Pessoa’s madeleine is poisoned, not dipped in tea.

Posted in scribbles, Uncategorized on October 14, 2009 by chamome

That’s all. Essay to follow. Maybe.

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someone get me the sheet music for this pls

Posted in Uncategorized on August 22, 2009 by chamome

Negra Sombra — Rosalía de Castro

Posted in dug up stuff on July 24, 2009 by chamome

Cando penso que te fuches,
negra sombra que me asombras,
ó pé dos meus cabezales
tornas facéndome mofa.

Cando maxino que es ida,
no mesmo sol te me amostras,
i eres a estrela que brila,
i eres o vento que zoa.

Si cantan, es ti que cantas,
si choran, es ti que choras,
i es o marmurio do río
i es a noite i es a aurora.

En todo estás e ti es todo,
pra min i en min mesma moras,
nin me abandonarás nunca,
sombra que sempre me asombras.

Poema I

Posted in scribbles on July 8, 2009 by chamome

Bati na janela duma loja e olhou-me mordaz.

Derrotado, fui-me embora.

Rota olhou-me com ironia.

Pois, parabéns.

Os amigos mandam-me um postal,

Nele escrevem que viram a minha cara na areia

Mas que logo uma criança gorda caiu nela…

Criança-apagadora.

Vou parecer-lhes pouco sincero

Vou ter dois nomes, mais

Vou desenhar figuras acima de esquinas

Até que me disserem que nunca pude desenhar.

Tenho derramado o fígado nos copos

Tenho consumido os pulmões nas baforadas.

Agora não bebo mas sigo sendo maior,

E tu pareces ter um carácter real.

Sinto a falta do gémeo que nunca tive

E rabisco frases na neve:

O que tenho, tenho e o que não tenho,

Pois, nunca saberei…

Corto o bolo, acho que

Cada porção, oferecida com sorriso,

Há-de ser um bocado de mim

Com cada pedaço, o orgulho come-se.

(Porque partir duma festa-

Que importa o que disse aquela rapariga! –

Para só voltar? E porque não deixar

O sombrio dos sonhos a porta?)

Ladele and the Christian Institute

Posted in News on December 20, 2008 by chamome

Um. What is a christian lady doing being a registrar? As a job? For a christian? Wouldn’t she prefer men and women to be married in a church? I can see her standing there tutting:

“Damn I should’ve gone to that seminary, this isn’t right, this isn’t me! Oh Lord, I’m wasting my life away… Heavens, are those men holding hands? CI, I need you! CI! CI!”

Am I being silly?, because that doesn’t make sense to me.

Seriously, that woman is in the wrong job! Clearly didn’t have a very good careers adviser.

REVISION additions

Posted in scribbles on November 28, 2008 by chamome

Revision

From darkness sprung,
And devils plucked
From lines of snow
And bugs below
The belt which bite.
Yes, I was saved
By Beauty and
A youth worker
And also by:
The Angel of
The Clinic of
The people who
Fucked up their Life
In the night-time.
And she spoke so:
‘You are still young,
Not yet a man-
Yet not a boy.
My little man,
How has it been
To live like you?
Twice tested clear
Yet can you smile.
But badly of
Yourself think you?
So seemly bright
In smile and mind.
So clearly charged
Behind closed door.
Your beauty falls
Far short of mine,
As angel I;
Still can I see
With ease how you,
As spilt sweet zone,
Attract the bees,
The bitter wasps,
The mindless ants.
They flock to you,
Through dirt they creep,
To taste, and bring
Your sweetness home
In words of lust,
To others droned-
A testament
To their great skill:
They sniffed you out
And smelt your youth,
Destructive power.
They planned it out
And learned by heart
Just how to make
Good sense depart
Your clothes depart,
(Though some with less
Did find their fill.)
My little man,
Can you not see
How dull your blade
Shines out in depths
So low that no
Star can there reach?
Naivety!
But tell me child,
Do badly of
Yourself think you?’
So spoke she and,
Content in self
And quite relaxed,
She waited for
The right reply
That swiftly came
Though through closed eyes:
‘I thought I sought
What they would give.
I thought, then sought
What they did give.
And all the time,
I wondered how,
Despite my plans,
They had me so.
Dear angel mine,
Thank you for this.
I can now tell
How low I am.’
My angel smiled
And took her phial,
Her needle too,
And took my blood.
And as she sucked
This did she chat:
‘So say you that
You read the Arts?
My daughter too
Does study them.
You seem alike,
Strange thing, to me.’
In quiet mind
I did reply:
‘Let’s hope it ends,
The likeness, there.
What mother would
Say of her child:
“She seems alike
To you dear boy
With needled arm
With fears of death,
Of puss, of lack
Of any child.”
Bad blood, for what?
“Oh yes, my own
Is much like you.”
What mother such
Would stain her child?’
A thoughtful hum
Was my reply.
As I went back
Some seven months,
The white room died
Like faded shine,
A brilliance
Quite gone in time.
But in a beat
To me it seemed
And walking through
A sleepy town,
I found myself,
From work to school
But not my own.
The day was hot,
Men beaten down
By sunshine beams
Renewed in Spring-
A March heatwave,
The twenty-third.


I took two spoons
From home sweet home
And ice cream bought,
To my new friend
I sped my walk.
First thing was to
Apologise
About our clothes.
My bloodied jeans
Fake blood it was.
His what-he-wore
‘My clothes are packed,
I’m going home.’
‘And where is that?’
‘Hell/India;
You know we are
Illegal there.’
And off we set
The heavy sun
Did make more strong
Reality
With light and smell-
His scent which could
Full knock me down
With sick desire.
And as we walked
Our dialogue
From mums, to sun,
To plays, to sex
Did swiftly flow.
“Cookies n’ cream”
Our favourite food
And plaything soon
Became and all
Since likeness was
Established first
With it and then
The other small
Significants
And quirky tastes
That make a match.
Most of that time
We were alone
And blending our
Minds ever more
And ever more
Till it would be
Terribly hard
To say goodbye.
One day it came,
It came too soon
And now I feel
That due to this,
“Love you!” said I
Not thinking how
Or what but now
Just now and now
It was the time.
It was the time
For him to leave.
Hell/India.
Oh how I fought
And how I dreamed
I’d rescue him!
I’d fly there, be
His rescuer,
Messiah then.
I’d slow his mum ,
With my quick words,
Then bring him home
To my small bed
Which we would share
That night and then
Off! We’re off and
now by ourselves…
But “Dinner’s done!”
Would bring me down,
Slingshot me back
From Hyderabad.
“Love you! Love you!”
And chaste I was.
And then the call.
The Internet.

I’d see his face,
Train doors would shut
The tears and sick
The sobs that rack
The awkward smiles
From others too
Who would not know
If I was who
Or how to cope
Would they wish to
Ignore me on this
Train of dreaming.
I did tell him,
Yes, I did it.
How can you not?
Have you done it?
I scream: “How? How?”
How? at you screams.
Love? and Fail? and
Still Keep Silent?
Fucking monsters.
We patched things up
Easy enough.

“How could you lie
So easily
To me, your own?”
“That you with ease
So deftly put
To hear them all
And gorged yourself
On syllables
Struck on my chords
Not thinking of
The words they made.”


The white room lived
As memory
Caught up with life.


Each word became
A needle thread
Through my bled heart
And on each thread
Red drops did slide
To fill my heart
Back up again.
But shame! The shame.
My heart had holes
Through which his words
Fell fast and stained
My childish soul,
I couldn’t bear
To patch anew.
As such, so weak,
I shied away
And now I’ll tell
What depths my mind
Resorted to.
That present passed
I can assume
Subconscious fault.


Childish hisperings
Into his ears:
Subtle he needs
Be must who would
Seduce angels.


And it jarred.
I’m sorry
You thought I’d lied.


My head still numbs
As it rages:
How could you call
That man your friend?
Who did I choose,
Have I chosen
Some gross body
With dark background
Of drugs and sex
More like complex
Wanking? (Loveless)
But then I think
If he loves me
Does it matter?
Can it factor?
Old habits die
Or I’ll kill them.
But love does too
I know, you know.
And if love died
But still remained
Convenient,
Think of what then:
“My boyfriend is
Not here/unwell/
Busy/ Working/
Too tired/ Too drunk/
Smoking/ Snorting/
Fucking someone
Else, someone else.”
Stop, Neurotic.
Silly rabbit.
He loves you much
Though it’s true that
Expression is
Sometimes lacking.

Pity he stole
My heart. I stole
The fucker’s tie
Though, and it’s a
Really nice tie.


Son or daughter
Does not matter,
I want a child.
I want a child.


I almost faint
When thoughts of you
So heated and
So scented and
So sweet, command
My breath and blood.
My god, your eyes…
I always said:
‘Your eyes will kill,
Pretty gorgon.’
And now I see
That I was right.
My love, our life,
That love, your eyes…
I will not write
Anymore.

Wednesday

Posted in dug up stuff, Malaysia: or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love th on March 19, 2008 by chamome

TEH TARIK.

Mish and I spend at least an hour a day talking about you and me, well me mostly [FAG], so see! not forgetting about you despite the te tarik and the roti dhal [……………………..wtf?],,, or roti canai [Was I a foodie? *mockshock*]. This is all turning into my staple snack [ok, am excused- think about the audience]. It’s um, um pastry (?) disc but folded kinda anyway you dip it in dhal or something else. mmm

The thing I like the most about the Indian or Tamil restuarants here is that you eat with your right hand, I mean they’ll give you cutlery but I so would never use it- if I’d used a fork or spoon in the Chinese restaurant I’d’ve looked American and I wouldn’t be on the way to learning how to use chopsticks properly. I swear there are so many gay couple tourists round here, but Mish doesn’t believe me unless they’re cute! hm. [:D]

I have to say it cos I know i’m not allowed any secrets even in writing: [deep]

I feel like I could live here [already], and like England is this far off country where you’re constantly being robbed, paying huge prices to live in unastounding surroundings where people ahve to drink an… I don’t know, but if England’s all grey and too expensive, it’ll just seem so weird to come back to my homeland only the reject my own culture as extortionate and lacking. I don’t miss the forests where I live [I do and they’re outside], or the smell of pinetrees after it’s been raining, I don’t miss Bovril [me either], don’t miss trifle, don’t miss alcohol, don’t miss my room, the trains, the beggarlady I give money to, ‘Tonight with Jonathan Ross’ [yeh he can die], ‘Green Wing’, the Big Issue, churches or powershowers, my dogs or the Aga [that’s cos you never cooked you lazy brat], don’t miss London, Heaven [more power to you!], my back garden, Golden House takeaway, cheddar or Winchester, the things I do miss about home are [here we go] Rabbit the Dog and what I feel like when you hold onto me, when you have your hand on the small of my back and I can feel your breath against my skin, lips, the heat we make. I miss your eyes, your expressions, I miss your beautiful [tiny] hands, I miss tryng to wake you up in the mornings so that I can feel you again and feel what it feels like again and again and again and again [yeh, alright chap!], I miss making you smile and making you bite your bottom lip.

Today we woke up at eight I read your messages and it looks like you haven’t been getting mine, who knows?

The first thing we did was…

go to pasah- market- where the fish were so fresh they were jumping, which confuses me since we’re up in the mountains… will ask Misha. Anyway, we bought a bunch of mini pisang- bananas, and some mata kuching which means cat’s eye. They have hard casing and are like lychee inside. So we went to the park where kid Misha used to play, sat on a bench and ate cats’ eyes and mini bananas. Then we went to the bus station to catch one to Brinchang which is near Chifu school where kid Mish used to go, but we have to wait an hour so we go buy some mangosteen which are lush, I had a tastegasm. [could live off them] So we have this bag of like 25 and we walk up the hill to this v British building which is a convent school where Mish’s sisters (twins) went before they joined him at Chifu Methodist Missionary School (hm.) We take a few photos then see a massive AWAS sign with all these Malay words underneath that we can’t decipher so we go back down the hill [smart move] and have some roti at the Kumars with teh tarik, just as we’ve finished getting dhal out from under out right hands’ fingernails an American girl called Amelia is sat down next to us:

A- This Is So Random, Hi! I Just Picked Up These Guys, I Have No Idea,,, I Guess They’ve Picked Me Up, Hi! I’m Amelia, Who’re You?

M-Misha

A-Misha. And?

R- Rory

A-Roy, Hi Roy

R- ihateyou. RoRy

A-Is This Your First Time Here?

M- No, I used to live here.

A-Oh, Interesting… Are You Two Brothers?

M-No, no, just friends, not related.

A-Oh? *raises eyebrows*

–interlude as she’s given menu–

A-So, Is It Your First Time Here Then, Roy?

R-ireallyfuckinghateyou Mish, we really ought to go, look at the time! Nice meeting you, Melanie! See you around! hopetheyfindyouinaditch

So, we get on the bus which is falling apart and wicked! costs us RM1 to go to Brinchang and the road is so windy I have really good thighs right now!

Brinchangs’ on a hill, Chifu’s at the bottom, about a ten minute walk from the main road. On the way we walked past about 300 cars maybe, in various degrees of disrepair then we get to Chifu gate which has AWAS ANJING [beware of the dogS]

soooo casually walk along a very pristine drive, cliff on the left rising up into rainforest and on the right, plunges down into a valley and stream thru more rainsforest. Misha went to school in the rainforest. Halfway along the drive two butterflies are dancing around each other in the air, it was one of those moments I don’t like to take pictures of, or describe too much, cos a photo couldn’t get it, a film’d debase it and it’s beyond any words I know anyway. If that sounds really PSEUD just visit the Cameron Highlands already, then tell me I’m up my own ass with Sesationalism.

Misha’s school is now a Methodist retreat, when we reached the school we could hear people singing hymns to a guitar- it was sweet.

We had a wander around, no one bothered us- it’s amazing how far a blonde smile gets you round here- and I saw where kid Misha played hopscotch, cleaned out a fountain, had school dinners, the girls’ dormitories where he snuck in to visit his sisters. I felt like I was feeding off his memories, he says I must’ve stolen some of his mind cos I recognised the owner of the Kumar restaurant and randomly said whilst walkng from Chifu to Brinchang “it’s so cool to’ve come back”

Oh I completely forgot! Earlier, after the convent and before Ameeeeeeeeeeeeeliaaaaaaaaaaaa we went up the hill to a Chinese temple- this is in Tanah Rata- keep wanting to call this place Tabula Rasa [nice. white devil] – it was new, looked new. I picked a flower that looks like a ForgetMeNot ish and if it hasn’t fallen out, it should be here *

Did I mention that it was so chilly today that we wore jumpers? [good style.]

Anyway, it showered on us walking back to Brinchang and this pastor, called DESMOND LEONG WENG CHEONG (myl_desmond@yahoo.com) who we met at Chifu picked us up in his car and drove us to the Chinese Temple in Brinchang. [curiouser and curiouser]

Buddhist temples are fascinating, for a religion that rejects materialism, they go all out but then its presence everywhere made me see its passing nature [and that’s why I got into Oxford] We took off our shoes and decided to reflect. Misha used to go there with his mum, who’d meditate. I think it was just as spiritual an experience for me as having services in the Cathedral in Winchester. But there that was about being one of many, the drive you get being in a crowd, a pack- like when I used to get all tribal at Win:Co:Fo games back at Coll:, whereas in this temple in Brinchang it was spiritual with just myself alone. It was raining so hard outside.

You know I always regarded sex as v spiritual when younger and I see how gross it can be, in the circles I’ve moved in [not like that], how selfless it can really be. That’s spirituality with two people, anyway here I was seemed like I was alone and I was suddenly seeing the world like a little globe. See myself kneeling there and then the temple, Brinchang, the Highlands, Malaysia, SEAsia, India, zooming out more and more and this line from my heart round the curve over the Near East, Europe, Britain, England, SE England, Eltham just there your house and you sitting on your bed [not in front of 8 Simple Rules as usual] and I can see your heart lit up inside you all beating and pulsing with the line that curves around the world- can see your heart bubbulah.

Imagination’s a great thing and today it was vivid, you’d jus got up, hair like it is, all shiny and light.

Misha buys a happy jade Buddha outside the temple- he had one as a child but it lost itself- and the guy carves his name into it in characters. We walked thru a sort of shanty town back to Brinchang centre where we ate in a Chinese restaurant which was kinda expensive!! Then we went to the bus stop and found we had one hour. We went up the street to a fruit stall- [drum roll]

Seeing as I’d had v good experiences with fruit here in Malaysia I had no problem with buying a DURIAN- big prickly fruit bout the size of a football, just with big FuckOff spikes on it and heavy like a bowling ball. we got it but open and went to sit on the steps with the locals to eat it. “DON’T EAT DURIAN AND DRINK ALCOHOL” was the general advice.

We took some, ate some and

Durian aka the King of Fruit

mmm

?

wtf!

?

mmm?

eww!

argh!

retchretch

headfuzzy

crunk.

whoever could like this???

retchretch

*eyes water*

wanna vom

“hm. I don’t think I like this”

seriously, the thought of the smell, the texture (funky custard) oh god I feel sick just remembering it.

we dumped it in a bin [like Amelia} and looked around for a taxi to take us back to Tanah Rata so we could go to Kumars and get some teh tarik and roti canai to cleanse our mouths and wash our hands.

Ugh. just shivered

imagingin

durian

durian

durian

durian 😦

On the way back to Doc’s house we looked for papaya for breakfast tomorrow. we found some, we also found this dog who followed us aorund for an hour, eventually we fled into the tourist office where the guy said:

“I see you run away from dog many times.”

and then

“I never see this dog before.”

So it was obviously a spirit guide!

xie xie

Doc Liao likes durian (BLECH!)

I can’t stress how putrid, how much like rotting flesh it is! Only Misha says rotting flesh’s sweeter and he would know. [autopsies]

We go to D’Channai for dinner and Desmond finds us asks us where our girlfriends are, are we depressed about being out of the cup, and blesses us.