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Friday, July 31, 2009
Rainy Day
Normally I love the rain. But today it is drizzly and gray as ever and still I am left feeling sad. Perhaps it is the learning of a family friend's death yesterday, but I rather think not. It's something deeper still.
Last night I had an odd dream that was both very familiar and entirely new. In the dream, I was at what- in my mind- was my childhood home. It did not look like that in reality, but I have dreamt of it looking that way before. In part of the dream, the home was larger and seemed to be more of a boarding school. There was a lot of flitting about the yard, running, hiding, sneaking. I'm not sure why. I spoke to people that I don't speak to often. There was something about flying... I think. The peculiar part was some cubbies along the side of the property. They were muddy crevices in the side of the building, with stones and bugs all in them. There were four in a row, I think. Once when I went over to them, there were three younger kids joking and pretending to hide in them. I hid in one for real, though I don't remember what it was I was hiding from or what I had done that necessitated hiding. It seemed to me that it was something very bad. Later, an old man in an adjacent house- who it seems that I knew- needed glue, and so I went back to this crevice to retrieve two things that I had left in there most recently- toothpaste and glue. And there were also a couple of other things of mine which I left in there. A slide rule, a sparker, and something else that seemed somehow similar. There was something sinister about the cubbies, though. Something deep and secret. I'm still not sure what. I think it pertains to the Hallway Dreams, though, and this worries me. I have accepted that I may never know the root of the Hallway Dreams and simply want to push the whole thing into the past, as it won't benefit me to know more. And now a cubby, and I keep remembering past dreams such as one where I visited an underground prison where live many monstrous creatures. I want it to just go away. Maybe I'm just not sure if I want to know the origin. Either way, it's a big waste and it keeps me wondering when I have many, many more important things to do... and there was something in the end of my dreams. I was pushing on a wall or something, at a bus station I think. And a Centro bus pulled up, and 2 people got on. The second was Sam, and I said something like, "Oh- hi!" And I'd been thinking "Some things..." and he smiled impishly and waved, and I thought "Some people..." and then I woke up. The cause- an incoming call. From Sam. Irony?
Last night I had an odd dream that was both very familiar and entirely new. In the dream, I was at what- in my mind- was my childhood home. It did not look like that in reality, but I have dreamt of it looking that way before. In part of the dream, the home was larger and seemed to be more of a boarding school. There was a lot of flitting about the yard, running, hiding, sneaking. I'm not sure why. I spoke to people that I don't speak to often. There was something about flying... I think. The peculiar part was some cubbies along the side of the property. They were muddy crevices in the side of the building, with stones and bugs all in them. There were four in a row, I think. Once when I went over to them, there were three younger kids joking and pretending to hide in them. I hid in one for real, though I don't remember what it was I was hiding from or what I had done that necessitated hiding. It seemed to me that it was something very bad. Later, an old man in an adjacent house- who it seems that I knew- needed glue, and so I went back to this crevice to retrieve two things that I had left in there most recently- toothpaste and glue. And there were also a couple of other things of mine which I left in there. A slide rule, a sparker, and something else that seemed somehow similar. There was something sinister about the cubbies, though. Something deep and secret. I'm still not sure what. I think it pertains to the Hallway Dreams, though, and this worries me. I have accepted that I may never know the root of the Hallway Dreams and simply want to push the whole thing into the past, as it won't benefit me to know more. And now a cubby, and I keep remembering past dreams such as one where I visited an underground prison where live many monstrous creatures. I want it to just go away. Maybe I'm just not sure if I want to know the origin. Either way, it's a big waste and it keeps me wondering when I have many, many more important things to do... and there was something in the end of my dreams. I was pushing on a wall or something, at a bus station I think. And a Centro bus pulled up, and 2 people got on. The second was Sam, and I said something like, "Oh- hi!" And I'd been thinking "Some things..." and he smiled impishly and waved, and I thought "Some people..." and then I woke up. The cause- an incoming call. From Sam. Irony?
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
The Circus
I'm at work with my mother at the moment. Submitting this via cell phone. I'm hearing circus music in the background of my thoughts, and somewhere there's a great masqued elephant whose rider is dressed as the ring master. Clowns hover at the edges of the crowd, too real and barely there all at once. The crowd is mesmerized, laughing a clapping but each aware that under their cheerful guise there lies a certain dormant fear, waiting with baited breath to turn into tumultuous panic. The whole thing is thrilling as can be...
Monday, July 27, 2009
Fearie III
Niamh rides a long way in the underbelly of the great infant-holding creature. After what seems like the most perilous of journeys, the creature stops, as does the child's mother. Drawing a deep breath, Niamh looks around. They're stopped outside of a cottage, similar to one she's seen once before near her home. This, however, is not abandoned as the one Niamh knows. In fact, it seems that the child and its mother may live in it themselves.
The mother walks around to the front of the creature. Niamh sits tense, sure that the monster will fight. but to her surprise, after just a few seconds the great creature relinquishes the child, and walks, holding the infant, into the little house.
Quickly, trying to avoid any humans, Niamh jumps off of the beast and runs into the shrubbery in front of the house. Waiting there, she sees the human mother and an even larger human- a male- walking towards the strange animal.
"Honey, could you get the stroller?"
"Sure."
The second voice, the male, is deep and fills Niamh with much more fear than the gentle voice of the mother-human. However, she continues to watch from behind a hydrangea as he walks towards the animal and fidgets about its legs. suddenly, the belly of it has collapsed, and it lays sideways upon the ground. He has killed this thing called "stroller!" Curiously, though, he picks it up under one arm and bears it into the house. Perhaps it will be their meal...
Despite the apparent danger of the situation, Niamh slips into the house just before the mother, following the man- apparently the father-human, slams it shut.
In the house there are many more strange creatures, and Niamh wonders if each of them has been killed in the same manner of the stroller, as none moves. She sees something with a large, square body held on four straight legs, and something else which seems not to have been dead long, as it is soft and warm, and even larger than a dog.
Beyond the soft animal is the child, now trapped in a small fence of some sort. Surely they don't plan to use it as food? But Niamh's parents had told her long ago of humans keeping large animals inside fences and stealing their milk until they slaughtered the animals and use them to eat. The child, however, did not seem to think it would be used as food. In fact, it giggled merrily to itself, flailing its arms and legs.
Carefully, Niamh moves towards the laughing human, thinking that perhaps it's youth may render it safer than its full-grown counterparts. Standing on the other side of the wooden bars, Niamh begins to whisper.
"Hello! Can you understand, or are you yet too young?"
The child, turning to hear the whispering sound better lets out a cheerful "AHH!"
Niamh moves back several inches but does not run as it looks through the bars and continues to coo. The child, whether mesmerized by Niamh's almost ethereal glow or her size or simply her movement, tries to roll to better see her, but only manages to see her by turning its head so that its cheek is parallel with the floor.
Several minutes later, the parents come back into the room just as Niamh slips under the large creature, still warm and soft. Atop this creature the parents sit, and for several hours Niamh listens to pleasant conversation and watches the child. Niamh learns, by listening, that the creature here is a "couch" and that the child is called Emily. Then, after the only light comes from atop the square bodied creatures and from a small sun which hangs from the ceiling, the mother says "You ready for bed, Emily?"
The child does not seem to understand the question, but is delighted nonetheless when the mother picks her up out of the fence.
"I'll go pour some wine." It is the deep voice of the father, and causes Niamh to jump in her place under the couch. The father leaves the room and enters some other part of the home, as do the mother and child. Niamh follows the pair of females carefully, and finds herself in Emily's bedroom. After new clothes are put onto her, her mother says, "Into your crib, now." and lowers Emily into another fence, this time raised off the ground like the stroller. "Nighty-night."
After she is sure the mother is gone, Emily climbs up the leg of the crib and through the bars to see Emily. In the darkness of the room, Niamh's glow is startling, and Emily watches her ans she moves about the little crib and whispers. After a long while, Emily falls asleep and Niamh finds a warm place to rest in the corner behind the crib. Perhaps I will make a friend of this Emily, and perhaps her parent-humans will not kill me.
It was the very first time that Emily slept through the night.
The mother walks around to the front of the creature. Niamh sits tense, sure that the monster will fight. but to her surprise, after just a few seconds the great creature relinquishes the child, and walks, holding the infant, into the little house.
Quickly, trying to avoid any humans, Niamh jumps off of the beast and runs into the shrubbery in front of the house. Waiting there, she sees the human mother and an even larger human- a male- walking towards the strange animal.
"Honey, could you get the stroller?"
"Sure."
The second voice, the male, is deep and fills Niamh with much more fear than the gentle voice of the mother-human. However, she continues to watch from behind a hydrangea as he walks towards the animal and fidgets about its legs. suddenly, the belly of it has collapsed, and it lays sideways upon the ground. He has killed this thing called "stroller!" Curiously, though, he picks it up under one arm and bears it into the house. Perhaps it will be their meal...
Despite the apparent danger of the situation, Niamh slips into the house just before the mother, following the man- apparently the father-human, slams it shut.
In the house there are many more strange creatures, and Niamh wonders if each of them has been killed in the same manner of the stroller, as none moves. She sees something with a large, square body held on four straight legs, and something else which seems not to have been dead long, as it is soft and warm, and even larger than a dog.
Beyond the soft animal is the child, now trapped in a small fence of some sort. Surely they don't plan to use it as food? But Niamh's parents had told her long ago of humans keeping large animals inside fences and stealing their milk until they slaughtered the animals and use them to eat. The child, however, did not seem to think it would be used as food. In fact, it giggled merrily to itself, flailing its arms and legs.
Carefully, Niamh moves towards the laughing human, thinking that perhaps it's youth may render it safer than its full-grown counterparts. Standing on the other side of the wooden bars, Niamh begins to whisper.
"Hello! Can you understand, or are you yet too young?"
The child, turning to hear the whispering sound better lets out a cheerful "AHH!"
Niamh moves back several inches but does not run as it looks through the bars and continues to coo. The child, whether mesmerized by Niamh's almost ethereal glow or her size or simply her movement, tries to roll to better see her, but only manages to see her by turning its head so that its cheek is parallel with the floor.
Several minutes later, the parents come back into the room just as Niamh slips under the large creature, still warm and soft. Atop this creature the parents sit, and for several hours Niamh listens to pleasant conversation and watches the child. Niamh learns, by listening, that the creature here is a "couch" and that the child is called Emily. Then, after the only light comes from atop the square bodied creatures and from a small sun which hangs from the ceiling, the mother says "You ready for bed, Emily?"
The child does not seem to understand the question, but is delighted nonetheless when the mother picks her up out of the fence.
"I'll go pour some wine." It is the deep voice of the father, and causes Niamh to jump in her place under the couch. The father leaves the room and enters some other part of the home, as do the mother and child. Niamh follows the pair of females carefully, and finds herself in Emily's bedroom. After new clothes are put onto her, her mother says, "Into your crib, now." and lowers Emily into another fence, this time raised off the ground like the stroller. "Nighty-night."
After she is sure the mother is gone, Emily climbs up the leg of the crib and through the bars to see Emily. In the darkness of the room, Niamh's glow is startling, and Emily watches her ans she moves about the little crib and whispers. After a long while, Emily falls asleep and Niamh finds a warm place to rest in the corner behind the crib. Perhaps I will make a friend of this Emily, and perhaps her parent-humans will not kill me.
It was the very first time that Emily slept through the night.
Pets
This morning I awoke at 5, and was unable to get back to sleep. Therefore, I allowed myself to drift off into daydream.
I had a pet tiger. I love tigers, you see, and so I had one as a pet. A white tiger. I'd been helping at the zoo and this particular cub's mother had recently died, and there was no one to take care of it. Unable to resist the little fur ball, I brought him home and nursed him. I named him Bach, short for Bacchus- the Roman god of wine. So, he grew and I had a large fenced in yard where he roamed and hunted what small prey he could. Eventually, I added a pond to my home, where resided two turtles and some fish.
In the quiet of the night I could feel the turtles' hard shells and the thick fur of my tiger, hear its quiet roar.
Having been brought up as something like both dog and cat, Bach liked to sit on my lap. However, once fully grown, this could only work if I was sitting on the floor or on a large couch, where he could be partially on my lap and partially on something else.
What can I say? I'm a sucker for animals, especially young ones.
My dog (left) thinks he's a cat, though, so perhaps I'm just extraordinarily good with bizarre pets... In fact, he's currently playing with a blueberry, pawing at it and chasing it. ...Anyhow, I love most animals, which is why they pop up periodically in my daydreams. Dogs, cats, small animals (guinea pigs, hamsters, mice, rats, ferrets, rabbits), reptiles, amphibians, some spiders, even some fish and some birds... and tigers, and horses. :)
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Yesterday
Yesterday was a date that it seems I should remember. A day that left me not daydreaming, but reminiscing. I hope I'll never forget. . .
I have some interesting stories. Haha, I just thought, "I should start a blog." I'm a genius. I'm not really with it at the moment.
Got some art supplies earlier today. I want to daydream. And reminisce. And mix the future with the past, the former with the latter in my mind.
In my mind, I'm in a beach house while the same storm that currently pounds on my windows rages over the ocean. With thunder and lightning. And maybe a little covered porch where I can sit with a big blanket over me, watching the water dropping out of the sky. And that's just how I feel. And it's beautiful.
June 24, 2009. Who would've guessed?
I have some interesting stories. Haha, I just thought, "I should start a blog." I'm a genius. I'm not really with it at the moment.
Got some art supplies earlier today. I want to daydream. And reminisce. And mix the future with the past, the former with the latter in my mind.
In my mind, I'm in a beach house while the same storm that currently pounds on my windows rages over the ocean. With thunder and lightning. And maybe a little covered porch where I can sit with a big blanket over me, watching the water dropping out of the sky. And that's just how I feel. And it's beautiful.
June 24, 2009. Who would've guessed?
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Books! My other delusions.
I just finished "On the Beach" by Neville Shute. It was fantastic, though in my personal opinion Mary, one of the characters, was quite aggravating.
But besides he, I absolutely loved it. The topic was intriguing, the plot well developed, the ending inevitable and heartbreaking simultaneously. Overall, I'd say it was beautifully written and that it would do some well to read it.
After finding a dead squirrel on the road on the way back from a cheerful little jaunt to the village today, my delusion was that I'd found it when it was still alive and been able to get him fixed up and healthy again. The overly fanciful part of me continued it from there, decorating the story by making the healthy little squirrel live in my yard and come to visit me at my window after I gave him stitches. The part of me that is relatively rational but still functions within my little daydreams,though, was quite content to have the squirrel in good health.
In reality, the best I could do was to move him off of the road so that the damage that happened to the body was only that of nature.
I was thinking earlier that perhaps I should keep Post-Its an a pen with me at all times so that I can leave notes for people with positive feedback on the maintenance of their homes, the kindness of their employees, etc. I would not sign them and not tell anyone in "real" life about it; it would just be my way of anonymously trying to brighten people's days.
But besides he, I absolutely loved it. The topic was intriguing, the plot well developed, the ending inevitable and heartbreaking simultaneously. Overall, I'd say it was beautifully written and that it would do some well to read it.
After finding a dead squirrel on the road on the way back from a cheerful little jaunt to the village today, my delusion was that I'd found it when it was still alive and been able to get him fixed up and healthy again. The overly fanciful part of me continued it from there, decorating the story by making the healthy little squirrel live in my yard and come to visit me at my window after I gave him stitches. The part of me that is relatively rational but still functions within my little daydreams,though, was quite content to have the squirrel in good health.
In reality, the best I could do was to move him off of the road so that the damage that happened to the body was only that of nature.
I was thinking earlier that perhaps I should keep Post-Its an a pen with me at all times so that I can leave notes for people with positive feedback on the maintenance of their homes, the kindness of their employees, etc. I would not sign them and not tell anyone in "real" life about it; it would just be my way of anonymously trying to brighten people's days.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Party
Today was one that didn't require a mental escape. This is odd, because today was the day of my birthday party. Generally, parties are a great source of stress for me. However, today turned out to be fun. There were a lot of people, but it was all quite nice. There was a healthy dose of insanity. Even with the work involved, it was the sort of day that left me smiling. So I guess no weird tales for today. Weird. I have an idea brewing in my mind, though...
Friday, July 17, 2009
Waking Dead.
Yup. Today I died. Of course, I was just sweeping the floors. But in my mind, I got into a horrible wreck that left me dead... for over an hour. During that time the medical doctors had no way of expecting me to come back. But I was moving through the world happily. Of course, I couldn't experience anything with "normal" senses, without a brain to organize input or a body to collect it. Rather, everything was like pure uninhibited truth, impossible to doubt, and I experienced everything the way we feel when we have intuition. I wasn't a part of physical space, and socouldn't really travel through it. However, there were current of emotion which I could sense (almost like the human sense of taste, I decided) and then follow to "where" I needed to go. Though I wasn't physical matter I could affect it, being pure energy. Therefore, after "examining" several different living peoples' brains, I figured out how to make my lifeless brain fluent in every language that I couldthink of. Then I learned other things, followed the emotional paths to visit those that I loved, and finally relatched myself to my body. All in all, I had fun with this. Of course they were calling me a medical miracle afterward, but people were quit disappointed with my explanation that I couldn't really have died, because if what I experienced was the after life, there would have been a lot of other dead souls floating around, too. And a lot less people would stay dead.
As for the fluency thing, that was just because I felt like poking around a little in my imagination to make the idea make sense to me.
:)
As for the fluency thing, that was just because I felt like poking around a little in my imagination to make the idea make sense to me.
:)
Thursday, July 16, 2009
The List
So many times, I've found myself giving a sort of mental declaration of what I love and who I am. You know; all those things you want your loved ones to know but never come into your mind when you're speaking with them. Or maybe that's just me. Regardless, I can't help but feel that it would be good to record these things, just... because. And I may as well have that list here, with the rest of my mental calamity. No one project or book or picture or song or anything could ever encompass me, especially seeing as my interests and loves range so far and wide. These are the things that, if I died tomorrow, I'd want in my obituary. Which is funny, really, because no one in the "real" world knows about this blog. Least, not yet. I'll continue to add to this list as new things come to me; it may go on forever. The never ending post... and if it does ever finish, the beginning parts probably won't even apply to me anymore.
I like horror books and movies. When I was younger I'd sometimes think of how one might make the perfect murder possible. I listen to a lot of rock music, but I've also been passionately fond of classical music since I was very young; this is probably because my mother used to play theme music from Mickey Mouse on the radio during my naps when I was 4-ish. I talk conversationally to my pets when I'm home (otherwise) alone. I enjoy hand washing dishes. I like to daydream, to read, and to see movies for one common reason: they provide distraction from reality. For as long as I can remember, I've had a feeling that I was(am) truly unique. I like swimming at night. Once when I was 10 I took what I'd read from a book- that a person dies every 5 seconds and a person is born every 7 seconds- and figured out mentally how many people the world loses per year-- during a shower. I plan on going into a medical career, but was I not so passionate about helping people in that way I would likely go into a career involving literature; it's another one of my passions. Sometimes I like to read laid back, overly feminine books because they make me feel as if I'm on vacation. My favorite musical instrument is the violin. I love sunlight and books that make me cry because when I was depressed, I couldn't cry and I felt as if the sunlight was cold and gray... I couldn't stand that. I like to sew by hand. I enjoy baking. I love to sing, despite the fact that I'm only so/so. I love gardening, and the smell of fresh fertile soil. I love the full moon, almost to the point of being creepy. Oftentimes when I'm bored I work myself into an inspirational frenzy where all I want to do is create: write, draw, sculpt, etc. I think I'd prefer living in a small cottage to living in a large modern house. I love the idea behind patio homes, but when I'm there in the development I'm sickened by how suburban they are. I love waking up to bird songs in the summer. Similarly, what bothers me most about winter is the dead silence throughout the house. I work best, and hardest, in the middle of the night. With as little light as possible while still seeing what I'm doing. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone was the first non-realistic book I read. I prefer silver to gold. I like spicy food; spicy like chili peppers, though- not like wasabi (usually) or like curry (usually). I love trying foods from many different cultures. The reason I like making and embellishing my clothes is having the knowledge that mine is the only piece quite like it. I want to change the world in little ways; I am not the hero but the wise person who leads them along the way, not Cinderella but the Fairy Godmother, not the warrior but the seer. Despite the fact that I am not religious, I have a favorite Christmas song: "The Gift" by Aselin Debison. I don't like to go to the doctors, for unknown reasons. I have difficulty letting people into my life. Every aspect of my personality is either absurdly extreme or perfectly neutral. My favorite part of babysitting is rocking and singing to toddlers (and infants) until they fall asleep. Though not protective of myself, I become fierce when someone I love is threatened. Despite what I say, I'm still uncomfortable with my body. When I retire I'd like to move either into the country or into one of those very small, self contained towns. Sometimes I'm intimidated by how much of my future is already planned. I fully, genuinely enjoy my own company, and in that way I have more ego than anyone I know, even though I tend to be quite humble. I love the scent of new, freshly sharpened pencils. Sometimes it's hard for me to admit when I'm wrong. I hate, hate, hate to be appeased. When I'm sad about something, I imagine other peoples' lives in the future without me. Sometimes I like to manipulate my own emotions. Sometimes I see myself as utterly pathetic. I fear weakness. Even more, I fear that I'll hurt others around me-- emotionally, that is. I don't like birthday parties; my own or others'. Sometimes I want badly to let loose and be crazy; to go over the edge. When I'm tired (sometimes even just emotionally tired) I rock rhythmically back and forth, usually until I fall asleep. One of my cousins also does this, so I wonder if it's genetic. I love all the seasons equally. I love winter for the beauty of snow and the dark mornings. I love spring for the way color seems so vibrant at the close of winter and the rebirth all around. I love summer for long lazy-warm days and inky black nights with warm breezes. I love autumn for the crispness of the air and the variation in tree color and the smell of fallen leaves. When I was about 9 I thought I was a witch. I'd like to go skydiving sometime in my life. I like conspiracy theories. I almost never leave my house without my cell phone, money, photo ID, my insurance card, and usually a book. I hate being lectured, because for awhile when I was young I'd get almost daily lectures on what I'd done wrong that day... but I firmly believe that these lectures led me to be the introspective, rather cautious person I am today. However, if I do get lectured, it's usually unnecessary. I only need to be told once in order to make a decision about whether or not to follow the advice, and lecturing fills me with desire to rebel. Though I need to keep my mind almost perpetually occupied, I love the way I feel after a long day of hard manual labor. When trying to keep from crying, I focus on specific details of tangible things around me, so as to engage the detached, technical part of me. I'm terrified of becoming depressed again. I like to write with quill and ink. I miss taking Irish Step Dance. It makes me uncomfortable to know that I would flourish in politics. Sometimes I like to think about (almost plan) my wedding, just because. If I ever have the time and/or the money, I'd like to travel the world. I don't see anything wrong with dressing simply and wearing the same outfits often; my friends occasionally complain about that logic. Though I almost never get angry, I'm vicious when I do. I like to think that if people have "souls" in the sense of a metaphysical identity that survives after the body has died, that all living things do. I love to ponder the hypothetical. I play songs in my mind when I'm bored or need background music. I don't mind being someone else's doormat if it's all I can do to take care of them. Sometimes I wish I could just be-- human; allowed to show the range of emotions that others show. I don't have a "best friend", rather, I value all my friends differently. I like brightly colored plaid. I love the sound of bagpipes. I sigh at the beauty of nature. I like to think about the end of world. Sometimes when I'm alone I make myself cry and then I can't stop. I like to cook for the kids I babysit. I call people who I know won't listen to a word I say. I don't tell people about things that bother or sadden me because I don't want them to treat me differently because of it; don't want them to feel the need to choose their words carefully around me. I consider it self indulgent to act depressed or even sad, and therefore only do so when I'm alone. I talk to myself when I'm upset, and say the things that I know I'd regret if I said to the people for whom they are intended. I'm so used to acting as the man of the house that I often forget to let people take care of me. Some days- just when I'm feeling weepy, I miss the days when I was an island unto myself, completely emotionally detached. I used to have spells where I'd get frustrated and want to throw, break, punch, and/or bite things. These spells started when I was very young-- perhaps 3ish. I like to fish. I don't hate anybody. I don't like gambling; perhaps this is related to the feeling of loss of control, leaving things to luck. While I don't believe in any great being or religion or even necessarily an afterlife of any sort, I can't help but feel that there's a sort of path of least resistance through life, a certain current that we can put ourselves into, so that we're not fighting against life... and this doesn't really fit into any of my other (non) beliefs. I love animals. I love thunderstorms, and if they occur at night I'll often sit on the floor by a door or window to watch the lightning. Both the thought of eternity and the thought of ceasing to exist scare me a little bit. I am never fully confident in anything I do, not even the simplest of tasks. I love big tests such as midterms and finals, and standardized tests. Sometimes I think I'm prettiest when I first wake up. It scares me how sometimes couples that have been together for years break up seemingly overnight. When I was younger I used to think I had precognition. I love the way the sun looks overwhelmingly bright and liquid if you first wake up with it shining in your face. I sometimes enjoy the feeling of being hungry. I've learned how to distinguish the natural male human scent from the natural female human scent. I don't mind the thought of the apocalypse happening in 2012 as much as one might think. However, I'm not the sort who'll go out and spend their life savings on living the time until then like a mad person, either. I love the scent of a wood fire. I love old glass bottles. There are currently two people outside of myself in the whole world that possess the ability to make me cry. I like walking barefoot outside... except of course in the winter. Every so often I come to the realization that I seem to be the only one I know who's really almost fully reliable... which equates to almost everyone I know taking advantage of me in some way, or at the very least taking me for granted. I am not great at anything, but am good or at least decent at a great many things. Sometimes when I'm alone I have conversations with myself aloud. I love the smell of Play-Doh. When I can't sleep at night I make up scenarios that require many decisions or mundane details to occupy my mind until I drift off. Sometimes I try to imagine what I would do if certain loved ones died; I'm not sure why. I love cemeteries and have for as long as I can remember. When I was quite young (5ish?) I would always be sure to have something hard and something large and soft before I went to sleep, so that in the event of a fire I could break my bedroom window and then cover the shards with blanket, pillow etc while I slipped out. A little before that time I thought that all my toys came alive when I was asleep. My favorite color is blue but my two favorite colors are purple and green. I wonder, if I could meet myself as a 4-6 year old, what my younger self would think of the person I have become. Once when I was young I kept wishing I could go back in time in order to keep myself from breaking something, and suddenly I had the thought that perhaps I actually had gone back in time each time I'd wished to, but without being aware of what was about to happen or having gone back- according to this theory I simply kept making the same mistake over and over, never knowing that it had occurred before. I get frustrated with myself when I can't maintain my optimism. I love when people confide in me, not because I want to know their secrets but because I love knowing that they trust me. About three years ago I had an idea that the reason people are crippled by pain is that they fight the sensation... I figured that instead, I could welcome the sensation and therefore draw strength from it. Scarily enough, it kind of worked. I hate the thought of always being busy but I hate the thought of being bored more. Occasionally I am able to "play" large chunks of books in my mind for my entertainment. My memories of the night my grandmother first went to the hospital before dying are muddled in such a way that premonition seems the only answer. I enjoy camping. I also enjoy swimming. When I was young I could be entertained for hours with things such as a large cardboard box. I have inside jokes with myself. I never say most of what I intend to say to people, because I determine that it's not important enough to bother. I don't like chocolate ice cream. Walking is my favorite mode of transportation. I like going outside in the rain until I'm soaked to the skin... it makes me feel new. Sometimes I'll sit in front of the mirror for almost an hour, squeezing my pores. I love the feeling of a big yawn. I love clocks. I love buying presents. I fear addiction. I believe in working for everything I get. I love the smell of fresh mint. I hate constantly changing my mind. I think that only three types of bugs bother me: flies, ants and cockroaches. I cry more at night than I do during the day. I have only had two real "break downs" this year (as of September 4, 09)... this means I'm getting better. I don't try to understand myself. I feel relatively sure that I've repeated myself at leas once here, and don't really care. I love the rain but don't particularly like the cold it brings. I make myself cry. I hate to tell people if I'm sick. I'm always unsure of myself. I fight with people when I'm home alone, so I can say what I need to get out without having to regret anything. Ever since I was 11, I've gotten an odd feeling of pressure in my head when I'm very overstressed or thinking of too many things at once (like being smothered with a pillow). I have more confidence in myself when I'm alone. I get paranoid if I'm alone in a building. I love fixing things manually. I'm comfortable with holding the "male" position in my household. Sometimes eating in public makes me feel self-conscious. I use puns to get out of answering questions I don't want to answer. I need a best friend like me. I like to watch people at stoplights (they have their guard down). I think in the third person and write in the first.
I like horror books and movies. When I was younger I'd sometimes think of how one might make the perfect murder possible. I listen to a lot of rock music, but I've also been passionately fond of classical music since I was very young; this is probably because my mother used to play theme music from Mickey Mouse on the radio during my naps when I was 4-ish. I talk conversationally to my pets when I'm home (otherwise) alone. I enjoy hand washing dishes. I like to daydream, to read, and to see movies for one common reason: they provide distraction from reality. For as long as I can remember, I've had a feeling that I was(am) truly unique. I like swimming at night. Once when I was 10 I took what I'd read from a book- that a person dies every 5 seconds and a person is born every 7 seconds- and figured out mentally how many people the world loses per year-- during a shower. I plan on going into a medical career, but was I not so passionate about helping people in that way I would likely go into a career involving literature; it's another one of my passions. Sometimes I like to read laid back, overly feminine books because they make me feel as if I'm on vacation. My favorite musical instrument is the violin. I love sunlight and books that make me cry because when I was depressed, I couldn't cry and I felt as if the sunlight was cold and gray... I couldn't stand that. I like to sew by hand. I enjoy baking. I love to sing, despite the fact that I'm only so/so. I love gardening, and the smell of fresh fertile soil. I love the full moon, almost to the point of being creepy. Oftentimes when I'm bored I work myself into an inspirational frenzy where all I want to do is create: write, draw, sculpt, etc. I think I'd prefer living in a small cottage to living in a large modern house. I love the idea behind patio homes, but when I'm there in the development I'm sickened by how suburban they are. I love waking up to bird songs in the summer. Similarly, what bothers me most about winter is the dead silence throughout the house. I work best, and hardest, in the middle of the night. With as little light as possible while still seeing what I'm doing. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone was the first non-realistic book I read. I prefer silver to gold. I like spicy food; spicy like chili peppers, though- not like wasabi (usually) or like curry (usually). I love trying foods from many different cultures. The reason I like making and embellishing my clothes is having the knowledge that mine is the only piece quite like it. I want to change the world in little ways; I am not the hero but the wise person who leads them along the way, not Cinderella but the Fairy Godmother, not the warrior but the seer. Despite the fact that I am not religious, I have a favorite Christmas song: "The Gift" by Aselin Debison. I don't like to go to the doctors, for unknown reasons. I have difficulty letting people into my life. Every aspect of my personality is either absurdly extreme or perfectly neutral. My favorite part of babysitting is rocking and singing to toddlers (and infants) until they fall asleep. Though not protective of myself, I become fierce when someone I love is threatened. Despite what I say, I'm still uncomfortable with my body. When I retire I'd like to move either into the country or into one of those very small, self contained towns. Sometimes I'm intimidated by how much of my future is already planned. I fully, genuinely enjoy my own company, and in that way I have more ego than anyone I know, even though I tend to be quite humble. I love the scent of new, freshly sharpened pencils. Sometimes it's hard for me to admit when I'm wrong. I hate, hate, hate to be appeased. When I'm sad about something, I imagine other peoples' lives in the future without me. Sometimes I like to manipulate my own emotions. Sometimes I see myself as utterly pathetic. I fear weakness. Even more, I fear that I'll hurt others around me-- emotionally, that is. I don't like birthday parties; my own or others'. Sometimes I want badly to let loose and be crazy; to go over the edge. When I'm tired (sometimes even just emotionally tired) I rock rhythmically back and forth, usually until I fall asleep. One of my cousins also does this, so I wonder if it's genetic. I love all the seasons equally. I love winter for the beauty of snow and the dark mornings. I love spring for the way color seems so vibrant at the close of winter and the rebirth all around. I love summer for long lazy-warm days and inky black nights with warm breezes. I love autumn for the crispness of the air and the variation in tree color and the smell of fallen leaves. When I was about 9 I thought I was a witch. I'd like to go skydiving sometime in my life. I like conspiracy theories. I almost never leave my house without my cell phone, money, photo ID, my insurance card, and usually a book. I hate being lectured, because for awhile when I was young I'd get almost daily lectures on what I'd done wrong that day... but I firmly believe that these lectures led me to be the introspective, rather cautious person I am today. However, if I do get lectured, it's usually unnecessary. I only need to be told once in order to make a decision about whether or not to follow the advice, and lecturing fills me with desire to rebel. Though I need to keep my mind almost perpetually occupied, I love the way I feel after a long day of hard manual labor. When trying to keep from crying, I focus on specific details of tangible things around me, so as to engage the detached, technical part of me. I'm terrified of becoming depressed again. I like to write with quill and ink. I miss taking Irish Step Dance. It makes me uncomfortable to know that I would flourish in politics. Sometimes I like to think about (almost plan) my wedding, just because. If I ever have the time and/or the money, I'd like to travel the world. I don't see anything wrong with dressing simply and wearing the same outfits often; my friends occasionally complain about that logic. Though I almost never get angry, I'm vicious when I do. I like to think that if people have "souls" in the sense of a metaphysical identity that survives after the body has died, that all living things do. I love to ponder the hypothetical. I play songs in my mind when I'm bored or need background music. I don't mind being someone else's doormat if it's all I can do to take care of them. Sometimes I wish I could just be-- human; allowed to show the range of emotions that others show. I don't have a "best friend", rather, I value all my friends differently. I like brightly colored plaid. I love the sound of bagpipes. I sigh at the beauty of nature. I like to think about the end of world. Sometimes when I'm alone I make myself cry and then I can't stop. I like to cook for the kids I babysit. I call people who I know won't listen to a word I say. I don't tell people about things that bother or sadden me because I don't want them to treat me differently because of it; don't want them to feel the need to choose their words carefully around me. I consider it self indulgent to act depressed or even sad, and therefore only do so when I'm alone. I talk to myself when I'm upset, and say the things that I know I'd regret if I said to the people for whom they are intended. I'm so used to acting as the man of the house that I often forget to let people take care of me. Some days- just when I'm feeling weepy, I miss the days when I was an island unto myself, completely emotionally detached. I used to have spells where I'd get frustrated and want to throw, break, punch, and/or bite things. These spells started when I was very young-- perhaps 3ish. I like to fish. I don't hate anybody. I don't like gambling; perhaps this is related to the feeling of loss of control, leaving things to luck. While I don't believe in any great being or religion or even necessarily an afterlife of any sort, I can't help but feel that there's a sort of path of least resistance through life, a certain current that we can put ourselves into, so that we're not fighting against life... and this doesn't really fit into any of my other (non) beliefs. I love animals. I love thunderstorms, and if they occur at night I'll often sit on the floor by a door or window to watch the lightning. Both the thought of eternity and the thought of ceasing to exist scare me a little bit. I am never fully confident in anything I do, not even the simplest of tasks. I love big tests such as midterms and finals, and standardized tests. Sometimes I think I'm prettiest when I first wake up. It scares me how sometimes couples that have been together for years break up seemingly overnight. When I was younger I used to think I had precognition. I love the way the sun looks overwhelmingly bright and liquid if you first wake up with it shining in your face. I sometimes enjoy the feeling of being hungry. I've learned how to distinguish the natural male human scent from the natural female human scent. I don't mind the thought of the apocalypse happening in 2012 as much as one might think. However, I'm not the sort who'll go out and spend their life savings on living the time until then like a mad person, either. I love the scent of a wood fire. I love old glass bottles. There are currently two people outside of myself in the whole world that possess the ability to make me cry. I like walking barefoot outside... except of course in the winter. Every so often I come to the realization that I seem to be the only one I know who's really almost fully reliable... which equates to almost everyone I know taking advantage of me in some way, or at the very least taking me for granted. I am not great at anything, but am good or at least decent at a great many things. Sometimes when I'm alone I have conversations with myself aloud. I love the smell of Play-Doh. When I can't sleep at night I make up scenarios that require many decisions or mundane details to occupy my mind until I drift off. Sometimes I try to imagine what I would do if certain loved ones died; I'm not sure why. I love cemeteries and have for as long as I can remember. When I was quite young (5ish?) I would always be sure to have something hard and something large and soft before I went to sleep, so that in the event of a fire I could break my bedroom window and then cover the shards with blanket, pillow etc while I slipped out. A little before that time I thought that all my toys came alive when I was asleep. My favorite color is blue but my two favorite colors are purple and green. I wonder, if I could meet myself as a 4-6 year old, what my younger self would think of the person I have become. Once when I was young I kept wishing I could go back in time in order to keep myself from breaking something, and suddenly I had the thought that perhaps I actually had gone back in time each time I'd wished to, but without being aware of what was about to happen or having gone back- according to this theory I simply kept making the same mistake over and over, never knowing that it had occurred before. I get frustrated with myself when I can't maintain my optimism. I love when people confide in me, not because I want to know their secrets but because I love knowing that they trust me. About three years ago I had an idea that the reason people are crippled by pain is that they fight the sensation... I figured that instead, I could welcome the sensation and therefore draw strength from it. Scarily enough, it kind of worked. I hate the thought of always being busy but I hate the thought of being bored more. Occasionally I am able to "play" large chunks of books in my mind for my entertainment. My memories of the night my grandmother first went to the hospital before dying are muddled in such a way that premonition seems the only answer. I enjoy camping. I also enjoy swimming. When I was young I could be entertained for hours with things such as a large cardboard box. I have inside jokes with myself. I never say most of what I intend to say to people, because I determine that it's not important enough to bother. I don't like chocolate ice cream. Walking is my favorite mode of transportation. I like going outside in the rain until I'm soaked to the skin... it makes me feel new. Sometimes I'll sit in front of the mirror for almost an hour, squeezing my pores. I love the feeling of a big yawn. I love clocks. I love buying presents. I fear addiction. I believe in working for everything I get. I love the smell of fresh mint. I hate constantly changing my mind. I think that only three types of bugs bother me: flies, ants and cockroaches. I cry more at night than I do during the day. I have only had two real "break downs" this year (as of September 4, 09)... this means I'm getting better. I don't try to understand myself. I feel relatively sure that I've repeated myself at leas once here, and don't really care. I love the rain but don't particularly like the cold it brings. I make myself cry. I hate to tell people if I'm sick. I'm always unsure of myself. I fight with people when I'm home alone, so I can say what I need to get out without having to regret anything. Ever since I was 11, I've gotten an odd feeling of pressure in my head when I'm very overstressed or thinking of too many things at once (like being smothered with a pillow). I have more confidence in myself when I'm alone. I get paranoid if I'm alone in a building. I love fixing things manually. I'm comfortable with holding the "male" position in my household. Sometimes eating in public makes me feel self-conscious. I use puns to get out of answering questions I don't want to answer. I need a best friend like me. I like to watch people at stoplights (they have their guard down). I think in the third person and write in the first.
Escape
Well, my birthday turned out to be something that rendered the need for creative escape. Granted, the evening was a whole lot better than the morning. But I'm happy it's over... So here goes. It's all straight from my mind so it may be a little crazy.
I feel a streak of lavender and blue arching up through my forehead, and it sounds like a chime and feels like singing all out. I don't know how to explain it properly, but that-- thing, streak, sensation, thought-- is my current state of mind. Maybe even state of being. There is a wild thing in my heart, serpentine and lost and tragic but also innocent and joyful. All at once. It moves with the rhythm of these things and slowly its twisting turns into a dance for all that's wrong in the world to be made right. At this moment I am greatly lacking in rational thought, which is unlike me. I am emotion, energy, wishing dearly for a canvas to splash myself upon but fearing the consequences of attaching myself to the tangible world. So alone in a psychic vacuum I sit, writhing and dancing and singing with colour. What's that I feel? It's a scream. It's in the back of my mind, but also in my chest. I can almost hear it, the whistling of icy wind as I scream as loud as I possibly can and collapse into the snow. I move now into a place that exists in the real world, but that I will probably never see again. It's so well hidden; I doubt many people have seen it. I can hear the waterfall, feel the icy autumn water run over my feet, into my sneakers, drenching my jeans. I can feel as my palms wrap around tree roots, trying hard to keep from falling towards injury or death. Once safe, I feel the soft ground under my feet as I walk along the edge of the stream. I see the familiar rocks where I can hop across so as to find higher ground. Then the next waterfall. So much shorter; probably less that 12 feet in height. I can't remember the height as clearly; I only saw this part a couple of times. I remember walking carelessly through the stream here, for it's shallow here, though slippery. I remember the rocks on the side, How slippery they were, almost falling. I still wish I'd found a way further. For about a year that waterfall was my lifeline. I re experience the rushing water, remember bringing the dogs with me. They would've found help if anything had happened to me.
Now I go to a beach. I need its warmth. Hot, soft sand, molding under my bare feet as I walk, the sun bathing me in molten heat. I can see the ocean a bit, but right now I smell it more than anything, salt water slipping through the air into my nostrils and pasting itself into the background of memory.
There's another happy place I had when I was young, that I loved. It started one year on the Fourth of July when family friends, my mother and I were on vacation and went to see fireworks. We were seated on a big cement slab that stuck out into the ocean. I remember closing my eyes for awhile and just listening to the fireworks and the water, feeling the breeze. And then I was on my Rock. In the middle of the ocean, completely separate from other humans. The rock is big and dark and the ocean is always stormy. Overhead is booming thunder, the sort that shakes your very core. Rough waves throw mist onto me as I lay on my stomach, listening to the beauty of the storm. And that is the whole magic of the rock. For awhile I added a cave which led down into a magical world where the greenery itself emitted bright light, and faeries and small animals- my only sources of conversation- lived and danced merrily about, always joyful simply to be in that magical world. But somehow even with that cave I always took time to step out onto the exterior of the rock and enjoy the full moon, the sound of thunder rolling in the distance, the feeling of sea spray on my skin.
I feel a streak of lavender and blue arching up through my forehead, and it sounds like a chime and feels like singing all out. I don't know how to explain it properly, but that-- thing, streak, sensation, thought-- is my current state of mind. Maybe even state of being. There is a wild thing in my heart, serpentine and lost and tragic but also innocent and joyful. All at once. It moves with the rhythm of these things and slowly its twisting turns into a dance for all that's wrong in the world to be made right. At this moment I am greatly lacking in rational thought, which is unlike me. I am emotion, energy, wishing dearly for a canvas to splash myself upon but fearing the consequences of attaching myself to the tangible world. So alone in a psychic vacuum I sit, writhing and dancing and singing with colour. What's that I feel? It's a scream. It's in the back of my mind, but also in my chest. I can almost hear it, the whistling of icy wind as I scream as loud as I possibly can and collapse into the snow. I move now into a place that exists in the real world, but that I will probably never see again. It's so well hidden; I doubt many people have seen it. I can hear the waterfall, feel the icy autumn water run over my feet, into my sneakers, drenching my jeans. I can feel as my palms wrap around tree roots, trying hard to keep from falling towards injury or death. Once safe, I feel the soft ground under my feet as I walk along the edge of the stream. I see the familiar rocks where I can hop across so as to find higher ground. Then the next waterfall. So much shorter; probably less that 12 feet in height. I can't remember the height as clearly; I only saw this part a couple of times. I remember walking carelessly through the stream here, for it's shallow here, though slippery. I remember the rocks on the side, How slippery they were, almost falling. I still wish I'd found a way further. For about a year that waterfall was my lifeline. I re experience the rushing water, remember bringing the dogs with me. They would've found help if anything had happened to me.
Now I go to a beach. I need its warmth. Hot, soft sand, molding under my bare feet as I walk, the sun bathing me in molten heat. I can see the ocean a bit, but right now I smell it more than anything, salt water slipping through the air into my nostrils and pasting itself into the background of memory.
There's another happy place I had when I was young, that I loved. It started one year on the Fourth of July when family friends, my mother and I were on vacation and went to see fireworks. We were seated on a big cement slab that stuck out into the ocean. I remember closing my eyes for awhile and just listening to the fireworks and the water, feeling the breeze. And then I was on my Rock. In the middle of the ocean, completely separate from other humans. The rock is big and dark and the ocean is always stormy. Overhead is booming thunder, the sort that shakes your very core. Rough waves throw mist onto me as I lay on my stomach, listening to the beauty of the storm. And that is the whole magic of the rock. For awhile I added a cave which led down into a magical world where the greenery itself emitted bright light, and faeries and small animals- my only sources of conversation- lived and danced merrily about, always joyful simply to be in that magical world. But somehow even with that cave I always took time to step out onto the exterior of the rock and enjoy the full moon, the sound of thunder rolling in the distance, the feeling of sea spray on my skin.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Saturday, July 11, 2009
What I love about sunsets...
...and sunrises, of course. After all, I prefer sunrises to sunsets, though I love both.
Looking at the sky tonight (a lovely and ominous looking thing, with pink icing on storm clouds, a clear yellow-orange chunk of sky and lightning in the dusty West), I realized yet again the very same thing I realize each time I see a beautiful sky: that there is no medium that can accurately portray it; not paint or pastels nor even photographs. The sky- most notably at sunrise at sunset, is constantly and swiftly changing, and oftentimes the colors and shapes are simply indescribable. Because we haveno way to capture the beauty and save it for later, or share it with everyone we know, it forces us to simply live- at least a little bit- in the moment, and enjoy the view before it disappears.
Two things I love are watching daylight shoot out across the morning sky and watching the sun set until the very instant it is swallowed by the horizon. I'm lucky for the fact that when I really take the time to fully experience something-- such as I do with those two things-- I can replay it in my mind over and over.
I do this with sounds as well, but it takes much less conscious effort to do so with sounds than with images for me.
Looking at the sky tonight (a lovely and ominous looking thing, with pink icing on storm clouds, a clear yellow-orange chunk of sky and lightning in the dusty West), I realized yet again the very same thing I realize each time I see a beautiful sky: that there is no medium that can accurately portray it; not paint or pastels nor even photographs. The sky- most notably at sunrise at sunset, is constantly and swiftly changing, and oftentimes the colors and shapes are simply indescribable. Because we haveno way to capture the beauty and save it for later, or share it with everyone we know, it forces us to simply live- at least a little bit- in the moment, and enjoy the view before it disappears.
Two things I love are watching daylight shoot out across the morning sky and watching the sun set until the very instant it is swallowed by the horizon. I'm lucky for the fact that when I really take the time to fully experience something-- such as I do with those two things-- I can replay it in my mind over and over.
I do this with sounds as well, but it takes much less conscious effort to do so with sounds than with images for me.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Happy Place
Haha loading 10 more CDs on my computer.
But anyhow--
Right now I'm mentally living in a happy place that switched between a pleasant secluded field and a pleasant secluded beach. Currently it's the field, but the two occupy the same "place" in my mind. Can't quite explain how it works.
The field is beautiful, accessed by walking a ways into beautiful woods behind an imaginary house. It's also oddly shaped, allowing for a certain amount of exploration. The bright green dewy grass is often treaded by all sorts of wildlife, including deer, squirrels, and the occasional adventurous child. I can watch the clouds pass overhead in my mental eye, and make friends with a variety of animals.
As a beach, It's bright and golden with a wild ocean and soft sand. Even better at night, calm with a full moon and warm tide pools and a blanket of stars on an inky black sky.
Now I'm on that beach at night, laying on my back in the sand. I feel the residual warmth of the sun press into my skin as the soft grains mold around my body. The moon looks as if it might fall gloriously into the ocean, pushing the black water onto my feet. I slowly inhale the warm, salty scent and exhale any tension I might have held as a warm breeze begins to play over my face, pulling with it a few strands of my hair along.
But anyhow--
Right now I'm mentally living in a happy place that switched between a pleasant secluded field and a pleasant secluded beach. Currently it's the field, but the two occupy the same "place" in my mind. Can't quite explain how it works.
The field is beautiful, accessed by walking a ways into beautiful woods behind an imaginary house. It's also oddly shaped, allowing for a certain amount of exploration. The bright green dewy grass is often treaded by all sorts of wildlife, including deer, squirrels, and the occasional adventurous child. I can watch the clouds pass overhead in my mental eye, and make friends with a variety of animals.
As a beach, It's bright and golden with a wild ocean and soft sand. Even better at night, calm with a full moon and warm tide pools and a blanket of stars on an inky black sky.
Now I'm on that beach at night, laying on my back in the sand. I feel the residual warmth of the sun press into my skin as the soft grains mold around my body. The moon looks as if it might fall gloriously into the ocean, pushing the black water onto my feet. I slowly inhale the warm, salty scent and exhale any tension I might have held as a warm breeze begins to play over my face, pulling with it a few strands of my hair along.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
A Note on Songs
I'd like to tell anyone who happens to find this blog about some songs that I find to be a bit unique and quite like.
"Don't Haunt This Place" by the Rural Alberta Advantage is a little more folk-ey than I normally go for, but it has something comfortable about it that makes me smile.
I'm quite fond of Korn, but I think that "Freak on a Leash" by Korn WITH Amy Lee is much, much more impressive; more dynamic with the use of violins and with the addition of her fantastic Soprano range.
Also, I absolutely love U2. However, the Vitamin String Quartet's version of "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" kind of blows me away.
In slightly more "normal" songs, I love Jimmy Eat World's "The Middle", Puddle of Mudd's "Psycho", Live's "All Over You", "I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor" by the Arctic Monkeys, and "Two of Us" as done by Aimee Mann and Michael Penn.
"Don't Haunt This Place" by the Rural Alberta Advantage is a little more folk-ey than I normally go for, but it has something comfortable about it that makes me smile.
I'm quite fond of Korn, but I think that "Freak on a Leash" by Korn WITH Amy Lee is much, much more impressive; more dynamic with the use of violins and with the addition of her fantastic Soprano range.
Also, I absolutely love U2. However, the Vitamin String Quartet's version of "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" kind of blows me away.
In slightly more "normal" songs, I love Jimmy Eat World's "The Middle", Puddle of Mudd's "Psycho", Live's "All Over You", "I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor" by the Arctic Monkeys, and "Two of Us" as done by Aimee Mann and Michael Penn.
Also I'd like to say that there are some extremely impressive singing parts in the musical "Into the Woods"...
Maybe I'll be obnoxious and post my whole music library.... who knows?
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Faerie II
This poor little faerie has to have a name before I let her go any further. The name?
Niamh. Goddess of he queens of the land of eternal youth... meaning radiance; brightness. I like.
Unsure where to go, Niamh slips into the shadow along the edge of the building nearest to her. After waiting frozen for several minutes, she sees an animal unlike anything she's ever been exposed to. It has four legs whose feet look like flat stones rolling along their edges, a big female human pushes it along by what could be ears or maybe tails, and in the beast's open belly sits a young human, too young even to communicate with the others. Intrigued, Niamh grabs hold of a narrow tendril between two of the feet and feels the speed of travel.
A long way- perhaps 200 hundred feet- down the path, the human child begins to stir, and suddenly lets out a noise unlike any Niamh has ever heard. A cross, she thinks, between the bird's cries and the human voice. She wonders why the beast she is riding does not protest this angry squawk or the desperate flailing of the child's limbs. Only now does she notice that the beast has narrow, scaly looking arms which wrap around the small human's body, binding it into the beast's abdomen. It seems odd to her that the child's mother only moves with the creature, and makes no attempt to fight it for her child. Then Niamh lets out a sigh too quiet to be heard by any but the most attentive of humans in the most serene of places. Humans act so differently that the other animals I know...
Niamh. Goddess of he queens of the land of eternal youth... meaning radiance; brightness. I like.
Unsure where to go, Niamh slips into the shadow along the edge of the building nearest to her. After waiting frozen for several minutes, she sees an animal unlike anything she's ever been exposed to. It has four legs whose feet look like flat stones rolling along their edges, a big female human pushes it along by what could be ears or maybe tails, and in the beast's open belly sits a young human, too young even to communicate with the others. Intrigued, Niamh grabs hold of a narrow tendril between two of the feet and feels the speed of travel.
A long way- perhaps 200 hundred feet- down the path, the human child begins to stir, and suddenly lets out a noise unlike any Niamh has ever heard. A cross, she thinks, between the bird's cries and the human voice. She wonders why the beast she is riding does not protest this angry squawk or the desperate flailing of the child's limbs. Only now does she notice that the beast has narrow, scaly looking arms which wrap around the small human's body, binding it into the beast's abdomen. It seems odd to her that the child's mother only moves with the creature, and makes no attempt to fight it for her child. Then Niamh lets out a sigh too quiet to be heard by any but the most attentive of humans in the most serene of places. Humans act so differently that the other animals I know...
While Waiting
Earlier today I found a map from one evening when I was young and angry and had drawn out an escape route entirely on backroads to Canada... talk about deluded.
Monday, July 6, 2009
I can't resist.... maybe Faerie Part I?
Yeah, I just posted a little while ago. But I'm like an excited child when it comes to new writing opportunities. Blogs, profiles, websites, you name it.
What follows here is going straight from my head onto the page, so I apologize for the extreme lack of organization its likely to hold...
A faerie. I prefer it spelled that way. I don't know why. She has no name. I can't see her, but I don't need to to know what she looks like. No more than 2 cm high and dressed not as fairies are normally pictured but in denim shorts that go nearly to her knee and a little fitted tee shirt. It might be green, but I don't know for sure. Her body looks delicate but her demeanor is strong. Her hair doesn't seem to have any specific color or cut, but it's switching between auburn and chocolate in my thoughts. I think it's pulled back in a low pony tail. That or its cropped short. She glows with an ethereal light that signifies her very life force. Perhaps this is because her body is so small that her soul shines through, whereas the human soul gets lost in our big bodies. Her shoes are like ballet slippers; with no sole and laced on. However they are made instead of brown leather, making them reminiscent of Irish Step gillies. I'd like to note that this particular faerie wears no makeup.
She likes to navigate the dense forest of tiger lilies that grows wild near her home (an abandoned beaver dam, by the way. It has a lovely view of the perilous river and the humans don't bother her family there.) . She is mature in age, about the human equivalent of 25 years old, and she loves to adventure. Yesterday she met a cat who, after unsuccessfully batting at her with its paw, allowed her to ride upon its mighty back for several yards.
Today, though, she's out on an even bigger journey. She wishes to find the end of the river. She watched one of the boats that the humans ride upon, and is reasonably sure there's a way she could make the same thing. Being the resourceful little thing she is, she manages to find a pea pod, whose outer edge she sews up with grass, all except for the very end, where she can slip in and out. She pushes her creation to the edge of the river and, leaving a note attached to a twig as a monument to stand in the event that she perishes, she scrambles into the pea pod and pushes off the shore with her hands before pulling herself all the way in.
The journey seems perilous right from the very beginning. Waves and miniature waterfalls assault her vessel as she struggles to keep from rolling around its interior. The pod nearly fills with water on several occasions before our little faerie is able to release the water to the river. Just as she's sure that it can't possibly get any worse, and that she will probably never see her home again, she discovers that it can, in fact, become much more unpleasant. A seagull dips down and snatches up the traveling pea pod, and in an attempt to avoid being crushed by monstrous beaks, the faerie falls out of the pod and into the churning water below. Only by the sheerest of luck, she finds a maple leaf floating near the place where she struggles for her very life. Only seconds after this discovery, she pulls herself onto nature's thin raft and holds onto both the edge of the leaf and a hope so strong it could only be born of a hopeless situation.
As it turns out, either hope is a friend worth keeping or the faerie stumbled upon a very fortunate coincidence, for no more than two hundred feet further the waters, though swift, lack any significant obstacles and the faerie finds the phrase "smooth sailing" resounding in her mind. Soon after that, the waters calm even more and the faerie's rate of travel diminishes until her leaf is floating still as stone on what could be either a pond or a lake, as far as she can tell. Beginning to panic, she tries desperately to paddle her way forward, but her small hands lack the surface area necessary to move the leaf. Finally, sighing, she leaps off and begins to swim, hoping that she's nearing some sort of a shore.
"What's that?" The voice is of the high pitch unique to young children, and this particular boy is pulling impatiently at his mother's hand and pointing at the tiny body struggling through the still water near the edge of the dock.
Humans! The faeries all know that human presence mean death. Terrified, the little faerie ducks below the water's surface, struggling to get low enough to be invisible. And how far can humans see into the water? No one has ever told her. She suspects that no one knows.
The child's mother, glancing sidelong towards the patch of water that had so excited her toddler, sees nothing but circular ripples. "It's just a fish, Dearie. Come on, let's go get lunch ready so we can go on Daddy's new boat."
When the faerie is quite sure the humans have left, she breaks the surface, gasping for air. As she pulls herself into thick mud of the bank, her eyes widen practically to the size of peppercorns. For there in front of her, where she'd expected to see grass or trees or perhaps even a cottage, are buildings higher than the tallest trees she's ever seen, very nearly beyond her comprehension. And scarier yet, there are humans. Not a family, which is quite scary enough to begin with, but enough to be many families; many big terrifying lethal families. And somewhere beyond the numbing shock and paralytic terror, the little faerie feels the smallest spark of excitement, the thrill of her biggest challenge yet.
Lol..... I've had too much fun with this. It was originally intended to be a quick paragraph. But I'm growing rather fond of this little faerie; perhaps I'll turn her into a series. Maybe even name her. We'll see.
What follows here is going straight from my head onto the page, so I apologize for the extreme lack of organization its likely to hold...
A faerie. I prefer it spelled that way. I don't know why. She has no name. I can't see her, but I don't need to to know what she looks like. No more than 2 cm high and dressed not as fairies are normally pictured but in denim shorts that go nearly to her knee and a little fitted tee shirt. It might be green, but I don't know for sure. Her body looks delicate but her demeanor is strong. Her hair doesn't seem to have any specific color or cut, but it's switching between auburn and chocolate in my thoughts. I think it's pulled back in a low pony tail. That or its cropped short. She glows with an ethereal light that signifies her very life force. Perhaps this is because her body is so small that her soul shines through, whereas the human soul gets lost in our big bodies. Her shoes are like ballet slippers; with no sole and laced on. However they are made instead of brown leather, making them reminiscent of Irish Step gillies. I'd like to note that this particular faerie wears no makeup.
She likes to navigate the dense forest of tiger lilies that grows wild near her home (an abandoned beaver dam, by the way. It has a lovely view of the perilous river and the humans don't bother her family there.) . She is mature in age, about the human equivalent of 25 years old, and she loves to adventure. Yesterday she met a cat who, after unsuccessfully batting at her with its paw, allowed her to ride upon its mighty back for several yards.
Today, though, she's out on an even bigger journey. She wishes to find the end of the river. She watched one of the boats that the humans ride upon, and is reasonably sure there's a way she could make the same thing. Being the resourceful little thing she is, she manages to find a pea pod, whose outer edge she sews up with grass, all except for the very end, where she can slip in and out. She pushes her creation to the edge of the river and, leaving a note attached to a twig as a monument to stand in the event that she perishes, she scrambles into the pea pod and pushes off the shore with her hands before pulling herself all the way in.
The journey seems perilous right from the very beginning. Waves and miniature waterfalls assault her vessel as she struggles to keep from rolling around its interior. The pod nearly fills with water on several occasions before our little faerie is able to release the water to the river. Just as she's sure that it can't possibly get any worse, and that she will probably never see her home again, she discovers that it can, in fact, become much more unpleasant. A seagull dips down and snatches up the traveling pea pod, and in an attempt to avoid being crushed by monstrous beaks, the faerie falls out of the pod and into the churning water below. Only by the sheerest of luck, she finds a maple leaf floating near the place where she struggles for her very life. Only seconds after this discovery, she pulls herself onto nature's thin raft and holds onto both the edge of the leaf and a hope so strong it could only be born of a hopeless situation.
As it turns out, either hope is a friend worth keeping or the faerie stumbled upon a very fortunate coincidence, for no more than two hundred feet further the waters, though swift, lack any significant obstacles and the faerie finds the phrase "smooth sailing" resounding in her mind. Soon after that, the waters calm even more and the faerie's rate of travel diminishes until her leaf is floating still as stone on what could be either a pond or a lake, as far as she can tell. Beginning to panic, she tries desperately to paddle her way forward, but her small hands lack the surface area necessary to move the leaf. Finally, sighing, she leaps off and begins to swim, hoping that she's nearing some sort of a shore.
"What's that?" The voice is of the high pitch unique to young children, and this particular boy is pulling impatiently at his mother's hand and pointing at the tiny body struggling through the still water near the edge of the dock.
Humans! The faeries all know that human presence mean death. Terrified, the little faerie ducks below the water's surface, struggling to get low enough to be invisible. And how far can humans see into the water? No one has ever told her. She suspects that no one knows.
The child's mother, glancing sidelong towards the patch of water that had so excited her toddler, sees nothing but circular ripples. "It's just a fish, Dearie. Come on, let's go get lunch ready so we can go on Daddy's new boat."
When the faerie is quite sure the humans have left, she breaks the surface, gasping for air. As she pulls herself into thick mud of the bank, her eyes widen practically to the size of peppercorns. For there in front of her, where she'd expected to see grass or trees or perhaps even a cottage, are buildings higher than the tallest trees she's ever seen, very nearly beyond her comprehension. And scarier yet, there are humans. Not a family, which is quite scary enough to begin with, but enough to be many families; many big terrifying lethal families. And somewhere beyond the numbing shock and paralytic terror, the little faerie feels the smallest spark of excitement, the thrill of her biggest challenge yet.
Lol..... I've had too much fun with this. It was originally intended to be a quick paragraph. But I'm growing rather fond of this little faerie; perhaps I'll turn her into a series. Maybe even name her. We'll see.
Let's get the intoductions out of the way.
So... yeah. I'm Jacquie.
Whether it's a defense mechanism or something bordering on schizophrenia or just the result of my whimsical mind, I've always had this interesting habit...
Occasionally when I'm bored or generally doing something that doesn't need to hold my attention, I come up with a story, put myself in a situation. Sometimes- usually- I end up acting some of it out. When I was young it was almost constant. I was talking to God, watching my life. I was an astronaut. I was a doctor curing a crippling illness. I was a news anchor. I was being interviewed. I was a singer. I was an actress (and they were still called actresses then!). I never felt unfulfilled because I was everything I wanted to be with a touch of imagination.
Of course, I have to live in reality a *little* bit more now, But it sure doesn't stop me from living out imaginary lives, assuming imaginary identities... I may not write daily, and I may not always write about such vivid fantasies. But I'll try to keep my real life out of it...
Today
Today I was acting in a play. Or a movie. I switched off. My character was a girl in her early twenties trying to earn a living by housecleaning. Secretly, though, she wanted to sing and dance. It was her dream, but she wasn't brave enough to pursue it.
Every day she'd go to clean house and she'd bring music with her, a great and varied play list dominated by energetic songs. She'd then sing and dance while cleaning, occasionally getting a few hard-to-explain injuries, such as when she smashed both kneecaps on the counter top. When the homeowners came home, the wife- a high society type woman- scoffed at the music she heard. The man, however, was more laid back and down to Earth. He mentioned to his wife that they knew someone in the musical industry and they could help the girl out with her dream. After a slightly heated conversation between the couple, they helped her.
So today ended happily. Believe it or not, it doesn't always. And sometimes I think I don't even have control over the ending. But she story entertained me for several hours of dialogue and singing.
Whether it's a defense mechanism or something bordering on schizophrenia or just the result of my whimsical mind, I've always had this interesting habit...
Occasionally when I'm bored or generally doing something that doesn't need to hold my attention, I come up with a story, put myself in a situation. Sometimes- usually- I end up acting some of it out. When I was young it was almost constant. I was talking to God, watching my life. I was an astronaut. I was a doctor curing a crippling illness. I was a news anchor. I was being interviewed. I was a singer. I was an actress (and they were still called actresses then!). I never felt unfulfilled because I was everything I wanted to be with a touch of imagination.
Of course, I have to live in reality a *little* bit more now, But it sure doesn't stop me from living out imaginary lives, assuming imaginary identities... I may not write daily, and I may not always write about such vivid fantasies. But I'll try to keep my real life out of it...
Today
Today I was acting in a play. Or a movie. I switched off. My character was a girl in her early twenties trying to earn a living by housecleaning. Secretly, though, she wanted to sing and dance. It was her dream, but she wasn't brave enough to pursue it.
Every day she'd go to clean house and she'd bring music with her, a great and varied play list dominated by energetic songs. She'd then sing and dance while cleaning, occasionally getting a few hard-to-explain injuries, such as when she smashed both kneecaps on the counter top. When the homeowners came home, the wife- a high society type woman- scoffed at the music she heard. The man, however, was more laid back and down to Earth. He mentioned to his wife that they knew someone in the musical industry and they could help the girl out with her dream. After a slightly heated conversation between the couple, they helped her.
So today ended happily. Believe it or not, it doesn't always. And sometimes I think I don't even have control over the ending. But she story entertained me for several hours of dialogue and singing.
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