I am not sure how many times I walked into that Ralph’s in Westwood. But each
time (even if it was only once) was one too many.
I thought I saw the Aurora shooter there. The man I once spoke to there looked a
lot like him. He had odd looking eyes, like he was living in a nightmare. He didn’t
want to be looked at or spoken to. He said, as I demanded alcohol loudly in my
depression, “This isn’t how a person should act in public.” I told him to shut up. I
knew what he was going to do. I felt bad though.
So I said sorry and that I would give him some advice. Things aren’t written in
stone. And besides he looked more like a Joker than that other guy. I asked him to
prove that there was such a thing as ‘free will’ and dress up as the Joker instead.
After all, his hair was already the right color. Okay, fine it wasn’t but it still looked
I told him, holding Smirnoff vodka in one hand and my anger in the other, that I
just had a dream about the President and his second hand man. Blood was painted
on their foreheads. There was a door, and then they were seated on an island (or
was it a coast?) with white shores.
I cursed about keys.
The President was somewhere in the store that day, in an aisle, but I left anyways.
Another day, another fall off the wagon, and this time someone was at the cashier
counter on the side of the parking lot. I pointed at him and said, “Sideshow Bob. So
that means…” I smiled hysterically and started storming around in my anger
looking for him: the Commander-in-Chief.
I was wearing my teal trench coat, my grey knitted puma cap, and my silver chain
(the one I no longer have, it was stolen).
I found him and cursed at him, about birth certificates, the NDAA, and LGBT rights.
And before you ask, no I am not a Republican, but I am not a Democrat either. I am
a free-thinker. And I kept going, about how I didn’t understand why the word
‘lesbian’ exists when ‘gay’ already does. I then started going on about the word
‘faggot’ (sorry Haileybury you left me with some scars and still healing wounds).
How it doesn’t mean that homophobic slur in England.
He just blinked and told me to go away.
I think I called him ‘Mr. Fuck Face’.
I know I never called him Mr. President.
I asked him how it felt to kill children, who we are not even allowed to send to
He said he didn’t have to answer that.
I explained Haileybury and SKS among other things to him.
I explained that California to me is hell and that I was not feeling well.
I told him I was about to pull possibly the greatest prank in history. That if it wasn’t
that it was still going to be pretty epic.
I told him I was sorry even if he was the pile of shit I think he is because I wouldn’t
wish this knowledge on anyone: this necessary existentialist crises you will experience if you understand what I have done.
I told him about Twilight and JKR. I explained the joke behind the name JKR.
I told him about the Hollywood people and then some who broke in many times
and stole writings and broke swans out of narcissistic beliefs (that were so very
He didn’t care.
And so I destroyed the whole world. I turned it into a puppet show, more than it
I explained that history class.
I told him about the Oscars and names. I explained the angle it should have and
told him to build his straw man but that it had better be a woman.
I don’t think he understood what was happening.
Then I raised my voice and shouted about Osama bin Laden and the Taliban and
Pakistan. I told him about Bin Laden’s kidney failure, which I had read about in a
newspaper and said he must be somewhere where there were a lot of hospitals.
He asked how many.
I said at least 3 or 4 because there was no way he wouldn’t be noticed in a hospital
there if he stayed or went in for treatment for longer than a few months at a time. I
pointed out that the people in Pakistan were not the terrorists. I asked him who he
should ask before he went in searching. He said he didn’t need to ask anyone. But I
think he should have asked (and maybe he did) England. After all, isn’t Pakistan a
common wealth country? (Or is that not how it works?)
I asked him if he forgot something. And he said “Do you know who I am?” and then
went off on a tangent about himself.
So I fed him a good story.
An epic one and asked him to name the heroine Bridget.
I came back to Ralph’s another day. I ran there found him again and demanded for
the heroine’s name to be changed to ‘Maia’. I explained I was just upset the other
day and that I didn’t mean to be mean.
He didn’t understand my reasoning and that was fine.
It wasn’t about him.
He asked how to spell the name and I spelled it wrong.
Because I have not spoken to Maia in a long time and a 6th Degree of Connection
was standing there close enough to hear what I said.
I know my worth.
I am still that angry loud girl who shouted at Moran Morgan about how we hadn’t
found weapons of mass destruction in Iraq and he should stop lying. That is not a
I made a comment again about that history class and that homework assignment
about where Osama bin Laden was and I am still not lying. (It was a Haileybury
classroom where this nightmare started).
And no, I am not bitter or angry about never even getting a ‘Thank you’ or the fact that he owes me money and only spoke to me in a rude and obnoxious manner.
He even tried to trip me once. I don’t remember if it worked.
I did not vote for him when the time came almost two years later.
And no I did not want the other guy either.
I tweeted his official page and the official Navy SEALS page after they had
overkilled him asking to know why it took them so long.
I am not interested in being the gadfly of this state. And it seems like such a waste
of all this for them to have destroyed his teeth and thrown him in the ocean. If I am
on that kill list do you know how much of a joke that would be?
I left crying and horrified, worried about kill lists and the like.
I got scared.
It is awkward.
I think he thinks he stole or tricked me when I fed him that Oscar story and walked
him through that GCSE History assignment from 2003/2004.
And here’s the joke: I told Sideshow Bob to make sure the Commander-in-Chief
didn’t get cold feet and to make sure there was a joke about red-eyes in the title (I
am an insomniac).
And no, it wasn’t all a joke.
I thought hard on that story because, though I may hate this place most days, I
really love America.
He never offered me a job either.
Is World War III coming? I don’t know.
And hi, my name’s Agnes S Kamalnath.
And I created this media frenzy of sorts: that red-eye Oscar nominee, among other
So yeah, open your eyes. Listen to the truth. And ‘power off’.
Yeah, it’s that sick and disgusting. Will they ever stop?
Look around at this world I created for you.
And know this: I never doubt me but I will always doubt you, the world, all of it.
And now you probably will doubt yourself too.
And it will never matter.
Because you can’t and it can never be easy.
If the world was based on merit and if thieves simply had to give their earnings
Well, Hollywood would be broke and the Commander-in-Chief would be in my
And you know what?
This is the truth.
And no matter how rich they are and will stay, Hollywood is broke, they all are.
So broke, it’s funny.
And so emotionally bankrupt too.
It is hard not to want to run away from this so-called ‘City of Angels’.
Applications I Will Never Be Able To Send (I Don’t Have People Really)
Edit: When I was in first grade, at the age of 5, I read my first big book. By the age
of 11, I had read most of Jane Austen’s books, with the notable exception of
Northanger Abbey, among other major works, such as Lolita, and some of LotR
(which I read in full at the age of 13).
In fact, by the age of 11 I had read all the works of Shakespeare and many other
classic works. I had, also, read many history books, as well as compilations of
ancient myths and more recent religious texts.
I am aware this may sound like the whining of an accelerated child who found in
her adult years that the world was not as easy and simple as she thought it was.
All I can say is this: I never thought the world was easy or made any sense.
Even with that here I am at a loss to the reasoning behind all these disturbing (yet
not even close enough) incidents and events.
And yes I am aware my life is quite good.
I know that I have no cause to whine or go on about all these things.
After all, there are starving children and adults everywhere in the world.
I have met people who have witnessed murders and I am sorry.
I do not mean to be inconsiderate to you or myself.
I am confused and feel though that this is cause enough for change.
And if not that at least for us to stop and wonder where we have ended up,
Where we are left to stand and watch others walk by and away,
Where if you are not already of the chosen few you will never be.
When I was a little girl, at just three years old, I read my first book. I do not
remember what it was, and I do not remember the words, but it has greatly affected me. My
favorite book was Teeny Tiny Woman, and I always dreamed of giving stories back to the world
and the people I had met.
I have always loved Greek Mythology, and ancient History. I enjoyed the idea of
creating myths, and stories from which the world could learn. I have been writing stories
and telling them (like Homer- maybe?) since I first started reading books. I have always been a
bit silly, and enjoyed creating stories with the people around me. I have for a long time been leaving books (stories I had written- each one a little different than the other and all handwritten) and hiding them in places here and there.
I have been studying history, and the rest by picking up books, and becoming
curious. I have learned most outside of the classroom, though I wish it wasn’t so.
I have had many years out of University. I had a year out after high school in 2005,
when I was unwell and unable to study properly. I have, also, had about four years out
after studying at QMUL, where I was in Chemistry with Biochemistry.
I have had a lot of time to think, and have come to many realizations about myself.
I am applying for History because I love the ancients, and have always wanted to
research them and learn how to become a great person myself, in my own way.
My first time at college was not always good, and there was always someone there
to disagree with, but that was what always helped me to learn well. I may not have always
appreciated the differences, but together the students managed often to push through anyways.
I have no formal degree qualifications, and I have been out of school for a long
time. I have never been employed, though I have volunteered in places, and done community
service growing up. (I am 24 years old).
I was fluent in French and Spanish, until the age of 16.
I created a Film Club at Storm King School, which I attended when I was 14 years
old, and in 10th grade. (I took all 11th grade courses). I, also, started the archiving
there, and taught another girl (my junior) the process. I have been to Harvard and
NYU Summer School, but I never did manage to excel as I wanted.
I have learned how to play the flute, koto, piccolo, guitar, piano (though none very
well), and have always wanted to relearn them. (I can no longer read music and do
not really understand songs much, anymore).
I have read many books, though my ‘favorite’ books (the ones that have greatly
affected me) are: The Stranger by Albert Camus, the short stories of Ernest
Hemingway, the plays of Tennessee Williams, the works of Tolkien, and Alice in
Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass.
Edit: One of these books, perhaps shockingly, is On the Road by Jack Kerouac.
I have been writing stories and literally leaving them in places for people to read,
though I stopped doing this by the time I was 17 years old. This now upsets me as I
have now realized how easy it is to simply cross out a name, and there will never
be any record I ever wrote anything.
I have always loved watching international films, and learning new things through
not just popular media, but the color of the skies and everything else, as well. I
would like this out. I want to not be the shadow anymore. I want to be someone,
and I want to be educated.