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01 Jul 12 at 5 pm

Fragile Things, Neil Gaiman (via jessica-wake-up)

(Source: mindful-irreverence)

"Recounting the strange is like telling one’s dreams: one can communicate the events of a dream but not the emotional content, the way a dream can color one’s entire day."

"That is breakfast. Do not let anyone fool you. Continentals eat a thing they call ‘continental breakfast’, that is not breakfast. This is breakfast. It has beans on it."

 428
15 Sep 11 at 8 pm

Neil Gaiman, Fragile Things (via splitourheartsinhalf)

"Stories, like people and butterflies and songbirds’ eggs and human hearts and dreams, are also fragile things, made up of nothing stronger or more lasting than twenty-six letters and a handful of punctuation marks. Or they are words on the air, composed of sounds and ideas—abstract, invisible, gone once they’ve been spoken—and what could be more frail than that? But some stories, small simple ones about setting out on adventures or people doing wonders, tales of miracles and monsters, have outlasted all the people who told them, and some of them have outlasted the lands in which they were created."


19 Jul 11 at 7 pm

Neil Gaiman - Fragile Things (via dreamsgenerator)

(Source: echo-of-words, via )

"There are so many fragile things, after all. People break so easily, and so do dreams and hearts."

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02 Jun 11 at 8 pm

“Your turn in the chair next time,” said October.

“I know.” said November. He was pale and thin-lipped. He helped October out of the wooden chair. “I like your stories. Mine are always too dark.”

“I don’t think so,” said October. “It’s just that your nights are longer. And you aren’t as warm.”

“Put it like that,” said November, “and I feel better. I suppose we can’t help who we are.”

“That’s the spirit,” said his brother. And they touched hands as they walked away from the fire’s orange embers, taking their stories with them back into the dark.

(via valedictories)


“Your turn in the chair next time,” said October.
“I know.” said November. He was pale and thin-lipped. He helped October out of the wooden chair. “I like your stories. Mine are always too dark.”
“I don’t think so,” said October. “It’s just that your nights are longer. And you aren’t as warm.”
“Put it like that,” said November, “and I feel better. I suppose we can’t help who we are.”
“That’s the spirit,” said his brother. And they touched hands as they walked away from the fire’s orange embers, taking their stories with them back into the dark.

Seriously just everything about it makes me want to die. Mega boring rant ahead.

So, there’s this dumb thing in my school called ‘Winged Words’, which is like a recital thing for poetry and prose and stuff. I used to do it every year, because, well, reading things is like, one of my only talents. Last year I was going to do this, but I didn’t in the end, partly because I didn’t turn up to rehearsals because of my exams, and partly because, idk, it was too ‘controversial’? But yeah I felt a little guilty about that.

So this year when the woman who runs it asked me to do something, I was hesitant, since I’ve been under so much pressure from schoolwork this year, but eventually she persuaded me into it and I just picked a random poem from Neil Gaiman’sFragile Things anthology, called ‘Going Wodwo’. It’s a nice, elegant poem, but not something I really connect with. Well, whatever.

I found out last week that I’d missed loads of rehearsals already (as if anyone had told me about them) but there was one today so I went to that. I did my poem first since I had to go to Law Society, but basically it was a load of utter crap since I hadn’t practised it or anything. So then the woman (Mrs something or other, her name keeps changing because she got divorced) was like ‘doesn’t have any emotion’ ‘needs emphasis on specific words’ ‘bland’, and I felt like screaming ’of course it’s shit, I haven’t practised it, I’ve had to prepare for exams, I told you at the outset I didn’t want to do this because I’d be too busy!’.

So idk then I just went and said I’d practice it at home. But ugh, fucking hell, I know this is a pathetic thing to whine about but it just feels like one stupid thing after another, you know?

Like, I was stressed enough about exams, how I haven’t done as much revision as I should have at this point and the fact that they’re really important to whether I’ll get into university or not (ghgtfrjyuesgvesghtrd), I don’t need some annoying woman on my back about this. I don’t know what she expects when she basically had to coerce me into even agreeing to this! Eh, it’s not a big deal. I’ll go to her tomorrow and say ‘look, I can’t do this, I don’t have the time’, and she’ll bitch and whine and complain but whatever.

I don’t know why this is got to me so much omg it’s just so pathetic :/ Listening to Good Apollo, I’m Burning Star IV Volume One: From Fear Through The Eyes of Madness by Coheed on full volume. It’s kind of my stress music, haha.

On an exam-related note, my philosophy grade seems to be going down rather than up! My philosophy teacher tells me to forward an original argument, so I do that but then apparently I’m not mentioning enough textbook stuff! I include loads of textbook examples and arguments and she says I need to forward an original argument again! Ugh. I’m going to try and see her at lunchtime or something about this it’s just a mess.

Also the Alternative Vote referendum is today. Most of the stupid cunts in our country will probably vote no, because they want to ‘punish Nick Clegg’. What a load of utter bullshit.

bleh. that’s all from me for today, because I’m tired and cba writing more. I hate life.