Impressions of Insanity

Impressions

I'll just repeat the warning - the weblog below may contain strong language and explicit references. All links within the posts will open in the same separate window.

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Friday, November 10, 2000

17:29

I think I have finally got the symptom diary looking the way I want it to. Might add a link to UK Fibromyalgia to the box. I just hope the archives work.

16:01

Look!

Someone talking sense about the fuel protests.

15:58

Oh wow!

Just been to see Bob at Eagle Tattoos to have a look at the first draft of my flash. It currently looks a little like a chicken because the head shape isn't quite right, but otherwise it's definitely getting there. It's actually quite a departure from what I had in mind in the first place, but it looks like it might be utterly gorgeous when it's right. A great bi, shaggy tribal raven, almost in dominant BRAAAK! mode. When I go back to have a look at the next lot on Tuesday I shall take along my copy of Ravens in Winter because that has some great sketches for that head position.

I'm quite pleased so far. I'm assuming the lines he has drawn are the outlines and that some of them will be blocked in. It looks dead good.

Andy, you should talk to this guy about yours.

13:08

Was told by my doctor not to fall off my bike any more.

Perhaps I should take the advice of this article on How to be Safe.

It cheered me up anyway.

12:23

Very, very cold.

Just spent ages changing the layout for the symptom diary. Still doesn't look quite the way I want it to. Fed up with it now.

One of the volunteers found chalk marks on each of the stones at Rollright. Idiots. Probably thought it was a protection rune or something. If this was you, or you recognise the work, do let me know. I'd love to know exactly what was going through the minds of the people who did it and whether they considered the consequences. Did they consider it vandalism or think that the site would be better protected for having green and pink chalk marks all over it?

Grrrr.

Wednesday, November 08, 2000

17:36

I had a vision, the other day.

I saw myself, grey haired, looking otherwise exactly the same, even down to the eye, standing in front of my own grave some three lifetimes later. I was weeping, remembering everything that had gone before, remembering friends found and lost in each lifetime, knowing that I was slowly going mad over the years because I was fully conscious of who and what I was and had agreed to this. I had agreed to an eternity of losing and finding friends, of always being alone somewhere deep inside, of always being the one clinging to the edges by her fingernails when all else has collapsed. The grave was the grave of the first lifetime, because it was too depressing to visit the others, too much to visit each lifetime's resting place and be reminded how few had gone past and how many there still would be.

The vision scared me.

He doesn't talk to me any more. Not really.

16:43

I feel very alone. I looked up at the sky and saw a crack that looked like the fuse marks between the bones of a skull. There is this great emptiness inside me and I don't know what to do about it. I feel that when it comes down to it, there is no one I can rely on apart from myself. There is no one I can turn to for help, because all those who might be able to help are either too busy, too far away, or I can't trust to know what to do.

I feel like if you could look to the end of the world, when everything else had collapsed, there would be me, tears streaking clean snail trails down filthy cheeks, desperately trying to hold things together.

That's not arrogance, that's just despair.

13:34

Another hard night last night. Woke up this morning feeling like I had run one of these endurance marathons, then been run over by an ambulance while cowering in a space blanket on the finishing line.

More boats. Spent quite a lot of time in my dreams fixing up a boat. Somewhere round Crinan, perhaps - near a canal, anyway. The chandlers wasn't the one at Crinan though. A mishmash of lots of places. And then, once the boat was fixed up, we (not sure who. Andy? Nick? I might even have been alone, but...no. Frood was on the boat, at the very least) went to this island. Some distance away. Separated from the mainland not just by a vast stretch of inky water, but by a separation of phase. My friends and I fixed up our boat in our part of the Dreaming, but we sailed across the sea to a far more mythic place.

The island was small, and rocky, and steep. The size of Eigg rather than Jura, but not just a lump of rock in the sea. People had lived there. I am not sure whether they still did or not. I could see them, but I think that the people I saw were the ancestral remnants. Although they were carrying on with their lives, I could see they knew that this was not a living thing, a current thing. They were doing it because that was what they did. They were almost naked, a dark brown loincloth sort of affair their only clothing, barefoot. They looked Polynesian in features, with skin the colour of strong coffee with cream, milk chocolate. Their hair was almost tawny brown, and wavy rather than tightly curled.

I was alone on the island, at first. The others stayed on the boat, although I remember coming across another boat, apparently abandoned, and my friends and I deciding to do the little amount of work it needed to get her running again, and seaworthy, and take her for ourselves. I remember feeling a tad guilty about that, as if the previous owner would turn up at any moment, but knowing that the boat had been abandoned for whatever reason.

There were fragments of natural opal on the island. I remember explaining to the people who lived there, the ghosts or spirits or whatever they were, that I love opal. I don't like glittery things like diamonds, but I love the internal fire of opal. They said that if I looked hard enough I'd be sure to find some, because there was some left lying around from when they used to use it for offerings to their Gods and Ancestors. They were the Ancestors now, if I found some I could have it. I did. Small bits, oddly shaped, stars caught in a moss green background. Not like ordinary opal at all.

I was clambering over the rocks, looking under bits of driftwood and bits of seaweed (they were slimy and they smelled) for bits of this marvellous opal, when I saw a woman. She had echoes of the people with whom I had already spoken in her physiognomy and the texture of her hair, the fullness of her lips, but her skin was fairer and she seemed to come from a different time. The same time as me. She was sitting by the embers of a fire on a small beach. The sand was grey, as if the area was volcanic, although the rock formations did not seem to suggest that this island had been a volcano. Driftwood was piled up on one side of the fire and I got the impression that someone had been sitting there with her until a few hours previously. She was dressed in clothing that was not everyday, that seemed to be some sort of attempt to appear more like the original inhabitants. The material was too expensive however, and too pale. It looked like fawn-coloured leather. A professional evidently tended to her hair fairly frequently. She wore a necklace of cowrie shells. Her eyes were closed.

Her expression seemed almost angry, and I realised that there was a seagull sitting on a pile of driftwood, talking to her. He was giving her instructions and she was ignoring him, furiously frowning as she tried to concentrate past the seagull to something .... well. More cosmic perhaps? She certainly seemed to think that the seagull had no place telling her what to do.

I watched for a while. The seagull was getting really rather cross, and finally took off from the driftwood and flew up into the air. I wandered over and crouched down beside her.

"You've really done it now," I said, conversationally. The woman had the decency to look startled, but she didn't ask me who I was. She stared at me briefly, then returned to her furious concentration. I looked over my shoulder and realised that the Ancestors were standing there, leaning on spears, great big grins on their faces.

I looked up, then started running for the sea. A huge flock of seagulls were on an intercept course, dive-bombing the woman. I didn't want to get caught in the crossfire. I dived underneath the surface as the gulls began to come down, stuck my head up, seal-like, to see her start screaming and wailing and running around. The Ancestors, definitely no longer corporeal, stood there laughing. I saw one of them bend over and slap his thigh. I was a bit concerned that the gulls would do some damage to the woman, kill her or injure her, but all they did was pull her carefully coiffured hair out of shape and leave her looking tatty and in disarray.

Giggling a little, and exchanging winks with the Ancestors, I came up out of the sea, dripping wet and with bits of seaweed clinging to my clothes. The seagulls had stopped dive-bombing and now stood around the small beach or floated in the water. They all seemed quite serene, but with an undercurrent of intent. Seagulls always seem to have an undercurrent of intent. I wouldn't want to cross a seagull.

The seagull who had been haranguing the woman was now telling her to drink some of the seawater. It harried her into the shallows, where she took her drinking bottle (of the cycling type) and filled it with water. Then she waded back out and stood there. Her face was sullen and angry and her body posture dejected. The seagull was still telling her to drink it. I stood a little in front of the Ancestors and listened to them making bets on whether she would or not.

She seemed to straighten, and find some inner sense of pride.

"No," she said to the seagull. "I'm better than you."

I sighed. The divebombing started again. I didn't bother hiding this time, and the flock left me alone. This time they did peck her, just enough to hurt, but hurt quite a lot. This went on for longer than the first time and by the end she was truly miserable and really very scared. There was bird shit on her expensive ritual garb, which was tattered and torn, and bits of seaweed in her hair. She looked wild, with wide, frightened eyes. I felt sorry for her, because she couldn't see what was happening. I walked over to her, aware of the Ancestors standing right behind me.

"This is going to keep up until you do what he says," I told her. "You can't leave this place until you are allowed to leave. He can do this to you until he decides to stop. The only way you can get him to stop is to do what he says."

The Ancestors nodded, still grinning, but managing to look solemn at the same time. I'm not sure she saw them as clearly as I did.

At this point the seagull told her to drink her own piss. He was quite vulgar about it. She blanched, looked pale, looked to me for help. I shrugged. He obviously had his reasons, although I suspected it was nothing more than ritual humiliation. She tipped out the seawater from her drinking bottle, and moved a little distance away to fill her bottle.

"Better drink it quick now, it's better fresh!" shouted one of the Ancestors. It was an old woman, big and matronly, and she appeared to think the whole thing was hilarious.

To be fair, the woman did do as she was told, squeezing her eyes shut tight and squirting the liquid in the bottle into her mouth, swallowing convulsively. She sat down, heavily, on the ground, and then the seagull wandered up to her, very close, and started whispering things to her. She seemed to be in some sort of trance.

I was still grinning when I passed a few more pleasantries with the woman's Ancestors, although to be honest I felt sorry for the woman, for having to live the life she would now have. It was not going to be easy. Then I went home.

Tuesday, November 07, 2000

17:16

And Frood got his tongue pierced. Yay.

17:12

Just spoke to Bob at Eagle Tattoos. What a nice man.

He took a shine to one of my drawings, one of my own designs, and asked if he could have it. I said of course. He said to come back and look at some designs on Friday and he's going to give me a discount because I let him have my drawing. Kewl.

12:41

I think we all knew that one of the twins would die. Makes me wonder what on Earth they did to try to save Mary.

12:29

It was worth buying a copy of The Fifth Element just for the bit where Lilu (however you spell it) says

"Autowash."

Heh.

12:24

Pain today pretty dreadful. I smell bad. Adrenochrome. Hard night last night. Of course one of the symptoms you can get in fibromylagia is a loss of deep sleep. You get trapped in REM, every time you fall asleep. The body can't heal properly, you are prone to nightmares, to vivid dreams that can be indistinguishable from waking.... sound familiar?

I lost sensation in my feet last night. Frood likes to play with my toes and last night he was prodding them with something. It wasn't until I peered that I realised what he was doing. He thought this was very funny.

Feeling very stressed and alone today. Me vs the world. Ha. Isn't it always? Wyrd doesn't seem to be doing so good either - well it was a heavy night for me, and that tends to me that it will have been hard across the board. There were certainly a lot of old familiar faces there. I get saddled with the greenies, of course, but that's fairly typical. After all, I'm just a training aid.

I want the third option. I don't like the first two. The position is untenable.

He still doesn't get it, does he? And you are supposed to be twins. How could he not see what is so obvious when you were once the same thing?

Not playing this game today.

I'm not. But it's difficult not to think about it. It's difficult not to see the differences rather than the similarities. It's difficult sometimes when what I want out of a relationship is to be able to trust the other person. I would never ask my twin to do anything for me, not a big, important thing, not only because it would be an imposition but because I wouldn't trust him to do it. I would not, if overladen with enemies, ask for his help because I couldn't trust him to know what to do, to defend himself, never mind deal with others. I could ask Frood, even though he doesn't do any of this weird crap. I could ask Wyrd, who is as capable as myself. I could ask ffetcher or gecko. It is unlikely I would ask them but I could. I would entrust my life to them. But not my twin.

I don't think of him as my little brother in need of protecting, but dammit sometimes he acts that way. Sometimes I wonder what he has been doing with his life to have so little understanding.

He could have killed you both.

Aye. I guess he still could. I really want a third option. I don't see why I should be passed around like a parcel in a party game, forced to suffer indignities at someone else's convenience. I'm not a slave.

Aren't you? Not like the others, you and me. Me, myself and I. Not just his daughter, his possession.

But I have feelings too. Rarely does anyone listen to them. I have been owned and controlled for so long now, been forced to be the strong one, the one who can pick herself up and keep going regardless, the one who is expected to keep going with guts hanging out and the world in chaos, that I find it very difficult to discuss my feelings with those I feel obliged to protect, with those I cannot trust to protect themselves. With those who have evidenced an inability to deal with what goes on inside my head.

Sometimes I feel like The Demolished Man. I should feel like The Deceivers.

Do you really think two or three days will be enough? With time passing as it is?

Do I have to answer that question?

Monday, November 06, 2000

18:04

"Not not talking, phone dead". But he hasn't emailed you either, has he? Not really. No time. You know if you want this done you are going to have to do it yourself. You know that.

Just go away. I'm tired.

17:46

He can't afford to take any more time off work. He said so.

I know. I know that, so.

He said "soon". How soon is soon? Next week? Next month? Next year? Can you wait that long?

I don't know. Probably not.

Of course you can't. And do you trust him enough to let him do this?

I really don't know.

Just think of what could happen. Look.

I don't want to.
I really don't want to.

But you must.

17:01

Suddenly so scared as to be nearly panicking. Head full of nasty visions. People I should trust going mad. It's getting dark outside and the world seems almost sinister and I know how crazy that sounds.

16:52

Started keeping the symptom diary again. Not sure why. Just in case some pattern leaps out one day, maybe.

16:44

It was the Crown Royal paint factory.

Hmm. Crown Royal is apparently a call sign for the SR-71 Blackbird stealth aircraft. I just looked that up.

There is a Royal Crown Ltd. But that's American and makes Vinyl, not paint.

Ah well.

16:37

Got the code of practise typed up. Have to wait til K gets back so that she can approve it. Wish I wasn't so tired and shaky.

Damn. Brain has got into Word formatting mode instead of HTML.

Not not talking, phone dead

I know, I know. I'm just tired enough that the sinuous whisperings are harder to ignore than usual.

14:57

How exciting! Oxford City Council have just given us a recycling box.

14:22

It looks to me like a jaw bone chewing on a rocket.

Hmm. Your archive links aren't working properly. Saturday doesn't show up.

Anyway. Probably someone having heard of the magic of glyphs as used by Austin Osman Spare and decided to give it a go. Or something. You know, you imbue your aim into a scribble then forget about it. Very common. As to what it means...hmm. Jawbone, rocket. Chewing. Hmmm.

And the twin's op is under way. One of them will certainly die, it's quite possible they both will. What a dreadful time for the parents.

I can tell you that I don't support the fuel protests. Not in the slightest.

12:24

A wasp just flew in through the conservatory door. It buzzed me.

Sorry mate, I don't care how easily reached my adremalin is, it's you or me. Splat.

12:10

Very tired after Saturday night's little magical foray, the details of which I will not post, as that may compromise the act. My recovery time is abysmal right now. Of course it's looking like I have, indeed, broken my coccyx, and that's not helping at all. The pain is pretty bad at the moment, too. Been feeling very sick the last few days and yesterday morning the shaking actually woke me up. I haven't been sleeping much, either

Was up at the stones yesterday night, lest some foolish person decided to use it as a site for lighting fireworks, it being the 5th and everything. Had to leave early, though. The storm was getting really bad and with all those old larches and dead branches up there I was desperately worried that a tree was going to fall on me or the car or the hut. It wouldn't have done, of course, but I was worried about trees falling on the road and flooding making it impossible for me to get home. The wind in the trees wailed like the Bain Sidhe, it was really rather scary. It was also impossible to hear if cars were passing, and the only way I'd have noticed anyone coming in was if I spent the whole night with my head stuck out the door.

I figured that no one would be going up there to set off fireworks in what must have been at least a Force 8, not in the cold with the rain pissing down. The wood lying around was all too wet for them to set a fire, as well.

It still astonishes me that people try to burn whole logs in the fire when it is so much easier to burn logs that have been split - that is why we have an axe there. Must get that Warden's document typed up today.

Heh. Was watching Wes Craven's New Nightmare on the telly last night. It struck me that people in films have it so much easier than us ordinary folks. When they start screaming that the medics just don't understand what they are doing, what will happen, Freddy happily obliges by killing someone in circumstances that mean there is no alternative but to believe the Heroine. It doesn't happen like that in real life. There isn't a chorizo big enough. You start screaming at the medics and they give you the chlorpromazine.

Weird fucking dreams last night too. Actually involving space travel, ski-ing and home decoration. I can almost remember the name of the paint place. It was the Crown something factory, and they did this particular eggshell blue. I think it was up near Glenrothes, in the dream.

Dreams have all been weird recently. Night before last in dreamt that Frood told me he really wanted kids, and the conversation, the experience, was so real that I had to ask him yesterday whether it had happened or not. He gave me a funny look and said "Certainly not."

Phew. That's a relief.