I like trains. I don’t drive – for plenty of reasons – and so trains for me are kind of my (forgive the pun) ticket to freedom. They, are how I escape, visit people I love, return home after. Trains. I like them… What I don’t like however, is train stations. Train stations and the completely inexplicable and un-announced stops they seem to have to make in them. Stops in the countryside are normally ok, apart from the train from Nottingham to Lincoln which finds it necessary to stop nearly every journey outside a sewage station, most countryside stops are the equivalent of stopping the car to admire the view. But the un-planned stops in stations, are the equivalent of traffic jams; why they happen is beyond me, I will probably never find out, my journey is being unnecessarily delayed, and they make me want to hit people.
Out of all the train stations I don’t like, one right up there with the worst of them is Derby train station. Derby train station is green and dark and…not even a nice green, not verdant, or relaxing, no, the station is a maze of high standing MDF panels painted a particular shade of toxic blue-green than makes your eyes feel funny.
And I am sat. On a train. In Derby train station squeezing my eyes open and closed to try and counter the effect of the MDF maze when I see these people. These… men. I didn’t mean to spit that with so much venom, but… well, it’s the tall one that draws my attention first. He moved like a pigeon. I mean he’s normal looking- quite a standard, balding, be-anoraked train station hanger on. It’s nothing in his appearance that gives him his pigeon-osity. It’s the strut. He’s strutting and when he struts his head bobs, back and forth and, although I can’t hear a word, is clearly bobbing in time with the rant he’s expectorating with great force. His fellow pigeons meanwhile, shorter, with obviously cheaper anoraks, follow him, butt in with (what seems) encouragement, acquiescence, exalting his king-among-pigeon-men status.
Now I would have passed this vision off as vague toxic-green induced psychosis. I could have continued trying to read my book, or shifting in my seat, or wondering when the unannounced stop in Derby would possibly end and I would able to reach my destination. But the moment, my moment, was stolen back by this man, solidified. A middle aged Chinese womanappeared from some MDF obscured stair set, walking briskly, followed by her daughter and an attendant pointing them in their direction. It was then. They nailed it. Those pigeon men; they earned Derby the accolade of my most loathed station, lead by Mr. King-Pigeon as he fluently spun on his heel, steepled his hands, bowed his legs, protruded his front teeth and waddled after her, squinting. His friends laughed. She didn’t see. Then he turned, and started leering at me.
Imaginative title I know.
So this is going to be a collection of musings by me; IcarusGirl.
To introduce myself: like so many I am an aspiring writer, specifically playwriting and dabblings in poety. The name IcarusGirl? Inspired by a song of Ani DiFranco’s which i shall finish this post with, it was a pseudonym chosen when a bit younger and a lot more emo, but noone should be ashamed of where they come from, if happy with who they are now (which we must mostly be to exist, save a wish to be a little more toned, tucked and trimmer).
My spelling and grammar is lazy, I can do it but type fast and tend to garble occasionally, we both know what I mean so suck it up.
My interersts are varied, music is a must (from emo and screamo, post hardcore to ska, jazz and blues, electronica and drum and bass, lots more) I read (terry pratchett and harry potter to relax, other wise Ian Banks, David Mitchell, Ian McEwan, Austen, Neil Gaiman, Kazuo Ishiguro, Murakami et al) I paint (portraits mainly), am studying for a BA Hons in Drama, following it next year with a MPhil in Playwriting which I was recently accepted onto. I also follow a few online comics, namely rpgworld, megatokyo, and xkcd.com.
Ocassionally I get the urge to excercise, when I do, I swim, i’ve always felt more ‘me’ in water, i’m naturally kind of fast moving/thinking and quite clumsy, water slows everything down and makes me feel (dare I say it) graceful.
There’s a lot more but for now, that will do. If you feel like following me, my writings will be about whatever the hell I want, although as the title of the blog suggests I intend to use this space to perhaps discuss ‘A Science Fiction Thetare’, what I write, and am writing and how I think Science Fiction has long been (almost) absent from the stage, why it is valuable and how my various plays address then and now (cue the voices of dissent with numerous examples of ostenisbly SciFi theatre) Manifestos are about passion, statements and beliefs, and I believe I don’t have to listen to nitpicking.
ICARUS (Ani DiFranco)
seems like you just started noticing how noticably bad things really are and when you walked past this couple arguing in a rolled up window of a parked car and all of that gesticulated bitterness and all of that muffled yelling hell its dark just starts wafting at you like a big fury rat died inside of that wall kinda smell
breathe like it's rolling like a cold front thunder is thundering and lightening in tow and your tiny little life gets even smaller as you heed the heaven's mighty show
and I don't mean heaven like god-like the animal in me knows very well nature is our teacher, our leader, and our lover and god is just another story that we tell
and you're trying not to grasp-not to start grasping at straws -or sticks- or stones just learn how to sit inside your sadness even if you're sitting there alone
it's just like Icarus ascending never intending to look back nature's law and your tragic flaw I find descending flying into the arms of a Venus flytrap
