should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind should auld acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne*

well happy new year, may two thousand and twelve be far more marvellous in the happy times and surrounded by comfort in the hard times for you all. x xx

we share our misery, that's what a relationship is.

"turn that down!" says mummy as she frets over jumpers in the spare room. i do, of course. but these boxsets of "house" are really the only thing keeping me sane at home. for everything is difficult in my little northern hometown; a little darker, a hint of temptation with a bitter after taste. because home feels grubby and tainted, all the streets lined with faces - tesco is the new social gathering spot for people i know, by unfriendly aquaintance, to hang'. papa gave me the car keys and i fled to hide behind the neighbouring land drover. 

christmas day itself was lovely. i cuddled baby all afternoon and played monster chases with a five & six year old. i ate the meal, all of it, the salmon, the soup, the turkey, the dessert. then i spent half an hour coaxing the five year old to eat hers. ironic how the roles reverse.

and there were many presents and a little stress, lots of smiles and hugs goodbye. and beneath it all was remembering our God, his gift to us and the sacrafices everyone must make. 

so that was christmas day. and it was lovely.

but home is still, unhomely. everytime we drive past my old school, the one from before, i shudder. it looks grim. and inside it there is a strange equilibrium being swayed between bleak and hope. there is in fact, monsieur t if you're reading, a lovely new anorexic case wandering the halls - i don't know her name but she must be fourth year (maybe fifth but less likely), tall, long blonde hair and well, skinny, but i needn't point that out. it was unsettling to see her manically scanning m&s soups' calories the night before christmas.

but i digress. i started writing because here, town home sweet home, it feels like i don't exist. maybe i don't exist except to myself; perhaps the existance of everything is only real to itself. 

solipsism to be exact. 

"Solipsism is the philosophical idea that only one's own mind is sure to exist. The term comes from Latin solus (alone) and ipse (self). Solipsism as an epistemological position holds that knowledge of anything outside one's own mind is unsure. The external world and other minds cannot be known, and might not exist outside the mind. As a metaphysical position, solipsism goes further to the conclusion that the world and other minds do not exist."

do any of us really know of any existance but our own? i try sometimes to imagine myself as another person, to think of their experiences and actions but i fail. i can't tell for certain their thoughts and ideas just as they can't be sure of mine. ever seen a real good poker face? mine is just playing a smokey game.

x xx

december the twenty fifth thousand and eleven.

what else is there left to say but happy christmas our little world, inifinate hopes and prayers to you all. with love always, quinn x xx

tempted to sin in the form of starvation, each choice in opposition frightens the devil.

c.s.lewis wrote in the screwtape letters, "it was just about time he had some lunch. the Enemy presumably made the counter-suggestion . . . that this was more important than lunch."

i have never considered the concept of evil particularly. the idea of the devil makes me uncomfortable; that we are made in the image of God yet have such potential for darkness. 

we talked about it last night, huddled around mugs of coffee, filled with homemade pudding and passages from ephisian.

but to shy from evil might mean that we must not make war with the world but peace with ourselves and with a calm acceptance that evades arrogance and eludes greed. difficult, huh?

today as we remember someone we lost, we also welcome someone we are yet to know. one day can change your perception of darkness and light, incredibly. in the most horrid of circumstances the world goes on; a girl lost, a little boy born.

will the equilibrium keep going forever? does God counter each of the devil's pawns?

x xx

two sets of words in just a few days, we call that progress somewhere out there.

the bus smells bad, stale and clingy. i think that my duffle coat will smell the same when i get off. we're at ferrytoll, the end of the earth. it really should be; there is nothing here but a park 'n' ride used for dumping and migrating elsewhere. crossing the bridge into my city, dreich and full of decadence and squalor. sometimes i think that i'll be killed here; back alley stabbing on the fringe of suberbia - because i live in a nice area that borders a not so nice area and at night, the moon calls wolves. other times i can see myself soaring, lifted with a power ready to spill over like cloud's tears, raining down. i feel whole. i feel whole until i hear, a whisper from the corner, of parties and futures. even today, with someone who is like my twin, i could not tell who she was becoming. fear isn't leaving me, and neither is the hypocrisy i spout - i've come far but apparently it's not far enough. x xx

we are at one with the world around us but at war with the world within us.

i should check in more often but since failing is art, i like to do it to the best of my abilities.

i have a link for you, it's a selfish link at that but hopefully you won't hold it against me.

amongst all the puffs of normality that now ebb into my life (babies, God, chocolate fondue, mentally berating myself for not having written a personal statement yet) there has come an idea.

i want to save others, that has always been a constant since i could not really save myself. but now, now we have a plan. i say we because thankfully i am not the only one embarking on this naive adventure.

it's not like i am a secret anymore so here i am sharing my secret whereabouts and name...

welcome to edinburgh. here we want set up a charity for people in the same situation that we found ourselves, a place that holds onto their hope even while they can't, something i always needed done for me.

the fully story will be explained shortly a la "this link"

love and dreams x xx

how did man learn to talk with such stagnant thought and stale tongue?

i need to get back to words. books have been good but now i must do the writing.

when i didn't eat, i use fill my time with writing and now i'm so busy with the business of "trying" to eat that i don't write. which is ridiculous.

i guess, no matter what, i use to find the depression inspired whirls and turns of ideas. now it's fading into a drug induced clouding.

they say we have twenty one grams of soul and also a book within us all. i like the myths and legends, our folklore and fables. i want to write something that goes down in history but who am i to decide what is worth making history?

just now i'm storyless, i'm still holding out for an epiphany of inspiration and clinging to the stars. i think sometimes i forget that you have to go searching for the unwritten tales so that you can know them, so that you can give them voice like never before.

x xx