Wednesday

Nineteen Years Ago

The Second of August One Thousand Nine Hundred and Ninety-Two. Sunday.

Got talking to Geena Davis today. My, she is an attractive woman and intelligent with it. I don't think I've enjoyed sex with anyone so much. I must ring her again.



I'm glad I had a chance to explain some of the customs of the planet Earth to those Jovians who popped around today. They looked as if they were a lot happier knowing exactly how to perform a two-fingered salute properly. Viva interplanetary union.

Started building a boat today.

I am now a telepath of the third grade which means I am able to read the mind of any brick regardless of what sort of clay it is made from.

Lasers to took too long to destroy Daleks and Cybermen resulting in one of the Telosians "kissing" me and placing a device in my mouth. Very scary.

And yes, it has been that sort of day, though I did find another way of writing.

Poetry reading #8: 29, 30, 31 & 32

The Third of August Two Thousand and Eleven. Wednesday.

That was a genuine diary entry from 1992. Haven't changed much, have I? (ho-ho). 3rd August would have been more appropriate, I guess, but that was all about catching a train from Pendleton station (closed now), buying some Dungeons and Dragons stuff and, quote, having 'a long argument about choice and free will vs. discipline with Mum.' (I know!). The entry for the 2nd had the rather half-assed flight of fancy stuff so I thought I'd go with that instead. The bit about the poetry was me working my way through a huge book of Emily Dickinson poems (I know!). Oh, 23 year old Vin, what were you thinking.

Blimey, Stewie on Family Guy has just asked 'Whatever happened to Geena Davis?' Freaking out now. Here's Emily's poem no 30:

THE NEAREST dream recedes, unrealized.
        The heaven we chase
        Like the June bee
        Before the school-boy
        Invites the race;        5
        Stoops to an easy clover—
Dips—evades—teases—deploys;
        Then to the royal clouds
        Lifts his light pinnace
        Heedless of the boy        10
Staring, bewildered, at the mocking sky.
  
        Homesick for steadfast honey,
        Ah! the bee flies not
That brews that rare variety.


So I hope that's cleared that up.


More soonliest.
































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