D. G.

As much as I'm less than fond of Julian's music, one must admit that the title he thinks suits me so well - "Savages", by that Marina girl - carries a lyrical message I can indeed agree with.

Perhaps he does not misunderstand me as much as I previously thought. ;)

Ah, to be in love.

How tender it looks from the outside.

Do you know what bothers me? When people blithely assume that because you have not spoken to them in many months, that you have somehow ceased to be. My dear woman, if you wished to speak with me so much all you need do is ask. After all, I yet live. What bemuses me all the further is that she has barely spoken to Julian in that time so to assert the assumption that Julian - or even worse, that one of our newer members - has become Top Dog simply because... Because, is insulting beyond all belief. 

I still live. Frankly I'd be damned well sure that no-one could push me out before my time, thank you very much. And for what concern it is, I've been talking with many people, merely not people who are you. 

Eugh. I just hate it when I am constantly dismissed, shrugged off as one would shrug off an unfashionable jacket. For God's sake, don't doubt my spirit to live. I hate this stupid fictional business continually creating an artificial sense that my acquaintances ought to assume I should vanish at a moment's notice. If anything, I am a greater presence here than both our newer members. I have been here for years without disappearing. I probably could not leave even if I wanted to. 

Disgusting.

England, in this great fight to which you go
Because, where Honour calls you, go you must,
Be glad, whatever comes, at least to know
You have your quarrel just.

Peace was your care; before the nations’ bar
Her cause you pleaded and her ends you sought;
But not for her sake, being what you are,
Could you be bribed and bought.

Others may spurn the pledge of land to land,
May with the brute sword stain a gallant past;
But by the seal to which you set your hand,
Thank God, you still stand fast!

Forth, then, to front that peril of the deep
With smiling lips and in your eyes the light,
Steadfast and confident, of those who keep
Their storied ’scutcheon bright.

And we, whose burden is to watch and wait,—
High-hearted ever, strong in faith and prayer,—
We ask what offering we may consecrate,
What humble service share.

To steel our souls against the lust of ease;
To bear in silence though our hearts may bleed;
To spend ourselves, and never count the cost,
For others’ greater need;—

To go our quiet ways, subdued and sane;
To hush all vulgar clamour of the street;
With level calm to face alike the strain
Of triumph or defeat;

This be our part, for so we serve you best,
So best confirm their prowess and their pride,
Your warrior sons, to whom in this high test
Our fortunes we confide.

(Owen Seaman. August 12, 1914.)

This spoke words to me.

I wonder how old I am.

Ugh, no, don't.

Awful, awful, awful, the way my book goes on about me so-- I mean, that is the point of it, yes, but the way it phrases me is so dreadful I can barely stand to read it (or to listen to it, as in this case Julian has acquired an audiobook of it). Ugh, and, it's all things that haven't happened to me and never will do, I suspect,- it's all very odd but I think, these days, that accessing my own world is behind me. Oh, I don't know, if you're going to follow the psychological explanation for plurality anyway you might as well realise that the world I thought of as "mine" isn't actually real but is a product of my (our) imagination. I can't really bear to think of it that way, because I miss Harry so much. I'm sure-- the way it works- that he could very well be conjured up by our brain in a similar manner to how I was once conjured up, but... Well, I don't know. I'm going to stop thinking about it now before I hurt my head. Suffice to say Harry was the best friend I ever had.

Carrying on, we went to see an adaptation of Swan Lake to-day. Excellent stuff, although Julian only remembered to wake me up for it some 10 minutes after it had already begun, but I've been told I didn't miss much. It was some sort of modern adaptation and nothing like what I recall; Yes, Tchaikovsky's works were all as untouched, but the play (ballet) in itself was much altered, they'd done a sort of homosexual take on the whole thing. The Prince was a very dashing young man who fell in love with an equally dashing (albeit somewhat unusual) swan-man who, I think, was just called The Swan. It was very good, I must say, and not only because there were half-naked dancers running around in swan outfits looking very attractive. Julian enjoyed it too, I think. Well, it's always nice to see something that takes a classic and reinvents it to be something a little more "queer" (ha ha ha). It's one thing I like about modernity- there's an awful lot of freedom to be had in regards to being a man in love with other men!

Finally, I suppose I might as well mention what else has been happening in my life. Not much, that is hardly a surprise, but I have sent off a few letters to people whom I hoped would become my penpals. No replies as of yet; hardly surprised about that, either. I will say that I find it incredibly frustrating - not to mention a little depressing - to be so willfully ignored; not necessarily by those who cannot access front to actually reply to my letters, but rather those who have easy and absolute access to front but still find it unimportant to respond to me. Just because I live in someone else's head (ha ha) does not mean I'm going to take willingly to being ignored; d'you know, I'm probably much more likely to kick up a fuss about it than Julian is, and I'm the imaginary one here! It does rather piss me off, I will say that much, to be viewed so lowly simply because I do not "exist", or I, at least, do not "exist" on a similar level of importance to Julian who - blessed be to God - couldn't really care less about being treated as more important than I. That's something! If only it applied to others!

Largely I'm upset about not having my own friends, and not being able to speak to people- really speak to people. No one cares about me. I'm a damn well more worth caring about than I currently am cared about, if that makes sense to you. And I'm not satisfied with speaking to headmates; that not only gets so very boring, but I don't even get to experience anything fun. Oh, sure, Julian would very happily let me do things if it weren't for the fact that-- being a rather social creature-- I've no-one to do it with (again, let's simply ignore the headmate; it's so boring to spend all my time with just one person regardless). Agh!!!!!! One must express their frustration somehow; I suppose doing it through an online medium is better than nothing. Ha.

I've rambled a little, and for that I can't even apologise. I just wish that someone would, for God's sake, spend time with me in some way.-- And not say they are going to and then decide I'm not worth the effort. If it's something I can't stand it's when others disagree with my ego which claims - rather rightly - that I am at least deserving of some attention!

Edit: Oh, and before I say anything else I will mention that I have no clue where N is and it is not my responsibility to take care of the guests. Thank you, Jules, that's enough. He can bloody well sod off for all I care.

By the way, should anyone want a penpal, please do drop me a note. It's very boring having no friends to talk to except for the one who lives in your own head (or the one whose head I live in, which-ever way you want to see it). I have much free time and many thoughts to express.

Must all my friends disappear without a trace? 

Imaginary, then, is as imaginary does. Men who are not imaginary are at least required to stay in their bodies and so are - by all means - trackable if one tries hard enough. And, yet, when you're imaginary, you disappear, you disappear, and then how can I find them again? 

Hm. What philosophical thoughts. It's too early in the day for such things.

It angers me. To be in this state- desperate for passion, interaction, invigoration in my life. To think it is something better to be speaking to someone "out-world" than any one from my Victorian London; to be dissatisfied with it. Why? I ask myself, has my existence corrupted itself so far that I am no longer contented with what I once was?

Perhaps that is merely the story I am doomed to tell. Condemned to discontentment with every new thing I encounter; condemned to find myself disillusioned, discarding piece after piece of my skin away, until I can but hope I am naught but a shining angel underneath. Ha! If at best, a dark shadow of some devil.

I wish. I plea in my mind that someone will grant me their attention, someone besides whom I am used to. That I will be allowed to frollick amongst the people I so desire, able to charm and flatter and laugh. I am, instead, alone - lonely, without the socialisation I need. And am I to complain? Perhaps, I am over-entitled. After all, there is nothing to stop me attending parties in my own world, but now, they are nothing to me. Nothing.

Mozart later. Well sexed, in the meantime. Hurrah.

In all seriousness, there seems little wrong with my life at present, which in itself is novel. Cannot say the same for dear Julian's life, but I suppose luck is how it is. Either way, I am not allowed to interfere too much as isolation breeds contempt, or something. I don't quite know; vaguely frustrating, I suppose, but there is little to be done about it. Meanwhile, I sit in the middle of the headspace, bored to tears.