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CObra

Rose Line

Lotus

     

25.10.01


I've just been trying to stay out of everyone's way lately unless someone asks something of me, which isn't too often. That's okay, I suppose. It gives me a bit of time to work on my music. I don't think any of them realize how good I am at this. Well, Banannas does. He's been good about keeping me company in my room, which is where I tend to stay when I'm not being made to clean something. I've decided for certain that while my purpose under my old master was loathesom, cleaning tubs is even more so.

In any event, I've managed to scroung a flute that seems to like me, and have made up a few tunes. Banannas likes the Rat Song. It doesn't have any words yet, but I'm sure it's about rats. I tried to make the music sound like... you know that cute tak-tak-tak sound a rat's claws make on a tile floor? Something like that and squeaking. I know, it sounds like it's a horrible din, but it actually works pretty well. I just need to think up some decent lyrics. But nothing, well, cheesy.

That's the one thing I can thank my old master for, you know. The fact that he had me trained as a musician, dancer, and singer. Every once in a while he would just want to sit and watch me. Look but don't touch type stuff. And he liked the background noise my music and singing created.

I think I'm going to go nap for a while. Sometimes sleeping, or at least relaxing, helps me think. i hear music in my head when I'm not thinking about anything else. The hard part is remembering it when I wake up again.


::: Posted by Ceran Niall on 02:33





20.10.01


Okay, I guess this is going to be okay. Electronics are not my forte, but I suppose something has to be. They set this thing up for me to play on, I guess so I can learn how one works. Not that I haven't used one before, just not for... non-learning purposes. At least this gives me something to do in my ample spare time.

Sometimes I think that it would have been better if my canine friends had left me to the sun. When I look around myself and realize the full weight of my pointlessness, I feel... When I look at my new friends, thier skills and abilites, in comparison to my failures and shortcomings, I wish I was back in America with my master. At least there I served a real purpose aside from being mild amusement. I just... I haven't figured out what I should really do with myself.

I should be useful. I know I should. I can certainly read well enough, write well enough, but when I have to speak... Too much time of being subserviant and silent unless something was demanded of me has taken a toll. If I could just find my voice, I think I could be so eloquent; a great speaker. My master used to enjoy having me read to him. Just read, nothing else. Those were nice times, even when I was young. I didn't always understand the biggest words, but I tried. And I learned. I'm not stupid, I just don't know how-- I can't express myself the way I want to.

Except to the animals.

I can hold a conversation for hours with a mouse or a squirrel. It's simple, but I don't have any problem talking with them about cheese or nuts or losing things. But on the things I read in my master's philosophy books, or in his collection of great poets and authors... I've yet to meet a brushtail that had any comprehension of Chaucer or Poe. But animals like me, or at least tolerate me. Although I admit I've never met a creature quite like the cat here. I've all but given up trying to become friends with Lightfoot since she's obviously not the tolerant type. She likes Imhotep, though, and he's Egyptian, and Egyptians and cats are supposed to get on famously. I've almost given up on my own feline friend. I tried to make him pretty, like the cute purple cat, but he complained so much... When the dye wares off, I'll just leave him as is.

I miss the horses at the track, but not cleaning up after them. Cleaning apartments is a little better... and I don't get as much guck on my hands. Maybe that's my purpose... cheap unskilled labor.

I can't even offer a useful comment on art. Words whirl in my head, but I can't get a single one out because I'm too busy staring blankly. Especially at violets. I love violet. I used to have a tiny bed of violet roses. They grew just fine indoors, away from the sun. My master grew red and white and black ones. I like the feeling of rose petals, silk against my skin, the deep, sweet scent of them as they're crushed against flesh, between flesh...

But I digress.

I suppose there's not much need for it, but all I can offer in the way of services that would not-- offend my friends, is my music. It usually doesn't seem appropriate among such serious people, but... I'm a silly creature. I'm a simply, frivolous creature because I have to be. If I wasn't, I'd probably have thrown myself into the daylight years ago. I'm too weak to be much of a fighter, although I wish I could learn magic. If I could shape myself, I'd give myself wings and fly away from everything; leave all the bad things and bad people behind and go to one the lands in my master's books or paintings. But I can't, can I? So I'll have to persist here. I'll have to go on and smile and try to remain happy, because this is my lot in life, and I don't have much say in it.

"My only desire is an intimate infusion with nature, and the only fate I wish is to have worked and lived in harmony with her laws." --Claude Monet


::: Posted by Ceran Niall on 12:45





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