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Universe goes Boink
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Feb 11, 2007 11:44 pm
972 Views
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Forgive me while I try to process what's going on in my head here, because I'm not sure how to write it yet.
Suffice to say:
I'm blissed out happy.
We hold hands and do silly couple things.
We drive and drive in the country side and talk about plans for houses and schools and cars and gardens and art and music.
Sprog steps between us and raises his arms to be hugged between us, and kisses us sweetly.
Since I got rid of my ring, he wants me to design a new one.
It's our five year anniversary today. I actually thought we'd be signing divorce papers. Instead, we're making plans for our future together as a family.
The ice has broken. I can feel affection and love again. I still get tired, I'm not a sex kitten, but it's THERE, say thankya.
A small part of my brain tells me I'm being a complete utter idiot. But I trust my own gifts, and I'm aware that's a petulant part that wants to rub in transgressions and hurt. The majority of me puts the past so far into the past I can't even see it anymore. It's irrelevant. It's immaterial. It's not sugar-coating it's just...done.
The man grew up fast. Apparently, so did I.
If I thought this was a gamble, I'd let every friend I've got reserve the right to tell me I am an idiot if everything fell apart again. But I'm not seeing that as a possibility in future. The lesson was too painful a one for him to ever want to go there twice.
So...yeah. Not making sense here. Not caring. Grinning too big.
Sappy, ain't it?
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Rational? Fuck Rational
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Feb 9, 2007 2:12 am
1099 Views
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Rant enclosed. Read at your own risk, agree, or not. I wrote this a few months ago in response to a rather heated discussion I had with a friend of mine; a current student, Masters of something or other, and me who only had about a year of college. My response on a subject shocked her, and she wouldn't let it go, kept trying to bring me round to her thinking, and I dug in my heels because I knew what she was doing - trying to educate her poor, uneducated backwards friend who never finished university. That my viewpoint may have been valid never crossed her mind, because I didn't have an education, so therefore it couldn't possibly be valid.
Needless to say, I wasn't too terribly impressed. And yes, shortly after I wrote this, I pretty much told her the same damn thing I had written. Eventually, we let it go and are still friends. But this is just another Thing About OyaD y'all better recognise.
Just sayin'
I managed to embroil myself into a discussion I didn't want, because I knew my views were unpopular (most of my views are unpopular). I tend to avoid debates and discussions like the plague, because 1) I feel most debates are useless as people will spend more time arguing why they're right than actually going out and LIVING what they believe and 2) people all seem to have a completely different view of who I am until they come face to face with my unpopular views.
So, here's this lass after she pried my belief out of me under duress, and she gives me this shocked look and says quietly. "I wouldn't have expected that from you."
Oh for fuck's sake.
I am a human life form. I do not have a degree. I don't have loads of witty educated things to say about life, taught to me in classrooms. I don't have a piece of paper that authorises me to say whatever the fuck I want and be believed solely because I possess said piece of paper. I've very little booklearnin'. All I have is experience.
I don't ascribe to the view that we should all be tolerant of everything, all the time, without question. I also don't ascribe to the view that freedom of speech means freedom of responsibility for said speech. I believe some things should be said or done, and some things just plain should not, either out of a sense of safety, humanity, or just plain common sense.
Things I learned, I learned from experiences that are different from yours. As a result, a good portion of them are probably tempered from emotion, personality, gain, loss and a bunch of other things. But just because they're not your viewpoints sure as fuck doesn't mean I'm narrow minded - I never form a belief solely out of something I've read out of a book. I form it out of something I've LIVED. And so they're going to be passionate ones. Sometimes angry ones. Don't tell me to be rational. Fuck rational. Rational is the language of neat offices and carefully manicured parks and buildings that all look alike. It's Ticky Tacky. It's soulless. Some things aren't rational. Some things SHOULDN'T be rational. There should be some things on this planet that piss you off so badly, rational goes out the window and you rise up and say "No, damn it! NO, this I will NOT allow." Rational just sits around and talk. Anger actually goes out and does something.
If this makes me an imperfect, uneducated being, then fine. If it breaks the little glass statue of me someone mounted upon a pillar, then fine - because I know I sure as fuck didn't put myself up there. I like it down here, on the ground, in the grass and old leaves and manure and soil and worms and butterflies and flowers and rocks and roots and growing things and beetles smell of good clean earth. I like life gritty, real, raw, and sometimes unpleasant, where harsh truths can slice like a razor, but they're slicing through poison, and I don't have to try and temper what I say to be more palatable to people who have sacrificed intensity for "reason".
Reason changes and becomes quackery in a few years. Emotion has always been a constant. I'll trust that over a "study" any day of the week.
I'm an uneducated backwater half-breed. I don't apologise for it. There are things I know how to do that you haven't got a clue about. But I don't believe it makes you stupid. So I'll be damned if I call anyone friend if they think that way about me.
You can either dig it, or don't.
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Fuschia's Attic, from Gormenghast
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Feb 9, 2007 12:21 am
818 Views
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Gormenghast is a book all directors and screenplay writers have insisted could never be done properly on screen. They're completely right - the miniseries released by the BBC didn't even come close to the lyric, dreamy, almost nightmarish quality of Peake's writing - writing in which a mere glance between enemies becomes a paragraph of wild metaphor.
Whenever I feel smug about something I wrote, I read a few passages of Gormenghast to remind myself I don't know a goddamn thing.
It was this feeling of belonging to the winding stair and the attic which Fuchsia experienced as she ran her right hand along the wooden wall as she climbed and encountered after some time the loose board which she expected. She knew that only eighteen steps remained and that after two more turns in the staircase the indescribable grey-gold filtering glow of the attic would greet her.
Reaching the top-most step she stopped and leaned over a three-foot swing door, like the door of a byre, unfastened the latch and entered the first of three sections of the attic.
An infiltration of the morning's sun gave the various objects a certain vague structure but in no way dispelled the darkness. Here and there a thin beam of light threaded the warm brooding dusk and was filled with slowly moving motes like an attenuate firmament of stars revolving in grave order.
One of the narrow beams lit Fuchsia's forehead and shoulders, and another plucked a note from her crimson dress. To her right was an enormous crumbling organ. Its pipes were broken and the keyboard shattered. Across its front the labour of a decade of grey spiders had woven their webs into a shawl of lace. It needed but the ghost of an infanta to arise from the dust to gather it about her head and shoulders as the most fabulous of all mantillas.
In the gloom Fuchsia's eyes could barely be seen for the light upon her forehead sank deeper shadows, by contrast, through her face. But they were calm. The excitement that had wakened within them on the stairway had given place to this strange calm. She stood at the stairhead almost another being.
This room was the darkest. In the summer the light seemed to penetrate through the fissures in the warped wood and through the dislodged portions of stone slating in a less direct way than was the case in the larger room or gallery to its right. The third, the smallest attic, with its steps leading upwards from the gallery with the banistered verandah was the best lit, for it boasted a window with shutters which, when opened, gave upon a panorama of roof-tops, towers and battlements that lay in a great half-circle below, a portion of the quadrangle where-in, were a figure to move across, he would appear no taller than a thimble.
Fuchsia took three paces forward in the first of the attics and then paused a moment to re-tie a string above her knee. Over her head vague rafters loomed and while she straightened her-self she noticed them and unconsciously loved them. This was the lumber room. Though very long and lofty it looked relatively smaller than it was, for the fantastic piles of every imaginable kind of thing, from the great organ to the lost and painted head of a broken toy lion that must one day have been the plaything of one of Fuchsia's ancestors, spread from every wall until only an avenue was left to the adjacent room. This high, narrow avenue wound down the centre of the first attic before suddenly coming turning at a sharp angle to the right. The fact that this room was filled with lumber did not mean that she ignored it and used it only as a place of transit. Oh no, for it was here that many long afternoons had been spent as she crawled deep into the recesses and found for herself many a strange cavern among the incongruous relics of the past. She knew of ways through the centre of what appeared to be hills of furniture, boxes, musical instruments and toys, kites, pictures, bamboo armour and helmets, flags and relics of every kind, as an Indian knows his green and secret trail. Within reach of her hand the hide and head of a skinned baboon hung dustily over a broken drum that rose above the dim ranges of this attic medley. Huge and impregnable they looked in the warm still half-light, but Fuchsia, had she wished to, could have disappeared awkwardly but very suddenly into these fantastic mountains, reached their centre and lain down upon an ancient couch with a picture book at her elbow and been entirely lost to view within a few moments.
This morning, she was bound for the third of her rooms and moved forward through the canyon, ducking beneath the stuffed leg of a giraffe that caught a thread of the moted sunlight and which, propped across Fuchsia's path, made a kind of low lintel immediately before the passage curved away to the right. As Fuchsia round this bend she saw what she expected to see. Twelve feet away were the wooden steps which led down to the second attic. The rafters above the steps were warped into a sagging curve so that it was not possible to obtain more than a restricted view of the room beyond. But an area of empty floor that was visible gave an indication of the whole. She descended the steps. There was a ripping away of clouds; a sky, a desert, a forsaken shore spread through her.
As she stepped forward on the empty board, it was for her like walking into space. Space, such as the condors have shrill inklings of, and the cock-eagle glimpses through his blood.
Silence was there with a loud rhythm. The halls, towers, the rooms of Gormenghast were of another planet. Fuchsia caught at a thick lock of her hair and dragged her own head back as her heart beat loudly and, tingling from, head to foot little diamonds appeared in the corners of her eyes.
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Going Forth By Day
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Feb 8, 2007 4:35 am
871 Views
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The Papyrus of Ani; a spellbook buried with a mummy in Egypt which was to allow the spirit to traverse through the underworld and be reborn into day. A fascinating piece of work, it is easy to see the similarities between the Egyptian paradigm and the latter evolved Kaballah - not surprising as the Jews were slaves of Egypt for some period of time, and it was said Moses was a magician taught by Egyptian priests.
The djed symbol is representative of Osiris's spine, the spine being considered the place where the body began to regenerate in old Egyptian texts.
...This just needed to be said today.
Words spoken by the Osiris Ani, the Osiris scribe Ani: Homage to you, Bull of Amentet. Says Thoth, king of eternity with me,
I am the great god at the side of the boat. I have fought for you; I am one of these gods of the Council who justified Osiris against his enemies on the day of the weighing of words.
I belong to your people, Osiris; I am one of these gods born of Nut, who slays the enemies of Osiris and imprisons the demons on his behalf.
I belong to your people, Horus; I have fought for you; I have travelled for the sake of your name.
I am Thoth who justified Osiris against his enemies on the day of the weighing of words in the great House of the Prince in Heliopolis.
I am Djedi, the son of Djedi, conceived with me in Busiris; I was born in Busiris.
I am with the mourners and wailing women of Osiris in the Lands of the Sisters, justifying Osiris against his enemies.
Ra has decreed that Thoth justify Osiris against his enemies; Thoth has done what was decreed for me.
I am with Horus on the day of clothing the statue of Osiris, opening the caverns for the washing of the Still of Heart, and unbolting the opening of the Seshit shrine in Re-Staw.
I am with Horus as the protector of the left shoulder of Osiris in Letopolis. I enter and come forth as a fire-god on the day of driving out demons in Letopolis.
I am with Horus on the day of the festival of Osiris, making offerings on the sixth day of the Quarter Moon Festival in Heliopolis.
I am the priest in Busiris, the Lion in the house of Osiris, exalters of the land.
I am he who sees the mysteries in Re-Staw; I am the reader of the festival-book of the soul in Busiris.
I am the Sem-priest in his duties.
I am the chief priest of Ptah on the day of placing the the Boat of Seker on its sledge; I receive the plow on the day of plowing the earth.
O offering-bearers of the perfected souls in the house of Osiris, bring near the perfected soul of the Osiris Ani, the true of voice, with you to the house of Osiris,
May he hear you; may he see as you see; may he stand as you stand; may he sit as you sit.
O givers of bread and drink to the perfected souls in the house of Osiris, give bread and drink at the times of morning and evening to the soul of the Osiris Ani, true of voice before all the gods of Abydos, true of voice with you.
O openers of the way, openers of the roads for the perfected souls in the house of Osiris, open then the way, open then the roads for the soul of the Osiris scribe and accountant of the offerings of all the gods, Ani, with you.
May he enter in might and come forth in peace in the house of Osiris;
May he not be driven back; may he not be turned away;
May he enter with honor; may he come forth as he desires.
May his voice be true in making his commands in the house of Osiris; may his words go with you; may he be glorious with you.
No sin is found there; the balance is empty of the case.
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Finding the Lotus
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Feb 7, 2007 12:09 am
908 Views
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A lotus is a flower that grows in stagnant ponds, through layers of muck and rotting vegetable matter. As such, it is a symbol of beauty rising out of ugliness.
2007 seems to be a Year of Nasty. I don't know what it is with people this year. There is something in the airwaves, something in the water. People are run down, depressed, stressed and being downright nasty to other people. There are people having life changing accidents or ailments - I've had two friends have a heart attack, one friend in a car wreck, and three others going in for cancer testing. Even more disturbing for me is the ugly coming from people's minds; people doing or saying things which one would think a member of the human race would never do or say.
I'm seeing explosions and rage in places which for the most part have been drama free. Something is shifting and people don't seem capable of dealing with it. People are lashing out at whomever is closest. Online is ten times worse than it used to be in my circle of hangouts, but it's not stopping there; an old woman in the queue ahead of me took a swing at the checkout boy because he wouldn't discount something that wasn't on sale for her, like it was some sort of personal affront. A cabbie informs me that women aren't like they used to be in the old days, they're too mouthy, too arrogant, too full of themselves. He didn't seem to realise I was female. I was appalled and told him I was the wrong person to have this conversation with...but he kept going with his anti-woman tirade ending with "But I still love them, bless them," as if this patronising tidbit would excuse the past ten minutes of misogyny I'd been barraged with. A scowling, charging adult slams into my son without slowing down and merely snarls at me to "keep a better eye on your brat" - and you don't want to know what I responded in return. I'm not happy about buying into that raging cloud that seems to be enveloping the world.
Normally a New Year is a new start, a new leaf. It means we can start anew with projects, fill ourselves with hope. But I don't see that. I see disconsolate people with bowed shoulders, slogging back and forth with no hope or ambition for the future, and their spirits are crushed beneath the weight of it. They claw and bite like wounded animals. Maybe there is change on the winds, and like most humans, they just can't cope with it. The ground is slipping, and they're terrified of what it means. I've friends who already hate the year and want it over, and it's only February. I see people who are normally the most upbeat and positive people I know dragging their golden wings in the dust and bowing their heads.
I think I'm going downtown today. I'll buy myself some flowers for my house. I'll get a new nosering for my piercing. I'll buy my ex a card for his birthday/Valentines Day thingy (I imagine the bum outs may be hitting him as well as it would have been our anniversary this weekend). I'll make him some chai. I'll hug my son. I'll have some friends over to tea. I'll write emails. I'll do little acts of kindness.
I'm going to try and defuse the nasty in my small group. I'll try and remember not to feel hurt when I get snapped and clawed at - people are scared, that's all.
Find the Lotus, defuse the bomb.
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Ticky Tacky
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Feb 6, 2007 6:51 am
863 Views
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Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky-tacky,
Little boxes, little boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.
And the people in the houses
All go to the university,
And they all get put in boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
And there's doctors and there's lawyers
And business executives,
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.
And they all play on the golf-course,
And drink their Martini dry,
And they all have pretty children,
And the children go to school.
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university,
And they all get put in boxes
And they all come out the same.
And the boys go into business,
And marry, and raise a family,
And they all get put in boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.
My Sex Diva sistah in Seattle posts this sometimes in her journal when she's getting overstressed with things. She's one of My People; the ones with a dimension too many, piercings, tattoos, artist, going through life happy until people who don't live the lifestyle remind her how WEIRD she is, how WRONG she is. She should stop being promiscuous, take all that stuff out of her face, cut her son's long hair, put her kids in a proper school, eat more meat as she's always anaemic, get a REAL job so she won't have to live in a flat her parents gave her. "Stop being you," they tell her, "and be more like us, so we don't have to be jealous, don't have to wish we could be as free as you, as wild as you, to escape the day to day bullshit like you."
She still works her ass off, still has her days of wondering where the hell money is coming from, still has plenty of issues of her own. Being an artist isn't as much a lark as people think - they work harder than you realise, mostly because they're mucking through the quagmire of the world just to try and reach for the beauty they're seeing in their heads...and no one thinks it's worth reaching for.
Suburbs make more sense. Giant, overly expensive vehicles make more sense. Doing a job you don't like makes more sense.
Bleuch. They give me the creeps. You see that photo? How could anyone think that's a good idea? It's just....gods. That sort of life has been satired so many times, and people laugh and say "Yes, it's true! It's madness! It's ludicrous and makes no sense. Aren't we pathetic?" And then on Monday...they go back.
Another friend of mine is actually quite successful. She lives in Orange County - gods knows why. Ticky Tacky everywhere. It's freaky, I didn't know humans can all look EXACTLY THE SAME if that is what is expected of them (well I live in England so it shouldn't surprise me, actually). She took a video of an expensive party; it was eerie. One girl did this "Oh I'm so sexy" flip of her hair with one hand. Almost as if it were a cue, every single girl around her did the exact same move a few seconds afterwards as if they reached the same conclusion in their minds "Oh, that looked cool, I'll do the exact same thing." They all had the same hair, the same outfits, were the same size, the same height, the same shade of tan. Do they manufacture people like this somewhere? Gah.
I picked her out on the video because her hair is in a Chelsea/Mohichan and she's a septum piercing, a curvy size 12 in a room full of size 5's. It's not hard to do, she seems the only living being in a room full of drunken Barbies. But she's not happy. I can see that immediately. Apparently, she's considered odd and bordering on disgusting in California. It kills her daily to be there, a piece at a time, but she wanted to be successful, and well known. She's got that, sure - but it's killing her. I hate watching it. I hate what being around those Ticky Tacky people is doing to her, solely because of...what? She's got a piercing? She's not a stick figure?
*sigh*
Keep your ticky tacky, say thankya. I don't want it. It scares me.
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Try and beat that, gents.
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Feb 5, 2007 10:47 pm
745 Views
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Wake me up at five am but I'm so glad to see you, I don't mind.
A touch and gazing into my eyes makes me weep with the beauty of it.
Dance, sing, explore the world with me.
Present me with artwork crafted by your own creativity for me to display proudly in my home.
Inspire me to reward and praise you for every gift I recieve, to remind myself I am blessed with your company.
Feed me grapes with your own hands and tell me about your day.
Inspire me to create new dishes to eat, new flavours to blend together, new experiences to explore, new sights to see.
Sleep sweetly upon my shoulder, and bring up my Dominant protectiveness in a wave to vow to keep you safe from every harm.
But then, that's my son for you.
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ZzzzzzzzZzzzzzzz
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Feb 4, 2007 11:48 pm
690 Views
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It seems I've come out on the other side of manic and I'm straight into Can't Be Arsed. I slept the entire week and still feel shit. This week isn't so much an improvement as I had a fair few nightmares last night.
Thankfully, I have a lifestyle which allows me to sleep when I need to and only take care of business and household matters; my bills are paid and my son is in nursery, so I can allow myself the recovery time I need, when I need it. If I was working full time I'd be screwed, so perhaps small blessings granted for not getting the job I'd originally wanted.
I've taken my profile down, closed down Dark Tribe, and scaled back quite a bit as far as my presence here goes. I have no energy, no interest, and no time to meet the idly curious or those who want a shag or makeout session. Meetups aren't happening, mostly due to my waning interest in curiosities. Unless you're willing to do my housework, rub my feet and then get the fuck OUT of my hair afterwards without pissing me off, then forget it - yeah, good luck with that one, eh?
Right, dishes are calling, as is the need to dress the Archfluke and get my paperwork in order. Need to weed garden. And hoover. You know, all that stuff most people here ignore to focus on things they either don't know anything about or will never happen?
Chai is on the stove, and chicken stock will start soon so I can make myself some glorious noodles. Sprog is singing downstairs. All very unkinky ...all very charming.
I'm off for it.
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And more stuff
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Feb 3, 2007 9:11 am
656 Views
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Here's a not very brilliant image of the ballgown. The thing I didn't realise was she had added extra fabric at the front for some reason which made me look as if I was pregnant - wasn't too impressed and when I have this adjusted I'll definitely have it a bit more form-fitting round the waist as there was just too much loose fabric and the corsetry effect was lost. The choker I made however ROCKED. I need to repair it as it fell apart halfway through (I rushed it in a big way and was eight beads short). It's all pure silver and amethyst beads and was absolutely BRILLIANT. Once I repair it I'm going to be entering it in a competition and I also need to get it up on my site.
So, stuff, and things. What did I miss?
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