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Camy

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Blog Entries posted by Camy

  1. Camy

    Happy Valentine!

    By Camy,

    I wrote a 'poem' ... it seemed the thing to do.
    There are those I admire who live who far away
    Across Oceans and lands vast and stark
    Whose wit and friendship oft make my day
    And pull me from moods deep and dark
    So on Saint Valentine's day I'd like them to know
    Their friendship and love matters muchly
    To this English prole who would like to bestow
    A Lordship at least ... or a Duchy!
  2. Camy
    "I done gone and made a video!" the fool said proudly.
    "Good, good," said the cat, flexing her claws and going back to sleep.
    And it nearly was good. The thing is that making a video on your own is bleedin' hard. No nifty camera moves, no slow zoom in whilst tracking out. All of the cutesy things you can have fun with with mates are impossible. And then there was the hat's damn label.
    I was wearing a hat, and without anyone to point out that its label was showing, the label had a staring role ... or should that be starring. It's certainly there and very eye drawing. In fact it's all I can see. Turning the thing to sepia didn't help and then posterizing it was waaaay overboard. Oh well.
    So today I have to do the whole thing again. Bah.
    Cats are useless things. Love them I do, but they just won't help.
  3. Camy

    Ho hum.

    By Camy,

    I'm sad. Occasionally I think of stuff I've read that I'd like to read again. Yesterday I decided I'd like to re-read 'Carrots & Celery' by Karla Schultz. It was one of the first stories I ever read on-line. It's a sweet story that got better and better as she progressed as a writer (she started it at 16). She posted it to Nifty originally and then Gayauthors hosted her - or rather that story.
    I couldn't find it. After a fruitless search I eventually discovered she's left the net and had the story - and others she subsequently wrote - removed.
  4. Camy

    How hard can it be?

    By Camy,

    I've always lived with the idea in the back of my mind (don't laugh) that, if push came to shove I'd be able to walk out of the door with a pack on my back, and start a new life without worrying about what I'd left behind.
    Ha! Fat chance. I'm selling this thing called house (can't afford the mental anguish any more) and have been trying to get rid of my 'things', but it's proving a lot, A LOT harder than I thought it would.
    Take photographs. I have a lot of them, both from home and from work, and video too. I also have all my father's negs. If I were to start now I'd probably not be done digitising until Christmas - and I'd be lucky if it was Christmas this year. Diaries: I have years of the buggers - some with only a few entries, but every time I put them in the bin, this other 'me' pulls them out again.
    T-shirts. I like t-shirts
    The list goes on and on, and I don't really want to throw any of it away.... *sighs*
  5. Camy

    How hard II

    By Camy,

    Today I dismantled what is laughingly called 'my office'. In estate agency terms it's 'bedroom three, big enough to swing a cat - just.' My cats weren't keen.
    I have/had two computers in there. One, an old pc, is no problem; It does what it's told. The other (a bargain I just had to buy - stupid arse) is a very large old server. I've never done anything with it except store my albums on its hard drive, and say to all and sundry whilst preening: "I have a network". Now, kind as I am, I can't seem to get it to want to turn on. Swearing at the bastard does no good either.
    Anyhow - Long boring waffle short. I thought by the end of the day I'd have cleaned and painted the room. But no. Best laid plans of mice and Emus... *sighs*
    So now I'm in 'bedroom one, large enough to swing many cats', with four computers, surrounded by boxes, and typing on my lap. I should - should - stop this blogging malarkey and go to bed, get up early, and get my act together.
    Fat chance.
  6. Camy
    I don't get ill a lot, so I'm a really bad patient. I know it. I know it like I know the sun rises in the afternoon and sets when it feels like it. Also I'm told 'you're a bad patient' a lot when I'm ill, so it must be true. And who was it that first decided chicken soup was the panacea of all ills? Whoever it was needs to be ... severely reprimanded. Probably Florence Nightingales uncle - who was on his uppers and had a chicken farm.
    Fu-Fu-Fu-Flu is not what I was expecting the last time I smooched M. God, I love smooching M. It's just so ... nice! Hmm. Nice isn't the best descriptor. Nice is a bit lame, really. Fantabulous comes closer to the truth of it. Anyway, I've got it and he hasn't, which strikes me as being just a little unfair. Of course I can't prove he gave it to me. I could have got it at Sainsburys, or at any of the shops I've been in, but as I don't go around kissing cashiers at the shops, my bet is M.
    What flu gives me is time to write. 'Ravelled Lives' is finished and nearly edited, and I'm tweaking with 'The First Day' and 'Sancho Shima NaNo', so they might be up before Christmas, too. The very last short from November's insanity is half done, and needs more than a smidgeon of work, as does 'Worth'. Neither are going to see the light of day until they're ready.
    So that's me. ARRRRCHOOOOOOO!
    Humph. *splutter - cough - sneeze*
    Ave y'all.
    Camy
  7. Camy
    One of my all time favourite films is 1980's 'Airplane', which is now considered such an old chestnut that you can hear the groans of disapprobation from miles away every time they announce it'll be played; Still, I like it. There are two classic running gags. The first is the Peter Graves' Captain Clarence Oveur to Joey, the little boy: "Joey, do you like movies about gladiators?" "Joey, have you ever seen a grown man naked?" etc. The second, Lloyd Bridges as Steve McCroskey, the frustrated controller: "I guess I picked the wrong week to quit..."
    Well, so did I.
    ... um ... you probably had to be there ... or should that be here...
  8. Camy

    I want to cry

    By Camy,

    When I was young, until I was about twelve or thirteen, I used to cry a lot. When I say a lot, I mean a lot. At the drop of a hat. I don't think I ever cried infront of my peers and friends, but at home I'd be howling at the unfairness of whatever it was that was unfair at that moment in time.
    Now I can't, and I WANT TO. Badly.
    There must have been a pivotal moment in my life that caused me to stop. But I can't think of one specifically. I went to boarding school (where you'd rather cut your leg off than be caught crying) and I'm British which means that I'm probably genetically repressed, but I want it, and I need it, and yet I still can't.
    God is that unfair.
    </self pity>
  9. Camy

    Ice Road Truckers

    By Camy,

    There's a series on TV at the moment called 'Ice Road Truckers,' about the supply of sub-arctic diamond mines in Alaska. Because they are all well away from civilisation, roads, and the other side of a plethora of lakes, they have to wait until winter, when the lakes freeze, to get supplies trucked in. It's a two month season - then the ice melts.
    When I was growing up the one high risk high - reward job around, was working on the oil rigs in the north sea. I had friends who earned enough in a year to buy a house. Then it was South American construction, then oil exploration in Russia.
    The idea of earning $50,000 plus - in two months, appeals. A lot. But, having been to the Arctic, I know I don't like the cold. Hmm. Sooo tempting, and probably - if you avoid frostbite - big fun, too.
  10. Camy

    Illogical

    By Camy,

    "Hmm," I thought as Rad Steven changed his name to RJ. "Perhaps part of my malingering malaise is my name. Maybe I'll change it."
    Reversing the letters you get Ymac. Which sounded weirdly peachy until I slapped it into Google. Not only is Ymac an acronym for 'Your Mom Adores Cock', but Ymac.com is a highly dubious web site. So, In glorious 'ain't done nowt except think about it' hindsight, I've decided I like me just as I am.
    Yesterday we went for a stroll on the beach. Shocked? I was. It must have been blowing 50-60mph, and to cap it all we got soaked.
    So I wrote a poem ...
    Musings on the Beach
    by Ymac Camy
    What is it about you
    that makes me feel giddy
    Why do I yearn to hold hands
    you're not classically pretty
    Your nose is too large
    yet your lips are just so
    and your eyes twinkle merrily
    as your smile makes me glow
    What is it about you
    that makes my heart beat
    Why is it when I think of you
    my faith in life leaps
    Why is it I mope
    when you're not here with me
    I love trudging through the rain
    hand in hand me and thee.
  11. Camy

    Interviewed by The Dude!

    By Camy,

    Sunday 11th April. The Awesome Dude Weekend Show No 25
    I was as nervous as a very nervous thing, Mick was Mick, and The Dude put us both at our ease. It was the first interview we've done and though I'm only too aware I should have been more ... umm, something, and probably less something else. Anyway, all in all we're ecstatic!
    If you want to know what on earth I'm waffling on about then go to Awesome Dude Radio and listen to the 25th weekend show. Go on, you know you want to!
    Cheers!
  12. Camy

    It's begun.

    By Camy,

    Oddly, and even though I've been desperately racking my brain (shows what a weeny one I have) for ideas, AND I have ideas written down, I have not the vaguest inkling what I'm going to write. Except, of course, an occasional blog entry cursing my stupidity for even mentioning it in the first place.
    Oh GAWD! What on earth shall I do (he says, tears streaming down his feathered chops).
  13. Camy

    J's Resurrection

    By Camy,

    I keep thinking about Jason's blog entry. I keep thinking 'and there by the grace of God go I' but that's entirely wrong. I have been there in my own way. Similar but different.
    I keep being told that addiction is a personality trait, and therefore genetic. In other words we are pre-programmed to self destruct. And I wonder is that right? Are there addictive personalities or is it just modern day psycho babble to excuse a whole tranche of society for misbehaving?
    When I was small I was a classic case of ADHD. But then when I was small that nifty acronym hadn't been thought up. I was classified as naughty: occasionally thrashed for it and sent to child psychologists. Not a sniff of Ritalin, or anything else.
    The one addiction I'm thankful I don't suffer from is alcohol. One majorly major hangover was enough to put me off for life. The rest (nudge nudge - a nod's as good as a wink to a blind man) I'd still be happy to 'suffer from', except for the outrageous cost: that and the inconvenience of possible jail time.
    Then there's sex. Can you be addicted to sex? I'd say yes. If you can be addicted to powders that change your mood, why not to the ultimate high?
    I have no idea where I'm going with this, so I'll thank Jason for his post and the thoughts it engendered, and stop.
    Ave.
  14. Camy

    Knee

    By Camy,

    Two days ago I came thundering down the stairs and wacked my knee into a stupid door frame. Yes, I know. Since I live here, I should know there's a door frame at the bottom of the stairs, but hell ....
    Anyway, it still hurts ... in fact it still ^&$$()_$%!!! HURTS! So I've had words, and whilst the door frame won't apologise, it said if I'm careful, it'll try to stay out of my way. Yeah right.
  15. Camy
    It's past 2.00am and I'm pondering if I want to get up at 5.00am to watch the last ever episodes of Lost. After all, Lost is a phenomenonenomeything, isn't it? Well yes (he says, answering his own question) it is. I was addicted to the first season - why do they call it a season and not a series? Addicted, and couldn't wait for the second to start. Then, when it did, and as is usual in the UK (curses to all responsible) it was taken off free-to-air and bought by that scuzzoid Rupert Murdoch and his Sky TV station.
    So, sadly, with tears free flowing, I gave up on it. Then ... eventually ... I got sucked into getting Sky and there it was: Lost. By this time it had become sooooo weird I had no hope of catching up, and honestly I though I'd probably be floating around a graveyard before it finally finished.
    Now, in less than three hours, the final episodes are being aired. At the same time all over the planet. W00T!
    But ... and here's the rub, am I going to struggle out of my beautifully warm and wuzzly pit to watch it? Do I really care that much? I guess it'd be kinda like having listened to the original Orson Welles 'War of the Worlds' transmission in the 50's.
    2030 at a 2nd Life drinkyoos party. Everyone's wearing the latest virtual sex outfits with additional length (though smaller is still prefered by some): "Yes, yes, I watched live as the end of Lost went to air back in 2010. Oh yes, I was programmed with the J.J.Abrams virus, too. Another iPopper, anyone?"
    -------------
    And then there're pills. I still have a full box of Prozac yum-yums, and haven't decided whether to start taking them or not.
    It's not a little decision, like taking asperin for a headache. And I don't want to make a mistake and turn into some sort of ravening beast ... or conversely hide my head under a rock for the next few years.
    --------------
    The writing is going well. There, I've said it. No more excuses. It's true that what I'm writing might end up being twaddle, but at least it's being written, and! I'm getting a buzz everytime I fire up the computer and begin.
    And that, as they say, is that.
    Will I watch Lost? Will I pop pills? Stay tuned for further waffle and possible updates. And if you fancy having a goog laugh then click HERE and read Jason's latest bloggy missive.
    Cheers, y'all!
    Camy
  16. Camy

    Me ... me me me.

    By Camy,

    I'm beginning to feel chilled and happy. The stress of the last year has finally vanished over the horizon - never to return - and it's summer! What more could a chap want? Oh yeah, that. ;)
    That's being worked on. *coughs and blushes*
    Ooops. I'm late.
  17. Camy

    Me and my container

    By Camy,

    I'm having problems divesting myself of crap. I don't mean that I have a blocked loo, or that my underwear needs cleaning. It's just that I have a container full of stuff that I can't seem to throw away. I wouldn't mind if it wasn't costing me a fortune every month, but it is and that annoys me a lot. So if anyone has any idea what I should do, then please, don't hesitate to say: sarcasm welcomed (I need a laugh), though bear in mind that a fire is out of the question as I have yet to find my passport and birth certificate. It's in there somewhere - sob-wail-gnash.
    M sends his regards ... or he would if he knew I was writing this.
    Ave.
  18. Camy

    Me, Myself, I pt XXVI

    By Camy,

    Umm. I had a reason to blog, but it seems to be escaping me at the moment. Most odd.
    Anyway ... so I found a box of Cassettes that had - once I dug an old cassette machine out of the loft and found a lead to attach it to the computer - some amazing AMAZING stuff on them. Like the rehearsal at Solid Light where I fell asleep over the drum kit in the middle of a song. Hmm, I suppose gouched out is closer to the truth: it was a long time ago. Then there are the first few recordings I made with M. Before we erm ... well, before he told me he umm ... loved me.
    Times and places are wonderful. I only wish I'd made a few more sensible decisions. Arse I am.
    When we were in Germany I recorded everything. I'd set up the desk, fire up the Atari and keyboards, plug in the guitar and ... what a load of crap!
    Though there are a few tracks I'm inordinately proud of. A few that have stood the test of time.

  19. Camy

    Meh 4,271

    By Camy,

    Meh 4,271
    Why are all my blog entries so ... depressing? I'm not normally a depressed person, but then I suppose there is no normality to my life any more. I feel like I'm drifting - oh for a boat - and have entered the doldrums. The sails are up, but *insert deity of choice* has switched of the wind. The fucker.
    Shoulda, woulda, coulda. That's all I can think of. And I'm sooooo tempted to pack a bag, and vanish. Yeah right. Not like it's going to happen. But the thought is like a lifeline. The idea that I could. Disappear.
    When I was small I read George Orwell's 'Down and out in Paris and London.' It's a wonderful, wonderful book - provided you're reading it with a full stomach, in a cosy room, with a warm drink to hand. I also read 'The Autobiography of a Super Tramp'. The idea is rather appealing ... but the actuality. Maybe twenty years ago.
    Maybe tomorrow ....
    I just do not know. And there lies the problem. I'm surrounded by idiots, but the biggest idiot looks back at me from the mirror. I should never have given up drugs. At least they dull the constant yearning for ...? Yep. The grass is always greener.
    So, I'm going to have another go at NaNoWriMo. If anyone feels up to taking part I can honestly say it's BIG FUN!
    Now, I'm off to steal a kiss from my beloved ... hmm ... take a kiss? Have a kiss? Kiss? Whatever. It'll be nice.
    Camy
    PS if you haven't read Jason Rimbaud's 'The Finale', then do. It's excellent, though sad.
  20. Camy

    Miserable me.

    By Camy,

    Be warned: this is going to be angsty.
    The back story:
    There are three of us who have revolved around one another for a lot of years. M (male) - who is my partner in music, life and all; and B (female) who is my partner in life and living. I love them both unreservedly. They are my soulmates.
    Because of circumstances beyond our control - and hideously high house prices - B and I moved to Wales, whilst M stayed in Sussex.
    Late last month B went into hospital for a 'routine' endoscopy to remove gall stones. 3am the next morning she was in horrendous pain... an ambulance to hospital, where she has been in intensive care ever since (the endoscope tore a hole in her bowel). Yesterday, she had a Tracheostomy,  and for two hours I thought she was going to die. I've never been so scared.
    Sassy, our Siamese, is as frantic as I am - in her own distinctly cat like way. She's either stuck in my lap, or yowling because I'm leaving for the hospital.
    For the first ten days the hospital gave me a private room, which was a godsend: a place to sleep, yet be close on hand. Then two ancient Welsh women needed it and I've been flitting between the ICU, the car, the relatives lounge (like an uncomfortable train carriage full of miserable, sad, and often wailing humanity), and home.
    I'm so, so tired. At home I feel guilty because I'm not at B's side, and when I'm at B's side all I want to do is escape.
    There is a chapel in the hospital, which is non-denominational. B and M are Buddhists, I'm an agnostic atheist, and B's brother is a raving Roman Catholic. There have been a lot of people chanting and praying for her - myself included. Might as well: positive thoughts of any sort have to go somewhere, achieve something.
    The consultants, doctors and nurses are wonderful, though there's always the caveat of 'she's in intensive care, which by its definition means she's gravely ill'.
    Today is day 24.... B's heavily sedated as they want the tube in her throat to settle in before they wake her. I'm at home, cat on lap, feeling guilty.
    Such is life.
  21. Camy

    More Sunday babbling

    By Camy,

    ... because it's Sunday, which means I haven't blogged for a week. Not that that's anything to write home about: I've not a lot to say. However, now I shall vent as I'm annoyed, and might well soon be ill. Why? Because I happen to like cold coffee and hate flys.
    Obvious then it is to cover one's coffee mug: and if not, at least check for alien invaders before drinking from it. Obvious to all but me, sadly.
    A mouth full of coffee (nice) and a large fly (not so nice) is enough to send even the sanest Emu over the edge, and trundling down the hill of despair and insanity. Especially if the only sympathy said Emu receives is rampant laughter.
    -----
    I don't rave about bands a lot. I've no idea why. Perhaps it's because I don't think there are many brilliant new bands out there. Anyway, now I've found one. 'Elbow' are really, really good. And I don't say that lightly. Not that I think their name rawks. Far from it. It's a bit meh, really. Or, to put it in stronger terms: their name sucks. BUT, their music is sublime!
    They are the best thing I've heard in an age and a half, and their album 'The Seldom Seen Kid' is just Mmmm! Check them out if you've a mind ... or even if you don't.
    http://www.elbow.co.uk/

    - on You Tube
    - on You Tube-----
    Housework really pisses me off. It's such an unmitigated waste of time (I know you can meditate while hoovering, but it's damn dangerous when doing the stairs). So, I've been pondering the idea of selling my un-made bed. If Tracy Emin can sell her's to Charles Saatchi for ?250,000 - then surely mine must be worth something. It's got lots of 'things' hers hasn't, and I'd even sign a manuscript (perchance I ever finish one) and leave it under the pillows.
    So, umm, any offers would be most welcome.
    Yours, ever hopeful,
    Camy.
    - edited to fix the link to 'The Bones of You' - Thanks Des.
  22. Camy

    Moved

    By Camy,

    So ... we've moved, and I can almost feel the stress seeping out of my body and evaporating ... or whatever happens to stress when it's no longer required.
    For the last couple of days I've felt totally dispossessed - like I was acting in a film with a weird script, and over which I had no control. Most odd.
    Now it's the cats that are stressed out. The poor things are going off their heads with angst. And because they can't go out for a couple of weeks, they spend most of their time slinking around arguing - or looking longingly out of the window at their new territory.
    Back to normal soon, methinks. Possibly ... hopefully.
    Camy
  23. Camy

    Moving

    By Camy,

    Having got rid of the 'ouse, I'm in the middle of packing up to move.
    Lord I have a lot of utter crap ... and it's so damn hard to get rid of. Which accounts for the stress levels.
    I know that 'things' don't really make one happy. But I've accumulated them, and they're mine (all mine Bwahaha), and I want-want-want to keep them.
    *sighs*
    I've already taken two van loads to the dump.
    *sighs some more*
    I'll be away for a bit, and back when I can.
    Cheers y'all, and apologies to those who have emailed and got no response.
    Camy
  24. Camy

    Muse

    By Camy,

    Having spent a couple of months desolate and bereft of the urge to write anything, other than shopping lists, it appears that my flighty friend, confident, and all-round blithering idiot, Muse, has returned.
    W00T I say, and W00T some more.

  25. Camy

    Muse vs WoW

    By Camy,

    My brain is being battered by warfare. Muse - bless his cotton socks - wants to do stuff, but me, I can't seem to get it together. I mean, here I am on the computer, typing. But when it comes to putting words in order that do anything close to telling a tale. Pah. So it's off to bloody (and yes it is bloody with the amount of poor beasties I've slaughtered and skinned) Azeroth.
    I have three alliance characters that I'm levelling (don't ask me what it means, 'cause I don't really know). One, a Human Paladin is at level 8 (whoopdeedoo) and is presently dead. My Night Elf Druid (level 5) is also, presently dead, and my weency Gnome Warrior is alive and kicking at level 5.
    Credit where credit is due: WoW is great fun, but the hours and hours I spend playing makes me feel oh so bleedin' guilty. I mean to say ... I want to have a legacy of at least a couple of dozen novels ... and an album or two, and I'd quite like to knock up an audio play as well. And yet. And yet ....
    What I really need to learn is WoW speak. The forums are ... well, interesting, to say the least. The problem is they seem to speak a language I don't understand. Here's an example:
    If anyone can translate I'd be overjoyed. Okay, so maybe overjoyed is a slight exageration. But interested, at least.
    I just have to 'say no'.
    "No more WoW! No more!" he said, sweating as Tealshy, the Night Elf, batted his eyes seductively with his 'come hither' look. "I have to write, don't you understand?" Tealshy pouted.
    Tum te tum te tum.
    Anyway, I'm in the middle of 'The First Term' which is a direct continuation of 'The First Day.' I'm not sure when it's going to be finished, but, WoW permitting, soon.
    Ave.
    Camy

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