My room is clean. It is in this unusual state because i am off to France again tomorrow only this time with just my parents. Rawr. I rearranged some of the stuff on my wall, picked clothes off the floor, tried to shove some books into the shelve (a nearly impossible task) and tried to organise My Drawer. The capital letters are there because this is the draw where the truly personal stuff is. My old diaries, my ramblings on pieces of paper torn out of a shiny notepad (they are mainly dated, but otherwise you can tell vaguely when they were written due to what person i am obsessing over in them), postcards from places (only one actually from someone), a few photographs, my drawings, awful poetry, sometimes a book i’m reading (but only if i really like the book), a CD i don’t want to admit i own, badges i used to think were cool…
and this one short story i wrote but never finished where the characters where essentially different parts of me with (somewhat randomly) the names of people Zoë knows. The one exception to these rules was a character only referred to as “She” or sometimes “Steven’s wife”, this is because its written in first person and as she is the only person he truly loves he therefore does not need to specify who “She” is because to him thats the only woman that really exists. I showed some of my friends this story- i think they liked it, but it was just a tad weird..but i loved this story. I thought i had lost it forever. It is also important because i started writing it in my favourite notebook–filled with more drawings and poetry and song lyrics.
My favourite of the lyrics i wrote was “Sock Puppets of Antarctica”, thus encompassing my love of sock puppets and the topic we were studying in geography at the time (Antarctica FTW). The idea was these sock puppets crawl across Antarctica in a long and perilous journey to their breeding ground, when they finally reach there they preform an amazing puppet show (different for each group of puppets) and then die with no other creature seeing this show and marvelling at its eerie beauty. Oh- the show is actually a breeding ritual which is how new puppets are born. I imagined the tune would be something like early Super Furry Animals (i know how pretentious that sounds but its true).
I also had some SFA/Gruff Rhys fan girlness i really liked (unfortunately most of my photos of Gruff got ruined by rain leaking into my bad). A double pages spread of SFA randomness was my artistic masterpiece, drawing of Candylion, drawing of Gruff drinking coffee from the picture on the Candylion album sleeve, a drawing of Frankie Fontaine in homage to the song ‘Hometown Unicorn’. He has Candylion ears because they were indented on that page from a previous drawing so i decided to add them in for the heck of it. Frankie Fontaine is a guy who thought he was abducted by aliens, which is a shame because he is kinda cute.
I know to anyone reading this that this stuff means nothing. No one cares about my hormonal teenage feelings, i don’t care about most of them anymore. But i do miss caring about things that much. Even really unimportant things or people i don’t know but randomly wanted to write/draw something about. For some reason this included 2 models, dealt with in different ways. I drew messages all over pictures of Adrianna Lima about being fake, being a whore, loneliness and the dark side of ambition (i’m sure she’s a nice person, i chose because her name is cool) but for Gia Carangi (another cool name) i stuck pictures of her over the lyrics to Pretty Woman with some random colouring in (maybe i treated her nicely because she’s dead or because i found some tasteful photographs of her, which i unfortunately can’t find any more).
So i’m going to try and fill up my second notebook. Its exactly the same kind as the last one and i got it ages ago. Though now its probably going to be filled with dedications to the indie bands Suga recommends to me (go check out: YELLE, The Alphites), probably Suga herself just to fulfil my promise of being her groupie and hopefully i will start drawing/writing/trying-to-rhyme-stuff-which-is-deep-and-meaningful again.
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