly low on cash after expulsing my money on these products which are essential to make my existance a little bit more bearable.

Alright, using the common and lamest excuse of a writer's block once again, I shall put my quill down or stop jabbing the keyboard, and exhale a sigh...

In swoon with Dani always,
Ling
28th April 2006 AD

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Excuse me while I go put a bomb in my mouth

Today I decided to take a break from the freakishly awful assignment I'm working on. I'm supposed to write 2500 words describing a new branding scheme that I've chosen for the university library. And I have to create a logo of some kind. And I have to figure out what should be the big thing to market to all the library user segments (undergraduates, postgraduates, athletes, etc.). So far I've checked out about 7 books and have found 8 million articles all to do with branding and marketing and academic libraries and students and crap-all else, and yet I still have no idea what I'm doing.

So I decided to take a break and check out library jobs scene. I looked around at the UK jobs on the Internet for a bit and then went over to see what my homeland is up to. I was very organized about the thing, as befits a future librarian-type-person, and created a special bookmarks folder with all these job listings/careers advice pages.

Only then I found this article, which basically says that right now the US is churning out more library-science grads than there are entry-level jobs. And not only that, but people with 3-4 years of experience are also applying for the entry-level jobs, on account of they're crappy cheaters, and of course they're getting them because they have experience and the recent grads don't.

So, you know, a year from now, when I'm living at my parents' house in butt-freezing Alaska and applying for jobs at the Dimond Mall food court so that I can pay back my student loans and continue my anger-management sessions, I hope y'all won't forget about me. I'll even post pictures of moose and frostbite, if that will help.

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Need to reduce blood pressure

My sister called me yesterday and told me about the freaking BYU dumbheads who, when she went in to pick up her cap & gown for graduation, asked if she was picking it up for her husband!!! I completely lost my mind and began bellowing and sputtering in the manner of a wounded moose or rabid bull:

WHAAAAAAAAAATTTT?????
WRAAAAAOOOOOEEERRR!!!!
EEEEEUUURRRNNNGGGGHH!!
KILL EVERYOOOOONNE!!!

I---Just---Yeah. Some people should not be given speaking parts. Also, you would think that this young female who has been handing out caps and gowns all week to a graduating class of 49% females and 51% males should maybe realize that there could be another reason why a woman would come in to pick up a cap and gown. But then, maybe this girl thinks that all the graduating females actually earned their degrees for their husbands too. That or she hasn't fully recovered from the cranium-from-colon-removal surgery.

And now we're going to look at pretty pictures of English flowers, and possibly listen to some soothing classical music in order to calm down and remind ourselves that the world is not completely full of idiots. I know this because you and I and my sister, who worked her tail off to graduate and has my respect and admiration forever, are still in it.

All is not lost.

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The Laundry Basket Jousting Tournament

Over the weekend there was a church YSA (Y'all Still Ain't Married?) conference in Stamford, where we'll all meant to get together and mix and mingle. The drive over the was gorgeous, by the way. There were all these old stone homes with farmland all around. I told WR I wanted to live in one of them and he said I probably could buy one if I have the £700,000.

There were about 40 of us, and one of our activities involved this Blind Walk, which I was not too sure about. They divided us up into groups, loaded us into cars, blindfolded us, and dropped us off in the middle of the countryside with a map. The spot where lunch would be was circled, and we were told to call if we weren't back in a couple of hours. And of course my group (of which I was not the navigator) instantly headed off in the wrong direction and were actually heading off the map 40 minutes later when we waved down a car to ask where the heck we were.

But, it was warm outside, the sun was out, and we had this amazing walk through the countryside. Turns out these public footpath things they do here are great. We need to look into those back home. I saw cows and calves and sheep and lambs (I was three feet away from twin black & grey baby lambs and my heart almost exploded from the adorableness of it all). There were pheasants and horses and old churches and tiny villages with red phone booths. And brooks and pastures and fields and rolling green hills and daisies everywhere. I left my camera in the car on accident, and spent the entire walk kicking myself. There was this one field that we ended up going around because the bull inside give us the stink-eye. I didn't want anyone to be hiding my gored-to-death body in a haystack. Plus it was hard enough for me to go through the regular cow pastures--my years in Alaska have taught me to see all large animals as things that will quite likely kill and eat me if given the chance.

At the lunch spot, our hosts' two boys (Henry and George) asked if I would come watch them have a Laundry Basket Jousting Tournament. I eventually said yes, and sat outside with my bread and my amazing potato & leek soup to watch. They held laundry baskets like shields and rushed at each other from across the yard, trying to knock the basket out of the other's hands with their long jousting sticks while bellowing at the top of their lungs.

Me: So, who invented this game?

George: Uh . . . knights?

Me: Ah . . .

After that they didn't have much to say to me, since I'm the idiot American who doesn't even know about knights.

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I think most Scottish cuisine is based on a dare

So I ate a traditional Scottish meal on Friday, complete with haggis, neeps, and tatties. Also, I had no idea that what the British call a "swede" is the same thing as an American rutabaga. Not that I eat rutabagas, but I know my grandmother does at one of those cafeteria-type places that elderly Southerners are so fond of. Also it turns out that when UK people talk about coriander, they actually mean cilantro. Who even knew?

Landlady J made the meal with the haggis she bought during her recent trip to Scotland and invited me to have some. I figured this was probably one of those essential cultural experiences, so I gave it a go and was pleasantly surprised. Of course, when she was taking it out of the plastic "sheepskin" bag it looked like a big fat turd on a plate, but that's what no-bake cookies look like too, and I love me some no-bakes.

The haggis smelled surprisingly great while cooking, also I was quite hungry. And Landlady J was smart enough to make an entire shedload of vegetables just in case the haggis turned out to be rubbish--she swore it had a "tinned smell" when she took it out. I don't know what a tinned smell smells like, but she's the haggis cook and I'm not.

So anyway, yes. The haggis was pretty good. And I wasn't too grossed out by what was in it, because really, any time we eat preformed chicken nuggets or cheap hamburger patties (or, ahem, Asda sausage rolls) we're probably getting much, much, worse. Turns out you might as well eat the bottom of your shoe after smearing it with animal guts. Of course, I just ate sheep lungs, so what do I know? I'll just go from the words of Jamie Oliver here, edited for the young and pure:

Those ******* horrible burgers, reconstituted, mechanically reclaimed sacks of old **** pressed into shapes of drumsticks and fish. I wouldn't ******* feed that to my dog! I mean, I would feed it to my dog, but I wouldn't feed it to my mate, my children.

I would have expected that from Gordon Ramsey, but I didn't know cute li'l Jamie had such a mouth on him. Well said, though, Jamie. Well said.

The haggis was not like that. The haggis & vegetables were nice and quite filling and then we had a good light puddingy thing afterwords and I staggered upstairs to sleep it off and to go dream about Mel Gibson in Braveheart.

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Conversation with my mom

When I got back from Gran Canaria (yeah, I go there) my mom called to get the full report on how it was. We chatted for a bit and she laughed really hard when I talked about the ghetto hotel and the topless ladies and just how much personal maintenance I would have to undergo before I could even think about appearing on the beach nearly nekkid like that. (She did suggest, however, that I not share those details with the Internet. A smart one, my mom.)

You should know, here, that both my parents grew up in Virginia next to the beach and are absolute sun-worshippers. My mother was smart and responsible and put loads of sunscreen on us when we were kids, though. Living in Alaska (a dark, barren wasteland where even vampires start to miss the sun) has just increased their devotion to sweet sweet sunlight and its burning rays of love.

Mom: (eagerly) So, are you all tanned now?

Me: No, not really.

Mom: What? But you were there for a week!

Me: Yeah, but I used a lot of sunscreen.

Mom: [Nemesis]!

She said this in exactly the same tone she would have used had I suddenly dropped the f-bomb.

Me: What! I didn't want to burn!

Mom: Do you burn?

Me: Uh, yeah. A lot. I just burn and get freckles, and that's pretty much it.

Mom: Oh . . . that's right, I guess your sister gets freckles like that too, but I didn't realize you did.

Me: Yep. That's why I'm so white and am in the #2 highest risk category for skin cancer.

Mom: Wow, I had no idea . . . gosh. Well, at least you have other qualities. You might still get married someday.

Then she laughed herself silly, on account of she's funny.

We then determined that even though I do not tan, I am smart. And you can fake a tan but you can't fake smart. Or something.

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It's like a beach, and yet . . .

Warning: I am completely completely behind on my coursework and studying because I've been running off to things like English seaside towns, and now I have to buckle down. So if you don't hear anything from me for the next little bit, please know that

1. I still love you
2. I would much rather be blogging
3. I'm not actually having any fun

I hope that will make people feel better. Yesterday a bunch of us drove east to Hunstanton, which is the aforementioned English seaside town. (Town slogan: Look, it's the sea! Only do be sure to bundle up before you do anything crazy, like touch it with your bare skin. )

But it was sunny and beautiful and I got some great pictures and WR and I shared a fabulous chocolate sponge thingy with hot custard during lunch. Also I got a kick out of the part where the sweet people who own the restaurant liked to tos's apostrophe's into all word's that ended in -s.

A-like so:


I was reminded that it's possible to get a sunburn even when you're freezing, as those crazy people known as skiers can surely attest. WR found that out too when his forehead got all burned. During lunch Goldy passed over the leftover sunblock from Gran Canaria for him and he just handed the tube to me as if to say, "You're up." As the lotion touched his face he kept flinching and going, "Gah! It's so cold!" and scrunching his face all up as if I were murdering him. I said to just wipe it in like moisturizer.


WR: See, you forget, I'm a guy, so I don't use moisturizer.

Me: Some guys do moisturize, though.

WR: Okay, [Guy Friend #1], we're talking about moisturizer. Do you moisturize?

Guy Friend #1: Yeah, I do.

WR: What, are you serious?

Guy Friend #1: Yeah, I use an aloe-vera based gel after I shave.

WR: Well . . . okay then, maybe you're like the exception. Hey [Finnish Friend] (who was sitting at the other table), do you moisturize?

Finnish Friend: Yes. I have always used moisturizer because it keeps my skin from having spots.

Poor WR looked all ganged-up on and unsure of this strange new world where men are encouraged to put hydrating creams all over their faces. But moisturizer or no, he's a cutie. And now that I've used the word moisturizer so many times, it's looking very strange on the screen to me and I'm not even sure what it means anymore.

Also, I went in my first British amusement park arcade-type thing, where you have to be 18 to go in without a parent. There were all these little blond children running around while their parents gambled and played video games and pushed strollers around and led dogs on leashes. It was dark and loud and seedy-looking, and I'm not sure what the fascination is there, especially since we were having one of the 32 sunny days of the year.

And now I bid you all a fond farewell as I retreat into Coursework Hibernation.

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Turning point...

I have to disagree with what I have said in my previous post, Good Friday was good, and bad.

The reason being, I have to depart with what I have been doing for the past 4 to 5 months and erase that span of time within my memory. Nothing will remain the same again. I am not the same anymore. And, so are the people around me. It is all over, irreversible, unforgettable, and almost ''fatal''.

Here, I exhale and sigh. Pardon me if you cannot make sense of the above, I just need to vent my sonorous lamentations. And, there is a vague blur when my ability to express myself hovers low, due to this sudden change in my life.

Sigh. Once again.

These are a few quotes and lines of words that could fully summarised what has happened so greatly that I cannot even bring myself to listen to Mutter.

'Love's the funeral of hearts.' - HIM's Funeral of Hearts.

'Liebe ist Krieg.' - Rammstein's Wollt Ihr das Bett im Flammen sehen.

'Und Feuer und Wasser kommt nicht zusammen.' - Rammstein's Feuer und Wasser.

'Willst du bis der Tod euch scheidet treu ihr sein für alle Tage. Nein
Willst du bis zum Tod, der scheide sie lieben auch in schlechten Tagen.
Nein. ' - Rammstein's Du Has(s)t. This is especially revelant to my situation now. And, the song title is scarily true. [gets reminded of cosmic energy, yet another thing that has brought back many memories that I cannot confirm is true.]

160 Tagen, wir kommt zusammen. Nicht mehr.

Trying to forget is as tough as running 2.4km. But, I will try.

Listening to Rammstein brought back numerous memories, so will going to Border's Coffee Bean and Aunty's shop. Well, we cannot bring back a dead. Unless, in Heirate Mich's case.

Hereby, wishing the person best of one's future endeavours and good luck in whatever one does. Before I forget, habe ein Gut Gesburtstag. You probably won't even get to see this, or perhaps in around a few months' time. I just want to say this, because I feel a need to say it.

Like how I bid you final farewell that day, Auf Wiedersehen. Let's all move on.

Es ist alle ein Spiel,
Ling
18th April 2006 AD

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Not much to say today

Except that if y'all want to hear about what a great auntie and future librarian I am, and if you also want to laugh until you start to choke (which is what I did when I got to the end) you might want to check out my sister's latest blog post, on account of how she actually has a funny story to tell and I don't.

Because it's a Bank Holiday tomorrow, I'm heading up to the Preston temple in the next little bit with WR, Banahhhhna, and our Finnish friend and we'll spend Friday there. (Blogger won't let me post a picture right now, but you can see one here.) I'm excited to see how the gardens will look what with it being springtime and all. Also I think the grounds won some kind of UK landscaping award back when they were first completed. But when I expressed my excitement to Banana, she said, "Whatever, Preston? Preston grounds are rubbish." So. There goes that dream, Banana.

Not much else is new. I completely ignored the pile of studying that is waiting for me and accidentally spent most of the morning surfing the Internet. I would probably be a much better person if I didn't have unlimited Internet access. Think of all the time I could spend studying the scriptures and writing my dissertation or maybe a best-selling novel while meditating and knitting leper bandages. I bet that's how Mother Theresa was able to do it. Lucky . . .

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Time for some updates!

Greetings, reader-fiends. I apologise for not updating as frequently as before, due to the fact that I have been incredibly busy with an annoying thing called school. Finally, I have the time to update this jinxed journal today, thanks to Jesus Chirst who died thousands of years ago of tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow is indeed a Good Friday, as the name blatantly suggests.

Anyhow, anyway, how and what to write about on my boring existance in SRJC, also less known as Satan's Recruit Junior College, I ponder... and I pondered even more.

Ah yes! I recalled. 1S03 is really lucky (note the sarcasm) to have That Person as our GP Tutor. How fortunate we are. Hard to please (both classroom and bedroom, I have probably concluded) person, or should I say, hard to please slut? I really think the latter makes a better choice. So, That Person assumed the suiting title of The Slut now, has the penchant for insulting people, and a rather crude and unpolished way to do so as well. I seriously recommend her to pick up a copy of 'The Dummies' Guide to Insulting' at all good bookstores.

Minus her ineqoluent manner of berating people, I think she is a decent teacher. Just don't treat the people as though they are going-to-be-exterminated Prisoners of War. We are humans, after all. Do unto others what you want what others to do unto you. Heed that well, Slut. Trust me, it works. =)

Anyways, my 4 month old Rammstein fever is still going strong. This is too much. I think I have been listening to Rammstein for thousands and thousands of hours all together now. Which is a good omen.

To inspire me in a more perverse manner, I have embarked on a sketchbook that could include hand-drawn band logos by yours truly, pages dedicated to my intellectual stimulants, like Friedrich Nietzsche, Marquis De Sade, Leopold Von Sacher-Masoch and last but not least, Dani Filth Count Backwerdz. I foresee this a great project and it'd be an extremely self-satisifying experience.

To end this post quickly, I shall empoly the writer's mental block as an excuse.

Cruelty brought thee tiredness,
Ling
13th April 2006.

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So maybe England isn't punishing me

Because look at the pretty things it's doing! Today was warmer and sunnier and so I could actually face going outside. And I filed my taxes. Oh yeah, I am ooooone who files her taxes, especially since it should result in money coming back to me, which I am always for.




So here's the first vacation story. Our plane landed at the Las Palmas airport and we got to walk down the steps right off the plane like 40s movie stars, only the second the warmth and hot air and blue sky and ocean hit me I sort of couldn't move, and I just stood there with my eyes closed and my head back, crooning, "Aw yeah, see . . . this is better . . . " until the person behind me smacked me in the knees to get me going.

We eventually ended up on the Thomas Cook bus, heading off for destinations unknown. We did allocation on arrival so we didn't know where we would be staying. On the bus they told us we'd be at El Cardonal. "Okay," I thought, "that could be posh." We drove and drove and suddenly weren't actually driving along the ocean anymore, but were instead going through this really crowded neighborhood with narrow streets and loitering boys and full dumpsters.

My thought: "Man, I feel sorry for whatever loser is staying here."
Goldy's thought: "Wow, somebody's staying in a crap hotel."

Or maybe they were switched, I don't remember. The bus stopped right next to this tiny building with big barbed-wire-topped fences, and we saw the sign by the entrance: El Cardonal.

And then the guide called out the name of the hotel, and Goldy and I were the only two people who got up, because I guess everyone else was staying in nice places by the beach. We slunk off the bus with our eyes down while everyone stared at us, wondering why in the world we'd picked some crappy place like that.

Only it ended up being just fine. It wasn't near the beach, but there was a free shuttle that took us down to the Maspalomas beach, and we were near a bus stop. It was a 2-star place with little bungalows squeezed tightly together. The walls were about a millimeter thick, though, so all that first night we kept waking up when the people 8 bungalows down came home because we thought they were actually trying to get into our house to murder us in our beds. Also someone possibly flayed alive a cat outside the bedroom window, and then we found a big spider. But other than that it was nice. Most of the guests were British, I think, judging from the part where the pool bar served full English and Scottish breakfasts and the lobby television had things like Coronation Street and Eastenders and Robbie Williams music videos on.

Here are some pictures.

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And we're back

Things that are slapping me right back into reality:

• I missed 2 spots with the sunblock--the end of my nose and the space between my eyebrows. I look like a prehistoric Rudolph.
• It is raining, windy, and freezing cold here.
• The heating is not currently working at my house, so I'm huddled at the computer wearing many layers. Am pondering adding newspaper sheets to the layers, because I hear paper is a good conductor.
  
• I have no groceries and don't want to go out in the cold and rain to buy some. Have been eating Spanish chocolate for breakfast.
• The load of dirty dishes that I left in the sink are still there, because I guess the dish fairies didn't come.
  
• I now have so much coursework staring me in the face that I may just build a fire out of furniture legs to warm my self and climb back into bed.

Only here are the bright spots:

• I did have a great vacation.
• My little brother (cbh) got his mission call to the Dominican Republic, so he'll be spending the next 2 years in a tropical paradise, even though he'll be wearing a tie for most of it . . .
• WR met us at the airport, only laughed a little bit at my red monobrow (or possibly just the comparison of a golden-brown Goldilocks next to candy-cane moi) and brought me a fleecy pullover to wear, on account of it was 38 degrees outside.
• I just got an email telling me how to fix the heating problem. So I'm off to do that.

Until I can post more pictures and stories and stuff, here's one I took of my favorite new beach, Playa Amadores.


Sigh . . . . .

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I believe Goldilocks said it best

When she said, "I close my eyes now and all I see are boobs." I´m sure some of my male readership will already identify strongly with this statement, but it´s a new experience for me.

This will have to be quick, but as my sister reported, I am currently living in a sea of breasts. Just about everyone but Goldilocks and I are topless. All the time, everywhere. People look funny at US for wearing one-piece bathing suits! It´s mostly the middle-aged overweight ladies but there are also some young implant-sporting nymphs as well.

And now I´m out of time at this Internet cafe, but I just wanted to report that, on account of I can´t even believe people were warning me about timeshare salespeople instead of warning me to watch out for flying boobies.

That is all. The rest of Gran Canaria is gorgeous and fabulous and sunny and I´m doing by best to avoid skin cancer, even if it does mean that I will be the same pale slug when I get back that I was when I left.

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Heirate Mich!

In the span of 3 days, I have sprained my right ankle after a dry biology lecture, created a brand new cut called Draco and listened to alot of metal, and I still never cease to hate school. Ban school!

This song has been stuck in my head like a fishball in some unlucky fellow's oesphagus. So, in conjunction to update this jinxed blog, I shall post the lyrics here.

HEIRATE MICH - RAMMSTEIN

Man sieht ihn um die Kirche schleichen
seit einem Jahr ist er allein
Die Trauer nahm ihm alle Sinne
schläft jede Nacht bei ihrem Stein

Dort bei den Glocken schläft ein Stein
und ich alleine kann ihn lesen
und auf dem Zaun der rote Hahn
ist seiner Zeit dein Herz gewesen

Die Furcht auf diesen Zaun gespießt
geh ich nun graben jede Nacht
zu sehen was noch übrig ist
von dem Gesicht das mir gelacht

Dort bei den Glocken verbring ich die Nacht
dort zwischen Schnecken ein einsames Tier
tagsüber lauf ich der Nacht hinterher
zum zweitenmal entkommst du mir

Heirate mich

Mit meinen Händen grab ich tief
zu finden was ich so vermisst
und als der Mond im schönsten Kleid
hab deinen kalten Mund geküsst

Ich nehm dich zärtlich in den Arm
doch deine Haut reißt wie Papier
und Teile fallen von dir ab
zum zweitenmal entkommst du mir

Heirate mich

So nehm ich was noch übrig ist
die Nacht ist heiß und wir sind nackt
zum Fluch der Hahn den Morgen grüßt
ich hab den Kopf ihm abgehackt

Wo bist du,
Ling
5th April 2006 AD

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And I'm off!

Catch y'all next Mondayish when I get back, if I'm not killed off by the jellyfish, the blogging withdrawal, or the real-estate agents.

Here's a screensaver for the wait. Do feel free to talk amongst yehselves!

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V for Vendetta

V for Vendetta is the best movie I have watched this year, highly thought-provoking. I feel that it is my duty to share with you some quotes from the movie.

V: Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is it vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished, as the once vital voice of the verisimilitude now venerates what they once vilified. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose vis-à-vis an introduction, and so it is my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V.

V: Beneath this mask there is more than flesh. There is an idea, Mr. Creedy, and ideas are bulletproof.

V: People should not be afraid of their governments. Governments should be afraid of their people.

V: Fear became the ultimate tool of this government.

Evey Hammond: Artists use lies to tell the truth. Politicians use them to cover it up.

BTN News Poppet: ...The terrorist known as V is believed dead.
Little girl: Bollocks

Evey Hammond: Who--who are you?
V: Who? Who is but the form following the function of what... and what I am is a man in a mask.
Evey Hammond: I can see that.
V: Of course you can. I'm not questioning your powers of observation, I'm merely remarking on the paradox of asking a masked man who he is.

Lewis Prothero: England Prevails!

Finch: One thing is for sure about all governments; Their most reliable records are tax records.

V prevails,
Ling
2nd April 2006

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