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Quietness
SSar's Beast
morbane
A snapshot from my life:

It's late Saturday morning. I'm sitting at my cluttered electric-lit desk, because my room is always dim, whatever hour of day it is. I'm writing a letter to my grandmother, from which this is excerpted:

Recently, I told two of my Auckland friends that they should try sending messages to the cellphone of a Wellington friend of mine, Layne, if they urgently needed to contact me, because he is enrolled in one of my classes and generally knows where I am at most hours of the day. This caused much amusement, because Layne was then exposed to my friends' "unique" sense of humour, involving unexpected, witty comments about such things as football hooligans and pineapple lump candy.

I look up vaguely. The CD I was playing has finished. I lean over to grab another one, riffling through the suitcase in which I keep them. I put the CD in, and look up.

I jump about three feet in the air, with a little shocked gasp and a supremely comical expression on my face. Layne's face is plastered against the glass window between my room and the passage. "Arghck!" I say, already beginning to laugh. I go over to let him in.

...

Beware this world, the fish and chips are not always good for you. The candy has dangerous social significance. The people are people, and as such, dangerous; not what they seem. They're pretty nice too. They wear cute bunny hats and strum mandolins and acquire odd nicknames and mimic odd voices. They provide awesome opportunities and prove to have unusual links. They acknowledge you when you don't expect it. They appear on streets you're used to walking. They admire you when you hit people with hats. But you can offend them too, and you can act horrible to them, and you can hurt them and they can hurt you.

I'm trying not to write a host of poems titled 'E'. Nothing to do with the drug, I promise. Maybe withdrawal symptoms, though. And that was meant to be enigmatic.

I'm writing lots of letters again.

I want to email Zali.

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You always manage to make my day. Today, you did so by simply writing friends'.

Further to this, you wrote in a most inimitable style, to such an extent that I found myself drinking in your words like vanilla milk. I especially enjoyed your little present-tense section - so immediate and so skilfully written. Of late, I have been thinking of how to write my journal and you have given me even more food for though.

Huzzah for Morbane!

(In that case, you should email Zali.)

And it is with complete honesty that I can reply that your entries are one of the brightest points of the otherwise dark and hopeless news I receive from my LJ friends' list. (There - "friends'" again.) Thank you for your compliments here. Whenever I start to think that I should put aside my writing dreams, up pops Buneater and stands as a living and supportive example of how to stop writing would just be to act like a whole bunch of fools. Very, very, foolish fools.

Huzzah! *grins

(Anonymous)
I got your letter.
I ate part of it.
Hopefully the part originally intended for consumption.
Recipe please?

I am having turbulent times btw. All over the show here. Toddlers in the tomatoes! Babies among the bananas! Everything's in a state of flux/floridness/flourishment/frustration/fondness (oh dear. Suffixes! I have also rediscovered F words, so it would seem). Your entry and letter cheered me immensely, though. And like buneater mentioned, so skilfully written.

Was that meant to be enigmatic?

'Shadows, you told me, were as primitive as lights,
As stars, as candles, as corners, as nights.'

As long as the apples are undisturbed... terrible revelations about the apples have been dawning upon us. Primitive as corners? That explains my "aaargh!!!!! corner!" episode, onetime. Given that half of my letter was edible, you had a good chance of eating the right bit. If I send you another "edible bit", but with a different envelope, and you try to match up what you ate last time with an item in the next letter, do you think that would help your anxieties in this matter?

Might be a while until I get basler leckerli again, though. And Buneater, if you are reading this comment too, basler leckerli may even rival Top Deck.

*splutters*

A rival to Top Deck? I must warn you, many have tried, all have failed.

*just a single candle-lit cornered episode of snickering*

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