Intermission

Parlez vous français? Bien, je peux parler un peu. Je ne peux pas en mesure á parler français bien - qui est probablement évident! Mais je dois rappelle des phrases parce que je vais a France aujourd'hui pour mes vacances. Je vais visiter des plages, la ville de La Rochelle et la maison très célèbre et magnifique de Louis XIV: La Château de Versailles!

Malheureusement, cela signifie je ne vais pas capable d'écrire un autre blog pour des semaines – parce que je ne vais pas avoir un ordinateur! C’est très triste, mais vrai…

Je vais vous manquez beaucoup!

Et je retourner en des semaines!

- and sincere apologies for my awful French – but I did manage to enlist the help of my lanaguages-savvy sister, so it isn’t as bad as it could have been!

Escapism vs. Escape in ‘The Glass Menagerie’ - Continued

Part Two: Escape
Right from Tom’s opening monologue, the audience discovers how escape has shaped the lives of the Wingfields. Tom’s father was ‘a telephone man who fell in love with long distances’, who escaped the lives of the Wingfield family with a letter that simply stated “Hello – Goodbye!”. His ‘larger-than-life-sized photograph over the mantel’ serves as a constant reminder to the family (especially to Tom) that escape can be achieved (it is often lit up at crucial moments of the play to emphasise its symbolic nature), but also as a mocking reminder that the characters remain trapped.

Just as ‘art’ (an image of the father) acts as a symbol of escape, so does music. Laura constantly relies on the music of the Victrola for an escape from any awkward situation she finds herself in: i.e. any time she feels she is being forced to face reality. For example, when Amanda insists that Laura answer the door to ‘the gentleman caller’, Laura avoids this duty by going to play the Victrola to ease her anxiety. Music often has the effect of transporting the listener to ‘another world’, one that is less stressful and wrought with troubles as reality, and so acts as an escape to another place, even whilst the listener remains static. However, despite this escapist quality, the listener can only escape momentarily with music – Laura does eventually have to answer the door – and it is therefore, as many of the other forms of escape in this play, it is only a futile method of temporary escape that is metaphysical rather than spatial.

The events of the play throughout are also governed by the theme of escape. One reason for this is Amanda’s control over the domestic setting, with her desires for her children to have successful futures controlling the family. Amanda wishes to ensure her children escape from their current depressing existence; Tom through his job providing for the family, Laura through being married off to a nice ‘gentleman caller’. However, ironically, her obsession with this ends up actually repressing the whole family’s capacity for escape two-fold. It entraps Amanda in her neurotic state (‘her life is paranoia’), and entraps the children in her mother’s ambitions for them, which neither of them can ever fulfil.

Despite her ambitions’ overall failings, Amanda’s will does ensure that a ‘gentleman caller’ does materialise to meet Laura. His arrival is so critical and anticipated by the family as his role could be to free the entire family from their enslavement in their unwanted roles. However, after raising their hopes, Jim too further entraps the family, sending a devastated Laura deeper into regression in her fantasy world, dashing Amanda’s hopes of her children’s success, and denying Tom his chance to escape his warehouse job whilst ensuring the family’s safety – so that eventually, ‘to escape from a trap he has to act without pity’.

One of the main symbols of escape in the play is, of course, the fire escape. It is literally the escape from the domestic setting, but its true function also hints at the escape from danger and damage – which it really is. It is the place where wishes of brighter futures are made on the moon; the place where Laura stumbles whenever she tries to, showing her dependency on her own little world, and the place Tom constantly seeks to, and eventually does, escape.

Tom is the character most desperate for escape from his depressing existence. Sick of futile escapism through visits to the movies, and living through the escapades of Hollywood stars (which he uses as ‘compensation’), he seeks adventure of his own. He is particularly inspired by a magic show he witnesses, seeing the magicians trick of escaping from a coffin bolted down without removing a nail as similar to the trick he must perform to escape from the home.

‘But the wonderfullest trick of all was the coffin trick. We nailed him into a coffin and he got out of the coffin without removing one nail. There is a trick that would come in handy for me - get me out of this two-by-four situation.’

Tom’s job at the warehouse pays the rent and bills – he has been forced to provide for his mother and sister since his father left. He cannot escape the ‘coffin’ of his home without removing a nail, until there is someone to take his place (i.e. a husband for Laura) – which never happens.

But Tom is so desperate to escape that he eventually does so – removing several nails in the process. He abandons his mother and sister without anyone to provide for them, leaving them symbolically in the dark after using the money supposed to pay the electricity bills to fund his application to the Merchant Marines. So he escapes and gets to travel the world – but he can never escape entirely. He’s constantly haunted by the sad memory of his lonely sister, and everywhere he goes, however far away, the memory of her stays with him.

‘Oh, Laura, Laura, I tried to leave you behind me, but I am more faithful than I intended to be! I reach for a cigarette, I cross the street, I run into the movies or a bar, I buy a drink, I speak to the nearest stranger—anything that can blow your candles out! For nowadays the world is lit by lightning! Blow out your candles, Laura’

And it is this that adds the element of tragedy to the domestic drama – not one of the characters escapes their depressing, mundane existence unscathed. ‘The Glass Menagerie’ highlights how the world - and all our lives - contains suffering, and it’s a fact we have to face: ‘life's not easy, it calls for - Spartan endurance!’ Life is about commitment; to both other people and yourself, and responsibility has to be taken (which both Laura and Tom are very reluctant to do), and duties have to be done. As Amanda states, even time itself is an inescapable sentence:

‘the future becomes the present, the present becomes the past, and the past turns into everlasting regret if you don't plan for it!’

Escapism vs. Escape in ‘The Glass Menagerie’

Escape and escapism are major themes in Tennessee Williams’ play, ‘The Glass Menagerie’. The themes span the entire play, control the lives of the characters, and are manifested throughout through Williams’ use of symbols, setting and structure.
I’m going to upload this article in two parts because it kind of turned into an epic rambling on the themes, so I’ll separate it nicely into ‘Escapism’ and ‘Escape’ for you all.

* * *

Part One: Escapism
Escapism is a very real aspect of the Wingfield family. Each member has its own methods and reasons for their desire to slip through the meshes of reality into the realms of fantasy (though these reasons generally boil down to dislike of their depressing, mundane existences). This wish to dismiss the painful reality of their lives through the use of fantasy or memory is manifested in such ways because of the futility and impossibility of a clean break from the family, and of real escape. The family members are inextricably bound to one another by their joint need for escape and for fulfilment. This makes escapism extremely important in keeping their world in one piece.
Amanda’s escapism is very much rooted in her memories of the past. She is described as ‘a little woman of great vitality clinging frantically to another time and place’: somewhere where she was happy. Amanda’s memories of Blue Mountain, her home when she was young girl, is her where of trying to bring some of the spirit of the good ol’ days, when she was young and popular and loved and sought after, into her current, boring, life. She buys jonquils, a flower she was obsessed with in her youth, to try and bring this spark of happiness and vivacity back into her life.

But this flower of youth is now faded and ineffectual when faced with Laura’s relative failure at attracting gentlemen callers compared to Amanda’s tale of 17 gentlemen callers in one day back at Blue Mountain. Laura crippling shyness prevents Amanda from living through her daughter’s youth and beauty as she would like to. Her only other method of escapism in the present is through her membership of the prestigious D.A.R (Daughters of the American Revolution – a women’s society for descendants of the patriots of the Revolutionary War). Her membership is a way of holding on to her faded glory – hence she wears her best outfit (all cheap or imitation) and presents her sugary Southern charm to other D.A.R members. But even this escapism proves relatively ineffectual: she is shunned by other members that she speaks to on the phone; one woman even hangs up on her. All Amanda wants is love and acceptance, something she had in abundance in her youth, but now seems scarce to her. Her futile escapism strives for these, even if it means searching for it in places that are really out of reach for her.

Tom uses escapism because he longs for adventure. He goes to the movies every night to escape the drab life he leads as a warehouse worker (a profession he detests when he truly wishes to be a poet and travel the world), living with his overbearing mother and dependent sister. These over-frequent trips to the movies he feels are ‘compensation for lives that passed like [his], without any change or adventure’. He is accused by his mother, who relies on him to ‘make sacrifices’ and generally face reality on behalf of the family via his work at the warehouse, of retreating into fantasy: ‘you live in a dream: you manufacture illusions’. But, far more so than the other characters, Tom actually focuses on making his escapism a reality through attempts at practical escape. In the end he does follow in the footsteps of his father and successfully escapes the family – though how effectively this is achieved is debatable...

However, the third Wingfield really takes the biscuit when it comes to escapism, for Laura is the ultimate fantasist. Almost everything Laura does or says in the play is for some kind of escape or escapism. She is described as a girl who has ‘failed to establish contact with reality’, who lives ‘in a world of her own – a world of glass ornaments’. Her ‘glass menagerie’, as Amanda calls it, is Laura’s main means of escapism in the play: it is a world into which she becomes absorbed, and focuses all her energies on. The glass menagerie is Laura’s escape from the harshness of reality. Her disability and lack of confidence has led to an intense shyness. So she chooses to isolate herself in a world of glass, and dotes over the tiny ornaments to avoid interaction with others. It is no surprise that this key symbol of escapism gives the play its title.

Laura’s glass menagerie is a collection of tiny glass animal figurines. She feels a far stronger connection with these creatures than any human, even ascribing the glass figures personalities. She, in many ways, feels herself one of her own glass collection, and Tom notes her increasing regression into this world of fantasy: ‘she is like a piece of her own glass collection, too exquisitely fragile’. The glass animal that she particularly identifies with as her favourite is a glass unicorn, a creature that shares her singularity and fragility. But the horn of this unicorn is broken off when it falls from a table knocked by Jim and Laura whilst dancing. Laura’s comment to reassure Jim after this is that ‘glass breaks so easily. No matter how careful you are’. This is also true of Laura, who after Jim’s rejection of her, on account of his engagement, retreats further back into her fantasies, and also of the nature of her escapism – it is truly a fragile world that is almost destroyed by the interference of Jim, the ‘emissary from a world of reality’. But there is a difference between the unicorn and Laura. The unicorn becomes just like the other glass horses, and transfers from the world of fantasy to reality. This could symbolise Laura’s refutation of her escapism, but instead she gives the broken unicorn to Jim as ‘a souvenir’, thus separating the assimilated unicorn from herself and retaining her singularity. The glass unicorn leaves the Wingfield home with Jim on his departure, whilst Laura remains trapped in her world of escapism.

Tulips

i.
The day after death, the flowers appeared.
A line of them; three crimson tulips standing proud and serene in the corner of my room, each surrounded by a little frayed halo of darkness where the carpet had been split. Fragile sapling tongues bejewelled with crowns dipped in blood.
Nobody watched me before: now I am watched. There is something conspiratorial about their existence, as if they have been sent to observe me, and whisper secrets behind my back. They stare like the blank eyed statues of angels you find in graveyards; immutable, wholly absorbed in their vigil. I don’t like to take my eyes off them for long in case they move.
The nurses don’t seem to notice my visitors: they bustle in, take my temperature, check my pulse, feel my forehead. To them I am a procedure, one of many that must be completed over the course of the day. No point in asking questions, prompting friendship – they know I woke up mute, and that my voice is just one of my missing parts. When the ritual is completed, they leave without so much as a glance at the tulips, their skirts rustling like autumn leaves.
The tulips are too much, their colour too sudden – they hurt my eyes. Against the white hospital walls they’re like blood drops on snow – sacrilege. I tried to hide, shoved my head beneath the sheets and pressed myself flat against the mattress, but it just reminded me how deflated I now was; how empty. Like a cut-paper doll, ridiculous, pressed between the eyes of the tulips and the eyes of the nurses.

And I have no face – I have wanted to efface myself.
But it is frightening, living as a shadow.


ii.
At night, they scream.
Every night they seal themselves, close up their buds, and wail wordlessly into the darkness. It frightens me, this inner crying. It’s as if the voices aren’t theirs but are coming from within, inside the petals, closed like fists.
Mother once told me that flowers are the reproductive organs of plants.

Oh God, what have I done?
I bury my head beneath the pillow, try to block my ears, but it’s no use. I’m screaming inside too.


iii.
Before they came, the air was calm. Breathing was a rhythm, in out, in-out, inout like the clockwork mechanics of a machine. No sentiment; no fuss. But the tulips filled it up with noise. Now my breath snags and catches in my throat, my tongue feels dry and swollen. I’m breaking down, I know it.
I stretch out, supine, on the bed, feeling my bones sink down into the mattress like roots into earth. I would like to stay here forever, a permanent part of the furniture, immovable and silent. I could haunt the ward; wrap myself in white sheets like a corpse. Scare the doctors to death. Here they’re so used to doling it out, like medicine; it would be nice to turn the tables for once.
Or I could just lie – lay, passive tense now, remember, now it’s all out of my hands - here and melt into the sheets. Let my blood seep into the floorboards.
Perhaps that’s why the tulips glint like rubies.


iv.
I keep my eyes fixed on them. I know they’re up to something; playing some game with my mind, working their twisted magic on me. Their whisperings have turned into sinister spells, a chanting that undulates like the beat of my heart. My second pulse – two again, I should be happy – but choking; my throat’s constricted and I’m retching, retching. Retching air because I’m already empty, oh God, so empty, nothing else left. From fruitful to barren. The blossoms died and withered inside me, and now they’re sprouting out my throat: I’m screaming flowers – crimson like blood.
I saw red, couldn’t take it any longer. Leapt out of bed and pitched a jug of water over their heads, watched it seep into the carpet, turning it black. I thought it would drown out their awful voices, strangle my awful new tongue.
Murder, cold and blue.
Like you, baby.
My baby.

The tulips rotted, shrivelled, their petal heads collapsing in on themselves, their screams caving in. I fell to the floor, pushed my knees to my forehead, clutching my sides, crying hollow words. Shrivelling too.

* * *

A short fiction prose-poem inspired by the poem of the same name by Sylvia Plath and Margaret Atwood's 'The Handmaid's Tale' - both texts I'll be studying next year.

Terradoll's Top Ten Tunes And Why You Should Listen To Them

I was wondering how long it would be until the conventional 'top ten' lists started to appear on my blog... A disappointingly short time, by the look of it! But anyway...

Music is very important to me, as both a means of escapism and as inspiration for my ideas – both creative and socio-cultural. My favourite music has an impact on how I think, act and write, and has effectively helped make me who I am. I cannot go a half a day without listening to something on my iPod, and have to buy new CDs practically weekly to stop myself getting withdrawal symptoms. Basically, I listen to music a lot.
I was having a listen through loads of my old and favourite music today – a break from the extreme riot grrrl punk rock phase I’ve been having recently – and thought I should compile a list of my favourite songs ever to put my music taste into perspective (when you keep having genre-phases, it’s sometimes hard to remember all those songs that you love). So here is a list of ten (you have no idea how long it took to whittle it down to that lovely round number!) of my favourite songs ever, in no particular order, and why you should listen to them sometime too.
And I apologise in advance for inflicting my strange, eclectic music taste on you!

* * *

Angelspit - Lust Worthy
Any of Angelspit’s songs are seriously worth a listen to, but this is definitely my favourite – although, to be honest, I am unsure why. It differs from many of Angelspit’s other tracks in that it has an unusually slow beat and very dark sound, but retaining an awesome tune and attitude-laced clever lyrics. Plus it contains perhaps my favourite Angelspit lyrics ever: ‘I hate, therefore I ain’t / I am nothing but my own disease’.

Emilie Autumn – Opheliac
The first song I ever heard by Emilie, so of course it has its own little place in my heart. The mixture of the opening harpsichord melody, Emilie’s characteristic Victorian-industrial awesomeness, the Shakespeare quotes and Emilie’s crazy-Ophelia voice in the chorus undoubtedly make ‘Opheliac’ one of her best songs. If you only listen to one song from this list, make it this one!

I:Scintilla – Ultravioletfly
Like ‘Lust Worthy’ from ‘Blood Death Ivory’, ‘Ultravioletfly’ is another stand-out track from an album, in this case I:Scintilla’s ‘Optics’. Why do I like this track? To put it simply: everything about this track is unbelievably awesome. I:Scintilla are one of my favourite lyricists, and ‘Ultravioletfly’ contains some of the best lyrics on the album, not to mention awesome guitar, synths, melody and rhythmic effects. The best of an album full of great songs.

The Birthday Massacre – Blue
The Birthday Massacre is another band with great lyrics and great music – and they have always been a major inspiration to me. And this, my top-played track on iTunes, is no exception. For a while every single thing I wrote was somehow inspired by this song (obsessive, much?), including my GCSE coursework piece, and the themes of duplicity, split personalities and internal conflicts remain some of my main literary preoccupations today all because of this song. It’s Chibi’s voice that really makes this song so special, contrasting with and complimenting the dark chugging guitars and the retroclash electro-bleeps so well. And I have always longed to be able to replicate her growl!

Lunachicks – Binge & Purge
The first song I ever heard by the Lunachicks, and I have loved them ever since. ‘Binge and Purge’, the title song of the album, is a perfect example of the Lunachicks’ mix of fun post-punk rock and comic lyrics (with added puke noises!) with a serious message that became the Lunachicks’ trademark style. Definitely one to jump around and sing along to!

Bikini Kill – Feels Blind
As well as their well-known feminist-centred catchy punk rock songs that have become the ‘anthems’ of the riot grrrl movement, like ‘Rebel Girl’ and ‘Double Dare Ya’, Bikini Kill also wrote some great slower, more emotional songs. ‘Feels Blind’ is one of these, with a narrator who stands ‘in the doorway of [her] demise’ and who is doomed to only feel blind forever. Of course it would not be Bikini Kill without some kind of feminist message, as it talks about the debilitation of women and the limitation of their lives in a patriarchal society. Powerful stuff with a really great melody.

Emilie Autumn – Let The Record Show
Another epic Emilie song! I can’t really think of a specific reason of why I like this song so much, I think its awesomeness must just owe to the delicious darkness of the lyrics and music, the biting Victorian-industrial edge and Emilie’s coolness and originality. She is one talented woman.

Lunachicks – Superstrong
‘Take this! Take that! But no one is ever going to take my fucking rights back!’ An awesome song about women’s rights concerning freedom from sexual harassment (both visual and physical) by men. Theo’s gruff, masculine voice in this and the humour and attitude of the lyrics make it one of the best tracks off ‘Binge and Purge’. It’s just more proof that the Lunachicks = awesome.

The Birthday Massacre – Weekend
To be honest, there were several contenders from TBM’s ‘Walking With Stranger’s album for this spot in the list, including ‘Goodnight’ and the title track, but ‘Weekend’ cinched it, being my most-listened-to out of the three. A song that reminds me of autumn leaves, shiny wrapping paper and the colour purple, ‘Weekend’ never fails to make me smile.

Evanescence – Whisper
Truthfully, I haven’t listened to any Evanescence in ages, but when I was an angsty tween I listened to little else. There are so many songs of theirs I absolutely adored when I was in that phase, but Whisper remained my one favourite – the song that introduced me to their music. And the guitar riffs and Amy Lee’s voice mean this song remains a great listen to this day. I have to thank Evanescence for introducing me to all the music I listen to now (albeit in a very roundabout way), so in some ways this is the most important song on the list, because without this, none of the others would be there!

* * *

And because I know that you’ll be dying to listen to all these tracks now, after I’ve sold them to you so well, I’ve made a playlist of all these songs on my last.fm page, which can be found here.
Enjoy!

Thursdays Are Rainy

Originally written for the Waterstone's 'What's Your Story?' competition. Needless to say, I seriously got the wrong idea of the criteria with this weird poem thing (I'm still not sure what it is).

I'm also not quite sure what the inspiration for this was. I wrote it after my first GCSE exam, and yes, it was a Thursday, and it was raining! But otherwise, it's a mystery. Poetry's never been my strong point, so I guess I was just experimenting with words...

You can see the non-compressed, non-pixelized version here.

You & I, Amplified: Craziness and Individuality in the Dystopian World of ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’

Recently we’ve begun our study of Margaret Atwood’s ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ in English Lit classes. This article is about something that came up in discussion when my English group looked at the first two chapters of the novel, which I have then elaborated on (unfortunately, I’m afraid these elaborations are likely to be highly incoherent, so be prepared!). We were discussing dystopian fiction and social satires through looking at these chapters and the epigrams at the start of the book, and got onto the question of what exactly is Gilead. Yes, it’s a dystopian world set in the future, but it is by no means alien: Atwood clearly bases it on precepts in the current world like government surveillance, the role of women in society and the Biblical concepts that Gilead is founded on. She herself in fact wanted this novel to be called ‘speculative fiction’ and not science fiction. So is this dystopian world really so far from what we live in now?

The fact is, Gilead is not that different from the current world, and this is what makes it so chilling. It is the present day world, with all its imperfections and prejudices, amplified. The different factions of men and women are basically an exaggerated version of the separation of social classes and clique-y labels; the slogans and catchphrases used to promote the regime are similar to the rhetoric of advertising in our capitalist culture; and the delegation of jobs (men as ‘Commanders’, controlling state affairs and business, or as Angels/Guardians [army, policing or manual work]; women as household maids and reproduction vessels) are really, unfortunately, only an amplified version of the typified gender-occupation divide in the world today.

It’s shocking how grotesque the world looks when exaggerated in this way.

One of the characters enforcing the new Gilead law is Aunt Lydia, who says:

"Ordinary … is what you are used to. This may not seem ordinary to you now, but after a time it will. It will become ordinary."

Surely this means that anything, however seemingly outrageous, crazy, unjustified, etc, can become ‘normal’ and accepted within time. How, then, does one decipher the difference between what is normal and what is abnormal, what is acceptable and what is not? How can one draw the line between the possible and the impossible? The world of Gilead may seem like a nightmare alternative reality, but is it really beyond the realms of possibility?

This reminded me of a quote from ‘Girl, Interrupted’, when Susanna is contemplating whether or not she was actually ever ‘crazy’:

"Was I ever crazy? Maybe. Or maybe life is. Crazy isn’t being broken, or swallowing a dark secret – it’s you or me, amplified."

Is this really all that ‘crazy’ or ‘abnormal’ is – ordinary, amplified? Taking a person or a concept or a set of principles and augmenting them? If you think about it, it makes sense. Aren’t people who are considered ‘mad’ just ordinary people, but with one or more characteristic or emotion within themselves magnified? Take bi-polars for example: everyone experiences moodswings between happiness and sadness; the cycles between mania and depression are surely more defined versions of these. And anorexics: everyone experiences some lack of confidence with regards to their body-image at some time during their life; anorexics have a more in-depth, concentrated version of this. Of course this is a generalisation, and I am by no means attempting to ‘simplify’ or belittle any mental illnesses here, far from it, but it is a notable general trend.

And so the question can be asked ‘what is normal?’ with regards to craziness. The saying goes that ‘everyone’s a little bit crazy’ – and so they should be! This ‘craziness’ is just a little bit of our personality, typical of human beings, that has been magnified out of proportion and is turned into a ‘quirk’ or trait. And, as ‘ordinary is what you’re used to’, this state of mind will seem normal to the individual experiencing it, as they don’t know of a different mind set. And thus individuality is born!

In ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’, individuality is repressed: everyone is prescribed a delegated uniform, code of conduct, manner of speech, etc. It gets to the stage where Offred, the main protagonist, feels that she even has to control her thoughts:

‘Like other things now, thought must be rationed. There’s a lot that doesn’t bear thinking about. Thinking can hurt your chances, and I intend to last.'

This is because thinking can give her away; betray her individuality, and her will for rebellion and freedom against the oppressive Gilead system. Her feelings – her individual amplified quirks interacting and responding to her surroundings, put into words inside her head – are dangerous because they betray her individual ‘craziness’, her personal amplifications, and this is exactly what the Gilead regime wishes to repress. Offred is afraid that if she accidently voices her innermost thoughts (which would mostly be considered treasonous), she will be punished for working against a system that enforces uniform roles, and treats women more as child-bearing machines than as people.

And this is where the Gilead world becomes a true dystopia. Whilst our current Western world may not exactly be a constant celebration of individuality, especially with the rise of consumerist culture, it is certainly a world where people’s differing dynamics are taken into account and used for the advantage of society as a whole. If you are good at a particular skill, for instance, photography, you are able to use that skill to your own personal advantage, through making money out of it or simply enjoying it as a hobby, and to the advantage of society as a whole, providing art for people. People are able to specialise within almost every different area of work ('the division of labour’, as it’s known by economists), so people make the most of their ‘quirks’ and talents, and the economy works as efficiently as possible. What frightens us about Gilead is the repression of this individuality that we so depend on to shape our societies into communities we wish to belong to. Because whilst personal amplifications may not be the most utilitarian way of exploiting ‘resources’ – which is what the Gilead regime aims for – it is certainly a far better way for the world to work.

Go Away

I thought it was about time I posted some fictional stuff – because I am primarily a fiction writer (I say ‘fiction’, though it sounds really pretentious, because I’m still in the phase of trying out lots of different styles for size to see what fits best). Although, to be honest, I haven’t written anything in absolutely ages… So this, though it’s the most recent, is about a month old – and a revision of an older piece at that. I need to force myself back into the routine of creativity again (if such a thing exists)!

* * *

Another day breaks and we are alone again.

Sidestepping abhorrence, I avoid your unfaltering gaze as you concentrate on burning holes through my thoughts. I am too afraid to warrant your dismissal, yet I cannot bear to let you stay.

You hold me up to the light to see right through the threads of my existence; fluvial seams of nothingness all linking up to-

To where? Another thing I shall never know. I am not a circle, but we are together, and how romantic that may seem when buried beneath cold sarcasm. Out of the corner of my eyes I see your lips curl cruel as you picture my demise; a slow crumbling through your fingertips. I may be cannibal sweet but I can act tongue-in-cheek sour, blowing raspberries at you between two fingers and hiding behind yet another face.

We are immutable, unchanging, stuck on this playground roundabout watching the world whirl past while only you and I remain uncomfortably in focus: a pattern stamped onto the skyline that remains even when I close my eyes. Together we weave histories and trail sepia memories through the clouds leaving fading tracks across the sky. Like footprints in the snow.

One day I’ll watch you hang like the ghosts of all those people I’ve been, all those outfits I’ve tried on, but perhaps only in suspense-waiting for me to decide just who I am and what this all means; too many words for one being, one concept s p l i t. Just glass between us but it’s one step too far.

And you’ll have to wait, suspended there forever like a hangman puzzle never solved; the words ‘go away’ only half formed on my lips. You are my completion: you stop me from being whole.

Heels clicking, you’ll claw at the rope around your throat. Still trying to speak.

Alien Grrrls

Alien She

I wasn’t intending on writing something that so smoothly followed on from the last article, it just happened like that (honest!). I’ve been going through (another) Bikini Kill phase at the moment, and so I thought I’d write about one of their songs. ‘Alien She’ is one of the first songs I ever heard by the band, and has remained one of my favourites.

For those of you that don’t know, Bikini Kill is a band strongly associated with the Riot Grrrl movement – a 90s feminist punk subculture often attributed with inspiring the third wave feminist movement. They believed in girl power (not the corporate-created Spice Girls type!), female independence and an end to sexist discrimination, particularly within the punk subculture. Despite fracas between those within the movement and others outside – particularly the media who repeatedly misrepresented the movement and the views of those in it – Bikini Kill believed in the ‘every grrrl a riot grrrl’ credo.

However, many within the movement disagreed with this view (some viewed bimbos and lame girlfriends as ‘so fuckin’ indoctrinated into male culture + ideology’ – quote from ‘Riot Grrrl’ London zine) and there was often conflicting evidence, so it is a view Bikini Kill began to question. These ‘bimbos’ were seen as slaves to fashion and a male-dominated corporate society, aspiring to become the image of ‘the perfect female’ that the media projected to the western world – pretty, slim fashion clones, reliant on male protection and affection. This image of superficial perfection trapped girls in a weak, subordinate stereotype: an empty image. As discussed in the last article, this poisoned girls both individually (destroying them physically and wreaking them emotionally) and towards each other, creating jealousy and destroying the girl unity that the riot grrrl movement aimed for. Thus Bikini Kill wanted to challenge this girl-stereotype, and did so through the song ‘Alien She’.

The link between ‘her’ (the image of ‘the perfect female’) and ‘I’ (the persona of the song) is clearly set out right from the start with the phrase ‘she is me, I am her’, which is repeated to echo the theme of duality. This creates the idea of unity of girl-kind before the idea of conflict is introduced, which then remains the prevailing image. ‘She’ is described as a ‘Siamese twin connected at the cunt’ – i.e. they are inextricably linked by their gender (symbolised clearly by their joint possession of female genitalia). Their bond is then shown to be as close as their internal organs – ‘heart-brain-heart-brain-heart-brain-lung-gut’. The quick flow of words makes it seem as if they merge into one another, as does the use of repetition.

So, after the strength of their bond has been so clearly emphasised, right down to a sub-dermal level, it comes as a shock when, in the next line, the narrator (or whatever you call them in a song) announces ‘I want to kill her’. Why would someone want to kill someone they feel is them - unless of course, they were suicidal, but then why would they be worried ‘it might kill me’?

This juxtaposition is continued in the next section when the three chanted ‘insults’ (‘“Feminist”, “dyke”, “whore”’) are followed by the phrase ‘I’m so pretty’, sang in mocking tones. The two contrasting ideas that these two sections evoke (the concept of ‘prettiness’ relates closely to ideas of innocence, superficiality and cuteness – not things considered synonymous to the selection of ‘insults’) are, indeed, ‘alien’ to one another.

‘She’ and ‘me’ are further separated in the following sections, where a conflict of interests is revealed: ‘she wants me to go to the mall’ and ‘put the pretty, the pretty, pretty, pretty red lipstick on’. These are what many would consider typical ‘girl’ activities – things teenage girls would enjoy doing. The lyric shows how ‘she’ – the media image of the perfect female – encourages girls to do these things, and to enjoy them.

However, the narrator realises that something more sinister is going on. The repetition of the word ‘pretty’ plays on the idea of restriction to a monosyllabic stereotype, girls being confined to the superficial state of ‘pretty’ rather than becoming their own individuals. The repeated phrase ‘she wants me to be like her’ again reinforces the theme of duality, and shows how this media image is bent on transforming girls into this ‘pretty pretty’ stereotype – clones of one another, all decked out in the same fashions, with the same hair and make up which the consumerist society targets them with.

The narrator wants to kill this stereotype, and escape to be her own person – but she is torn, afraid that in doing so she might kill herself. The ‘perfect female’ image has grown so close to the hearts of many girls, whether they like it or not, that it is something they can’t dismiss. Many girls choose to follow such ‘feminine’ pastimes as shopping and putting on makeup, and those who act or dress in ways opposing to the stereotype do so actively knowing they are, declaring themselves ‘tom boys’ or ‘not girly’. This stereotypical image of the empty ‘pretty pretty’ girl is the personification of ‘girly’, and is thus inescapable to many girls. Even if it is an image that you feel is ‘alien’ to yourself, it is still a part of you, as shown in the lyric ‘who was me, and who is she?’, where the narrator becomes confused over the identity of both herself and this stereotype – they are so contrasting, but so merged.

The final phrase, ‘I guess I’ll never know’, is an admission to the fact that the line between the female self and the image of femininity will remain indistinguishable. Social doctrines of what a girl should like and how she should act, however narrow and restrictive and unjust they may be, have been hammered into the western culture, and are not easily dismissed. Even riot grrrls and feminists accept that they are not immune to ‘feminine-desires’ to look pretty, wear lipstick, go shopping – whatever – and this does not make them any less of a feminist. And, in truth, there is nothing wrong with doing or enjoying any of these things – only the concepts of female subordination and reduction to a stereotype that are behind their creation. Throughout the riot grrrl movement, there is a desire to break the mould, be individual, be who they want to be beyond the label of ‘girl’ (hence the corruption of the word ‘girl’ in the form ‘grrrl’). But there is also a hidden fear that Bikini Kill voice in this song: what if in breaking the mould, they destroy themselves - what gives them their individual identity as women? Because Bikini Kill wanted to be considered as ‘females’ (as opposed to simply humans in an asexual light), with their individual traits and sexuality, etc; just on equal terms to men. It is hard to find a way to achieve this equality without destroying the one of the main symbols of a patriarchal society – the image of the ‘perfect’ subordinate female – which at the same time seems to uphold girl unity, and a sense of girl power (the Spice Girls type!). ‘Alien She’ presents society with a complex question that remains unanswered: ‘I guess we’ll never know’...

Girl, Poisoned

Destroyx and Z00g of Angelspit

When thinking of what would be a good topic to start off my first ‘real’ blog post, I spent ages sifting through ideas. I could think of several things that would make good posts, but nothing that was suitable as a starting point. I eventually settled on an article about the song ‘Girl Poison’ by the industrial band Angelspit, and how young girls are preyed on by the consumerist industry and the media.

Angelspit are a great inspiration to me: through their individual image, their music, and their general ethos. I would seriously recommend people listen to some of their music. They have a great punk-esque DIY ethic, are super-skilled in music and lyric composition, and have a passion for creativity. A great starting point would be to read their manifesto.

Many of their lyrics are worth discussing, as they are filled with (often ironic) social commentary, mostly with a cyberpunk slant - and the subject matter of ‘Girl Poison’ is, in many ways, typical of their general lyrical concerns.
You can find the lyrics to ‘Girl Poison’ .here

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So, what is girl poison?

Well, a straightforward dictionary definition of a poison is ‘any substance that causes injury or illness or death of a living organism’. In this case, it is a substance that specifically affects girls. Angelspit cite several individual poisons within the lyrics: the girl is ‘full of Ritalin and Codeine’, injected with Silicon, and ‘pumped full of image, sweet as saccharine’. These words are clearly in the medical lexical field: drugs that act as stimulants, analgesics (that relieve pain), and artificial enhancers: image-enhancing (the silicon) and thus enhancing the attractiveness (saccharine is an artificial sweetener) of the girl.

But although all these substances are individual poisons to the girl, it is the umbrella ‘cause’ for the use of these drugs that is the real toxin: a consumerist industry that pressurises girls to meet the fixed criteria for perfection, encouraging artificial modification to achieve a prescribed state of ‘beauty’, and thus worth.

Each process of superficial alteration, whether it be silicon injections, buying set fashions (‘pocket money spent on hot pants’), or simply shaving, gets the girl one step closer to becoming the ‘ideal female’ – in this song represented by the fairytale character Sleeping Beauty. This literary allusion not only places this ideal figure in the realms of fantasy – showing how such perfection is dream-like and unachievable in reality – but the specific choice of Sleeping Beauty, poisoned by a spinning wheel and rendered to a state of comatose for a hundred years, hints at the zombie-like compliance fashion-victim girls are forced into (the girl is kept ‘hammered with girl poison’).

However, although these processes of modification may seem to be making the girl more ‘beautiful’, in reality they are harming the girl – just like poison. The girl is ‘slash[ed] away’ at, ‘publicly degrad[ed]’, weakened with an ‘insect diet’ and has her ‘innocence stolen’. She is reduced from a ‘princess’ or a ‘duchess’ (a girl with power, authority [even if just over herself], and thus true worth) to a ‘sexy little decoration’, an object of sex-appeal to be possessed by someone greater (male), only complementary to the bigger picture; or a ‘pedi-sinister girl next door’, confined to a twisted version of a pop-culture-generated, two-dimensional stereotype. And although the process of image modification had the aim of increasing the ‘worth’ of the girl, through enhancing her beauty artificially, it in fact has the opposite effect: the ‘princess’ (a girl of noble/royal blood – i.e. someone of inner-worth) is corrupted, and becomes ‘meat’ for ‘the dogs’ – vulnerable to male predators and the sex industry.

The girl is weakened both physically, by her increasing dependence on artificial methods of sustaining her image (likened to a drug addiction), and emotionally, as her self-confidence is torn apart. From this fragile state she is exploited again and again by the media and the fashion-industry, as shown by the lyric ‘self doubt is an industry’. The line ‘self harm is a best seller’ relates to how, by targeting girls with beauty products and fashionable clothing that are ‘crucial’ to maintaining their ‘perfect image’, girls are forced to finance their own suffering and degradation.

But can girls be saved? Sleeping Beauty was rescued from her sleep by the kiss of her handsome prince, but it seems that no such fairytale happy ending is in store for the girl in the song. ‘Handsome Princey’ is declared to be as ‘artificial’ as her image, and actually compliant in ‘keeping her hammered with girl poison’. This relates to the pressures girls feel relating to their image with regards to men. Teen magazines constantly tell girls how to dress, wear their make-up, talk, act, etc. to impress guys, to the extent that girls feel they must maintain their superficial image of perfection so that any prospective boyfriend will like them. And, similarly, through the images in lads’ mags, music videos and advertisements of photoshopped models, boys are shown what they should expect from a girl. Because teens are shown this one route to happiness – artificial perfection – they feel they must comply and confine themselves to a stereotype society deems attractive and acceptable.

The reality is human beings crave acceptance in social circles. Because of the way modern society is founded on image and general consensus of ‘fashion’ – what is ‘cool’ and what is not – people are increasingly bound in conforming with these social rules to ensure they are not outcasted. And, as the western world becomes ever more based around corporate lifestyles and twisted media conceptions of uniform ‘beauty’, it becomes increasingly difficult for girls to resist the pressures of the fashion industry, and overcome girl poison.

So, the antidote? Girls should have feelings of self-worth and confidence fostered in them for who they are, not who the fashion industry feels they should be. ‘Beauty’ should once again become a concept that is ‘in the eye of the beholder’, and not just some reproduced corporate image of superficial perfection. And expressions of individuality that are currently repressed by the restrictive climate of our capitalist society should be encouraged to blossom, allowing girls to escape demeaning stereotypes and bloom as their real, beautiful, selves. Impossible? No, but resistance of what Bikini Kill dubbed ‘psychic death’ from the media requires understanding and perseverance on behalf of all grrrl-kind to succeed.

So... Who Is Terradoll?

Terra: from the Latin meaning ‘earth’ or ‘land’; misspelt ‘terror’.

Doll: ‘a toy in the form of a human; used to refer to or to address a woman [derogatory]; a term of endearment’ (definition from Wikitionary).

Terradoll: a female horror-child of the earth; a frightening product of the advanced capitalist society; a 17 year old grrrl from England.

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And why have I decided to write a blog?

Well, basically, my life is boring, so traditional blog-writing isn’t something that really comes naturally to me. I’ve tried to keep a couple of journals on other websites, but they’ve never worked out, and I haven’t kept a diary or anything since I was like 11 or something. So I thought I’d write about things outside of my life that have influenced it in some way - art, books, abstract concepts, whatever – things that mean or have meant something to me. And then hopefully, once these things are recorded in my ineloquent ramblings, they might inspire someone else.

Well, maybe…