I wrote the beginnings of a story, I don't know where it's going, let me know what you think: (13/4/2009)
I killed a man yesterday. I’d never done that before. I haven’t washed his blood of my hands – seems disrespectful, you know? I mean, this is the last part of him and all I can do with it is wash it down the sink, mix it with the great oceans and then he’s gone…no, I couldn’t do that, imagine if it was me. They say the dead follow you around always after they die, watching you, because everything you do, the person you’ve become, they’ve helped shape, you know? You can’t always see them, sometimes you do, in those moments when you feel goose bumps in a warm room or when the dark seems darker, but they’re always there. I read that in a book somewhere…it was fiction, but I like to think that that’s true so that way I never feel too alone. Is that sad? I don’t know. Probably. When they found me with him, I was just sitting there next to him, cross-legged, my hands cupped holding a small pool of his blood, staring at it like it couldn’t be real. The detectives testified that I had a, “grey and distant look in my eyes”. I guess that’s accurate. Though I’d say it was more red – all I could see was that blood. They also say that if you can make your executioner laugh, maybe he won’t kill you – I’ve heard that in two places now. I don’t know if it’s true. I was the executioner, he didn’t try to make me laugh, he just cried…so, I don’t know. Wish I knew, then maybe he wouldn’t be dead. Or maybe he still would – depends on what you believe I suppose.
New Story (28/4/2009)
Started a new story, let me know what you think:
It was four a.m. and Henry sat at the kitchen table, “Get some sleep!” the others had said as they climbed the creaky staircase up to bed, “Yeah, yeah.” Henry had said, waving his hand over his shoulder. That was at one a.m. He had tried to sleep. Really. He had gone up to bed and lain still, and tossed and turned. He had even masturbated to try and get himself to sleep, but this hadn’t worked either, so he had gone back down to the kitchen and sat at the table. The room was dimly lit; all the lights bar a small fluorescent light above the microwave were off – some of the room being lit by the light from the adjacent room and the street lights shining in from the kitchen windows. He sat in one of the wooden chairs that surrounded the table that sat off centre in the room. He sat there for some time in the dank light before he got up to get his half-finished bag of chips from the cupboard, borrowed some salsa from one of the others and poured himself a glass of milk. He sipped on the milk and smiled.
“Milk in a bag?!” He had said, looking over at Jerry, who looked equally flabbergasted, “Milk in a bag?!” Jerry repeated, accentuating “bag”, pronouncing it as if it were spelled “bayg”. They smiled a broad smile and grabbed a four liter bag to suffice their milk needs and added it to the shopping cart along with the large box of Pop-Tarts, “Those’ll go well together.” Jerry said and Henry nodded.
Henry fingered the cigarette he had removed from a packet on the table, pushing the tobacco cylinder across the table idly as he ate his chips. He eyed a pack of matched and placed the two things next to each other. There it was – a pastime. Henry was a vehement non-smoker but he was seriously contemplating smoking this cigarette. He laughed at himself slowly and out loud, remembering all the times ha had yelled with derision at friends and strangers who had lit up near him, how he had coughed loudly passing smokers in public – being one of those non-smokers people hated – but now he didn’t care about all that.
“George, you’re stinking up the place!” He said as George came in from outside.
“Come on, man,” George said, “I like to smoke. Leave me alone. I can quit when I want, you’ve seen it. I just enjoy it too much.”
“Whatever man, it’s your body, your funeral, not mine.”
“Let me get that for you, m’lady.” Henry said as he leaned over, pulling out his lighted and lit Sally’s cigarette.
“Oh, thank you, do you smoke?” she asked as she offered Henry a cigarette from her pack.
“No,” he said, “I just like lighting other people’s cigs.”
Flash went the match as Henry lit up his cigar on a New Year’s Eve…
Snap. Inhale. Bubble goes the bong…
Henry toked from the joint…
He pushed the cigarette across the surface of the table and smiled, striking a match and watching the flame burn out the wooden body, inhaling the strong, potent, yet strangely sweet smell of the phosphorous match tip. He blew out the match and watched the blue-grey smoke dance in twisters above the match and dissipate in the dark air.
The smoke rose into the night sky as the love-letter he had written to her burned on the terrace like he had burned his essays at the end of high school – this letter meant no more than them now, but the gesture meant a lot to him.
(Here it goes blank from lack of ideas, but here's the ending...)
ENDING:
As Henry sat in the kitchen he looked out the window to see the sun rising, creating yellows, oranges, blues and pinks on the light cloud cover just hovering over the horizon. As the others came slowly downstairs for breakfast or early exams, they smiled and big him good morning, “Get any sleep, Hank?” they’d ask.
“Yeah, actually,” he lied, “all night.” He was comfortable with lying now – with contradictions and hypocrisy – because he lived it each day. He didn’t mind as long as it didn’t hurt anybody and he smiled at George as he joined him outside for a cigarette.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Notes and Poems and Rants: Old Blog
I wish i remember who this was about now. (ed. 6/12/2010)
Sorry I haven't posted in a while. Haven't found the time or topic to. I've been having dreams about her again. It's weird to do so at this time, with everything that's been going on. But I'm always happy in those dreams, and so is she. It's good to see her happy. It's always pretty intimate, but in a sweet way, never in a "rough'n'fuck" way. In my Judaism and the Occult classes we're learning about Talmudic dream interpretation. One of them is, "If you are fornicating with a woman, whom you in turn love, then it is a good omen." In this case, I would say that 'love' could be quantifiably rendered into the friendship area, especially as the dream interpretation texts were written so long ago, and so archaically. And I could sure as hell use the good omen, especially after all the bad omen teeth falling out dreams I've had this year.
I hate the people I dream of
i hate the people i dream
of
it spins me round like food
for thought
time for your dime
hitched in vegas and up and
gone.
"does this all look familiar
to you?"
i guess it must but it doesn'
t
wish that it would look like yesterday'
s today'
s tomorrow
but it always looks like last year'
s next week in a way that
fakes the times we always
cherished.
doesn'
t it always seem like that to
you?
it could just be me but
i
don'
t
think so for once.
The Cast of Dreams
It is sometimes odd who it is who appears in your dreams. More often than not they're friends of yours, whether or not you've spoken to them or thought of them lately or not. Sometimes they're people you know in the dream, but when you wake up you realize you don't recognize them as a real life person at all. Sometimes they're people from TV shows - for example, I've been watching a lot of Scrubs lately (the whole series) and so the cast of Scrubs are commonplace people in my dreams - and we're often on adventures or running from things. Last night it was the Janitor and someone else...I don't remember. The night before it was Cox and the whole gang. Weird, but fun. But what is weirdest is when you have a sex dream about someone you know. This is weirdest when you haven't thought of, spoken to or dreamed of that person in forever. But it's still weird when it's someone you've spoken to lately, when you haven't had a dream about them - especially a sex dream about them - in a long time or ever. This happened to me last night, about a close friend, and it feels weird. And it doesn't necessarily mean I want to jump that person next time I see them, but I have been thinking a lot about relationships (again, thanks to Scrubs) and I wonder. I miss being in a relationship and I wonder what it would be like with certain people. I don't know. Sometimes the mind just messes with you for shits and giggles.
And a tear is shed as the world ends around us, but we still laugh...
Okay, so...it all started on my birthday.
We had a party, there was yelling, a table was broken, there was beer, there was a band, the neighbours complained. The downstairs one, no one else. The complaint was only of the slamming balcony door and "the loudest chair on earth, it's constant". Okay. We then heard that we had an imaginary party on Sunday when no one was home and it had "10 men and lots of beer". This is just blatantly false. We then inadvertantly had a party a week on the heels of the last. Ashlee invited people - lots - to our house. We didn't make noise, but there was a complaint. No reason is mentioned, "the people under you are two brothers who work!" So then there are no disturbances. The Aussies (Max and Joel) are staying over. Everything is fine. Last night, their last night, we get home from a party in town. We've had a couple of beers, but are not drunk. I go to get ready for bed and Max begins making a frozen pizza in the oven. I brush my teeth, change, get ready to get into bed while Max is doing this. Max begins watching something on his laptop while his food cooks. All of a sudden he smells smoke and gets up to check the food. Smoke is rising from the oven out through the stove top coils. He turns off the oven and opens it. Smoke billows out. The fire alarm is tripped. The apartment one, and then the whole building one. The building is evacuated. Five firetrucks show up. Firemen come up to see us. They see it's a false alarm and are not mad. The alarm continues until the smoke clears. We have a laugh about the ridiculousness of the situation. This morning, a call is had from Matt's mum. The landlady has called her, with slanderous and false claims. We are now being threatened with eviction because, "we have been harbouring 10 people in our apartment constantly. We have lots of loud parties. We get drunk and pass out on drugs and let the pizza burn, causing a fire and evacuation". Ben and Matt are in the shit and I'm leaving soon. This sucks.
Rhyming Exercise
down in the sewer
i could swear that you were
around and around on a skewer
with fewer and fewer do-gooder evil-doers.
it's plain and simple
pop the pimple
move to the avenue Darlrymple
spit out those smiling dimples
can't you see the ice trample frimple?
exercise, sterilize, cauterize,
sacrifice, artifice, simplify,
words like birds
flock in and mock
me like some downed ceder tree
get out get out
flee flee
you turn me about
so that i can't see.
Notes
So many perspectives now, like kaleidoscope coloured glass - turning me about in rainbowelectricalstorms. Yes she is, no she isn't (worth it?), she's done this before, she's amazing - it's a tough situation. Gimme a cigarette.
Soft kisses, hidden cuddles, lustful uncertainty.
Sorry I haven't posted in a while. Haven't found the time or topic to. I've been having dreams about her again. It's weird to do so at this time, with everything that's been going on. But I'm always happy in those dreams, and so is she. It's good to see her happy. It's always pretty intimate, but in a sweet way, never in a "rough'n'fuck" way. In my Judaism and the Occult classes we're learning about Talmudic dream interpretation. One of them is, "If you are fornicating with a woman, whom you in turn love, then it is a good omen." In this case, I would say that 'love' could be quantifiably rendered into the friendship area, especially as the dream interpretation texts were written so long ago, and so archaically. And I could sure as hell use the good omen, especially after all the bad omen teeth falling out dreams I've had this year.
I hate the people I dream of
i hate the people i dream
of
it spins me round like food
for thought
time for your dime
hitched in vegas and up and
gone.
"does this all look familiar
to you?"
i guess it must but it doesn'
t
wish that it would look like yesterday'
s today'
s tomorrow
but it always looks like last year'
s next week in a way that
fakes the times we always
cherished.
doesn'
t it always seem like that to
you?
it could just be me but
i
don'
t
think so for once.
The Cast of Dreams
It is sometimes odd who it is who appears in your dreams. More often than not they're friends of yours, whether or not you've spoken to them or thought of them lately or not. Sometimes they're people you know in the dream, but when you wake up you realize you don't recognize them as a real life person at all. Sometimes they're people from TV shows - for example, I've been watching a lot of Scrubs lately (the whole series) and so the cast of Scrubs are commonplace people in my dreams - and we're often on adventures or running from things. Last night it was the Janitor and someone else...I don't remember. The night before it was Cox and the whole gang. Weird, but fun. But what is weirdest is when you have a sex dream about someone you know. This is weirdest when you haven't thought of, spoken to or dreamed of that person in forever. But it's still weird when it's someone you've spoken to lately, when you haven't had a dream about them - especially a sex dream about them - in a long time or ever. This happened to me last night, about a close friend, and it feels weird. And it doesn't necessarily mean I want to jump that person next time I see them, but I have been thinking a lot about relationships (again, thanks to Scrubs) and I wonder. I miss being in a relationship and I wonder what it would be like with certain people. I don't know. Sometimes the mind just messes with you for shits and giggles.
And a tear is shed as the world ends around us, but we still laugh...
Okay, so...it all started on my birthday.
We had a party, there was yelling, a table was broken, there was beer, there was a band, the neighbours complained. The downstairs one, no one else. The complaint was only of the slamming balcony door and "the loudest chair on earth, it's constant". Okay. We then heard that we had an imaginary party on Sunday when no one was home and it had "10 men and lots of beer". This is just blatantly false. We then inadvertantly had a party a week on the heels of the last. Ashlee invited people - lots - to our house. We didn't make noise, but there was a complaint. No reason is mentioned, "the people under you are two brothers who work!" So then there are no disturbances. The Aussies (Max and Joel) are staying over. Everything is fine. Last night, their last night, we get home from a party in town. We've had a couple of beers, but are not drunk. I go to get ready for bed and Max begins making a frozen pizza in the oven. I brush my teeth, change, get ready to get into bed while Max is doing this. Max begins watching something on his laptop while his food cooks. All of a sudden he smells smoke and gets up to check the food. Smoke is rising from the oven out through the stove top coils. He turns off the oven and opens it. Smoke billows out. The fire alarm is tripped. The apartment one, and then the whole building one. The building is evacuated. Five firetrucks show up. Firemen come up to see us. They see it's a false alarm and are not mad. The alarm continues until the smoke clears. We have a laugh about the ridiculousness of the situation. This morning, a call is had from Matt's mum. The landlady has called her, with slanderous and false claims. We are now being threatened with eviction because, "we have been harbouring 10 people in our apartment constantly. We have lots of loud parties. We get drunk and pass out on drugs and let the pizza burn, causing a fire and evacuation". Ben and Matt are in the shit and I'm leaving soon. This sucks.
Rhyming Exercise
down in the sewer
i could swear that you were
around and around on a skewer
with fewer and fewer do-gooder evil-doers.
it's plain and simple
pop the pimple
move to the avenue Darlrymple
spit out those smiling dimples
can't you see the ice trample frimple?
exercise, sterilize, cauterize,
sacrifice, artifice, simplify,
words like birds
flock in and mock
me like some downed ceder tree
get out get out
flee flee
you turn me about
so that i can't see.
Notes
So many perspectives now, like kaleidoscope coloured glass - turning me about in rainbowelectricalstorms. Yes she is, no she isn't (worth it?), she's done this before, she's amazing - it's a tough situation. Gimme a cigarette.
Soft kisses, hidden cuddles, lustful uncertainty.
Dedicated to Shosh and her broken words
"give me what you'
ve got!"
you cry
battling on the hilltops of a mind tumultuous and
crazy
under clouds of foolishness
brandishing a sword of unjust truths
passing yourself as a fool leading the sane
and who is it exactly that you think
you'
re fooling?
when they told you that you weren'
t paying for it did you think they
were serious?
because i'
m sure they never meant to give you that impression
so drink the quality of your benevolent sins
and sup on the trajectory of your lives (going in a direction
your education never intended)
and if all of this leaves room for more
then desert on the substance of your character
for that is all you will have left
when this is ended and you are stuffed full of yourself and of
the things you want
need
don'
t
then you will see
and as the hordes of the underdevoloped, undeserved, undermined and untrained
climb the hilltop on which you dine and wait
you will be overrun
and the only thing which will be the test of who youyourself are
is how long you can hold out before they overwhelm you into themselves
"cheque please,
let'
s get out of here."
ve got!"
you cry
battling on the hilltops of a mind tumultuous and
crazy
under clouds of foolishness
brandishing a sword of unjust truths
passing yourself as a fool leading the sane
and who is it exactly that you think
you'
re fooling?
when they told you that you weren'
t paying for it did you think they
were serious?
because i'
m sure they never meant to give you that impression
so drink the quality of your benevolent sins
and sup on the trajectory of your lives (going in a direction
your education never intended)
and if all of this leaves room for more
then desert on the substance of your character
for that is all you will have left
when this is ended and you are stuffed full of yourself and of
the things you want
need
don'
t
then you will see
and as the hordes of the underdevoloped, undeserved, undermined and untrained
climb the hilltop on which you dine and wait
you will be overrun
and the only thing which will be the test of who youyourself are
is how long you can hold out before they overwhelm you into themselves
"cheque please,
let'
s get out of here."
Old Entries, Old Blog: Craziness 3
Nananananananananana
i remember i was in some room...with all these people i didn't know..and then in a kitchenette with David and Curtis and Curtis says "it's like i know you already" and then i woke up and fell asleep into a different dream where i was in this gang of people and one of us died and so we were all sad (it was me, elena, tina, dom and somebody else) and we met some other gang and they were tauting us
about our friend's death so we ended up fighting them and i killed one with a gun...and then that gang followed me through all these maze-like halls because now they were as sad as me over a death of their friend and i remember telling this story to my parents in the dream
and then i had a sex dream about a friend
my mind is playing tricks on me
We Always Make Excuses for the Ones We Care About
This is just something we do, I think, to other people to make ourselves look more...sane...in what we do with our friends and relationships. I mean, why do we defend someone who hurts us so much?
After you told me what he was like...I can understand why you were so overwhelmed when you went from him to me...how emotional talks turned him off or bothered him...and how I am all too open to have them...and how he admitted love the way he did...and then the way I did...and no romance...to me - Mr French Speaking, poetry writing, guitar playing, love-doer. I can understand being overwhelmed now. Now I have some more information.
I can see why you were afraid of it all...of 'me'. I'm so set on these things...they mean a lot to me...and it's not even something you're comfortable with...yet...I guess. I know romantic love. I embrace it, I suppose sometimes too/more readily than I ought to, but that's me.
I'm just as confused as you ABOUT love, though...
This is just how it can feel for me sometimes;- That I seem like a good idea at the time...but that I'm so easy to fall out of love with. I fall and I fall hard...I'm broken and I know it. Fun fact. I'm sure that's now how you see it, and wish I didn't even think of that - and believe me, it's not an attack on you.
And I just hurt my foot and feel nauseas.
You were so used to being the one that cared more that maybe now it just seemed too easy...I don't know. Just a front you were used to putting up or something? I don't have answers. I don't even have good questions.
I do care a lot about you, and never you forget it, and I'm still around because I care. I want to help. I want to be there. That's who I am.
Listening to you defend him, though, just made me realize - is that what I was like defending you to my friends? And they looked at me judgingly, saying things like I shouldn't bother. We defend because we know both sides to the story. We know the person we are defending. So the people we tell it to only get our side, mostly the bad things, and they are trying to defend US. We feel like they are attacking the person we are defending, but they are merely running off of things we have said and are trying to defend us. We don't want to listen to these objective opinions because, in a sense, they're not. I imagine, these days, what it's like on two sides of an argument.
Like, if someone tells me that they're significant other ignores them too much, is pushing them away, we naturally stick up for our friend. But what's the other side? Does the significant other go to their friend and say, "they won't leave me time to myself?" and THEIR friends will stick up for THEM. Two sides to every story.
The things that go wrong shape us more than the things that go right. Even though that pain is a sucky part of life, it's something we need to deal with. We all wish we could start again but we shouldn't because then we'd be someone else with a different life, and you might end up missing your old life. Things happen the way they do because we make choices, not always the right ones, but they're made because that's what we think we should do at the time. We may be wrong, but then we learn. We learn.
The hardest thing to do is to let go. I know that. You know that. But the time will come when we all do. That is the OTHER part of life, the one we tend to forget and are not able to see as easily - things DO get better, we DO get over things - with strength from all sources.
I know this was a pointless rant, but I guess it helps to vent the brain sometimes. And it's strange how quickly it turned into a philosophical rant...looking for answers, RE: excuses...and there I go again - excuses for us all.
"Cut the protesting, forget the excuses, we need information, get up off the floor"
i remember i was in some room...with all these people i didn't know..and then in a kitchenette with David and Curtis and Curtis says "it's like i know you already" and then i woke up and fell asleep into a different dream where i was in this gang of people and one of us died and so we were all sad (it was me, elena, tina, dom and somebody else) and we met some other gang and they were tauting us
about our friend's death so we ended up fighting them and i killed one with a gun...and then that gang followed me through all these maze-like halls because now they were as sad as me over a death of their friend and i remember telling this story to my parents in the dream
and then i had a sex dream about a friend
my mind is playing tricks on me
We Always Make Excuses for the Ones We Care About
This is just something we do, I think, to other people to make ourselves look more...sane...in what we do with our friends and relationships. I mean, why do we defend someone who hurts us so much?
After you told me what he was like...I can understand why you were so overwhelmed when you went from him to me...how emotional talks turned him off or bothered him...and how I am all too open to have them...and how he admitted love the way he did...and then the way I did...and no romance...to me - Mr French Speaking, poetry writing, guitar playing, love-doer. I can understand being overwhelmed now. Now I have some more information.
I can see why you were afraid of it all...of 'me'. I'm so set on these things...they mean a lot to me...and it's not even something you're comfortable with...yet...I guess. I know romantic love. I embrace it, I suppose sometimes too/more readily than I ought to, but that's me.
I'm just as confused as you ABOUT love, though...
This is just how it can feel for me sometimes;- That I seem like a good idea at the time...but that I'm so easy to fall out of love with. I fall and I fall hard...I'm broken and I know it. Fun fact. I'm sure that's now how you see it, and wish I didn't even think of that - and believe me, it's not an attack on you.
And I just hurt my foot and feel nauseas.
You were so used to being the one that cared more that maybe now it just seemed too easy...I don't know. Just a front you were used to putting up or something? I don't have answers. I don't even have good questions.
I do care a lot about you, and never you forget it, and I'm still around because I care. I want to help. I want to be there. That's who I am.
Listening to you defend him, though, just made me realize - is that what I was like defending you to my friends? And they looked at me judgingly, saying things like I shouldn't bother. We defend because we know both sides to the story. We know the person we are defending. So the people we tell it to only get our side, mostly the bad things, and they are trying to defend US. We feel like they are attacking the person we are defending, but they are merely running off of things we have said and are trying to defend us. We don't want to listen to these objective opinions because, in a sense, they're not. I imagine, these days, what it's like on two sides of an argument.
Like, if someone tells me that they're significant other ignores them too much, is pushing them away, we naturally stick up for our friend. But what's the other side? Does the significant other go to their friend and say, "they won't leave me time to myself?" and THEIR friends will stick up for THEM. Two sides to every story.
The things that go wrong shape us more than the things that go right. Even though that pain is a sucky part of life, it's something we need to deal with. We all wish we could start again but we shouldn't because then we'd be someone else with a different life, and you might end up missing your old life. Things happen the way they do because we make choices, not always the right ones, but they're made because that's what we think we should do at the time. We may be wrong, but then we learn. We learn.
The hardest thing to do is to let go. I know that. You know that. But the time will come when we all do. That is the OTHER part of life, the one we tend to forget and are not able to see as easily - things DO get better, we DO get over things - with strength from all sources.
I know this was a pointless rant, but I guess it helps to vent the brain sometimes. And it's strange how quickly it turned into a philosophical rant...looking for answers, RE: excuses...and there I go again - excuses for us all.
"Cut the protesting, forget the excuses, we need information, get up off the floor"
Old Entries, Old Blog: Craziness 2
Gender Contradictions Which Amuse Me
Cooking is seen as a "womanly duty" yet many master chefs are men - and their manliness is not questioned.
When a woman cooks it's a "duty" - when a man cooks it's "romantic" - why?
Singing is seen as a feminine thing to do for a boy - but yet men admire male singers in bands.
Being in the army is seen as something for manly men - yet most of the women in the army could probably kick their asses.
Men say that women are "weak" - but my bet is on them cracking instantly if they had to do half the things a working mother has to do in a day.
Seeing crying as a sign of weakness, men will hold it back and inside - whereas women will let it out and get over it faster, which is healthier.
Gender stereotypes are stupid.
"I'm a very difficult person...but I take comfort in knowing God made me that way." - Beethoven.
I dare you to move,
I dare you to say,
What I want you to say,
though I know that you won't.
Because you're afraid,
Well so am I,
But so what if I,
am as scared as you.
"Ok...I want you guys to dance like...like...like creepy old people who like it really rough." - Maarika.
"I'll just walk on down to the pacific and from there on, improvise." - Barton Fink.
Walking along the blacktop,
a hot wind on the air,
no one can hear the voices,
lingering loud and clear.
Oui, je doit sortir d'ici aussi vite possible.
ha. haha. hahaha. hahahahahahahahahahahaha.
please take me home...i don't want to sleep alone...
i don't know...all i feel like doing is crying today.
my head is filled with so much...i just don't know how to sort through all the JUNK.
i feel this way and that about this person and that...i'm just so fucking tired...
breaking glass on the
porcelain
or breaking porcelain
on the pavement
watching
pieces
as they
drift away
softly dreaming of
days
passed
and wishing for
oh does it matter?
i watched it happen
was in it as it happened
and nothing can
change that
nothing can change
me
and as i sit here
in this
chair
in this
room
i just want to
scream
and
shout
and
run to the rooftops
and yell
"why me?
why today?
why ever?
why this time
world
place?
let me be!
leave me alone!
make it better!"
and it doesn'
t.
Cooking is seen as a "womanly duty" yet many master chefs are men - and their manliness is not questioned.
When a woman cooks it's a "duty" - when a man cooks it's "romantic" - why?
Singing is seen as a feminine thing to do for a boy - but yet men admire male singers in bands.
Being in the army is seen as something for manly men - yet most of the women in the army could probably kick their asses.
Men say that women are "weak" - but my bet is on them cracking instantly if they had to do half the things a working mother has to do in a day.
Seeing crying as a sign of weakness, men will hold it back and inside - whereas women will let it out and get over it faster, which is healthier.
Gender stereotypes are stupid.
"I'm a very difficult person...but I take comfort in knowing God made me that way." - Beethoven.
I dare you to move,
I dare you to say,
What I want you to say,
though I know that you won't.
Because you're afraid,
Well so am I,
But so what if I,
am as scared as you.
"Ok...I want you guys to dance like...like...like creepy old people who like it really rough." - Maarika.
"I'll just walk on down to the pacific and from there on, improvise." - Barton Fink.
Walking along the blacktop,
a hot wind on the air,
no one can hear the voices,
lingering loud and clear.
Oui, je doit sortir d'ici aussi vite possible.
ha. haha. hahaha. hahahahahahahahahahahaha.
please take me home...i don't want to sleep alone...
i don't know...all i feel like doing is crying today.
my head is filled with so much...i just don't know how to sort through all the JUNK.
i feel this way and that about this person and that...i'm just so fucking tired...
breaking glass on the
porcelain
or breaking porcelain
on the pavement
watching
pieces
as they
drift away
softly dreaming of
days
passed
and wishing for
oh does it matter?
i watched it happen
was in it as it happened
and nothing can
change that
nothing can change
me
and as i sit here
in this
chair
in this
room
i just want to
scream
and
shout
and
run to the rooftops
and yell
"why me?
why today?
why ever?
why this time
world
place?
let me be!
leave me alone!
make it better!"
and it doesn'
t.
Old Entries, Old Blod: Craziness
Ha...haha...hahaha...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Treasuring the moments where I can laugh like Tyler Durden.
Hearing the voices in my head as nothing more than sweet thoughts and colourful dreams.
I feel an odd connection to nature and the little things.
Raise your glass to love.
Show your inner beauty.
The world is shiny like a glass orb.
You should read this acrostically.
On Jetlag
...it sucks.
It's 5.30am here and I can't sleep. Life is made that little bit harder with the addition of one roommate - who is a 50ish year old man with a terrible cough and I just pray I don't get sick. It's amazing how reduced the things are you can do with a roommate like that. I just wish I had foreign students who spoke some english and wanted to go sightseeing together. I also found out I only have 2 tshirts and a couple of shirts rather than the other way around and I don't have a towel. Showering was strange.
It's amazing how difficult it is to kill a couple of hours when you're bored and you know nothing is open outside, and even if things ARE open, you don't know what they are...or WHERE they are. And this keyboard has swapped the position of the Y and the Z keys and I can't seem to access the "at" symbol...it's in the bottom corner of the Q key and I don't know how to get it...stupid Deutsch keyboards.
Anyway, today I hope to get out to the Erotik Museum, though walking in this cold is really unbearable - mum was right, this coat is insufficient. And I seemed to have lost my beanie...and there's no "colon" symbol...so I can't do sad faces!! Agh! Maybe I'll get out to the Holocaust Memorial today too...but we'll see...I just want to fill my days, but it's a lot harder when you haven't met anyone to do anything with.
I also wish I spoke German.
Raise Your Glass To...
Raise your glass to missing someone even though you just saw them that day.
Raise your glass to finding something you've been looking for for a long time.
Raise your glass to finally finding a place to stay overseas on exchange and it's not too expensive.
Raise your glass to people who have something to fight for.
Raise your glass to women with minds, which makes them sexier more than anything else.
Raise your glass to something more than something.
Raise your glass to turning someone's frown upside down.
Raise your glass to standing in the morning sunshine in a cool breeze or sitting on the balcony.
Raise your glass to everything and everyone that makes you happy and to how lucky you feel to have them near you.
So what are you waiting for?
Raise. Your. Glass.
Woah-ah-oh
"Maybe God is just a chemical fiction"
"Maybe there is a God above...?"
"[Religion] unnecessary, in our expanding global culture of efficiency"
When I go to synagogue, do I go because I feel like I am close to God, or because I like the singing? It has educated me on some very Judaic Pagan Pantheistic ways which I adore - finding God and the Divine in nature and in the commonplace - but does that really mean God to me, or is it more the finding of everyday miracles like the wind or the sunset making this world more amazing and seem less controlled and planned? I was having a discussion with Anna about this, and I agree in the end that thinking that God is creating these miracles makes them seem less miraculous as it implies someone or something has had a hand in making them, rather than an everyday miracle just happening - which makes the world seem more beautiful.
I'm confronting the fact that I think I am going to synagogue to feel closer to my people, to my heritage, to my history, as this interests me very much. It's not that I feel any particular connection to the God that they discuss or engage with, but rather the singing brings me my own sense of divinity and soothes me. I take pride in looking around at the community of Jews knowing what we have stood against. And I find the amazing beauty in the colours of a sunset no painter could do justice and no photo capture, and in the wind no one can describe the feeling of - these things are divine and not necessarily a Godly sense, but in a greater-than-me-because-it's-beautiful sense.
Religion does kind of anger me as a result of what it does to people and I think I took refuge in the concept of a God because it makes me feel more comfortable than the idea of a complete nothingness.
"Never believe a Jew who says he doesn't believe in God."
This resonates with me also. I am spiritually confused because of this - what am I? What kind of Jew am I if I don't believe when survivors of concentration camps like Eli Wiesel and many countless others never wavered in their faith? I am a Jew by chance - a Jew by heritage - but am I really Jew by choice as well? I mean, I readily identify as being Jewish and embrace many of the teachings of Judaism, but I am still unsure about God and about his/her/its presence. I pray because I have nowhere else to turn and it becomes more of a monologue to myself to voice my problems, spell them out for myself so I can sort through them, rather than a turn for expected aide from a higher power.
"And they call it God's love..."
I recently saw a comic at www.leasticoulddo.com which is a webcomic I track, here is the link. And I certainly agree with what it's saying because at times like this, it's hard to believe.
End transmission - I've bitched enough.
Treasuring the moments where I can laugh like Tyler Durden.
Hearing the voices in my head as nothing more than sweet thoughts and colourful dreams.
I feel an odd connection to nature and the little things.
Raise your glass to love.
Show your inner beauty.
The world is shiny like a glass orb.
You should read this acrostically.
On Jetlag
...it sucks.
It's 5.30am here and I can't sleep. Life is made that little bit harder with the addition of one roommate - who is a 50ish year old man with a terrible cough and I just pray I don't get sick. It's amazing how reduced the things are you can do with a roommate like that. I just wish I had foreign students who spoke some english and wanted to go sightseeing together. I also found out I only have 2 tshirts and a couple of shirts rather than the other way around and I don't have a towel. Showering was strange.
It's amazing how difficult it is to kill a couple of hours when you're bored and you know nothing is open outside, and even if things ARE open, you don't know what they are...or WHERE they are. And this keyboard has swapped the position of the Y and the Z keys and I can't seem to access the "at" symbol...it's in the bottom corner of the Q key and I don't know how to get it...stupid Deutsch keyboards.
Anyway, today I hope to get out to the Erotik Museum, though walking in this cold is really unbearable - mum was right, this coat is insufficient. And I seemed to have lost my beanie...and there's no "colon" symbol...so I can't do sad faces!! Agh! Maybe I'll get out to the Holocaust Memorial today too...but we'll see...I just want to fill my days, but it's a lot harder when you haven't met anyone to do anything with.
I also wish I spoke German.
Raise Your Glass To...
Raise your glass to missing someone even though you just saw them that day.
Raise your glass to finding something you've been looking for for a long time.
Raise your glass to finally finding a place to stay overseas on exchange and it's not too expensive.
Raise your glass to people who have something to fight for.
Raise your glass to women with minds, which makes them sexier more than anything else.
Raise your glass to something more than something.
Raise your glass to turning someone's frown upside down.
Raise your glass to standing in the morning sunshine in a cool breeze or sitting on the balcony.
Raise your glass to everything and everyone that makes you happy and to how lucky you feel to have them near you.
So what are you waiting for?
Raise. Your. Glass.
Woah-ah-oh
"Maybe God is just a chemical fiction"
"Maybe there is a God above...?"
"[Religion] unnecessary, in our expanding global culture of efficiency"
When I go to synagogue, do I go because I feel like I am close to God, or because I like the singing? It has educated me on some very Judaic Pagan Pantheistic ways which I adore - finding God and the Divine in nature and in the commonplace - but does that really mean God to me, or is it more the finding of everyday miracles like the wind or the sunset making this world more amazing and seem less controlled and planned? I was having a discussion with Anna about this, and I agree in the end that thinking that God is creating these miracles makes them seem less miraculous as it implies someone or something has had a hand in making them, rather than an everyday miracle just happening - which makes the world seem more beautiful.
I'm confronting the fact that I think I am going to synagogue to feel closer to my people, to my heritage, to my history, as this interests me very much. It's not that I feel any particular connection to the God that they discuss or engage with, but rather the singing brings me my own sense of divinity and soothes me. I take pride in looking around at the community of Jews knowing what we have stood against. And I find the amazing beauty in the colours of a sunset no painter could do justice and no photo capture, and in the wind no one can describe the feeling of - these things are divine and not necessarily a Godly sense, but in a greater-than-me-because-it's-beautiful sense.
Religion does kind of anger me as a result of what it does to people and I think I took refuge in the concept of a God because it makes me feel more comfortable than the idea of a complete nothingness.
"Never believe a Jew who says he doesn't believe in God."
This resonates with me also. I am spiritually confused because of this - what am I? What kind of Jew am I if I don't believe when survivors of concentration camps like Eli Wiesel and many countless others never wavered in their faith? I am a Jew by chance - a Jew by heritage - but am I really Jew by choice as well? I mean, I readily identify as being Jewish and embrace many of the teachings of Judaism, but I am still unsure about God and about his/her/its presence. I pray because I have nowhere else to turn and it becomes more of a monologue to myself to voice my problems, spell them out for myself so I can sort through them, rather than a turn for expected aide from a higher power.
"And they call it God's love..."
I recently saw a comic at www.leasticoulddo.com which is a webcomic I track, here is the link. And I certainly agree with what it's saying because at times like this, it's hard to believe.
End transmission - I've bitched enough.
Old Entries, Old Blog: Dreams
A Dream That Scared Me
It was drawn like a children's picture book, and everyone spoke in voices like it was one. The drawings were crude, 2D and kind of sketchy. I don't remember the start, but I knew that an Elephant had to run away from a group of 3 other animals - a lion, a tiger and a giraffe - who always travelled in a tight-knit pack, and moved like a single piece of cardboard together as one. The elephant didn't know how to run, it kept falling over, but at some point, somehow, it managed to escape to a nearby safe area, shielded by a hill. This elephant had a human wife and a cat. The cat had a metal plate screwed to its face on the right side, covering half its head.
"We're safe now," they said, "we don't have to run anymore."
But then the 3-animal-group came over the hill, moving very quickly - gliding over the ground. In that moment, the elephant learned to run and ran away down the path as quickly as he could go. But he left his wife and the cat. The animals made it to them and loomed over them, the angry face of the lion looking down on them.
"Cough." Said the cat.
"Cough." Repeated the woman.
And the lion coughed.
"Cough." Said the cat.
"Cough." Repeated the woman again.
And the lion coughed again.
"Cough once more." Said the cat.
"Cough again, just once more." Said the woman.
"Why?" Asked the lion.
"Just because. You're a silly kitty, aren't you?" The camera stays on the woman as the cat comes out from behind her back and walks past and off screen saying, "If they like you, then they're gonna love me." And the camera stays on the woman's face as you hear a loud WHACK! and a splatter of blood and screws spashes next to the woman's head. The cat jumps onto her lap and the camera looks down on it - it is drawn like a crude cartoon and its metal plate is gone, and there is a nail where its eye should be, surrounded by blood which looks like watercolour paint, "What happened?" it cried.
"Shh, shh, it's okay," said the woman, beginning to cry, "I don't want you to be a cat anymore, I want you to be a parade."
"A parade? But where will we get the bones from!?" the cat cried. As the shadows of the animals loomed over them, the camera pans upwards to reveal a giant, flying, golden pirate ship - drawn like a child's picture book - with all of these bones hanging off of it in strings.
"Oh! From there!" Said the cat, "We'll be okay!" and it continued to talk and talk and talk about nothing.
"Ow, my feet." Said the woman, quietly.
"Ow, my legs." Said the woman, still quietly.
Then the woman began to scream screams that were bloodcurdling, "AHH! MY KNEES! MY KNEES!! AHH!! MY KNEES!" As the animals began to tear her apart, and the cat talked about nothing, and the camera panned upwards into the dark, cloudy sky.
And then I woke up.
My Dreams Are Trying to Kill Me
This is actually the dream I had from last night:
I am packing my bags - I seem late for something, I'm going somewhere. I look in the mirror and I am wearing my John Lennon sunglasses, a gray floppy fedora, a white shirt, a gray vest, black pants and black dress shoes. I run off down the road with my bags - I have this nervous feeling that if I am late something AWFUL will happen. I arrive at the wooden bridge leading to the wooden entranceway to where I'm going. This is a concentration camp. I remember thinking "I knew I shouldn't have come to Berlin on this trip". As we enter some people are being gathered to the side in a small, boxed off area. These people are to burned alive in front of us. I am walking through the entrance to the camp and Hitler taps my shoulder and says, "No, you're not going through." and pushes me towards the boxed off area. I beg him, "No, please, don't kill me." He says "okay" and picks up a handful of ashes of previously burned people and puts them in my hand - marking me. I smear them across my forehead with my thumb and walk into the camp. Once down there I look up to see Tom HB sitting in the boxed off area, crying. I cry out to him and he just reads a poem back to me. I turn away and go inside. Once inside, I start doing my Yiddish homework. Hitler - who has now become a very attractive woman wearing a black dress - yells at me that I have soiled the camp by bringning Yiddish into it. She writes me a note and says we have to pick up some bags from the entrance. I look at the note and they are numbers for the bags we must get - and it is written in beautiful Yiddish script - the numbers were 1100 and 29, spelled out in the Yiddish alphabet. She says "Stupid writing" and I say "it's nice". So we are walking along towards the entrance again to get the bags and once we have them we turn around, Hitler (woman) and I and see our companion has run off somewhere. We hear gunshots in the distance. We assume he tried to escape and has been killed, "Shame" she says. All of a sudden our friend shows up again saying he got lost - I think he was Lampwick from school. So, walking back inside with the bags down all these staircases, I am talking to Hitler (woman) and she is a really nice person...except for the evil. We reminisce about how she had previously visited my high school, segregating IT like a concentration camp for her visit - this is a vivid memory in the dream. All of a sudden her and I are alone in a small room's kitchenette and she pushes me up against the stove and we start kissing. Passionately. Then I open my eyes and she opens hers, looks at me disgustedly - because I'm Jewish - shudders, pulls away and says, "I can't do this to myself" because she is sullying herself. I say "Yeah, pretty hard to make out with someone who tried to exterminate your entire people" and she smiles. Then she says, "you better get rid of your gun". I look down and - to my surprise - is a gun in the belt of my pants. I remove it and Hitler has already removed the clip so the gun is useless. I cannot shoot her. Suddenly her, Millie, Chris L and I are in a black van with all of our bags and this large group of men are trying to carjack us and steal our things. They are trying to distract us by saying they are playing a joke on friends of theirs and they need us to pretend to be dead and hand us little packets of tomato sauce. We are all into the joke until I see what is going on and lean out the window and yell, "give us our bags back, please!" and they laugh. I say, "look who's in the car with us" and I show them Hitler (woman) and they freak out and give us our things back and ask us not to kill them.
I am awakened by a loud car horn. I am hot and I cannot move. When I can I run to the desk and write this down. Fuck my dreams.
It was drawn like a children's picture book, and everyone spoke in voices like it was one. The drawings were crude, 2D and kind of sketchy. I don't remember the start, but I knew that an Elephant had to run away from a group of 3 other animals - a lion, a tiger and a giraffe - who always travelled in a tight-knit pack, and moved like a single piece of cardboard together as one. The elephant didn't know how to run, it kept falling over, but at some point, somehow, it managed to escape to a nearby safe area, shielded by a hill. This elephant had a human wife and a cat. The cat had a metal plate screwed to its face on the right side, covering half its head.
"We're safe now," they said, "we don't have to run anymore."
But then the 3-animal-group came over the hill, moving very quickly - gliding over the ground. In that moment, the elephant learned to run and ran away down the path as quickly as he could go. But he left his wife and the cat. The animals made it to them and loomed over them, the angry face of the lion looking down on them.
"Cough." Said the cat.
"Cough." Repeated the woman.
And the lion coughed.
"Cough." Said the cat.
"Cough." Repeated the woman again.
And the lion coughed again.
"Cough once more." Said the cat.
"Cough again, just once more." Said the woman.
"Why?" Asked the lion.
"Just because. You're a silly kitty, aren't you?" The camera stays on the woman as the cat comes out from behind her back and walks past and off screen saying, "If they like you, then they're gonna love me." And the camera stays on the woman's face as you hear a loud WHACK! and a splatter of blood and screws spashes next to the woman's head. The cat jumps onto her lap and the camera looks down on it - it is drawn like a crude cartoon and its metal plate is gone, and there is a nail where its eye should be, surrounded by blood which looks like watercolour paint, "What happened?" it cried.
"Shh, shh, it's okay," said the woman, beginning to cry, "I don't want you to be a cat anymore, I want you to be a parade."
"A parade? But where will we get the bones from!?" the cat cried. As the shadows of the animals loomed over them, the camera pans upwards to reveal a giant, flying, golden pirate ship - drawn like a child's picture book - with all of these bones hanging off of it in strings.
"Oh! From there!" Said the cat, "We'll be okay!" and it continued to talk and talk and talk about nothing.
"Ow, my feet." Said the woman, quietly.
"Ow, my legs." Said the woman, still quietly.
Then the woman began to scream screams that were bloodcurdling, "AHH! MY KNEES! MY KNEES!! AHH!! MY KNEES!" As the animals began to tear her apart, and the cat talked about nothing, and the camera panned upwards into the dark, cloudy sky.
And then I woke up.
My Dreams Are Trying to Kill Me
This is actually the dream I had from last night:
I am packing my bags - I seem late for something, I'm going somewhere. I look in the mirror and I am wearing my John Lennon sunglasses, a gray floppy fedora, a white shirt, a gray vest, black pants and black dress shoes. I run off down the road with my bags - I have this nervous feeling that if I am late something AWFUL will happen. I arrive at the wooden bridge leading to the wooden entranceway to where I'm going. This is a concentration camp. I remember thinking "I knew I shouldn't have come to Berlin on this trip". As we enter some people are being gathered to the side in a small, boxed off area. These people are to burned alive in front of us. I am walking through the entrance to the camp and Hitler taps my shoulder and says, "No, you're not going through." and pushes me towards the boxed off area. I beg him, "No, please, don't kill me." He says "okay" and picks up a handful of ashes of previously burned people and puts them in my hand - marking me. I smear them across my forehead with my thumb and walk into the camp. Once down there I look up to see Tom HB sitting in the boxed off area, crying. I cry out to him and he just reads a poem back to me. I turn away and go inside. Once inside, I start doing my Yiddish homework. Hitler - who has now become a very attractive woman wearing a black dress - yells at me that I have soiled the camp by bringning Yiddish into it. She writes me a note and says we have to pick up some bags from the entrance. I look at the note and they are numbers for the bags we must get - and it is written in beautiful Yiddish script - the numbers were 1100 and 29, spelled out in the Yiddish alphabet. She says "Stupid writing" and I say "it's nice". So we are walking along towards the entrance again to get the bags and once we have them we turn around, Hitler (woman) and I and see our companion has run off somewhere. We hear gunshots in the distance. We assume he tried to escape and has been killed, "Shame" she says. All of a sudden our friend shows up again saying he got lost - I think he was Lampwick from school. So, walking back inside with the bags down all these staircases, I am talking to Hitler (woman) and she is a really nice person...except for the evil. We reminisce about how she had previously visited my high school, segregating IT like a concentration camp for her visit - this is a vivid memory in the dream. All of a sudden her and I are alone in a small room's kitchenette and she pushes me up against the stove and we start kissing. Passionately. Then I open my eyes and she opens hers, looks at me disgustedly - because I'm Jewish - shudders, pulls away and says, "I can't do this to myself" because she is sullying herself. I say "Yeah, pretty hard to make out with someone who tried to exterminate your entire people" and she smiles. Then she says, "you better get rid of your gun". I look down and - to my surprise - is a gun in the belt of my pants. I remove it and Hitler has already removed the clip so the gun is useless. I cannot shoot her. Suddenly her, Millie, Chris L and I are in a black van with all of our bags and this large group of men are trying to carjack us and steal our things. They are trying to distract us by saying they are playing a joke on friends of theirs and they need us to pretend to be dead and hand us little packets of tomato sauce. We are all into the joke until I see what is going on and lean out the window and yell, "give us our bags back, please!" and they laugh. I say, "look who's in the car with us" and I show them Hitler (woman) and they freak out and give us our things back and ask us not to kill them.
I am awakened by a loud car horn. I am hot and I cannot move. When I can I run to the desk and write this down. Fuck my dreams.
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