Oscar Wilde departed this world one-hundred-and-nine years ago on this very day, and the world of literature was never the same again.
Today is also my father's birthday. Make of that coincidence what you will.

I'm meeting Emilie Autumn in 100 days, and - to quote Galinda, from Wicked - I couldn't be happier. Except, y'know, maybe if I wasn't sick...which I am, today, and have thus been confined to my bedroom (which sucks, because - despite the fact that I adore the song "I Don't Like Mondays" at the moment - my Mondays at school are actually pretty good). I would read The Picture Of Dorian Gray in commemoration of Oscar, but I think I probably left it in my attic, and I'm not facing those rickety little stairs (think of the stairs up to the attic floor of La Maison du Plaisir...), so I contented myself with reading some of his short stories instead...and Brideshead Revisited, too, just to keep the aesthetic motif going. I read the whole thing, cover to cover, in forty-four minutes, and am now crazily proud of myself...I think my last fastest time was two hours, or something like that. I should start recording reading time inside the cover, along with "times read"...

Anyway. As a result, I now have Sebastian Flyte partying around my mind, along with my OCs Eveline (from Infidel - she's the slutty Victorian dipso) and Luck (from Rigor Mortis - genderless, pansexual funeral director with a passion for absinthe). They're all singing "My Alcoholic Friends" by the Dresden Dolls. Go figure. Stupid three-dimensional characters! (Renaud really ought to be singing along with them, but I think she's huffing at the moment, since I'm bothering with Lennie and Ailsa so much more than I am with her...)

I'm writing Chasing Helene, chapter seven, as we speak, actually...I have it all planned out in one of my school notebooks (well, what else are study periods for...?) and Helene's being nice and cooperative for once...if I was an optimist, then I might dare to hope I might have it finished by this evening. If I was an optimist...which I'm really not...

I'm also attempting to write a concept album at the moment...which might work out, but may well be a complete shambles. Ho hum. Anyway, it's sort of horror-movieish, and is called Daisy Is Drowning. It stars a six-year-old Victorian girl called Daisy, who has her first crush on a little boy who lives near her. She knows he likes art and pretty things, so she decides to go and pick - what else? - some daisies for him, from the river near her home. When her governess won't allow her, she sneaks out later on - but when she does she sees the boy she likes hanging around with another little girl. Jealous, she waits until the girl leaves, and then murders the boy (see, I said it was horror-movieish...). She doesn't regret the deed, but thinks he looks ugly just lying there, all plain and dead, and so drags him off with her so she can pick daisies and put them on him...but she falls into the river in the process, drowning herself (hence the title). Daisy comes back as a ghost, and chases the ghost of the little boy, whom she is surprised and hurt to find will (understandably!) not bother with her. Meanwhile, the governess is accused of murdering Daisy and the boy. Daisy goes to her cell, heart-broken, and teases her, saying that it's all her fault - if she had just let Daisy go out to the river in the first place when she'd wanted to, none of this would have happened.

So...yeah. That's Daisy Is Drowning. It's probably grotesquely cliched and been done before, but still, it's inspiring me...slowly

Anyway. Helene beckons
Love, blood and chocolate,
Phee.