Weird dreams Part II

Sequels seem to be the craze, so I hop on the bandwagon as well. I just woke up and decided to write this down before I forget.

Once more, I just remember bits and pieces.
Two friends of mine and I were at the top of a building, taking the lift down. One of my friends had borrowed a book from me...I think it was a C.S. Lewis one, "God in the Dock", or "Surprised by Joy", I don't remember. So it was treasured to me. C.S. Lewis is my guru! ;)
Anyways, my friend left this book on a ledge up there. I looked at it, wondering why the hell she didn't take it along, but never said anything, cos I thought she probably had good reason, cos she did it in full awareness... it was just weird. Halfway down I asked her why she hadn't taken it along.
Oh, she said. Ooops. I'll get you a new copy somewhere.
It must have been in Germany, because I said: You don't get C.S. Lewis in regular bookstores.
Oh, she said.
Why don't you go back up and retrieve it? I asked, and the idea seemed totally strange to her, but...doable. Ok, she said, slowly, giving me The Look (TM).
What the hell does that tell me? Stop making everything complicated? But I'm German! That's my effin job!

And why is it that the most logical, common sense things are the weirdest things in dreams?
Makes you think, huh? Life as we know it is a construct, for the most.
God I am such a nerd.

Another dream was a "Swing Kids" hostage situation. Dunno if you have seen "Swing Kids". I love the film. The music is WICKED! Just realised a while ago that the new Guinness commercial with the moths sports one of the tunes... and I totally and utterly love it.
Swing is the only music that makes me want to dance... and that means a lot, considering how much I hate dancing. I met a Swing Kid once, but that is another story and shall be told another time. Anyone who can tell me where this quote comes from gets a cookie!

Anyways... it must have been the 1930s, because there was wicked swing music playing and everyone wore the clothes.
I dunno how we got into this hostage situation, but we had to tie each other up, cos the hostage takers were lazy sods, and they threatened us. I asked if I was allowed to listen to music on my walkman, but they didn't like that cos they thought I could use it to send messages to the police outside.
For some reason, half the time people wondered whether it was real or not, but it felt pretty damn real.

Keanu Reeves (hubba hubba) was one of the evil guys, walking around with a mobile phone. At some point he wanted to shoot someone because he had accused him of sending a text message to the police outside, giving them details about the situation.
I suddenly jumped up. Stop!, I yelled.
Everyone looked at me.
You're a bunch of idiots, I said. This isn't real.
Yes it is, said Keanu, confused and mildly insulted.
No it isn't, I said. If this is the 1930s, why the f*** are you walking around with a mobile? There were no mobile phones in the 1930s.
Aaaaaah, went the crowd, amazed why they hadn't realised this earlier.
Damn, said Keanu.
Thus, he had no choice but to release us, now that this sham was exposed.
We're released? asked some hostages, in disbelief.
Yes, said others. Because mobiles hadn't been invented yet in the 30s.
I had saved the day. Clever me. Hehe.
For some bloody reason, as I packed up to leave, I seemed to have lots of stuff...like I had decided to move in with the bad guys. (Keanu Reeves? Hubba hubba. Make room in your closet baby, I'm movin in!)
I had a big duffel bag full of stuff (weird stuff like childhood toys I haven't seen in a decade, and oven gloves, and a box of more stuff, and I had to go outside and ask mother, who was waiting for me, to get some more boxes.
At this point I was certain that this was a dream. Mother, waiting for me, in tears. Like that's gonna happen.

Weird dreams

I could fill books with them, honestly. For years, I did not dream at all - or at least I couldn't remember them. And I kinda missed dreaming. Dreams are cool... always crazy stuff happening, and some of them are good story material. Hey, and digging around in my muddy subconscious is therapeutic. Or at least entertaining.

I have had some strange dreams in the past months which I wrote down, and I will prolly post them by and by.
Anyway, the one last night is really blurry, and I just remember a few pictures, but they were quite vivid.
I was at the Oceanarium, or the Berlin Zoo... you know how places sometimes mix in dreams, or you know that this is a particular place you know even if it looks totally different?
I guess it must have been the Oceanarium, cos it had all those fish tanks. And I guess the dream equivalent of Jimbo the Fishmaster (TM) just introduced us to two new species that were featured in one tank. I can hardly describe them, and I don't know anymore what they were called, but both were quite ferocious fish... preying fish, one mildly related to sharks (or they hunted sharks, inspite of their much smaller size, because their bite was so evil). The other one was one of those bigmouthed fish who tended to swallow whole whatever it could get a hold of. Except that it had some pretty nasty row of teeth as well. And it had another talent which we discovered soon: it could regenerate.
At one point we looked into the tank and saw the latter fish float around ... and its head was missing. Instead, there was a gaping hole. Sharkeater was out of sight. We pitied it massively, but suddenly we noticed that it wasn't floating in a current, it was actually swimming. And first we thought it was just some last reflexes, but it seemed a pretty happy fish... just with no head. At some point the gaping hole faced us, and we saw the incredible. The ring of that hole showed the first signs of a row of quite sharp teeth. It looked like a fish that just ended in these massive jaws, no eyes... which protruded later,from tiny patches, into full-grown eyeballs... flicking and dark and cold. It spotted a rare crab, and before we knew it, it had swallowed it whole, just the tips of the legs were still sticking out.
Jimbo was pissed off and knocked on the glass because he wanted the crab back, but there wasn't much he could do.
And then it happened. Sharkeater appeared from behind a rock, and just as we were wondering whether they would ever attack each other... they did. Funny enough, this fighting soundtrack began to play immediately, and masses of people gathered around the tank to observe the spectacle.
Sharkeater attacked Jaws, and tore its back fin. Jimbo winced, his precious fish were eating each other!
Jaws immediately struck back, and both began to hunt each other, tearing each other to shreds. They were bloody killing machines. Jimbo knocked on the glass like mad to get them apart, but they ignored him completely. You didn't want to stick your hand in there, trust me. Not for a million.

That's all I can remember, really... anyone want to have a go at analysing this? And then tell me something about me that I don't know! ;)

The Saga of Max Panties and My Stolen Bag

Some days - like today - I've got nothing to tell, and I should really get crackin on my work, so I just tell stories that happened a long time ago... copy and paste from my yellowed diaries, for your entertainment.
This one is quite weird - but I swear none of it is made up. I just love meeting strange people.

***

In 2000, the night before the Love Parade in Berlin, I went to my pub. You gotta know, the night before the Love Parade there are street parties everywhere. There are thousands of tourists with tons of money in their bags for drugs and booze. And of course, for that reason there are crooks everywhere, too.
One of the places to go for those street parties happens to be right around the corner of my pub, namely at Oranienburger Strasse in central Berlin. After a couple of pints I went outside with two Irish guys and we danced and partied with hundreds of other people that were crammed in the street. And that was where I was robbed.
My bag had my money (not much), my near $350 camera (which I just had forgotten to take out of my bag when I grabbed it and ran off to the pub, how annoying is that?) and my diary.
I went all over the place, trying to find it, assuming that the guy had cleared and dropped it somewhere. I knew my camera would be gone, and my money. And I really didn’t care that much, cos it’s stuff you can buy. But I was really mourning for my diary. You know how it is… you sit down and put your heart’s blood in it, and you can never write the thoughts down just as you did then. I never found it, though, and went home, quite depressed.

Two days later I got a call that someone had found my bag. (I had left my ID in the bag and so I could be contacted. Thank God I wasn't stupid enough to leave my housekey in there, as well. And a note, saying, "Dear Robber. This is where I live. Help yourself to anything you like. Sincerely, Stupid") I went to pick it up. And the guy who happened to have found it was called Max Panties. Max Panties was the owner of a junk theatre in which he and his buddy acted out bizarre plays. And it was just in the backyard of my Irish pub.
I walked around the theatre, trying to find the office the guy in the Tacheles (which I like calling Chucky's Dollhouse) had pointed me to. There were shreds of old weird clothes, dolls' heads nailed to frames and stuff that I cannot recollect because my brain refuses to store anything that it can't make sense of. You get the idea, though.
Finally I found the office. It was a white freight container you had to walk up to on metal stairs that made horrible clanging sounds, which probably worked better than any door bell. I knocked, and someone called me in. I found Max Panties (Mex Schlüpfer!) with his assistant, smoking pot. The air in the room was thick with the incense smell of it. Max Panties looked like his name... bizarre. He looked like a guy I would never want to meet in the dark, but he just rocked. (I just now surfed around a bit and it turns out Mex is quite a popular figure in Berlin. There goes my ignorance.) Slightly crazy, but genuinely friendly and fun and talkative.
The way he had found my bag was when he staggered out to a corner of the backyard, drunk, at early dawn. And he almost pissed on it, he said.
I told him the story, and he showed genuine compassion, offering me his joint. I declined politely. "Damn", he said. "Your diary? That hurts. What an asshole!" I checked the bag, and to my huge relief I found the diary still in there. The rest was gone, of course, but at that point I didn't care. Well, I did. In the camera was a film that had the pictures of a friend's leaving party, right before he returned to the states... and I haven't seen him since.

Anyways, we had a nice long chat, fuelled by the bottle of whisky I had bought him as a thank you gift. Max was thrilled about that. He said, last time he had found a wallet and gone through a lot of trouble to retrieve the owner, that guy - one of those wanna-be big shot business men in a bloody designer suit, driving a Beamer - treated him like utter scum. He offered Max money as a reward, but Max just wanted a ride back, which was on the guy's way anyway, but that bloke wasn't too happy with that. Max said he could tell the guy was glad to have him out of his car. "What an arrogant bastard", Max said. Damn right.
Then he told me the story of his days of wanting to be a poet. He went to Prague and got himself a nice suit the way poets wear them, and thought it would be wicked awesome to sit in a cafe in that suit, writing poetry. "I always wanted to do that!" Max said. "But guess what happened!"
His car got broken into in Prague, and everything got stolen. "Including my suit", Max complained. "I had never even worn it."
The funny thing was, Max spotted the thief in town a bit later - who unabashedly sported his suit.
"My poet suit!", Max complained. "Can you believe that?"
So Max went over to the guy, pointing out to him that that was his suit, and the guy ran.

Anyways, Max invited me to his junk theatre (RVolksbühne), and was just generally such a nice guy. And a true artist. Taught me a big lesson in the falseness of first impressions.
The world needs more Mex Schlüpfers... it would be such a fun place.

Public Service Announcement ... :eyeroll:

People that know me know my stance on mental illness, and how royally I get pissed off by anyone who does not know jackshit about it belittling it or making really ignorant comment.
The funny thing is that there is a huge number of people who are, in medical terms, mentally "ill"... and are mostly not aware of it. Depression is one of those things. How do you, if you don't know much about it, differ between - using the title of an article I read - needing help and needing just a bubble bath?

On our message board, a good friend of mine was just told recently to more or less get over herself because she shared her agony about her depression which she has been fighting for most of her life. That person just acted like an idiot. IDIOT. And yesterday I met a bloke who mentioned that he is depressed and tired a lot. When I asked him why he didn't go see a doctor, he said he was afraid that the doc would tell him to get the hell over it and stop being an effin wuss. And you know what, that was exactly what I had feared all those years where I played with the thought of getting help but never dared.

I am quite frank now about my use of antidepressants, and some responses are "What? You? Why?", maybe because they can't believe that a constantly giggling weirdo like me is in need of that shit (but really, dudes, laughing is a natural antidepressant. That is the way I cope, and from what I have seen, I am not the only one using that strategy. Except that laughing is not enough sometimes.).
Other responses show a mild disdain for medication of that sort, considering it a form of uppers, as in recreational drugs, which SSRI's are not. You gotta take them for ages before they start kickin in properly.
Rare responses are looks of the sort you look at a completely demented nutcase. (Which I am, mind you.;)) Someone being on psychotropic stuff must mean they are seriously wacko.
I've got a surprise for you. It kept surprising me, too: ever since I started being open about my meds, I find that a lot of people I know use them as well.
There is a huge number of people who use them, and chances are that a handful in your circle do.
Some never admit to it, for reasons I understand. Many many probably have a mental disorder but shrug it off... or others do it for them. "Get over yourself.", "It's nothing a cuppa tea can't cure." blahblahblah.

There is a difference between depression and depression. One is just having the blues, for whatever reason. Another is an actual illness... it is your brain's neurotransmitters out of whack which can screw you up massively. And no, you can't just get over it. In a scientific way it is fascinating to see that your brain controls you more than you think... the way you feel, the way you are. It is tempting to think that we are just well-oiled machines, and if something breaks, the whole thing will get out of balance. The way you see the world, yourself, the way you perceive it - it all depends on the processor that is your brain to function properly. None of what we sense is actually a direct link to the world... it is only a processed copy of what is out there. And your brain can make you believe anything. I used to just play with the thought that perhaps nothing out there is really the way I see it, because all I see is a processed version of it. There may be more out there than I can see, which is possible, because some animals can't see all we can see, they may not be able to see colors, or depth, or whatnot. There may be things there that I perceive that aren't really there. Maybe the world I live in is just an illusion - Matrix-style. ;)
My point here is that your brain controls you, and you are not aware of it most of the time. You can influence it, help structuring it, but if your brain decides to go bananas, you can do as little about it as you can think cancer away.

I started struggling with depression over 10 years ago... thinking it was just me... but just in the past years it got so bad that I felt I needed help to actually survive.
The crying spells weren't the worst, in retrospect. The worst is when you stop caring. About anything. When all leaves you cold. When you just start existing, but you don't live anymore. When you go through life everyday feeling like living in a glass box that lets you see, but in every other way disconnects you from the world you live in. Nothing seems real anymore. It feels like you can't make yourself heard and no one can hear you, see you.
The ridiculous thing is that this is mostly not true. But you can't change that thinking, because there isn't any joy left in you. Simply for the reason that your brain does not produce enough of the stuff that makes you happy. You are physically unable to feel happy. And that will make you deteriorate really quickly.

There is this weird blurred line between personality and illness in depression. And to some extent it is understandable. The way you think and feel is part of who you are. Or is it? It was after dealing with depression for so long that I started questioning what constitutes me. Because that would mean that having a mental illness can make me a bad person. An amoral person? But then again, it is not my fault that parts of my brain decided to take a holiday. So you can say what some people consider the whine of a wimp is an illness that alters personality - and losing yourself in a way, similar to Alzheimer's etc, is one of the worst things that can happen to you. Watching yourself become something you don't want to be, and having little or no control over it. (Remember I speak only for myself!) That again would be my argument for why using antidepressants is not "wrong". They just neutralise.

I am not surprised many depressives start self-medicating. Doing drugs. Drinking. You go for anything that makes you feel like you are still alive. You try for years and years to deal with it, but in the end you just give up, cos you are exhausted, and it never made a difference. You may have fantasies about killing yourself, and they terrify you because they invade your mind, but the really scary thing is that the longer you stay in that hole, the more you lose your resistance to those thoughts.

They say depression is the common cold of mental disorders. Most people get affected by it at one point in their life. It's a disease of our time and modern lifestyle, for a big part.
Depression can take your life away, and it wastes so much time. I wish now I had started treatment earlier... I could have enjoyed my life much more, I could have done so much more.
All I can say is, if you feel like you have been in a hole for quite some time, if you feel you are experiencing something similar to what I described, if you feel it messes up your life, go check the depression link and get some input. And then, for Jeebus' sake, see a doctor. ;)

Everlast Wisdom

Just thought I share this pearl with you.
Wish some fundies would listen to some secular music once in a while, but that's not gonna happen, is it?


We've all seen a man at the liquor store beggin' for your change
The hair on his face is dirty, dread-locked, and full of mange
He asks a man for what he could spare, with shame in his eyes
"Get a job you fucking slob," is all he replies
God forbid you ever had to walk a mile in his shoes
'Cause then you really might know what it's like to sing the blues

Then you really might know what it's like...
Then you really might know what it's like...
Then you really might know what it's like...
Then you really might know what it's like...

Mary got pregnant from a kid named Tom that said he was in love
He said, "Don't worry about a thing, baby doll
I'm the man you've been dreaming of."
But 3 months later he say he won't date her or return her calls
And she swear, "God damn, if I find that man I'm cuttin' off his balls."
And then she heads for the clinic and
she gets some static walking through the door
They call her a killer, and they call her a sinner
and they call her a whore
God forbid you ever had to walk a mile in her shoes
'cause then you really might know what it's like to have to choose


I've seen a rich man beg
I've seen a good man sin
I've seen a tough man cry
I've seen a loser win
And a sad man grin
I heard an honest man lie
I've seen the good side of bad
And the downside of up
And everything between
I licked the silver spoon
Drank from the golden cup
And smoked the finest green
I stroked the fattest dimes at least a couple of times
before I broke their heart
You know where it ends, yo, it usually depends on where you start

I knew this kid named Max
He used to get fat stacks out on the corner with drugs
He liked to hang out late
he liked to get shit-faced and keep the pace with thugs
Until late one night there was a big gun fight and Max lost his head
He pulled out his chrome .45, talked some shit, and wound up dead
Now his wife and his kids are caught in the midst of all of this pain
You know it crumbles that way
at least that's what they say when you play the game
God forbid you ever had to wake up to hear the news
'Cause then you really might know what it's like to have to lose

Then you really might know what it's like...
Then you really might know what it's like...
Then you really might know what it's like...to have to lose

Prepare for confusion

Work was fun today... (I have to write about this morning later, but it's getting late, and I am having a really good chat with Milla right now... and that just comes first. So here goes what I wrote earlier, and see ya in a bit...)

Anyway, I was in a really good mood today. It is very strange, I sometimes can't help but thinking about it: I wonder how much my happy pills have to do with what I feel. I mean, whether they dope me up or whether they just make me normal. Prozac is really just to balance out what you lack to a normal level. It's not an upper. Perhaps what I feel is the novelty of being happy again, and it makes me go bananas. One of the reasons I finally went to get antidepressants was that I sensed I got used to feeling in the dark. I forgot what it felt like to be happy, and that terrified me. Because that equals giving up... if you have no more goal... So now being happy and at peace is almost a totally new sensation to me. Years ago, I read in a German Psychology Today a criticism of Prozac and co.... they were described as a mind-altering drug, and desperately trying to be a good Christian and stuff, I decided I would rather 'suffer' instead of succumbing to drug use. What a foolish notion. In retrospect, it was sinful pride more than anything... the pathetic aspirations of bored Western bourgeois Christians to become of what they believe to be a martyr. Teh. I am making no secret of how ridiculous I behaved at times...
I know there may be some people who will give me flak for this, but being evangelical and living in an evangelical-only community was a bit like going through the puberty of faith: everything is a black and white issue, and terribly dramatic. Evangelicals can be a bit like teenagers: a bloody pain in the arse, and they think they know everything better than everyone else, and are beyond the need for correction.
I am what I would call a post-evangelical now... it is like stages of growing up, being a Christian... to me it was, anyway. Your first weeks and months with God are like experiencing everything thru the eyes of a child, in a spiritual dimension. You make sense of everything in simplistic terms, you believe and trust your elders like you trust your parents, you don't criticise them. There is a sense of wonder and play.
This is why I think the "born-again" phrase is so appropriate.
I had my teenager stage of being a smartass, and I'm afraid I haven't fully outgrown it yet. I am working on my rebellious phase right now, I suppose, because I am cutting the chord from mother church... which I may start to appreciate again when I am in my 'mid-twenties' of being Christian.
I find it easier now to take myself less serious in religious matters now. I don't feel the need to be right anymore, and I am pretty sure that God knows what he is doing most of the time, and he really doesn't need me to run the world. All he needs me to do is not being a bloody twat to people. Which I, I guess, manage to do sometimes.

Anyways, back from religion to Prozac. Heh. Marx would be proud of me, using religion and drugs in the same sentence. It is an absolute blessing to be happy again, to be able to enjoy my blessings, to notice things that were once invisible through the smoke-glass box of depression, and to feel connected to it.
I am not hyper. I am just back to normal. See how relative normal is... I felt depression to be my normal state once... or numbness. Being in a pit, fantasizing about death, being hopeless, terrified, afraid, those were the lows. Being tired and empty and indifferent meant normal level. Highs I had only on caffeine, and that lasted about 10 minutes everytime... Life becomes a drag that way. Being able to be happy without much effort feels like flying, like having the ropes cut that had tied your feet to concrete blocks for years. Like taking off five layers of heavy winter clothing in the first warm days of spring, wearing shorts and sandals instead.

So I bounced away at work, making food, chucking bits of tomato and cucumber at Clive and Nathan through the window in the wall connecting kitchen and front counter, dancing the MC Hammer dance to just anything on the radio...
You can't even take happiness for granted.

Just one downer happened today... and I dunno why it hit me so much, but it was a bloody slap in the face, and I just don't understand it.
Little Vicky and Rich were outside for a smoke, and I joined them for a minute by the back door. There are some benches inserted in the outer walls of the Oceanarium, by the promenade, and Rich sat on one. On the next one was a homeless bloke. Dark with dirt, matted hair, empty expression, the works. Is it wrong to feel sorry for him? Is it condescending? I dunno anymore. Is caring for your neighbor a form of arrogance?
I went inside and made him a thick sandwich, and wrapped it in a takeaway bag, and put a chocolate bar inside as well. I really just wanted to share my happiness. I was struggling with myself to write this, because I really don't believe in advertising one's "charitable acts", because that is just...wrong. It's like showing off what a 'great guy' you are, you know? But I really do it because I care, and of course, it makes me feel good... but that is a side effect... not the reason I am doing it. I remember when I bought a paper off a homeless bloke last winter, and he told me how someone had just given him a pair of gloves, and how happy he was about that. That was just cool. I can't give them money or stuff all the time, cos I just can't afford it, but I do if I can... and most of them are really cool and nice. Dom and I, if we have pasties and sausage rolls leftover at work and they let us take them home, we take them, and if we meet homeless guys, we give it to them, and usually they are really happy about that. I mean, we can't do much on our wages and being students and all... but it is something. I mean, one day it could be you sitting there, you know? And you know, instant karma is gonna getcha. I feel really bad whenever I walk past a homeless guy... and I do that often enough.
Anyways, the reason I write this is now is because I was so gutted and confused. I paid for the sandwich and went outside and offered it to him, and he took it alright.
I went back in to get him a tea, and when I went back out, he was gone. The bag with the sandwich was lying on the bench, and it looked like he had taken the thing apart and scrambled it in the bag, but never touched it. Like that was his way of telling me to fuck off.

Did I do anything wrong? Was I a condescending bitch to offer him food?
I just dunno anymore. It's not about pitying people and humiliating them that way. It's about recognising your fellow human beings. What the fuck did I do wrong?


Talk about digressing, eh? Digression is my middle name.
P.D.D.
Sounds like a disease, doesn't it?

The Passion

Milla and I coincidentally watched The Passion last night at the same time. And we had a long chat about it afterwards.
This will probably be a long post, so bear with me... and it will take me hours to write, and I know my thoughts will be contradictory in places (if not all the time), and imperfect and incomplete... and I regret that because I don't know if I will get across what I really want to tell.
This proves Saussure wrong, in my opinion. (Was it Saussure? Gotta ask Malcolm...) He said that if you are not having a clear thought, you are not thinking. Thinking to me is like taking that star dust that floats around in me, vague and beyond grasp, and forming it into a solid planet of a thought that still carries the essence of star dust. But it never does... language is so limiting, and if part of the essence of star dust is being beyond grasp, how can anything like defined words render its full meaning? My thoughts written down describe that full meaning of IT as well as a 4-year-old's crayon drawing of a man resembles its model.
That film hit me so deep, and my thoughts are like flies buzzing about the room, that I have to catch and set up in the right order without killing them. Talk about difficult birth, dude. Makes writing almost a masochistic pleasure to me. Heh.

There are some people who say the violence wasn't necessary. I disagree. It's not more sick than Saving Private Ryan. It just shows you the reality of it. Sometimes people need gruesome true pictures to be reminded what they make light of. Why should people be spared? Doesn't that dishonour those who went through that? Especially when other people sacrifice themselves for you, the least you can do is watch and be aware what they did for you. But again, that is not an excuse for some of the shit people do... For Jeebus' sake, don't take your kids to see it.
And of course, if you are so against violence, don't go and see it. It's not that people haven't been warned. It's as simple as that.
I think it wasn't the violence per se that turned my stomach. It was the cruelty of man, their pleasure in hurting others, their hatred and ignorance, and the cowardice, and the knowledge that I am probably capable of the same, if pushed to my limits...


Then there is the outrage about its supposed anti-semitism. I watched out for that, but in my opinion that is all bollocks. But in the end, it is all about reception (thank you Mark!). We all read stories in a different way. In my opinion, "The Passion" is not more anti-semitic than Conrad's "Heart of Darkness" is racist. Which again may some take as proof of their point that it is. Reception, there you have it.
The thing is, The Passion doesn't condemn - it merely depicts. I would say it does the opposite, really, because Jesus constantly prayed for forgiveness for those who murdered him. And if Jesus didn't even hate those who tortured him - and in that film just watching the torture was unbearable, how much worse must it have been for him - why should we hate them?
"Heart of Darkness" also just depicted what things were like in the colonies of the British Empire at the turn of the century. You depict it as politically correct and non-racist to avoid offending anyone by using the n-word, you are telling a lie... and that way you dishonour those who suffered by rendering the truth silent.

Of course, I was pissed off in the film. I dunno how often I screamt inside: "You assholes, leave him alone! You fuckin bastards!!!" But that isn't anti-semitism. It is anti-violence. Anti-stupidity. Anti-asshole-icity. And last time I checked, that was one of the grand features that all cultures on this planet have in common.
In that respect that film is anti-German, anti-American, anti-British, anti-insert-any-country-here.
And honestly... what is the fuss? I mean, do I go bananas whenever there is a war movie showing Germans as the bad guys? It's history. And it wasn't all Germans that killed Jews. My great-grandma hid a Jewish kid, was found out and tortured for it by the Nazis. She still cried about it in her 90s, wondering what they had done to the kid. You just cannot condemn a whole nation and their offspring forever for the sins of the few. It's not the trait of Germanness that made them kill people - not their nationality or race or whatever you want to call it. It was genuine bastardiousness. Assholeicity. Cruelty. Megalomania. Stupidity.
You can't even condemn the Jewish council as a group that sent Jesus to the cross back then. A bunch of them considered it a fucked up idea to condemn Christ... but they were silenced. And Nicodemus, one of them, actually liked and defended Jesus a lot.

It totally reminded me of today - people like in that council live today, in any culture. The film accuses a mindset more than a certain group. People like in that council who sent Jesus to the cross are those legalistic morons who think they got their religion all sorted, and they just wont take any criticism, because "if you criticise them, you criticise God". And then you have the stupid sheep that follow out of ignorance and fear, or simply out of mindless mass hysteria.
And then you have the few that actually dare to stand by what their heart really tells them and I think that is the only thing Jesus asks of people who ask about him. In John 18:34, when being confronted with Pilate, "Jesus answered him, "Are you speaking for yourself about this, or did others tell you this concerning Me?"" (NKJV)
It is exactly because of that sentence why I don't adopt doctrines blindly (anymore). If they are not your questions, your faith is not real, and I'd rather have an incomplete faith that is my own than a learnt one that floats in my brain like a ghost ship. They say religion is a crutch, and that is true. Mere unrooted indoctrination is (I don't want to call it faith). It is a crutch you cling to and you defend from anything threatening it with the bitter fierceness of the desperate. It is just faith that is your own, that is part of your nature, that becomes your real strength, and this is what you can see in some people. This is what I saw in Jesus in that film. It isn't all about glorious sunshine and the make of the supermen, but it is that torn body of Jesus, the Jesus who sweats blood in distress and moans in pain - but still keeps getting up and does not lose what is his nature, which is love. False faith crumbles at its first challenge, at the slightest blow. I had that, and it was painful, and it was a blessing.
So shove the parrot where the sun never shines. Be genuine.

I think what this story does is attacks foul politics in general more than it attacks Jews. I think this scene of a religious council getting into a frenzy and condemning someone out of religious hysteria/self-righteousness mixed with a political agenda summarises well why I firmly believe in the separation of church and state. Pat Robertson and "his minions of destruction" (quote SouthPark) making political decisions is my vision of hell.


Apart from that, in biblical terms, you cannot condemn them at all for killing Jesus. It was part of the prophesy, right? If they hadn't killed him, he wouldn't have died for our sins, right? Even though it wasn't right... Yeah, thinking about it makes it a bit too complicated for the blame game, eh?

Some also say that the film guilt-trips people into faith, or rather, religion: love Jesus because he went through this torture for you. Well, there may be people that see it that way, but I just felt inspired by his love. It's this torture, this pain that builds a stark contrast to the love he had. It's the dark that brings out the light. Because then there was this scene that hit home with me. When Jesus preaching the sermon on the mount, and tells you to love your enemies, because it is no big deal to love those back who loved you first. It's the torture scenes contrasted with this that emphasised this. I realised, that is exactly what it is about. Am I allowed to be pissed off at those who hurt J., when he isn't? It was strange... that evening I didn't leave the cinema disturbed and in shock. I left feeling full of that peace that must come from choosing to love your enemies. From being freed from having to hate. I left free of anxiety, which is a rare state in me, so I price that. I left feeling that any form of hatred and arrogance and lovelessness is not justified in me, and I liked that. It means fighting the natural urge to lash out when you get hurt, and frankly, I don't have enough trust in myself to claim that I am changed forever. But I know the goal for me... I know this is what I want. I want to be one of those with whom it all ends, and that sounds perhaps cheesy and arrogant, and I know I will never live up to that, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't keep trying.


What I thought was excellent was the depiction of Satan... his androgynous face that confused you as to what he was, and you can see he is beauty gone bad, goodness twisted and distorted. The scene when he/she is walking around with that demonic baby, that just freaked me out... it takes something utterly pure and good and turns it into something terrifying. That is the way C.S. Lewis described sin, and I agree with him on it. Sin is taking something good and abusing and distorting it so much it turns into something horrible. That is what makes it so terrifying... because you can still see a trace of the good in it, and you mourn it while being terrified and tortured by it at the same time. That is why demonic children and dolls are so bloody scary. It's like biting into a beautiful apple and realising too late it is rotten and full of maggots inside.


I guess some of the more extremist Christians take that as an excuse to completely abandon the whole thing. Sex is the classic example. Sex abused is a weapon of the worst kind. It tastes foul and it hurts.
Is that a reason to consider the concept of sex as filthy and abominable? And getting legalistic and prescriptive about it doesn't make it much better.
Don't have a knife in your kitchen, because you could stab someone? Don't have parents, because they could abuse and abandon you? Don't have a dog because it could bite you? Don't eat because you could get food poisoning?
Stupidity taken to a new level. Ack. Chosen ignorance is a sin in my book.

Another thing I liked was the Pilate scenes. It's the first time I remember they depicted the conflict he was in. And I know there will be a few that say that it defended Pilate and accused the Jews, but I think that is simplistic and just not true.
Pilate, in this film, wanted to save Jesus as he could not find him guilty. It was his fear of Caesar's threat that put him in hot water. So he thought he could save Jesus by using a trick... confront them with an obvious choice: choose the most likely innocent to go free or the notorious murderer. Obvious choice, eh? Surefire way. They can't choose Barrabas.
And then you could see his face fall when they did.
Not that I am defending Pilate. It was a trick to save Jesus, but it was a trick born out of cowardice, because he wanted to save his own hide, and thus refused to refuse openly to hand Jesus over.
It's understandable, to some extent... self-preservation is human nature... but not an excuse, really, is it? All it does is accuse mankind of selfishness - rightly, I think. Often enough, people turn away from those in need because they don't want to be / don't feel responsible. I am not pointing the finger... this includes me as well.


But there is something else in this film that I really needed, and that I can hardly describe other than with the overused words describing the love Jesus had, and the world he carried inside him, the world I have been dreaming to live in since I was a kid without consciously knowing what it was. This innate sense of "this is how it ought to be, and why can't we all be like that and just fuckin love each other? If we all do it, it is not that difficult". I am not speaking of belonging to a certain religion, I am speaking of a state of heart and mind. Of just being, being unspoilt and unbroken. Being innocent. Being whole. Being what you are, unafraid, in your core. I wonder how many of us have forgotten what that is like. I just know I am fighting everyday to not lose that sense, and it is stupid pride, and hurt, and self-protection, and the stupid sense of having to be the tough guy and always on top that kills it... or at least makes one forget it.
Douglas Coupland summarised it well at some point, and while some may be all cynical and shit and say it is overused, it does say something about why I feel I need God:

"I think the price we paid for our golden life was an inability to fully believe in love; instead we gained an irony that scorched everything it touched. And I wonder if this irony is the price we paid for the loss of God.

But then I must remind myself we are living creatures--we have religious impulses--we must --and yet into what cracks do these impulses flow in a world without religion? It is something I think about every day. Sometimes I think it is the only thing I should be thinking about.

Some facts about me: I think I am a broken person. I seriously question the road my life has taken and I endlessly rehash the compromises I have made in my life. I have an unsecure and vaguely crappy job with an amoral corporation so that I don't have to worry about money. I put up with halfway relationships so as not to have to worry about loneliness. I have lost the ability to recapture the purer feelings of my younger years in exchange for a streamlined narrow-mindedness that I assumed would propel me to "the top." What a joke.

Compromise is said to be the way of the world and yet I find myself feeling sick trying to accept what it has done to me:the little yellow pills, the lost sleep. But I don't think this is anything new in the world.

This is not to say my life is bad. I know it isn't...but my life is not what I expected it might have been when I was younger. Maybe you yourself deal with this issue better than me. Maybe you have been lucky enough to never have inner voices question you about your own path--or maybe you answered the questioning and came out on the other side. I don't feel sorry for myself in any way. I am merely coming to grips with what I know the world is truly like.

Sometimes I want to go to sleep and merge with the foggy world of dreams and not return to this, our real world. Sometimes I look back on my life and am surprised at the lack of kind things I have done. Sometimes I just feel that there must be another road that can be walked--away from this became--either against my will or by default.

Now--here is my secret:

I tell it to you with the openness of heart that I doubt I shall ever achieve again, so I pray that you are in a quiet room as you hear these words. My secret is that I need God--that I am sick and can no longer make it alone. I need God to help me give, because I no longer seem to be capable of giving; to help me be kind, as I no longer seem capable of kindness; to help me love, as I seem beyond being able to love."

I nearly cried when I read this for the first time, because that is EXACTLY how I feel. It's like Coupland grabbed that star dust in my head and turned it into words that are alive with essence.

But The Passion reminded me why I am Christian. What I have been looking for when I first became one (and thinking back, I think I was a Christian long before I knew it) - The Prayer I have just not spoken until a specific date. It was just a formality, more or less.

I needed this story because I am so sick of churches, so sick of institutional religion, commodified faith of the "How to become a good Christian in ten easy steps"-kind-find-out-for-just-29.99-and-you-get-this-crucifix ornament-for-free... the whole bloody fingerpointing moneymaking temple circus it has become, and the problem that it often just takes human pride and arrogance and the need for being the tough guy and puts a religious spin on it.

On a side note, C.S. Lewis wrote something interesting:
"When we have understood about free will, we shall see how silly it is to ask [no offense to anyone who did, mind you! Patty], as somebody once asked me: "Why did God make a creature of such rotten stuff that it went wrong?"
The better stuff a creature is made of - the cleverer and stronger and freer it is - then the better it will be if it goes right, but also the worse it will be if it goes wrong. A cow cannot be very good or very bad; a dog can be both better and worse; a child better and worse still; an ordinary man still more so; a superhuman spirit best - or worst - of all." (Mere Christianity, Book II, Chapter 3)

I recommend that book to anyone who is asking such questions. C.S. Lewis is a genius.

If I return to the church, then only if I have a good reason. I won't go out of the sense that this is what a good Christian does, because that is not true. I won't go because there is the evangelical pressure of "being with the right kind of people who will help you grow in the right direction", because that is not true either. I have heard a lot of bullshit preached in churches, and I have heard a lot of wisdom from the fiercest atheists. Funny enough, "The Passion", presented to you by Catholicism Inc., reinforced me in my being a post-evangelical. You've got to choose your teachers wisely, and as Pilate's wife said, you will recognise the truth... but only if you want to. Some people just don't want to hear it. And with truth I don't mean the Christian dogma per se. Truth is what makes my heart feel like I have tuned into the right channel.
Truth is what makes me grow into a spiritually healthy person, not what hammers me into an armor of dogma. And what is spiritually healthy, you may ask. Well, you just know it. You know it like you know that you are healthy physically, and excuse the profanity, says the Pat Robertson in me, you know it like you know it when you had an orgasm. ;) You just do.

The only way is undemanding love, non-manipulative (which is something Evangelicalism needs to bloody pick up on!), not goal-oriented other than loving for love's sake, for a person's sake. When Jesus broke the bread, it hit me why he went to the cross. It was not to pay a debt so we will never sin again (which is the sense you get in some congregations sometimes), but because we can't help but sin. We're fallen and imperfect - sin is in our nature because we are imperfect and in many ways ignorant and fearful. Sins are mistakes that hurt what is perfect and pure, and purity and perfection don't exist because of sin.
Ack, I dunno how to put it in words. Am I making sense?
But the point is to keep trying. Not not to sin, but to seek goodness, to make the choices that our conscience tells us, even sometimes against our self-interest. We are the sum of our decisions.
There is this theology about sinning by accident and on purpose, and that notion that people may think that Jesus's sacrifice frees them to sin. But that is retarded. If sins are mistakes, why would anyone want to make mistakes on purposes, seek damage on purpose? I think one purpose of J's sacrifice was to free us to move on, to learn from our mistakes and be smarter next time.

If I return to the church, it has to be my reason, and if God wants me to go, he will show me why, and that is good enough for me. But as long as being in a church hinders my growth and instills nothing but unnecessary guilt trips, I am not going back.

Sorry, that was a madly long post. And as a full read, it will probably be jumping thoughts and bits and pieces wildly scrambled together... it is as much as I could piece together of the big fuzzy picture that is in my mind.

Creeped

I purchased a cookie today which came to me wrapped in a paper bag saying 'Otis Spunkmeyer', and I wasn't so sure I still wanna eat it. Otis Spunkmeyer... that is pretty much the name I would give the guy on the train who gave his monkey a good thrashing.
Talking of Spunkmeyer, am I the only one who thinks "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" is a deeply disturbing film? Wonka is a child-murdering sociopath with a herd of disabled fellas he dresses up ridiculously and abuses for cheap labour.
His health and safety precautions would give any inspector seizures, c'mon, riding a boat through liquid chocolate? And did you ever notice the pictures in the tunnel the boat goes through? People ripping off a chicken's head????
And honestly - what's with the spunk machine? That and his last name. C'mon, Wonka?

Freud would have a field day with this.

Diversity Day

I am greatly pleased with my life today... and generally, really. It's beautiful and sunny outside, though crisp cold, and Yellow Nerd Alert, Mr Worf, cause it is 7.30a and I am at uni already.

My Austrian friend Esther was over last night. We had pizza and red wine and gallons of coffee and strawberry ice cream, and chocolate and watched "What about Bob" and "Weird Science". Classics! It is good to have friends... this is me stating the obvious, and this is me, appreciating a simple truth. If you're travelling around lots and are constantly on the move, you appreciate any friend you make, who will be with you for that part of the journey.

Also, I met Bob Giddings yesterday, my writing lecturer, who is wicked funny and cool, and he approved my radio script, which I am happy about, because really, between you and me, I think it is utter crap... but I don't think I have enough creative juices left to come up with anything better right now. Bob and I always have nice chats, cos he speaks pretty fluent German and seems to be a big fan of the place (hell, he knows more about it than I do), and then I always have to run off somewhere, which makes me feel really bad. But I'll have him next year in my Editing and Publishing unit, so that's wicked.

Anyways, today is Diversity Day, and even though I really have to get some major work done on the Visual Com assignment, I am not gonna miss out. They are setting up tents and stages around the campus, and Elizabeth, one of the sweet catering ladies where I always get me coffee, told me there will be a swing band playing at lunch time. WICKED.

Tonight I will go to the movies with my friend Little Vicky from work. First we planned on watching Dawn of the Dead, but she mentioned that The Passion is on (wow Bournemouth! Catching up on the cultural bits, eh?), and I really want to see that. See what the fuss is about.

Update:

It's near lunch time now, and while the sun is gone (Bournemouth weather changes every 2 minutes, so it will be back in about................ now), the day is getting better by the minute. I have the major work done on my design assignment. I walk around campus and keep meeting people... Esther's housemate John "Pygmy Shrew"; Ali, the guy who wrote the Coupland dissertation a few years ago and really is helping me getting started with mine, my lecturers Bronwen and Roman... By the tents where there will be performances all day, they have set up a table with free tea and coffee! I am their friend now!
The nice blokeys in the bookshop know my name now (god, what does that say about me...? Mewonders, doth the name instill fear, annoyance or...). There is music playing outside, but it sounds kinda weird, like a tape that is too old or a record that plays too slow... that and the coffee and the pirate dude with the fake parrot on the shoulder make me feel like I'm trippin, dude.

Weeeee! I'm feeling very diverse today.

Fangirl Alert!

I was at uni early this morning... I love the early hours (before 9), because as soon as 9 o'clock an overdimensional bus seems to arrive somewhere, unloading a mass of students who immediately occupy every computer available on campus. Before 9am, you have the pick of the litter.
So I did my stuff, then found out that the lecture I thought I had wasn't on, and then idly wandered into Waterstone's. I have been in there several times this week, probably highly annoying the clerks by asking if my order had arrived yet. This time I almost felt embarrassed... so I snuck over to the birthday card section (Tanner's bday is coming up, and I still haven't got one. I'm useless on that stuff!). Behind the desk, the clerk (a really lovely happy chap) was unpacking deliveries). I peeked thru the cards, stretching my neck a little, to get a glimpse of the shelf saying Customer's Orders... to see if there was a package with my name on it.
After a bit of dislocating my head (if that is possible) I finally saw it! There it was!!!!!
I asked the clerk, innocently, whether my order had arrived, and he went and got it.
That minute, Tess, one of my course mates, a really fun chick, appeared behind me. "Another order?", she asked. (On Monday, I had bought "The Poisonwood Bible", "Stupid White Men" and "Hey Nostradamus" [which I need for my dissertation, so there!, and it was a 3 for 2 deal, so it was cheap, and now get off my back! ;)].)
I couldn't hold back. "I'm so excited!" I blurted out, doing my lame squeaky-teenage-girl bounce. "I have been waiting for ages to get this one."
"What is it?" Tess asked.
"There is this bloke in the states who has a weblog", I said. "And he wrote up some stories which are hella sweet that he had previously published on his blog, and self-published them, and I could never get them cos I don't have a credit card. But he sold out his stock, and everyone was so keen on them that a publisher offered him a book deal, and now you can get them everywhere. It's totally amazing."
I am sure Tess didn't really want to know all that. She looked at me, with a raised eyebrow and that smile that said that this hyper weird stage was familiar to her, and she had just come to accept and sort of expect of me, and yes, here it was again.
"What's it called?", she asked.
I picked up my (MY! MY!) copy and let her peek into it as I leafed through it, with an ecstatic grin, occasionally stopping at the pages with the cute illustrations.
"Dancing Barefoot." I said, again bouncing like Roo on speed. "Hella awesome!!!"
The bookshop clerk bounced a little with me. "So good to see that people still get excited about books!", he said, and I know it wasn't sarcasm. "Enjoy it!"
"Ooooh, I shall!" I said.
Tess just looked at me and her grin widened.
"You are such a fangirl!", she said.
"I know!" I squealed. "Sue me!"

No more bricks in the wall

There is this unwritten rule among students that you are supposed to hate your teachers... or at least act like you despise them. Antagonistic, that is the word. And if you refuse to be that way, you are just written off as the nerd. I may totally sound like the Token Nerd, but the thing is, I totally adore my lecturers. And I don't really give a rat's ass what a bunch of kids think about this.

I mean, you pay shitloads of money for your education. Shouldn't you then at least try to enjoy it, and make the best of it? The thing is, I am pretty sure most of them do like the course, but feel like they shouldn't because that would be geeky. Why is that?
I decided a few years back, when I returned to high school, that I was gonna love it. And that included getting on with my teachers as much as possible, which I did, and which made me look forward to every class. I try to be friends with everyone. And I had a fantastic time. It makes high school a much nicer memory. And nice memories, that is all you will have of your life at some point.

It's the same now, at uni. My lecturers are wicked cool and funny and smart and I love having a chat with them after class, cause I can't have the same chat with most of my fellow students. They challenge me, they challenge my thinking, and unfortunately, I never have enough time to get into subject matters indepth, but I would love that.

Maybe I just have problems with the notion of authority. Authority is in my view something that people either deserve or don't deserve. It's like respect. When I respect people, I don't mind them having authority... if they prove worthy of it, and if there is a good reason for it. I can't distinguish between people in terms of authority... which is why friend-type of bosses are the ones I work best with. I don't believe in status... and that may be the only thing I took along from being a Commie. Or a post-evangelical. Or both. I believe people need to earn respect... it doesn't come as a commodity with assigned leadership. Anyone waving their effin authoratah flag about and then expecting me to bow down can just BITE ME. I don't believe in anyone being better or worse than anyone else because of status. And that is actually something I never consciously decided to do. That's just the way my mind works.
That's why I want to be friends with everyone... or at least get along... and that includes my teachers. Why is that weird? I guess life on this planet would be a lot nicer if we started getting rid of our bloody pecking orders and separatist thinking, and instead tried to make life as nice for each other as possible.
I mean, is it really that difficult to understand?

The roof is on fire

We had a fire at uni today! Talk about entertainment!
It was kinda funny. I sat in Spice, the greenhouse cafe the uni has, with a few friends over our lunch, and the place was packed, because it was lunch hour. I was happily munching on a yummy Juffle Pie or whatever they call it, when suddenly a bell went off, shrill, in intervals. No one reacted more than just turning their heads and then continuing to their business/food.
I, insanely, thought it's just one lucky bastard who is one millionth visitor in the food court or something, and will get a lifetime supply of whatever deep-fried stuff they have.
But the bell wouldn't stop. Eventually we noticed that some people got up and left, and then more and more trickled out. It's kinda funny how conformity works... people looked at each other to see if anyone else got up, and only then would they slowly make up their minds it may be a good idea to pack up as well.
The thing was, in the front cafes they happily continued serving people... so we thought, sod it... there was no smoke, no smell of stuff burning. Yes, naughty.. even if it was just a drill, I should have left.
Finally, the cook came out and hollered at people to get the hell out.
It was quite surreal, really... how in unsure situation people turn into sheep, following whatever consensus is strongest at the time.
And we're the supposedly educated of the country.
Scary, innit?

Don't label me

Just to add my quote of the day:

"Back in 1991, some guy in Orange County named Warren kept hounding me to sell/make/produce Generation X T-shirts, and I said, "Warren, keep your money, because nothing could be less X than wearing a T-shirt saying 'Generation X.'"
-Douglas Coupland

Harvard system failure

One of the things I am generally despised for is my lame references to random politically incorrect cartoons and movies. About 100 times a day you will hear me break out into a strange voice, saying things like:

[cartman]There you go.[/cartman]

[Homer Simpson]Oh look! I can see my voice! (sings) There's my voice... on TeeeeeVeeeeeeh...bloob bloob bloob...toooot...toooot...hehehehe[/Homer Simpson]

[cartman]BUT MOOOO-OOOOM! I NEED IT FOR TOMOOOORROOOW![/cartman]

[Mr Mackey]It doesn't feel wrong, mmmmkay. Drugs are bad mmmmkay[/Mr Mackey]

[Timmy] TIMMMMMMYYYYYY... waaaaaah.[/Timmy]

[cartman]RESPECT MAH AUTHORATAH![/cartman]

What makes this potentially embarrassing (not for me... I am having fun, and that's the main thing, but usually my friends cringe when in public) is that nobody ever seems to get the references. I am sure it doesn't help either that I am absolute crap at impersonating cartoon characters. Dom keeps advising me to just shut up. The smug bastard (;)). He just says this cos he knows he is *perfect* at impersonating.
I'm more like Conan O'Brien and his one impersonation voice: "Don't you molest mah boy." Which he says, is not only his Bill Clinton, but also his grandmother voice.
And I don't even look cute when I am doing it. *sigh*

:sings:

[cartmanvoicethatdoesn'tsoundlikecartmanatall]
I'm a creep... I'm a weirdo...
[/cartmanvoicethatdoesn'tsoundlikecartmanatall]

[southparkned'svoiceboxsoundingmorelike60srobot]
What the hell am I doing here
I don't belong here
[/southparkned'svoiceboxsoundingmorelike60srobot]

...
:frogs:
:crickets:

Fine! Be like that!

The end is f***ing nigh

I forgot to take my happy pill this morning. Doom is upon us - once that caffeine high has faded...

:shirt tearing:
:turning into psychotropic Missus Hyde:

P.S.: Whoever can name the reference in the title gets a cookie from me. Chocolate chips included.
Anyone?

Have you been symlogged?

I have, this morning. It's that social science thingy of group observation and classifying the group members in terms of respecting authoratah and being positive and shit. Totally biased of course, cos others gotta evaluate you and that will be different (sometimes) from how you see yourself. Anyways, won't bore you with the details, except that I have, on paper, been categorized as a dominating bitch. Oh yeah baby. You know you like it that way. Well, that again is just my reading of their interpretation. As Maddy pointed out: "Pat, it's not measuring whether or not you are a bitch!"
Me: "Why am I in the bloody negative sector then?"
Katie: "But you're almost at the center... so you're almost not!"
Me: "I still am in the negative, tho!"
God I love picking a fight ;).
But at least I have it ink on paper now: I'm a rebel! \m/ \m/

Great Day for a Guinness

Happy St Patrick's Day!!!!!

You gotta love the Irish! I do, anyways... fun lot, they are! I am typing on my dissertation proposal, bouncing on my bed along to The Pogues who are hollering "Whiskey in a Jar" and "Token Celtic Drinking Song" from the speakers in a wicked Irish accent. Damn, I wish I could fake an Irish accent - I just love it.
It makes me "homesick" for my pub in Berlin that I used to haunt with Sabrina, my cousin. That place will be bursting out of its seams in about 3 hours. What can I say: stocked with wicked funny Irish Barmen
(hello Terry and Mick! FREEDOM FIGHTERS!!!! MISS YOU GUYS!), filled with mad British and Irish, rivers of Guinness, Kilkenny and Strongbow a-flowing, this place is just one big party.

In the past years, I haven't really been doing much for St Paddy's. When I still lived in cowtown, our gang contemplated catching a RyanAir flight to Dublin and do a pub crawl, but somehow, as most of our projects, that didn't work out.
Last time I went to a SP party (and first time I really experienced it), I was at the Oscar Wilde pub in Berlin with Sabrina. That was in 2000. Holy Cow, that's a long time ago. We got there early cause we knew it was gonna be packed. Early, that is, 5pm... just to get a table, and we were not a minute too early. On the next table sat a bunch of Americans - and they were already drunk as hell. We hung out with them, cause they were quite funny. One of them was John, the token football player. He had had 12 pints of Guinness since 2pm, and he could not talk straight anymore. Another guy I remember was this photographer, I forgot his name. Such a nice chap. I just remember he looked like that 80s actor Keith Gordon (who played Arnie in "Christine") - just with no hair. Hella cute. And not to forget, crazy Scotsman Freddy (who soon after decided to adopt me) and his French chick Chantal who sounded like (and probably was) a chainsmoker and kept telling us, completely unrelated to our conversations, that she loved deserts. You know, after the 6th pint, it is only half as bizarre.
Anyways, the place was so packed, men who were in the front part of the pub could actually not get to the back of it (where the men's loos are) if they had to wee. But it was fantastic.
Very late that night we also met a guy called Dennis... there is another story to that. You want to hear the story? Yes? No?

Well, sod you! I am gonna tell it, cos this is my effin diary!
My mate Adam's b-day is mid-June, and he had a party starting at his place. I remember it was quite a few people for his tiny apartment. I remember Zac and his mates, and that I dragged my sandbox buddy Dave along, who didn't really know anyone but Ad, and he had just met him once before, I think. Well, I'll just copy and paste the original diary entry from then... there you go:

People trickled in by and by, and David liked everyone, and everyone liked David, cos he's so funny. We had punch and all that. Zac gave me some of it, he said the best stuff is at the bottom, as all the fruits are soaked with alcohol.
"Booze fruits!" I said happily, and he laughed. Zac is such a fantastic guy, he is too sweet and nice for words! People like him are gold... and rare enough. We talked a lot that night, he told me of his cat Purrpuss (purpose...because they got her on purpose cos they wanted a cat) and how it once chased his rabbit Patch...we always tell each other childhood stories, and he told me of his trip to Budapest.
It was really hot and humid that night, we were sweating like pigs...always looking for a cool place, which only was the staircase outside, so we escaped there quite often. The street where Adam and Pete live, is a lovely place. Pete's house is my haven. You walk through the front house to the back house, and there is a little courtyard, and Adam's window always seems to be open, with music floating out, or you hear him play guitar and sing...and when you walk up the stairs, his door is open almost all the time... It is such a welcoming, warm place...

It was so nice and cosy, we sat on the couch and talked and were so chilled out...nice music playing, the air coming in from outside was fragrant and like damp silk. "Nightswimming" played at one point, and Zac said how much he connects to it, it reminds him of friends and home and makes him feel all nostalgic, until David complained how depressing it is, and kind of acted a parody of a crying guy playing guitar. Everyone cracked up, and Adam grabbed his guitar and sang for us, a regular concert.

The plan was to go to the Cox Orange bar at Hackescher Markt later, but then Zac suggested that instead, we could go to a party he was invited to by his former roommate. There were about 200 people invited, and even more would come because everyone was going to bring friends.
It was gonna be in two big apartments. We went there, and as we arrived, we could already see people in the street in front of the apartment house, and bottles of beer everywhere, and we went up, and the place was packed!!! I have never seen so many people at a party. The two apartments were on the same floor, opposite of each other, and the doors were left open so you could sort of commute between the two. There were people drunk, people stoned, people snogging, and we didn't know anyone, we felt totally lost and alone there. But then Zac found his friends Caroline and Rachel and Marianne and this Canadian called Scott they had met in Budapest, who had come up to Berlin afterwards.

There was a DJ in each apartment, and music blared, and people danced, and we finally found a more quiet corner with a couch. The air was thick with the sweet incense smell of weed. I remember someone had a video projector running which caused the weirdest light effects in the smoke, and the wall was decorated with posters of James Bond and Trainspotting (the picture where Ewan McGregor dives out of the filthiest toilet in Scotland, his mouth wide open as if he is screaming - I swear to jove that every student flat I had been in in Berlin featured a Trainspotting poster)...all in all it gave the place a very strange atmosphere.

It was too hot to sit on a couch all the time, so Adam and I looked for a cooler place, and found this conservatory kind of balcony that had a couple of windows open, which didn't make it much better, but at least a little bit. On the floor sat a French couple, smoking weed and talking. In the semi-dark corner next to an open window sat a guy all by himself, in deep thought. So we squished in, Konstanze with a bottle of wine, the old boozer ;), and Adam and I with a beer, and the guy looked up at him and asked him for a fag, and they got talking. I sat down at the feet of the guy, and some time later I looked up at him, and I could not help it, he reminded me of someone, he looked so familiar. It drove me nuts, I knew I had met him before, but I didn't want to say anything cos it would have sounded like me hitting on him or so. Adam finally introduced us, and the chap looked at me, and suddenly screamed: "PATTY! The Patty from the Irish pub, St. Patrick's Day!!! You sat next to that crazy American with your cousin! I'm Dennis, remember?"
I fell out of my shoes, of course!!! I have just been so drunk at the time then, that he totally vanished from my mind. I never expected we would ever see him again, and I meet him again at this party!!! How amazing, the world is so small.
Another weird coincidence was that even though David and Zac had never met and Dave normally doesn't hang out in student circles, so had no connection to the lot here - even Dave met people he knew at this party. The whole bloody town seemed to be there!!!

How's that for a coincidence?

What still creeps me out though, is that this was only 5 days before my life completely fell to pieces. I think I still haven't recovered from that shock. I was perfectly happy then. My friends were my family, and I felt secure and comfortable and happy and loved around them. Life was fantastic. But then, literally in a matter of minutes, it shattered. It is that suddenness that sometimes makes me paranoid and fearful... I have not written about it till today.. there is a gap in my diary lasting a month or so, between this and long after my dad's accident. It makes me want to scream when I think about it too much... it gives me flashbacks. Perhaps I am terrified to enjoy life to the fullest... because the beautiful moments could end any second. If you are on a high, coming crashing down hurts like hell. The nightmare is out of sight still, but it is closer than you think... [Oh shut up bitch! >:( ]

Anyways, tonite we're gonna go to the Moon (in the Square, a Wetherspoons pub in B'mouth) and meet a few people. Should be fun. I'll take pictures :D.

Grab a Guinness, mates, and enjoy the day! Happy St Patty's Day (teehee!)
I shall leave you with this:

"Some may say the glass is half empty,
Some may say the glass is half full,
But the Irish will forever say
"Are you gonna drink that?"

Sláinte!

Dancing Barefoot!

Yay, I just found out that they finally sell Wil Wheaton's Dancing Barefoot at the German and UK amazon!!!!!!



I am really happy for Wilster...incredible, just recently he was shipping the books out of his living room. I was a bit frustrated cos I don't have a credit card, so I missed out on the Monolith edition... and even the signed copies.
But now that O'Reilly have taken it on, it is internationally available... I can finally go for it!!!! YAAAAAY!

I have read most of the stories on his blog, and they are hella sweet, but he has rewritten them, and I don't think I ever read the ending of the SpongeBob VegasPants Saga.

The thing with this book and Wil is, he has really inspired me to go back to my writing and work harder, and even find the joy in it again, which I had lost due to the depression in the past years.
Writing is who I am and what makes me happy and complete. I think this is what I was born to do. I don't know if I am particularly good at it, but I do enjoy it.

The other thing with those stories is that they are a lot like Chicken Soup for the Soul... they are inspiring and make you want to be a better person, living your life to the fullest, treasuring what you have in life and absorb it.
I am a little too old to be a fangirl, but I have admired Wil for so long, and I don't think a minute of it was wasted. He is a terrific guy.

Bless yer cotton socks! :D

Strangers are friends you just haven't met yet

Beautiful day today, sunny and warm. I had my cuppa tea in the morning, followed by cuppa coffee, and 20mg Prozac... I am practically a rubber ball now.

In the past weeks I have tried to find some new housemates. My house is gorgeous and I want to stay, and my sweet landlords David and Elaine have left it to me to find new people, which is good, cos I have to live with them.

After my first year nightmare with that human scum I lived with (and I don't say that about people usually, but those guys were the human equivalent of sticking your finger in your throat), I have become over-careful with who I share a house with. I don't mind party people per se... I love parties... but not when I am loaded with assignments and exams all the time... and I really don't need filth, and stolen food, and being abused as a maid, and insults, and being harrassed with porn, getting woken at 3am because them drunkards decide to start a party with other strange people who walk into your bedroom an hour later, stinking of booze and fags; or start a gasoline fire in the garden, melting the lawn furniture or steal stuff from the neighbors for fun.

So let party people share a house and drain their brain, and let people who actually care about getting a good degree share another. It's just about finding the right people. Which is a bitch to do in Bournemouth.
Anyways, so I have had a few cool people come round, but one of them was creepy as hell, others never bothered to call back or called back to tell me they were not interested.
Fair enough.

Today I had this couple come round, and they fell in love with the rooms - they actually wanted to pay the deposit today cos they wanted to make sure they'll get the rooms. And what can I say - they were the nicest people EVER. So sweet and kind and fun, and actually asking me if I can imagine living with them. They are actually people I massively look forward to live with. You just know when the chemistry is perfect. I had that with Sarah last year, and she is the loveliest girl ever.

My housemate Russell said a tad defiantly, "Well, they won't be able to replace me!" Well, of course not, Russ - that is the cool thing with unique people. True, I will miss Dom and Russ and Sarah very much... and even Steve, even though he always whines about generally everything. But he is a good laugh. You should see Russ and Steve together, arguing... they're like an old married couple, it is hilarious! Steve "my computer/TV is better than yours" "I get more sweet lovin than you, Russell" "It's bloody hot in here" "That song is shite" and Russ "Steven you knob jockey, can I bum you?" "Steven, are you touching yourself and thinking of me?", playing serenades to Dom on the guitar outside the bathroom while Dom is on the loo - they are just pure entertainment.

I had a good year with all of them, and I am grateful for that.

Good day for me. Yay! :bounces:

Pleasepleaseprettyplease?

Opposite my uni, there are those gorgeous old houses... like out of an old English fantasy. Surrounded by juicy green gardens, and lots of hollies. So yesterday I found out that the rent for those houses is like 2 quid a month (or a week? Doesn't matter! I mean, 2 quid!!!).
The thing is, they are protected, and you cannot make any changes to them. I suppose they are funded by the National Trust or something. Which is also exactly the reason why they would never ever ever become student houses.

But I'm a good girl. I'm an obsessive-compulsive cleaner and I hate change. Can I move in? Please? PLEASE??? Pleasepleaseplease???????

I can see you!

This is the coolest ever. Check the Earth Observatory pics.

Wave to me, Jun! :D And stop doing that! Yes, that! ;)

(Saipan, Northern Mariana Islands)

London by night

San Francisco Bay


Mount Everest

Great Pyramids of Giza

Evolution my ass...

Dude, working in customer service and the leisure industry can teach you all you need to know about the stupidity of mankind. Not that it bugs me too much... it's good fun, and one always got a story to tell over a pint.
I work at this café which is part of the Oceanarium in Bournemouth. And I really love it there, 'cause our team is wicked awesome and funny, our bosses are really cool, and the cafè faces the beach which is beautiful in any weather, and you can have your lunch in the shark tunnel when it's raining, and on the pier when it is sunny and warm.
But it blows your mind sometimes what levels of lame and stupid the homo sapiens can reach.

When I want to get to the staff room, I have to walk through the shark tunnel, balancing my sandwich, and my coffee, or whatever is on my menu that day. Guess what line I am getting EVERY BLOODY TIME?
Yes. "Isthatwhatyoufeedthesharkshehehehe?" A large latte and a marinated chicken panini... That must be SHARK FOOD! It was funny the first 0.5 times. Yessir. Caffeinated sharks. That's what we want.
I don't mean to be a bitch, but the only thing that is funny about it after you have heard it about 280 times is that people think this is really an original joke.
Same goes for people that complain about the entrance fee (To be fair, it is rather pricey - we're sorry that our staff does not work for free and that the fish need to eat), and then pull off stuff like: "One adult, one seniorhehehehehe" (man pointing to his wife) or "one adult one childhehehehe" (pointing to her husband). After hearing this a million times, the only way to keep a polite smile on your face is by stapling it to your cheeks.
Or things that are just annoying is when people come in and try to haggle with you. "This is quite expensive, can't you give me a ticket for less?" (Nosir! If we wanted haggling, we wouldn't put prices up.)

Today we had a classic. Guy and his mates walk in at 11am, occupy a double table. Buy like a coffee, and then nothing for the rest of the day. They were still there at 3pm when I left. This guy had the nerve to come up to the counter with one of those customer care questionnaires, on which he had written:
"You need to cut down your price ing in the cafe ASAP next time I come you have cut your pricing soon (unidentifyable scribble)", and he started arguing with our supervisor about it. I gotta say, our prices are pretty normal... especially for a beachfront cafe. I mean, this is England. It is expensive. Deal with it.
What I gotta say to those people: Dude! If it is too expensive for you - don't buy it. It is that simple! Stop harrassing the staff, cos it's not them that make the prices! Most of them bust their asses for shit wages so they can pay the rent for their room and their university costs, and they are really not getting paid enough to get bugged by someone who occupies a large table, leering at the female staff, spreading his trash over other tables all day without buying anything.
Sheesh.

Also, some people come in and ask for discounts because they are locals. I mean, what???? I don't come here either and ask to get paid more because I'm a local. What a crap reason is that?

But it gets better.
Our displays staff are smart people. They may wear grubby clothes, cos when you take care of animals you just don't wear suits. But they have DEGREES IN MARINE BIOLOGY and stuff. Masters. And years and years of experience. I am astounded all the time how much "Jimbo the fishmaster" knows about them creatures. But cos the staff's shirts are a bit spotty, people seem to automatically assume they are retarded and incapable of doing their jobs.

This is the Oceanarium's FAQ:
-"Do you ever let the turtles (marine turtles!) get out of the tank and walk around the oceanarium? They look kinda frustrated. They never smile." (I kid you not!)
Yes lady. We offer turtleback rides for a low fee and whenever you need a smile for your camera, say so, and we chisel it out of their jaws!

-"Isn't this tank a bit full?"
Yes, ma'am. We torture fish just for your entertainment. We are thrilled to hear your expert opinion on this subject. We're sorry, but all our staff has to offer are a few lousy degrees in marine biology and years of experience, as well as being trained in national guidelines on that matter. How would they know?


-"Do you have dolphins/dolphin shows?"
Right. Have you seen the size of this place? Where do you expect us to do dolphin shows?

-"Do you have great white sharks?"
No, ma'am. But we may consider it, if we ever decide to flood the whole bloody place to give a Great White the space it needs. And we feed babies to it, and puppies, for your entertainment. Would you like to donate yours?

What we like best are people that come in and self-righteously complain about the poor animals in capture. Ok, then why do you pay to get in and support us criminals?
Yes, our fish are unhappy. As unhappy as anyone can be who gets regular meals served whilst living in a 5 star hotel. And if it makes you feel better, we just box the endangered chameleons that were rescued at Heathrow from a bloody animal smuggler and send them back to where they came from, on an agonizing journey, because that is the humane thing to do.
And how unhappy must our animals be if they breed constantly? I guess sharks lay eggs to overcome their depression about being kept away from a sea of which existence they know nada.

It's not that this pisses me off or anything. But I sometimes just gape at people, wondering whether they are really serious, and I never quite know what to answer, cos half the time I wonder whether they are just taking the piss.



Had a chat with Milla today... and she said something which made me laugh out loud, and I think it made my quote of the day:

"People don't get that there's more sides to a person than one. Even a coin has two, and it's pretty flat."

Rock is not what it used to be...

Hmph. Honestly. Dom, who is a massive music fan, just told me what he read in one of his guitar magazines... and as I just saw, The Sun (crap paper as it is) reported about it as well.

Busted (that sad boy band) apparently tries to be a real rock band now. Not only by having a massive drinking session (yeah, big deal. If drinking makes you a rock star, then the vast majority of the British population would be!), but also by throwing stuff out of hotel windows... such as a TV and (yes, sadly), a toaster! Whoa, tough guys! [sarcasm]I wanna have your babies![/sarcasm]
But the thing that is really pathetic is that they opened the window first.*sigh* Where is Led Zeppelin when you need'em?

Also, apparently one of the Linkin Park blokes was asked by a photographer to smash his guitar to be all cool and shit. But the bloke didn't want to hurt his wrist, so he got the photographer to do it for him and then had his pictures taken with the remains of the guitar. (Now I dunno how much of that story is true, feel free to correct me.) I used to like Linkin Park, but I have kinda lost all respect for them now...
*sigh*...
Yeah, rock on....

On Friends

Just to recycle what I have posted somewhere a long time ago. I dunno where I once found it and I dunno who it is by, but this quote sums up what friendships mean to me.

"Oh, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person. Having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them out just as they are, chaff and grain together, certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what's worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness blow the rest away."

God teach me to be a friend like that! And thank you for giving me friends like that.

The Others

I have just watched "The Others" for the first time, whilst shamefully neglecting an assignment that wants to be finished. That film hella spooked me... I actually screamed at one point. I like its mood and weirdness, makes me feel creeped out all over. It was good to see Christopher Eccleston (sp?) in it as well... he was well weird, but it's just nice to see a Brit playing a Brit for a change... and not an American with a dreadfully fake accent (Tho Kidman did quite well, I thought. But what do I know, being German and all?). Was I the only one who was totally creeped out by the housekeeper? And the book of the dead?
OK, I shan't spoil it for anyone. But do go and watch it. The ending is hella weird.
Just my kinda film, morbid as heck, and romantic and moody and scaring me outta my wits. No wonder I have nightmares all the time.
It is pretty funny. Have lived in that all-Christian community where they told you watching creepy movies is wrong and whatnot, and I tried giving them up, driven by peer pressure.

But the truth is, I have always loved them. Ghost stories were always my favorite. My writing lecturer noticed my morbidity right away, and it was always the thing by which I was recognized. It's almost my trademark.
Heh, you preachers out there... can I be morbid and be a good Christian at the same time? Discussion open now.
I just wonder, cos does it make me a bad person to like that kinda stuff? I mean, I have never killed anyone (except mosquitos, but that's only cos I'm allergic to them). In fact, I saved a slug today. Occasionally, we keep finding slugs in our house... I have no idea how they get in, cos I can't see a hole anywhere... but they manage... and I found slug trails on the kitchen floor today, in front of the garden door. If you didn't know what they are, they'd look pretty... silky and glittery. But then, someone points out to you they are just slime, and it's like a gush of cold water. Anyway, I found this little curled up slug on the step that leads to our garden, looking all lonely and neglected, and I picked it up with a paper towel. At first I couldn't tell where the front and back were. But being suddenly lifted to wuthering heights, a shy snail eye slowly emerged from one side (which I had previously believed to be its ass).
"Hello," I said. "Come on out and be not afraid. I am not French. You and I, we hate the French. Let's be friends!"
Apparently trusting my gentle words of peace, eye number two, which had been in reserve until then, extended and pointed in my direction.
"I shall name you Kevin", I said.
Kevin looked pleased, oozing slug slime onto the paper towel.
"Well, Kevin," I said. "I don't think you'd be particularly happy in this house. I shall release you into the garden."
We went outside. Kevin was thrilled to see his habitat from a bird's perspective. He hung on with all his might. I put him down on the grass. Saying goodbye was hard. But it was best this way. Kevin's telescope eyes pointed up, filled with the pain of separation.
"Don't make this harder than it is!", I said, welling up. "Run along now. Run like the wind!"
I stood and looked till he faded in the distance. Then I returned to the house, my heart heavy. But I can say I have lived. Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.

Define normal, define real

Bah. I hate it when I've got nothing to tell. So I thought I start a blog which will be clever and funny and deep, but I'll find myself again being the oddball - this time of the cyberworld. One should think that at 27, I am used to being the oddball... or above it... but I am frank and open about it, it is still weird, and I still feel sometimes like I haven't aged since I was 16... or 18... or 20. Sometimes I even feel like I'm regressing to a younger age, but I guess going to uni with a bunch of 19 year olds will do that to you. Nothing against 19 year olds. But a vast majority of my friends are having litters, and get married, and get all serious about life and stuff, and I feel I will never catch up. Not that it bugs me... I am quite happy with my life, with low responsibility, and low income, and being semi-free. But one can't help feeling a bit of pressure here and there... without that I'd be perfectly happy.

But anyways, I am happy being me. I am only unhappy about being myself when others make me feel like I am strange (which I probably am, but by whose definition?)... and when I let it get to me.
I have fantasies at times (not that kind, get your mind out of the gutter!) that I want to be a healthy farmer type mom, with flower print dresses, and healthy kids, and a handsome healthy down-to-earth kind husband, just a nice family I can feed warm apple pie to. A picture as cheesy as from a Jehova's Witnesses leaflet. I want to have a home, and a happy family where nothing goes wrong ever.

But then I look at me, and I look at my life, and know it is not gonna happen...because that is not me. I don't mean that in a self-pitying way... it's pretty rational... because I have always been happiest free, and uninfluenced, and uncompromised, and my best friends are those who allow me my space, and accept my weirdness without calling it such, and are happy for me in whatever I do.
I can't be confined, because I go insane. My mind is my own world, in which the things I do are normal... not even that, because value judgment does not exist in my utopia. Things just are. Things that are sick and wrong don't exist, because they go against my mind's world's universal laws.

My dad used to say to me when I was a kid that my living within myself will make me fall flat on my face once I see reality. He thought I am an escapist. That may be true to some extent. But I know that this is the way I kept my sanity.
(Well, this, and Prozac! ;))
U2's song "Peace on Earth" has a good line in it that sums up what was threatening me and what I tried to avoid.

"You become the monster
So the monster will not break you."

I am fiercely opposed to the saying: "If you can't beat them, join them."
I can't give up my ideals just because they may be unattainable. That is hard, though. When we were talking about this, Milla told me that she felt she'd have to separate those ideals from the "world", and that it made her feel like she had two personalities. I agree. I feel that I have to keep a wall up to protect whatever is in me, not let it get fucked up...

I know I have to get along with others and they can have my outer layers, the ones that still connect me with others. We are social, and we need to be social to stay healthy... mankind is an organism, consisting parts that need to connect. But that means that I cannot reach my full potential if I live my life by consensus only, by what is socially acceptable or not. Other people may set those norms, but I can live only the way I think is right, or is me, otherwise I feel like a cardboard figure.
Mankind to me is like a jigsaw puzzle - not all pieces fit together. One corner of us may fit with one other person, another corner with another. The trick is finding the matching pieces and put them in the right places. And it is tempting to try and make them fit by hammering your fist down on them, but what you leave is crooked and bent. I think mankind is some kind of organism that is dysfunctional because a lot of the pieces are bent, or try to fit together where they don't, or give up on fitting together altogether, or have wars because they haven't found the connection or because one attempted connection doesn't work. But that is no reason to give up...
Finding the matching pieces is just trial and error, and it can take an eternity to find them. I was lucky to have found a few. Quite a few, actually.
In that film "Paying it forward", the little boy said something that struck a chord with me.
He said: "I guess it's hard for people who are so used to things the way they are - even if they're bad - to change. 'Cause they kind of give up. And when they do, everybody kind of loses."


See, I don't want to give up. If that is called escapism, fine. But I just don't want to become something I always despised. If reality turns you into a monster, into a cynical, joyless, bitter creature that is so hardened that it can't absorb life, isn't it better to live in your illusions? And what are illusions? What is reality anyway? Isn't it just what is in your mind? Isn't it just what you choose to have in your mind? How you choose to respond?
Reality is overrated. Objective reality doesn't exist. Norm is consensus.
I make myself. Take it or leave it.

I think there are one or two people out there who know what I mean, and I am glad of that.


(See, didn't I tell you? Trying to be all deep'n' shit again. I am disgusted with myself.)

Frozen

It's been snowing again in Bournemouth today. Not much, but for Bournemouth, it was quite a lot. It was strange snow... more like hail... what we call atomic snow, cos it looks so fake and plastic. Of course, the weather was at its most unpleasant when I walked to and back from uni. And a British Gale (TM) broke my umbrella. No kiddn, I am going thru a few umbrellas/year here... nothing of that sort will survive unless it has been especially designed for British weather, with Titanium reinforcements or whatever they use on the effin space shuttle...
I have been fantasizing about bathtubs the whole day. As Milla correctly observed, I shall turn into a raisin.

My pee on a tree

Why do I start a blog?
Well, there may be several reasons, and I dunno how valid any of them are, and I may have a different reason every day (or none)... but there are some, probably...

a) I guess I must be an attention whore. Anyone who posts their diary on the internet must be... c'mon.

b) Since Wil Wheaton made blogging the cool thing to do, everyone is doing it. And because the church and communism have turned me into a mindless follower, and because I want to be one of the Kool Kids (TM), I thought I just hop on the bandwagon and holler along.

c) I kinda feel almost bad that a lot of my friends are having blogs, and I sneak around in them, but I don't have one myself they can peep into. Not that I am gonna post my deep dirty secrets. Well, not all of them, anyways. And no, Jun, there will be no bikini pics. But continue to corrupt me, you may get lucky one day. ;)

d) one mildly acceptable reason may be that a diary is a good thing to keep friends updated to what is going on in my life, without forcing one of my novel-length emails onto them... plus, I don't really have the time to write to everyone regularly, which I feel really bad about. Though, to be honest, I'll prolly not have the time to post much here, cos I got a bloody degree to get.
But anyways, maybe whatever news there is, it may be mildly interesting to one or two souls out there... you know, at that point when they are so bored that they would do anything to kill time, read the ingredients of candybars, or something...

e) It's for the sake of writing. I always wanted to be a writer, and that is a way to practice... but otherwise I can't think of anything else. So there.

*crickets*
*tumbleweed*

Yeah, alright...