Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Sancrified Ground

I visited the church here a few days ago... or more, it was a while, but I've been thinking to write about it a while, I just forgot, but almost every night I've thought, tomorrow I'll write it down.

It's not about the church per se. Churches are churches, no matter what religion or how big or where in the world. I have one solid idea, or opinion, or thought about churches, so they're all the same in that way. So I don't have a lot to say about the church.

But they have corpses in there. Remains. In sealed coffins on display for so many years. Hundreds of years. It was strange to me, because my faith says that the dead return to the Lifestream and move on, and it was odd, near absurd, to have the bodies of men and women dead hundreds of years ago still here. There was no good or bad to it. Just strangeness. Like watching a man turning himself inside out. Not obscene or facinating or gross. Strange.

And in one of those "rooms", I walked in and around the coffin, and this thought came pounding through in that way I really honestly only read about before. Otherwise I'm all too often aware of how I myself form the thoughts and then present them to myself, but this one was unprovoked. It just came, like someone else speaking. I was wearing my cap, and the thought said, "Take off your hat in the presence of a king!" Exactly those words. In english too.

I debated it for a second or two, because kings are really just men, and if the king cared, so what, and if he actually has some power because he was king, he's still dead, and if he still retains some kind of influence, he probably understands that it's just the modern ways to keep the cap on... and so on. A second or two. And then I took off my cap.

And now when I try to write something that makes sense about it, I keep coming back to; forget it. Thers is no need to explain. And also how representative of my personality the whole thing is.

Friday, July 24, 2009

I wouldn't recognize my mother if she walked past me on the street...

I had a mental breakdown a day or two ago because I watched one of those tv-shows where they find people for other people who have lost them. They helped a taiwanese guy adopted to sweden find his birthmother. Those shows are really tear-tweaking and I tend to avoid them. But it was decent, and they found her of course, and whatever. Then, when it ended, I realized that the guy had had a picture. Someone had given him a picture of his mother when they sent him off to Sweden. And my head started raving about why the fuck didn't I have a picture, who the hell sends a kid off to the other side of the world without one single line back to their home?

Why didn't they give me a picture?

But I think it's healthy. This is the first time I'm really, really angry at the whole thing; the country, my parents, the people working these things both there and in sweden, even in part my adoptive parents. I think being angry is good. Because I should be. It's the first time I'm thinking; I was damned well worth a picture. I'm damned well worth to be really, really angry.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

A Home At The End Of The World

I slept badly tonight, think it had something to do with the overwhelming feeling I got just before going to bed... I was watching Korean gameshows again, getting absorbed like usual beyond the world, and when I turned the computer off the world came crashing down on me. These people and this culture and this country... it's not mine. It'll never be mine. I can go there and I can talk to them, and I could meet them. In the realm of inconceivable improbabilities that are still possible, I could actually marry that cute guy in that boyband and move over there and have children and raise them in their native surroundings. But the country would never really be mine, and, for some reason, the feeling I got was that the guy would never relly be mine either. That world is like a different dimension hidden within the bend of light; I can know it, learn it, but never actually be there. I could see it and interact with it but when I reach out and try to touch it my hand would just move right through. It wasn't the kind of heart-stopping fear or pain or sadness that it should be, when I think about it, just some kind of huge, gigantic realization that sank down on my shoulders like a rock sinking in deep water. When I went to bed I tried to think of other things, resorting to WoW tactics eventually, but when I fell asleep I slept badly and dreamt strange dreams.

I woke up in the middle of the night, feeling desperately low on oxygen and got up and opened the door. And I don't quite remember what I dreamt, but I had strong emotions left from it. I remember I thought as I got back into bed, that if I had one wish, and it counted as one wish, I would wish to become that cute guy's perfect match and live happily with him ever after.

Someone closed my door this morning. It was out of consideration, to let me sleep, but it woke me up and hazed from sleep I thought angrily that their damned kindness would suffocate me in my bed. Then I ignored it. And I had dreamt something strange again, something about saving children from something and almost succeeding but not quite, and I remembered what I'd thought about the wish and got angry with myself. I'm a grown, independant, modern woman with goals and aspirations, and right there being able to wish for infinite money or success for my writings or happiness and health for my friends and relatives... I wished, selfishly, sheepishly, for a guy I don't know and can't speak to and have only ever seen the fancy media-made-up side of.

I could blame the tiredness and the realization and all that. It could be that what I'm really wishing for is a home, or belonging somewhere, or a simple and predetermined fate. But I wonder.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Funeral Day

There was a funeral today for someone I somewhat knew. And it's odd, because there's a lot of people I know better than him, but there's also many among them that I wouldn't care this much about on the day of their funeral.

If attention and honors and all that on a funeral day really do earn you kudos in God's big book, then he should have lots. So I'm writing this because while you read it, you did think about him although you don't know who he is, and maybe that earned him at least a little extra kudos.

Peaceful Return to the Lifestream, old man.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Unorthodox and politically incorrect dating ad.

Race: Korean. Class: Undetermined. Guild: Flying Horse on Fire. Time Played: 21 years. Current Hearthstone in: Sweden. High scores in Int and Wits, low Str. Not involved in any organized events or religions. Teetotaller. Flaws: Lazy, sometimes Self-Righteous. Favored skills: Computer, Language (any), Empathy. Unfavored skills: Socialize, Athletics.

Local Arena Team 2v2, requiring long term committment. Team members will be expected to join the guild; casual guild with no more than 2-3 events/week, be nice or you will be kicked. No power leveling. No cheating (unless you're good enough to get away with it).
Equipment: no req, but set bonuses add to final score.
System requirements: minimum 12 Int, 12 Wits, 10 Cha. Skill points in Computers, Animal Ken, and Empathy much appreciated, as well as Language (Swedish)/Language (English) or equivalent. A few skill points in Socialize and Streetwise could be good to complement the team. Anyone focusing on a physical build are welcome but should know that this is not the general focus of the team, nor the guild.
Talents: Maxed Honor and Respect. Any points in Sexism results in immediate disqualification (no, calling it a joke will not make it ok).

Personal Message:
Hai. Seeking someone to be my evil lair and base of operations. Neither sanity nor sex are required to fill the spot, as long as your insanity does not resort to violece to animals. Will not provide weapons of mass destruction; bring your own. No churches or villas or anything of the horrid sort, only an oath to break each other out of jail if one of us would sink as low as to get caught. You'll have to get along with my minions; can't get rid of them even if I for some stupid reason would want to. (They will claim to not be my minions, btw, but you'll know them by how we all sometimes get together to coordinate our secret plans.) For my evil image and self-respect you cannot be more than 20cm taller than me or you'll need surgery.

Blondes get a +1 on Charisma checks, afro-american people a -1.

Application information:
Running interviews and hiring.