Thursday, December 30, 2010
And a "plaintain" is a big plant similar to a banana plant, that gives plantain fruit that looks like giant green bananas, and that is food rather than dessert like the sweet normal bananas.
Just in case any of you would want to refer to a single alga. Algae have feelings too!
I feel like a magicarp splashing around on land :< so much potential, so little time (before I suffocate and die from not being in the water :P)
Recently read a discussion about pokémon, where they talked about the "fainting" concept. Most people, it appeared, like I, never paid any attention to the word "faint" and saw it more like they died and were resurrected. I for one always thought of it as "aw crap I killed it" when you knock out a wild one and thus can't capture it. (It kinda makes no sense that because you knocked it out, you now can't keep it... O.o Do they get teleported away into crystal stasis whenever they lose consciousness? Ooooh nobody will get that reference xD the geekiness!) I imagine they called it fainting because it's a kids' game, but if all the kids imagine them dying anyway... Think people are a bit too careful with these things; it's electronic imaginary monsters, ffs.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Today I learned what a "porpoise" is. Either you can see it here, or you can let me explain; it's a kind of small whale that looks like dolphins except they're shorter, stouter and don't have the long nose. They kinda looks like the bastard dwarf children of a dolphin and a killer whale. I think they're much cuter than dolphins. Killer whales/orcas can also be called "blackfish", apparantly, which... I dunno, it sounds a bit... plain. I like "orca". I heard a story when I was a kid where they were sort of "holy animals", and "orca" sounds like something like that. A mythical creature.
Porpoises live in small "herds" of less than ten, and you call these herds "pods". So you'd go; "There's a pod of porpoises at the harbor" which is such an awesome sentence that I think porpoises are my new favoritest animal.
If you're wondering about the header for last post, it's because I was talking to Nallenon, and I said I don't want to write too long blogposts and he said why (sometimes I think the Nallenon-"why" is less out of actual questioning and more a conditioned response to any declarative statement) and I said it's because I have no grasp of how slow/fast people read and I don't want to occupy their entire day. I can tell when I read like an article over someone's shoulder that I tend to finish faster than most, but how fast people normally read... nooo clue. So, uh, I hope I'm not writing too long. Tell me if I do.
Monday, December 27, 2010
You know what Hollywood has ruined for me? Nudity in movies. Whenever I see a movie that has good enough camera work and sound to not be some kid's wet dream from a garage, and there's someone naked in there, I jump as if someone threw a bucket of water in my face. "She's naked! She can't be naked, what is this, someone call... the cops, call a lawyer, call Bush! Now!"
If you're wondering what movie has nakedness, it's Macbeth from 2006. In Australia, naked women aren't a horror and sin against God. They're also redheads and have cool tattoos. Going a bit off track here again...
I happened upon it because I was looking up Sam Worthington because I watched Clash of the Titans (Sorry to interrupt, but why the hell is it named that? It makes less sense than Japanese anime naming O.o) because I was looking up Mads Mikkelsen (I just have to interject that, don't see this movie because of him, cuz his part sucks... actually the whole movie kinda sucks... the only reason to watch it really is for the actors, and in that case they all have better works...) because I watched King Arthur because I was looking up Joel Edgerton because I saw someone in something on tv who almost looked like him but it wasn't.
Joel Edgerton makes a hawt Gawain. Sorry, but somebody had to say it. Mads Mikkelsen makes a hawt Tristram as well. Then put them both on horses. And Keira Knightly in camo paint and leather straps stepping out of the forest mist. Mmmmm. Off track! Off track again!
Incidentally, I thought about how little that movie, King Arthur, makes any sense with the other legends like Tristram and Isolde or the Holy Grail. Not that any of that makes any sense to begin with. But it's fun to try and imagine those stories with these characters.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
But as they went on...
Not even nature can keep track of all the details. Micromanaging has never been the way to win a war. It's about initiating very simple patterns, that will lay the land for the winning strike, although you can never be sure when or how it will happen. Like a tree that repeats itself, smaller and smaller into branches, like our blood vessels, like river streams. Suddenly I saw the connection from math - to fractals - to nature - to the patterns of humanity and the world - back to the math that we spawned because of it. Feedback; an infinite, clever loop based on a very simple concept. A single pulse of the bat sonar, and another shard of clarity taken away from it.
Perhaps there is no need to know the details, perhaps no need to understand the small things, only to know the simple premises and how they build on each other? A difficult thing for me to accept, because it turns my beliefs about science upside down. Is it possible for humanity to understand the world we live in? An hour ago I would have said no, never, absolutely not. But maybe understanding it does not mean to know exactly where lightning will strike; rather to know the premises under which lightning will surely strike - sometime, somewhere.
It strikes me that it might be what my knowledge of people builds upon. As I get to know a person, a simple equation takes shape that will explain all behavior - but not predict it. I have always known that I'll never be able to predict. Too many small variables for a human brain to compute, probably also for a supercomputer. Bigger patterns of behavior are much easier to predict, but the actions of a single individual may also change the course of that behavior so drastically that predictions will always be just predictions; guesses.
Perhaps I even believe in evolution now, although that's a bit trickier. It means progress requires small mutations in all systems, which again removes the capacity to ever understand anything, because the tiniest change in the premise of the pattern can drastically change the outcome. Butterfly and all that.
Which brings me back to the idea that a system in motion, one that contains living, growing, evolving things can never be accurately understood or described, especially not by those inside of it.
Fractals have taken us closer to a math of nature than I previously understood. But can humanity ever understand everything? No, never, absolutely not.
But clearly there are underlaying, static patters that create a world of infinite variation. Can those be found and understood? Maybe. Maybe.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Sleepy and confused, I woke up by a very, very loud bang and my room filled with orange light. My head, known to make leaps at times, immediately yelled at the top of it's lungs "EMP!". If I had any tendencies towards talking in my sleep I would have actually shouted it out; it was so loud that I thought someone else had actually yelled it from somewhere outside.
I froze in place like a scared rabbit and waited for my blurry vision to clear. I was fighting with myself about whether to hide under the bed or go check if my roomie was alive and well. A few seconds later though, probably when my low blood pressure managed to get a few drops up to my brain, two creeping realizations slowly fought their way into my consciousness; 1) my vision was blurry because I wasn't wearing glasses, and 2) everywhere I'd ever seen EMP's mentioned, the light had been blue, not orange. Fishy.
I needed to go to the bathroom so I got up and opened the door, but my roomie was in the bathroom. Good, because then she was safe, so I closed the door and went back to bed. That's when the tractor continued it's work and I realized that A) tractor; so probably not black-camoed soldiers coming to crash through my window and B) well... why the hell would anyone do any of the things I had imagined to me, this city or this country.
Then the tractor went on working and kept me awake for almost an hour :< if it'd been an EMP at least hopefully he'd stopped.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Does that make me a -person who become -cake?
The big question here is; by not eating cake, do I remove more cake from the world? Or is there some kind of negative cake that I'm spawning, like dark matter?
In that case, I apologize. If it's a bad thing.
Now I want meringue and whipped cream and chocolate ice cream. Meringue. Funny word.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Someone who's mine, whose trust I'll have to win and whose companionship I need to earn. Someone I have to observe very carefully to adjust perfectly into sync with. Someone who will learn all my little invisible signs, so I can lie to my heart's content; it won't matter. Someone who will smile to itself lazily while I ramble on about the fortunes and misfortunes of life, and wait for me to sit down on the sofa so it can take possession of my lap, because it knows that the words isn't the important thing. The important thing is waking up breathing together, is my heartbeats echoing into its chest and its echoing into my hand, is being alive. Together. Someone to be the solid center of my life; my pivot point.
Cats are so much more than just cats. Not all of them, I suppose. I suppose I met the love of my life way too early, and had to let him go way too early. But maybe there's another one out there. Another perfect host for my cat-symbiotism.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
it was real until I plucked the seams apart,
and the stuffing spilled out and turned out to be mist.
But my heart won't stop trembling.
I don't want it to.
I look back at myself and realize
that I'm standing at the edge of the abyss.
Did I make the leap?
Is it the song of insanity the sirens are singing?
Take the leap, what does it matter.
Insanity might be the only way to stay sane.
"Be careful what you wish for,
because what has been seen cannot be unseen.
And if you hope too hard for it to be real,
reality will become the dream."
Friday, November 12, 2010
Woo. That's how I felt when I, alone in my apartment, perked up, pointed at the tv in a widely over-dramatic fashion and yelled "DEADPOOL!". Then I laughed like a pre-adolescent boy laughs at boobs for a few minutes. Really. Not that he doesn't pull it off. It's sexy awesome. It's just that, picturing Deadpool knowing all of this and seeing the commercial for the first time... ahaha xD
Face it. It's because he scored the role that Ryan Reynolds got that commercial. Even the pansies at Hugo Boss know a true man when they see him.
Wow this is a manly post.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Every step a longing for something I will never have.
The safe, solid, true spot of my world this soothing fact.
It frightens me to think that I could live without you.
Without ever seeing you, without ever hearing your voice or seeing your smile.
You make me incomparably happy,
but it frightens me so much my heart stops! to think that I might have been happier
had I never known you were.
Every smile hurts, every breath.
And yet it seems to me I have found the secret of immortality, for
in my heart, unendingly I will be here; forever doubting, forever fearing
Always keep the faith.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
My uncle is dead. Like the cat in the box he wasn't dead until the words are spoken to me, in my world. But out there in the real world, his heart stopped beating.
I try to live out there in the real world and I feel like I'm visualizing ghosts - no, not even ghosts; like I'm trying to sculpt rain. I don't belong here. I wasn't equipped for this.
Is he really dead until I've put my hand on his chest and felt that his heart isn't beating? Is he really dead until his body has rotted away in the ground? My cat is very much alive in me, as much as when he was actually breathing, so why would the death of a human be any different? In my world, since I hardly ever saw my uncle, if I never see his body, if I never go to the funeral, is he really dead?
It's not my uncle's death that upsets me, but the death of my uncle inside my father's world. And it's not the real world that scares me; it's my world. Me. And the wonderous ways I could destroy me, so easily, so fabulously, so beautifully.
Life really is hard and unfair, but what if the inevitable death is not the final injustice but the reward? "Congratulations, you made it. You survived." What do you think? More dramatically viable?
Sunday, October 17, 2010
[I see myself in the mirror I pass by.] I haven't looked in a mirror all day but I look pretty decent for an unplanned stay-at-home outfit. My haircut sort of failed. It looks good when I fix it but I'm usually too lazy. Wearing headphones make the sides look silly. I should try to write down the thing with the dude. If I write it in pieces it might work, but I might be too lazy to fill in the blanks later. There could be different sorts of powered humans, by science and by... I need to figure out how demon powers work. Like tesla? [I fold up the hood of my sweater and look in the mirror again.] Hair looks totally cool like this. I should brush my teeth after dinner too. Hm, although this was dinner.
[My roomie is going to do laundry, I peek out of the bathroom. She looks me funny and leaves.] Maybe she wondered why I had my hood on in the bathroom? Maybe I imagined she looked at my funny. If she got kidnapped I wouldn't notice if I go to sleep now. I should stay awake until she's done. "Don't get kidnapped by aliens," is what I should say to her. I wonder if that's code for me being worried but unable to say something more sensible. This is silly.
I could write a poem. I haven't done that in a while. I woke up ahead of the alarm this morning, so I'm not setting it now. Poems are annoying and inspiration-dependent. [I hear my roomie come back, I've closed the door to my room.] Now I didn't tell her to not get kidnapped by aliens. If she is kidnapped and murdered, when I find out, I'll think "why didn't I tell her to not get kidnapped by aliens", and if people could know that, they'd think I was a very odd person.
I wonder why people think people think odd things. Doesn't everyone have these kind of thought-chains? Is it really anything to be excited about? I enjoy being amused by my own brain. Fuck poetry. I should write this on my blog instead before sleep. Where should I start?
Thursday, October 14, 2010
I have a feeling that if I knew the answer to that, I'd be first executive in a small IT business by now, or an acclaimed author, or a fabulously popular girl. Maybe it's that thought, lurking at the back of my head, saying "why would you want to be any of that?". No one ever taught me how to deal with lurking thoughts. Actually, I think listening to every single thought I have is what has made me the writer that I am. So what? The only way to being who I am is to destroy myself? Fascinating, but very impractical.
Someday I'll be looking for a job, and someone will read this blog and go "hey, you're mentally unstable, sorry but we won't hire you". Well, fuck you.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Although I suppose, what's the point with it always being violence and death? A game could be just as exciting, and as much of a challenge, with different graphics... right? But LoL doesn't even have blood... people could just as well be fainting as dying, who knows. Except some creepy voice announces someone has been slain when they... uh... faint... >.>
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Being in churches used to be like visiting other people's homes. It's not your stuff, you're not sure what is expected of you, but you want to show some kind of respect even if the decorations are terrible. It still is when I'm in churches alone, they are for example often great works of architecture and symbols of people's beliefs, along with many other things. Just like it can be fun and relaxing to hang out in other people's homes even if the decorations are terrible. Being in a church when some kind of ceremony - wedding, baptism, funeral - is going on used to be like seeing the family that owns the home interact with it, like having a ritual of who sits where at the dinner table or habits in terms of who uses the shower when. Confusing, sometimes frustrating, a little awkward at times, but in general just another part of life.
It seems with me growing into my own faith, however, the feeling has changed. Being in a church now, listening to the confession or to people singing psalms or praying, gives me an uneasy feeling. The only simile I can think of is if there's someone you really like, love even, but you're not in an outspoken relationship. However anytime you're out or talking to a really handsome person, it feels like you're cheating, even if you're not doing anything incriminating, and even if you did you wouldn't actually be cheating. I've subconsciously put down ground rules for the relationship already; such as don't listen to the heretic blabbering of a smiling dude in white clothes.
And it made me uneasy to see this child being baptized into this church, this belief. Probably like any religious people watching other religions do their thing. I felt like yelling "Hey, little one, they're lying to you, it's all bs! Don't let them do this to you!" but that wouldn't really be respectful. I guess I understand the ones who want to "save my immortal soul" a bit better. Although the thought is a little frightening.
Anyway, little one, I wish you great happiness and success in life. And I know you'll probably listen to the lies, and one day baptize your own children in the same church. If you do, I hope you'll remain blissfully unaware. If you don't, I hope you make a better path on your own. That's the best blessing I can put together right now, and I think it's a pretty damned good one.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Going outside means walking. Disregard the pain, the discomfort, the appearance. It makes me feel like half a human. Then going outside usually means bike. Disregard that I have to step sideways to get next to it among the other bikes and swing my leg over it, both of which require ridiculous effort. I hate it because it means having to lift my foot onto the pedal with my hands because my leg isn't strong enough, and if I didn't feel like half a human before, that definitively does it.
And it means that when all of those things are done, there waits another hundred times more. Places, people, things. What to buy, where to find it, what to do, who to meet. What to say, how to say it. A million tiny details that every human lives with, so why does it sometimes feel like I'm drowning in the details... in life. Whenever I need to go anywhere, my heart cries; "why do I have to move?". It's like this giant momentum thing. Here at home everything is where it's supposed to be, which is exactly where I left it. I don't have to think because I already know, and I don't have to move far, and most importantly, I could crawl around if I felt like it and perhaps my roomie would be perplexed but it would feel okay.
Going outside makes me feel something isn't right with me, and consequently, that something is wrong with the world. It's not just about the leg. It's all of it. When I'm out, half of the time I'm working hard to distract myself from wanting to go home, and the other half I wish everyone else could go home so I could be alone where I am. So yeah. I have a problem. Sucks.
I wonder if you guys know that stuff like in that previous post is sort of like the other side of this. This is me whining - that is me appreciating life. I should write a mirror post to this one. Sort of like "Going outside means smelling the fresh air and seeing the endless sky", except you can do both through a window... maybe "Going outside means getting a new view of things, experiencing new things and meeting new people." That works. Not today though. Today I just wish I could make it not become tomorrow, when I have to go out to go to school.
Monday, September 27, 2010
I enter the blocky neighborhood of two-story buildings. The square windows, black in shadows, stare out at me like the gaping void holes where the soul has fled. Their darkness promises solace, sleep and safety. They do not lie, but they are as cold on the inside as the stone is to the touch.
It is the wind that puts me in this mood, perhaps. Like a searching spirit it rushes between the maze of buildings, whirls around the city, voicelessly whispering "where are you?". It blows right through me as if I was a ghost, and I feel its cold touch on my skin and on my heart. "Where are you?"
Perhaps I walk the spirit world. Perhaps there are a dozen people around me, laughing, walking, looking, but I am on the other side of the veil and the cold, sharp air leaves me hearing nothing but my own breath, seeing nothing but my own hands and the canvas, the background, of buildings with gaping dark holes and grave silence.
Nothing moves. The maze is absolutely still as the wind crashes against the walls, writhes and turns and rushes ahead and veers around the corners like a wounded animal fleeing for its life. This is humanity without its bestial side, I think. This is humanity stripped of its nature. Perfect angles that adher to reason and stay utterly, completely still. This is our spirit world of concrete and glass.
Next time I turn a corner there are trees, bowing in the wind, shaking their leaves at me. I stop the bike, feel the forces of physics work with me and against me as I press the breaks, feel rubber against asphalt through the metal frame, and I smile at the trees. They fill my ears with white noise as if to say, don't do this, don't look at the world so hard, just let it be. They are like well-meaning aunts, the trees. Annoying you out of love and concern, while you smile and nod and ignore them.
I think, the spirit world of concrete and glass is a place of perfection. Of absolutely silence, of ethereal beauty, of thoughts and feelings greater than myself. I think, I am the luckiest human alive to get to tap into it like this. It is worth everything.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
What I have decided is that I will someday dress up as this flashy lady, although in her alternative clothes that can't be found on the internets because they don't meet the required skin shown, where she actually has pants, but that will have to be a later project. She's badass enough to not be the usual fare of Power Girl cheerleaders, and she has purple hair and a cool mark that will require face paint so wheee. And not to underestimate - she's a ninja so she doesn't wear heels!!! She's not actually Asian, in the original version, but... well... Marvel Universe is a marvellous thing, and if you want that further explained, and see how many times this girl has died and been rescurrected, look here.
Hmm..... Kim Possible?
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Det här är ordagrannt undertexten från Pirates of the Caribbean - At World's end precis i början:
"By decree , all persons found guilty of piracy , or aiding a person convicted of piracy , or associating with a person convicted of piracy ... ... shall be sentenced to hang by the neck until dead ."
Om man nu tar detta och kör genom Google Translate så blir det:
"Genom dekret, hittade alla personer skyldiga till piratkopiering, eller hjälpa en person som dömts för piratkopiering, eller umgås med en person som dömts för piratkopiering ... ... döms att hänga om halsen tills döda. "
En oskyldig bieffekt av statistisk maskinöversättning, eller en gemensam effort från Disney/Google/Antipiratbyrån? ^_~
Sunday, September 19, 2010
I think I'm done.
Life feels like a series of momentous moments linked together by a string of luck and chance that determines how those moments turn out. I remember my moments clearly. The time I really looked at myself in the mirror the first time. The time my mother said my brother looked up to me, without any sort of jealousy, despite... everything. The time my father brought home flowers for no reason and I saw my parents kiss the first time. The time my grandmother kneeled by my mother's bed and said, with the biggest honesty I've seen in my life, that she wished she could have taken this hell, cancer, instead of her. The time my mother said, sitting in a chair somewhere, that she felt like she had a great responsibility to take care of me because she'd chosen me. And now lately, looking in the mirror and seeing my Korean self looking back, and fighting with my father to the point of him saying if I wanted to walk away and never speak to him again, then fine.
If life is a marble statue, I believe genes and blood is the stone, and these moments are the chisel. But how the chisel is put to the stone is determined not by either of these, but by chance, luck - by how we choose to process them. And I think I'm done processing these last two now.
From looking in the mirror I was forced to make a decision if I liked what I saw. And I decided I liked some parts and didn't like others, and that I would choose to change those that I liked the least. I have. From hearing of my brother's feelings, I made an effort to understand him, and learned to see the world more like he does and respect his point of view. Now I'm jealous of him sometimes. From the kiss, that my parents, however unlike a storybook their love is, love each other in their own way. From my grandmother I saw the infinite love of mother and daughter, and like an inmate seeing god I can't deny it. From what my mother said of my adoption, I learned I never want to be a burden to anyone, I never asked to be and to my power I never will - I will never be a duty but a choice.
The most recent two are linked. My mind was spinning with seeing my Korean side, and I couldn't pick it apart, I couldn't settle it. Something was nagging on my mind but I couldn't figure it out. Then we fought, and I walked away hurt and angry and confused and frustrated. It took a long while to process that one, and it ended up linked to the other. But I think I'm done.
It's difficult to put words to this one. I'm still conflicted. I still believe I'm a Korean and am unsure of what that actually means. I'm still hurt about what dad said, because emotions can't be controlled like that. But I feel more like an adult. I think what I realized is that I also make sacrifices to walk my path, just like I've seen the things my dad sacrifices, and mine are just as much and as little worth as his. I rebelled against the idea that he would sacrifice other people around him, but I think that what he really sacrifices is himself; risking to end up alone. And I realized that I am no better than him; I am ready to sacrifice him to walk my path, even if that's not what I want. Stubbornly, stupidly, he has raised a daughter who is just as stubborn and stupid. And that is the road I will walk.
Then the words are spoken again, "cancer". Someone else, somewhere else, linked but not too close to me, but to someone else. I hear it and I cry. So I'm wondering... does my father cry? Does he speak to anyone? I don't know. And I'm thinking, my path will not be like that. I am not alone, and I will never sacrifice that. Another momentous moment, another lesson learned for life. While somewhere else someone else has been told their life is about to end.
Friday, August 6, 2010
All the running ended in playing with fire and getting burned when it came to the people physically in my presence. And what have I learned from that? Don't ask questions you don't want answers to. Don't play with fire when you can't handle the pain. The sad thing is I thought I could handle the pain, and I will have to learn the hard way now, but what I really really learned is this:
That I am nothing more than the usual human tropes; The Girl With A Father Complex. The Firstborn Son.
And that never, ever must I let myself get angry. Never ever let yourself go. Or I'd be asking questions I don't want answers to, or play with fire I cannot handle. I have always believed in honesty first and I still do, but I guess I learned fear. Which I suppose can be a good thing.
I am weak, is what I learned. I'm thinking, from that base I must grow stronger. Nobody told me how, however. But the lesson I was meant to learn, I suspect, ironically, was this: That I am fine with being exactly what I am.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Since I believe genetics is half of what I am, it means that from my viewpoint at 4 months of age someone locked the door between the two rooms and left me in the swedish part, and I willingly upheld this. People would point out the door but I gave pre-set answers and shied away from thinking about it. "Korean" was just a word. When I looked in the mirror, not many days ago, for the first time of my life, I felt Korean. I felt not just like a fake carbon copy, like a Swede with korean colors painted on, like I have before when people have asked me where I'm from. Instead for the first time I *understood* that I'm Korean, like the difference between mechanically solving a mathematical problem and actually understanding it. I felt one with my physical form. Toes dug deep in the sand. It passes, of course, like feelings do. But it was the first time of my life I felt whole. Maybe that is because I've never felt at peace with my physical form, and it's mostly been trouble for me. Maybe it's because I've always felt largely different from most people and have combined that with looking different. Maybe because I haven't felt that I really belong, really is in the right place, ever, anywhere. But I cannot deny what I saw and felt, nor the lasting impression it made. It is as if I can hold my head higher now.
So having Belgian blood doesn't make you Belgian, and people taking you for an American doesn't make you American. What does make you what you are then? And does that mean you do not consider yourself Belgian at all? I have always known I am Korean. Just like I have always been one to carefully consider before making an attempt at something - as a child I never crawled; I watched, waited and then walked. Culture, ethnicity, race, call it what you want. I care not for the labels. Does my form matter: yes, it does. It is as important to my identity as my opinions, my routines and my preferences. In fact, parts of those are shaped by my physical form. To take that to it's limit; would I have been the same without my crippled leg? Who knows. Maybe I inherited that from my father. It's not hard to extrapolate that sense of belonging to a people. Why do you feel Swedish, and not, say, just connected to your family line?
If there is only "culture" and no "ethnicity", then what is it I feel when I see people similar to me? Had people told me I was chinese or japanese, I might as well have felt chinese or japanese. I do not claim the ethnicity of Korean, or to ever become. I claim to be a Korean adopted to Sweden, and I claim my right to the full extent of that state of being, and that includes a Korean piece of identity. This isn't a huge intellectual venture. It's a gut feeling, and I've learned that those refuse to be ignored. And I don't think there is such a thing as "genetics alone". The two comes inseparably as far as we can tell, for now at least.
How can genetics play a part in an individual's personality but not on a grander scale? Genes are inherited from our parents, and shared by our siblings, and in extension that means more and more people. Different circumstances will force the expression of the same traits in different ways, and it will become diluted, but I have family over there, they are Korean, their ancestors were Korean. I may have a bit of Chinese or Japanese or Mongol, of course. If I say "they are my people", maybe you could argue me out of it eventually, intellectually. But the fact remains that I came from their blood, from their soil, from their culture.
How can appearance can be a cultural phenomenon? I can see that my hair is black and has a different texture and that my skin has a different tone. I can feel that my nose is different, even if I can't see it. A mirror puts it on the edge but is in no way the limit. Without surroundings, would I care about my form? Humans cannot live without surroundings, as little as we would exist without genetics.
Can we know how much is nature and how much is nurture? No. Not yet, maybe never. So it's difficult to say if any race have traits that are more genetically common. So for now that topic is on hold on a "who knows".
Thursday, July 8, 2010
I was handed the card of a person today, who when I was ten was the most beautiful, fantastic person in the world. Normally I have to make an effort to have feelings, like staring into a running river for ten minutes to get into that feeling of you moving and the river standing still. But with her name black on white, or brown on blue as it were, on a piece of paper between my fingers, I realized it must really have been my first real crush. Because every ounce of me longed to see her again as I scoured the card for a phone number, because my first instinct was that I must call her. Then I realized that A) I couldn't exactly call her and say I really wanted to meet her right now so I could find out what it would be like to hold her hand, or at least so I could fawn over her for an hour or two, and B) I remember her as somewhere between 25 and 30, a football player, eleven years ago. Now I'm terrified of seeing her again, of getting disappointed, and losing that fantastic feeling I had when I was given the card. Terrified of finding out that she isn't that person I thought she was, or that she's uglier than I remember her, or that her voice didn't sound all that awesome and cool. Of losing that one person in my life that that ugly, plain "real world" feeling never got to.
And yet, all the more terrified of losing the card.
On the upside I guess I know what kind of feeling to look for now, when trying to figure out if I'm really into someone.
Last night my right shin cramped up real bad. I couldn't figure out which way to stretch it to make it stop, and whatever direction I tried just hurt like hell. Shit happens, and I was half asleep and only half perceiving the pain. When I woke up this morning, however, I had a huge flashback to how the problems began with my left leg, that in the beginning it cramped often, that that was one of the warning signs that eventually led to that I discovered the issue. What if I lost the right leg too? I sigh and whine about one leg, but if I lost the good one, I would barely be able to walk. Probably unable to run at all, ride a bike... I'd fall over easier than an Italian football player. I wouldn't be able to dance. Maybe even end up in a wheelchair, and I'd look fucking terrible and ridiculously top heavy.
Now I'm looking for some kind of adoption service helper thingy. If I'm going to end up locked to a wheelchair, unable to dance, then I need to have been to Korea first. I want to walk the soil I was born from with my own feet.
Friday, July 2, 2010
I came home, saw the scissors, and cut my hair. It took quite some time. Showered, dressed up, fixed my hair, although to my great disappointment there was no wax or gel in the house so it only went so-so, and put on party-style make-up - and more. And looked myself in the mirror and thought:
I cut it according to one of the styles Jaejoong have had his hair, as I remembered it in my head (I've compared it now and it's pretty good to be from memory) and put on my Korean jewelry, and did the make-up as I saw a Chinese girl do on YouTube. I dunno what the difference is, really, but...
I look like all those people I've been watching on YouTube, the strange black-haired, almond-eyed ones. I look like him; like JaeJoong. I feel like I found my roots and was torn out of the ground at the same time. God what have I done? Why did I cut my hair like his, why did I put on make-up like this, what will people think? What will they see? Am I the Swede pretending to be Korean or the Korean pretending to be a Swede? Who am I?
But the mirror answered well enough. Korean.
Honestly, somewhere between Monday, when I know what I was doing, and yesterday, that I was utterly and thoroughly convinced with was Wednesday until my dad told me otherwise this morning, there's a day that I cannot remember. I have consulted my time-table at work and realized that I've skipped writing in it one day. I've gone through the chat logs for work for this week, but they're incredibly messy because I switched chat client in between and the new one acts very different regarding history, I haven't quite figured it out. I can only remember how I got home from work Monday, whichever day in between, and Thursday. I can't really account for what I did, a whole work-day of 8 hours, whichever day it is that is gone, Tuesday or Wednesday.
Hm now that I think about it, I'm rather sure I did stuff for school for a few hours after I came home on Tuesday. And it might have been my parents' wedding anniversary. I vaguely remember something about texting my brother, telling him to remind dad about it so he didn't act surprised when he got home and mom had bought flowers. Yes flowers. Yes, that must have been Tuesday.
Anyone seen a Wednesday running wild? It's mine, and I very much would like to have it back. The gaping hole in my memory is kind of freaking me out.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Christian Videos Online brings me to the WLC, World's Last Chance, homepage.
"WLC strives to follow all Biblical truth. The WLC team has made the shocking discovery from the Bible that the seventh-day Sabbath cannot be found except on the Creator's calendar.
At least they're giving away money, not taking it. The one thing I miss out on for having a personal religion rather than a collective-brain-shutdown is the possibility of making grand, insane social schemes like this. I can't exactly go "Woohoo, Lifestream energy! Let's toss 241 apples in the river to show we honor it, because if you write Lifestream in sixteen languages the letters all add up to 241, and apples are, uh, good!" and expect anyone to come along. You should all join my religion because the spiritual losses I make because of this are sure to harm my immortal soul. If such a thing existed.
Ah this post is terribly aggressive. "Collective-brain-shutdown" sounds so negative. I should be more politically correct. "A collective agreement to hand over important decisions, personal responsibility and individual thought to an unseen, unknown entity existing only inside the agreement, and claim that a select few within the community selflessly handles these decisions, responsibility and thought for the masses in the name of the entity through different forms of more of less unspecified communication." How's that? Yeah, too long. Collective-brain-shutdown will have to do.
Monday, June 28, 2010
I could make variations of that joke all day. "So that's why all the jocks have one." "For those who are too cheap to get the real thing." "I guess that's fine if all you want is to pump and cross the finish line." "Be sure the batteries will run out just when you're getting comfortable."
Join the fray, it's make-fun-of-xbox-day!
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
De varnar för våldsamma scener inför HoN matcherna dock, lol? O.o
Monday, June 21, 2010
Ignore whatever I've written earlier today, I was bored. But there's something I want to say. I've rewritten this post half a dozen times now over several days, trying to find a way to say things right, but I'm giving up. It will never be right. Some things cannot be expressed or shared. I will just state, because it's time to go public:
His name is Kim Jaejoong of Dong Bang Shin Ki, and he has it all. The shoulders, the jaw, the voice, the sense of humor, the eyes, the moves, the style. I will never meet him, probably never see him live considering where I live. That is of no consequence. He exists, somewhere, and for that simple fact I am forever and always grateful.
Always keep the faith.
I know what I just said, but it's an odd situation. Koreans are Koreans, just like Sweden would still be Sweden even if there were only Sverigedemokrater in our football team. I admit my heart still cringed when the ball hit the net. Sports are supposed to be non-political I guess.
EDIT: 15:10 5-0 for Portugal. Now I just feel sorry for them. But: mission accomplished.
Also, in accordance with the Korean language being prettier than Japanese, the Korean music scene better than the Japanese, and the Korean food tastier than the Japanese (barely), I have now found that the female Korean celebrities are prettier than the Japanese. I do believe I am turning more Korean by these last few years of culture indulgence of both countries - I am slowly coming to love Korea and in particular in comparison with Japan, the two most Korean traits of all. In all but two issues: Korea still has issues with gender equality (i.s.s.u.e.s) and with censorship (the line "I've got you under my skin" in a song was too sexual to be aired on radio -_-). But I'm not sure Japan can be said to be any better with the gender stuff, and them being more leisurely about sex counts only to the benefit that Korean singers can go over there to show off some extra butt once in a while.
Both the Republic of Korea and the Democratic People's Republic of Korea are in the football World Championship, albeit in different groups - perhaps for the best. Thus far the South are better off within their group, but North plays their second game right now. It's nice to not have Sweden in, because it means no Zlatan, and that I can officially focus all my nationalistic pride on Korea for once. Alas, in this WC, I am crossing my fingers for that South does better than North, that's all I ask. And I hereby request all those unaffiliated with either country to do the same, for me ^^
And yes, it's North Korea that calls itself "the Democratic People's Republic".
IGNORE THE TIMESTAMP ON THIS IT IS WRONG! LOL CAPS! O.o
[This stuff can be useful...]
When you need to call Qt methods from your test script.
1. when information is not a property
2. when a child is not available through the parent/child hierarchy
3. when the property is an object (say, a model)
How I read it:
[This stuff can be useful...]
When you need to call up all your cute acts from your practiced folder to appease someone.
1. when you've looked up every book on terrorism, suicide bombing and Islam in the library and men in black come knocking
2. when someone else's kid runs yelling around the train and you're not allowed to kick their ass (but did anyway)
3. when you want to impress someone on the payroll of Hugh Heffner or the likes
Friday, June 18, 2010
Raise kids in all possible ways to see how it affects them. Like, studies say most homosexual people have older parents than non-homosexual, I want to try it. And raise some kids with only violent video-games and some completely without any contact with violence and then let them out into the "real world" and see what happened.
Or cut electricity in the entire world. Or see how outreageous I could make the laws of Sweden before people took action. Or kill someone, to see if I'd be all whimpy and throw up and have conscience-hangover or not.
Or kill everyone but me to see if I would survive. I would probably miss people, but *how much*?
but if I'd have to write a formal report on any one of those, then no thanks.
All things in the world are to me split into two categories; A and B.
Things in A are things I in some way give myself points for, or will go to lengths to accomplish. Things I must know, know how to do, understand, manage and feel confident with. I'd say about half the items in A are voluntarily put there, the rest I force on myself for different reasons. Every item ticked off on A will give me a point in the "me vs the world" scoreboard, every time someone pokes at the fact that I haven't ticked something off I hate them and me equally. It is also not a very long list, simply because I'm so hard on myself that if I put too much up there I'd kill myself.
Things in B are things I don't really care about, that won't give me points, and aren't sore spots. If someone tells me about it, I'll be glad to listen, but that's it. Say, politics. I can surely listen and be interested in politics, but I'm the first to admit I know little of it and care about as much.
I suppose there is a tiny category of C - things I actively avoid or loathe to speak of, but it is very very tiny.
And so the insight: Whatever my parents make into an issue immediately elbows itself a spot on the A-list, however trivial. Because if they can ask about it a second time, then I have gravely failed at life. I can be on my way to the fridge when one of them asks "Have you made lunch for tomorrow", and I literally feel a point falling off my scoreboard, down into my guts. Now ask me again why I hate when people say "oh it's so sunny why aren't we outside" :P
Idiotic self-imposed perfectionism and inability to handle critizism - check!
Thursday, June 17, 2010
That is how long, although strained at the end, I can spend with my family until I really want to crawl out of my skin. Not on end, mind you. Spread out.
What ticked me over the edge was that one, and sometimes two, persons here insists on planning my life for me. Not in the sense of what to study or anything important like that. No, but what I am to eat, when, how, who I am to ask what, which bus to take, how to fix every little practical detail of my life according to what is apparently universally optimal, as if I wouldn't care about that myself, or am unable to know that if I work one hour longer one day I can leave one hour earlier another. Having been away for a really long time this time also enhances it, cuz, you know, I've successfully planned quite a number of days for myself and lo and behold, I haven't starved to death or completely ruined my life from missing a bus. Sometimes people seem to think that waiting for a bus for an hour or eating odd things together because you had nothing else is something terrible and must be avoided at all costs. I can play cellphone games for an hour at the bus stop instead of playing computer games at home, and I quite enjoy eating strange things - people are too conservative about what food goes together. People should also take care of their own big important problems before they start poking at my small and unimportant ones.
Actually, in most things I do, I enjoy it quite a bit more if I decided upon it alone, and figured out the method alone, and planned it and did it and finished it alone. Nothing is more satisfying than succeeding with something and to know I figured it out, I solved it, I managed. Maybe it's selfish. Maybe it's rude. Maybe I'm boring. Whatever.
In a way it's a lot. A little more than two whole days. In another, it's a very, very small number. No, cats are the way to go. I solve my problems, they solve theirs, and then we can cuddle.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
My instructor is a very nice French man, who looks very very French. He speaks Swedish rather well, albeit with strong French pronunciation. Backwards transliteration from French to Swedish usually is fast enough in my head to keep up. Then he had to say the letter "h" for me when I was typing in the console. Before he'd said it the way they say it in their alphabet, it sounds like "azsh", but this time he tried to say it in Swedish and made a noise similar to a strangled hamster. I had to hide in the bathroom to get to laugh like an idiot 6yo without hurting his feelings. It's weird that an almost soundless letter can be so much of a problem. That and "y". Since that episode he switches to English instead when I can't decipher.
The Company has employees all over the world, so for easy communication it uses an own chat client that everyone who works for them are connected to while on the clock. I'd been spying at it for a day and a half without introducing myself, but when someone spelled Korea with a C I had to intervene. At which point some people got confused because how could I be Korean and Swedish at the same time?
"I'm adopted, so I've got a Korean UI with Swedish coding," I said. And thus I won the hearts of all the little nerdy boys working at the big nerdy Company.
Two days into work I have to say it's not so bad. Not sure what is going on though, because I'm sleeping about 6 hours a night, working 8, and spending at least two hours on getting ready and travel. So what am I doing with the remaining 8 hours? And how come I feel bright and refreshed when the alarm rings in the morning? (Maybe the last is because I've finally figured out how to make the damned phone play music at me with slowly rising volume, without vibrating like a mad hatter.) I miss playing, but not overwhelmingly so. Mostly it's just frustrating to have a computer and then not be able to play anything on it. And I haven't felt like killing anyone here ever since I got back.
This is going too smoothly to be true. I'll just sit here and wait for someone to come crashing in through the door and bring everything back to normal suckiness.
Windows vs Linux of the Day:
I prefer the "Ctrl-c Ctrl-v" way of copypasting a million times over the "mark and middle-mouse-click". For so many reasons. One that many might agree with me about would be that my laptop has a touchpad and thus, surprise, no middle mouse button! Also, using the mouse is clearly a sign of a n00b. It's weird since Linux often insists on using the keyboard for everything otherwise :s
Friday, June 11, 2010
Buried in an unmarked grave
part of my heart
rotting there together with your corpse.
I picture little white worms writhing in your empty eye sockets
and I feel peace.
Am I going mad?
Your grave is here in my chest
and the dead in me longs to touch you
longs to wring the necks of the living
longs to lay them softly at your feet as gifts of love.
Only this can be true love
slowly losing my mind.
My fingers gently brushing the faces of the surviving
while the missing piece of me cries for bloody vengeace
for the crime of outliving you.
Would you want their corpses, my love?
Would you accept my gifts?
Is it the dead in me, or the dead in you?
Am I going mad?
Only this can be eternal love
that can taint me so.
Like your sickly, putrid blood
soaking into the soft woolen fabric of my mind
a love that can never be washed away.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Fell on the bike, first time since I started biking again. It's when I start or stop that I risk tipping over to the left, and if I do, there's a loooong terrible moment where I know I'm going to fall over and can do absolutely nothing about it. I can fret and wave about, but all it accomplishes is to make me look even more stupid. That's why I'm afraid of biking. I do it anyway because of the time it saves, but I'm always afraid of having to stop at a red light, always heave a sigh of relief when I don't tip over.
And unlike falling when standing up or something, there is absolutely no way to fall gracefully on a bike. Either you get the damned thing over you, or under you, or it gets stuck to your pants or your shoes, and it has you collapse very un-prettily in a pile of arms and legs and metal.
In this case I grabbed onto the basket of a nearby parked bike to try and stop the fall, which only, of course, made that bike fall on top of me too. Once I'd untangled myself, there's a woman standing a few feet away staring at me. "Are you hurt?" And I go "no no" and say some excuse about my leg being bad and pointing to the thingy I have attached to help with walking. Drunk students everywhere around me, so she probably thought I was drunk. That hurt my pride something incredible, for some reason. Not only did she watch me have one of my damned, hated, fearful, humiliating battles with an immobile bike sloooowly tipping over, she also probably though I was too drunk to handle the immobile bike. I felt like attacking her, just to be sure.
I didn't though. Sometimes that's the only difference between me and a serial killer, that I don't, but that's all that really matters. That, and the fact that someone who can't handle a fucking immobile bike probably does not make an amazing serial killer.
Please do appreciate the wry cynicism in my voice here. I'm trying to deal with the fact that because I sloooowly tipped over on an immobile (fucking) bike, I'm going to be extra terrified for a couple of days, or weeks, or months. Last time I quit for several years. God I was such a whimp.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Memories blur together and if I kept a diary at the time (I kept one sporadically) it's not here, so I have to estimate.
Half my life ago I was in 4th grade, no? Kids older than me by two years were scary adults with mysterious minds that should be avoided, because I figured they were smarted than me somehow but couldn't decide how, and adults were npc:s in the mmorpg called life, and they were only there so you could figure out how to manipulate them into giving you the quest item. Most of the time they were no help at all and just repeated inane conversation-lines.
Half my life ago is when boys started treating me as "girl" instead of "person" and I fell into a depression over that that lasts to this day. It's when my rivalry with my Nemesis hit its peak, and when I lost basically all of my friends, although part of it was because I rather was alone than hung out with their stupid new friends. I have one friend left from then, and I would give my life for him.
Half my life ago is probably when my ugly little first stories came to be in text-form. They had existed in my head long before that, but writing was too much of a pain before Computer made its entrance into my life. They were mostly plagiarisms and stolen characters, but gotta start somewhere. It's also when I began learning English.
I fought with my brother, no double there's some scribbled "I hate my brother" somewhere on a wall or piece of paper from then. There are many of those. It's also somewhere around this time that my mother got cancer the second time, but I know that only because I've been told; I have no memories of that. None, except that dad brought home our cat, my cat, then because he thought mom would like it. Other than that it's all a big blank.
Ah my cat. I miss him like crazy. I'd kill for the chance to go back in time and have him sleep on my face one more time, us breathing each others breaths. Now I feel like crying. Bye.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Sometimes when I write here, I think, this is really egocentric. Like, the most self-centered thing ever. I'm writing whatever shit is on my brain, and expect other people to read it. Why would I do that? Who the hell do I think I am? I don't even write about something relevant, like human rights or war or Britney Spear's newest meltdown.
Then I think, if people don't want to read, they can leave.
That would admittedly leave me without readers, worst case scenario. It would make me a person writing only to myself, which sounds kind of sad... but I just realized that that was what I was doing before blogs existed.
Current shit on my brain: want a hug. Not just any hug. The hug. Also, want my Dong Bang Shin Ki concert DVD. I hope it ships really quickly. I let Sara and Kat have the tv for an entire day with their concert, quiet as a mouse, so that when it comes, I can conscience-free demand Kat to extend me the same courtesy. I am such a scheming little... ^^
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Just watched The Nines, because I wanted to see Ryan Reynolds in a movie where he has actual lines and does some actual acting. It has bad scores on IMDB, and those are earned, it's not a good movie. But I was impressed with Reynolds.
The flaws of the movie I choose to blame on a shaky script, that would have made a better book, and repeatedly bad choices of camera angles. Also I hated Hope Davis, who is the second leading lady, and this movie really only has three roles in it. So yeah.
Not that I saw this movie because it would be good, so on to what I actually cared about. Basically, the movie is split in three parts and Reynolds play different people in those parts. And I was impressed, because those are really different people. The small things people do, subconscious gestures or way of speech or the way they move their faces, actors keep those throughout roles to varying degrees and with varying results. Worst examples that comes to mind would be Hugh Grant and Will Smith, best example Johnny Depp. I'm sure Reynolds have those too - everyone does - but in this movie he managed to get a very impressive amount of them under control. I felt like he was different people, and I tend to give actors a hard time about that.
I'm going to stop here before I repeat the word "impressive" too many times and embarrass myself.
I have good hopes for Deadpool. But sorry, Ryan, no matter how esthetically pleasing your face may be, and however good you are at making sad faces, I will still kill someone if you get to keep it in that movie.
Oh, oh, and also, I retract any previous statement I might have made of Jake Gyllenhaal as the Prince of Persia. In fact, I regret them and apologize for them. He was prefect. Although he did make the baby-face (you know, the eyebrows go up, the lower lip comes out, eyes bear a striking resemblance to a 90yo lady about to cry, and he goes from unconventional hunk to baby bloodhound) at least once, the presence of Arms and Cool Acrobatics and also New Fancy Accent (yes I'm a sucker for voices) saved his charm roll. Someone probably told him that pouting and making puppy-eyes isn't befitting of a war-prince of the Persian empire. Thank you, that person.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
"What is the difference between a hydrocarbon and an alcohol?"
"Hydrocarbons don't cause car crashes."
On a completely different note:
Korean and Japanese are apparantly a "close-surface languages" pair. What does that mean? Swedish and Norwegian weren't taken up as examples, while Hindi - Urdu and Indonesian - Malayan were, so is it about pronounciation? Grammar? Whatever it is, I have yet to find a single word in Korean that is the same as one in Japanese, or even seems vaguely similar. I am admittedly not an expert on either language, far from, but considering I'm studying their most basic words, like "hello" or "cat" or "I am", then... if only the advanced words like, I dunno, "exoskeleton" are the same, I wouldn't call them similar languages. "No" in Japanese means "yes" in Korean, for crying out loud. Maybe it is that they have approximately the same sounds in their language? But so does Swedish - Japanese, right?
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Search the endless for the desires inside your head. Let the reflected light of the unexplored skies shine through you. Absorb it, grow a part of the air itself. Take another deep, filling breath and let go of your fears. Feel the clouds gently touch your skin, like the fingertips of a lover.
And be reborn the perfect creature you were looking for. Become what you were meant to be. Return to the world surface with all of your ambitions embodied in you. The world where everyone wears the skin of what they fear over the true form that they have forgotten.
Temptation may come your way, but pay it no heed. Make your path, like all creatures must. Cut down the shrubbery, keep the flowers you like. There is no rest for the imperfect. Respect and honor is what you make it. Perfection, is what you make it. Try it. Taste it. Feel it. Turn your face up to the skies and breathe it.
Life is too short. Rather be all that you can be than run from it.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Swim down into the deep seas. Take your last breath and plummet downwards, listen to the silence and your own pulse, feel the water flow between your fingers. It does not fight you, although it might feel like it is pushing you up. It is only your own body, the air in your lungs. The deep dark does not repel. It engulfs.
Search the endless for the fears inside your head. Let the pressure of the unexplored depths harden you. Absorb the darkness, grow a part of the silence. Let go of the air in your lungs, and sink. Feel the cold of the ocean envelop you, like the warmth of a womb.
And be reborn the monster you were looking for. Become what you were meant to be. Return to the surface world with all of your fears embodied in you. The world where everyone wears the skin of what they should be over the true form that they try to forget.
Darkness cannot reach you as little as sunlight can burn the sun. Make your path, like all monsters do. Cut down the shrubbery, keep the flowers you like. There is no shame among monsters. Respect and honor is what you make it. Monsters, are what you make them. Try it. Taste it. Feel it. Smile with bright white fangs in the dark.
Life is too short. Rather be the monster than run from it.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
And so it has begun, once again.
Sun and heat and wind and bugs and clouds and rain and grass and dirt and gravel and leaves and cold and light and stuff.
Dogshit and catpee and birdcrap and mosquitos and beetles and flies and worms and fish and mud and cows and horses and ugly little dogs, beavers and cranes and birdsong at 5 A.M.
Shorts and sandals and sunbathing and swimming in dirty lakes, hot sand and sticky sand and pine needles and picnics and blankets and grilling and midsummer and the Swedish population spontaneously lobotomizing away why the fuck we built houses in the first place.
Shit and crap and living bugs blowing into anything you try to eat outside, but why the flying fuck would you eat it outside in the first place.
Dead rats rotting in the sun beneath quivering, damp, choking air.
Unless if by blessing the temperature manages to hit that magic perfect where it's not too hot, not too cold, and nobody whines about either. When it might be bearable. But then someone's bugging the shitting crapmonkies out of me trying to force me outside by sheer power of Joker-smiling retardedness. There are starving children! Melting glaciers! War! Turn your attention to something else than my relative location to roofs, please. Why not to this sun-thing, that you can't shut up about.
Hello and gtfo.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Someone I know once wrote a poem about a lobster being cooked. Either because she felt like it, or because she ran out of epic depth and philosophical bullshit, I'm not sure. I was contemplating this on an especially boring class of mine, and produced this:
Swiftly spinning scissor blades
Wasp and willow swiftly wades
through the swaying, whispering grass
begging to be saved.
Many many morning suns
huffing, puffing, having fun
as the spinning scissor blades
and their engine runs.
But wasp and willow shed a tear
and grass is quivering with fear
Noises loud and frightening as
spinning scissors shear.
The thought of sharp objects did lighten up the boredom slightly.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Somebody kick me, I want to feel pain.
Though the truth is I play this game too well
and the words never leave my lips.
I could swear on my feelings but never admit
that I wish you could read my mind.
I writhe and I scream and I cry inside
and I wonder how it can be
That at the end of the day, it matters not anyway
that the only who sees is me.
Somebody kick me, I want to feel pain.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Too much, too many, a waterfall of little transparent beads, spheres, marbles not made of earth or clay or stone, solid until you touch them
As they are to your eyes, such are thoughts to your mind, until words and letters, print and syllables, catch them, grasp them, carry them out into the world like spirits made children through a woman's body
And yet so many pass you by, so many little beads fall silently into oblivion, to the endless depths of the darkness of your mind, where the waterfall scatters them, shatters them, and turns them into a slow-flowing river, silent, vast, persistent
That short moment they pass before you, though, and you know that they are there although your eyes cannot see them, although all you see is the strength and might of the waterfall -
- that is the only moment they have anything in common with emotion.
A shadow passing silently over endless fields, the spread wings of an enormous, invisible creature blocking out the sun, that is what emotions are
Sometimes passing so swiftly you never knew it was there, like a whale passing you beneath the sea unnoticed, or sometimes covering the entire lands in shadow until it is the only thing on your mind
Waterfalls fall in the shadow of this creature the same as grass and stone and sea does, and the many tiny little beads, both the ones caught and the ones forgotten, seem insignificant -
but it is not the shadow that sustains us, or the world around us. It is the sun it blocks out, and it is the water.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Been reading that old Swedish book again. It makes my head come up with verses in old Swedish, which is by the way much much more fun than modern Swedish. Here's a poem/riddle:
Skulle ni av någon anledning stå utan sällskap
skall jag alltid finnas vid eder sida
Och den enda gång jag skall lämna eder
voro då ni befinner eder i goda vänners sällskap
ty ingenting missunnar jag eder
Too easy, I think, so perhaps more of a poem.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
It's difficult being angry. Logic very easily picks anger apart, and makes you see how ineffective it is, and points out all the little things that make the anger silly. Justified, righteous anger is something terrible, an unstoppable force. But anger is very, very seldom justified and righteous. Nobody is innocent, nobody is perfect. So anger melts away and hides in a shadowy corner, beaten like a dog for its rashness, with the many lessons of compassion and respect and understanding wielded as weapons leaving deep, ugly scars on its skin. There it waits, rests. Whispers simple syllables dripping of acid, watching with revenge-hungry eyes. And what was once a simple dog with a love for chasing rabbits, becomes a deformed monster with milky-white eyes, greatly enjoying the hunt, the strike, the kill. Into darkness, becoming darkness.
Can I speak of anger? Can I express anger? Can I make poems of anger? No. Do not let the beast out of its cage, compassion says to me. Do not let it bury its claws in you, respect advices. Do not trust it with anything, least of all your passion, says logic, gleefully snapping the whip of understanding. Do not let others see it. Do not let others hear of it. For that which is your greatest strength is also your greatest weakness. It has never been more true than in this case.
Leave it there, in the shadows. When the time comes that you really need it, it will strike down your foes with razor sharp claws and let you stare at them with its eyes, its strength infecting your blood. And it will be justified, it will be righteous, and it will be unstoppable.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Blogger suddenly backstabbed me with 1.5 line distance like:
this. Why? It ruins my poetry, and looks ridiculous.
But on to (now redicilously looking) poetry:
1. The loaded anger of many little simple syllables.
Words and faces
clothes and places
brain and flesh and matter
aunts and nieces
staged fashion disaster
Great ones snoring
middle-men are fretting
All these choices
knowingly are letting
us stay comfortably dumb.
2. A "close my eyes and write fluffy stuff" moment.
If I saw a butterfly I could imagine
that it came from far away with fateful flaps of bright blue wings
that it would land on my doorstep
and spell messages in hidden languages in the snow.
If I saw a butterfly I could imagine
that beneath its many insect eyes lay greater minds
that it would sprinkle bright blue dust upon my eyelids
and give me dreams of greater worlds.
If I saw a butterfly I could imagine
that its wings were the transformed veil of a priestess of the sky
that there were plans and life and fate behind its presence
and that would change my plans and life and fate.
It makes me wonder:
if you see a butterfly
and only see a butterfly
is it prettier than my butterfly?
Monday, February 15, 2010
I'm in love with moments.
Like the moment when a story comes together. When I've written forty pages not knowing if I can keep up with myself, and that big idea hits, that perfect combination of events that tie everything together into a neat, perfect bundle conveying exactly everything I wanted. When a character speaks to me, through me, and I can see it all clear. When the next breath I take feel like I take it through his or her lungs, breathing in the air of his or her world, and for that moment I live that life, that truth.
Like the moment you're drunk and you're dancing and a random person dances into the ring of friends, and extends a hand and you realize it's for you, it's at you, it is happening in this moment. In that moment that person is the world, although you've never met before and wouldn't mind to never meet again, and the world is in your hand.
Like the moment at the end of a long day, a long chain of events you're not sure you like, one of those days when things have happened all by themselves and what you wanted went too easy and what you didn't want crept up and stabbed you in the back. One of those days when you don't know if it was good or bad, if in a week or a year you'll see it as the first day in a long chain of events that saved or damned you. When you feel the weight of the world and the shadow of fate looming over you. The moment when you're tired and worried and someone does or says something - just the right thing, and you realize that it isn't that important. That everything will be fine, that nothing is ever that important. That your world will go on, whether you're saved or damned, and that you know you'll never fall completely.
Like the moment I walk down the street and I notice some woman, and I don't know why, but I notice her, specifically, and her legs and the way she walks. My head fills and swells with wrath and envy and every color in the world grows brighter.
Or the moment when darkness falls and you feel empowered, like your eyes are glowing in the dark like the eyes of a demon.
The moment in someone else's presence, when you feel you know everything, and they know everything, and your everythings are in harmony like two images on translucent paper laid on top of each other to reveal the true workings of the universe.
Or the moment you walk past a mirror and realize you're having a good day.
Like the moment you realize you've screwed up bad, and everything is bound to fall on your head like an endlessly high bookshelf of crap, and you know you should be worried, but your heart says "fuck it! :D"
Perhaps every other moment in life is really there to build up to these moments, like a good dinner is so much more appreciated if you have to work yourself hungry first. But I try to live in these moments, not for them. After all, a moment only lasts for a moment's time.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
An artist finds inspiration in all things. In this case, inspiration was sitting in a boring class, and my current teacher's sweater. And also that I thought I should draw female monsters as well.
Not happy with the head. Could have done much more fun and scary things with it. But it was done in pen, so once drawn could not be changed.
Totally sexy, right?
More monsters coming up later...
Monday, February 1, 2010
"I shot him in the ass! With one of these! ...what? I did!"
The only thing wrong is that there's too little of him. When Deadpool's teammates try to wring his neck going "don't you ever fucking shut up", he should have blabbered on so much that we the audience, being non-homicidal normal people, want to go "yes God finally! Do it!"
I'm still drawing monsters. Here's the latest little random creation. It's very vanilla but I was just keeping my hands busy while I was talking on the phone.
I erased very little, actually. Kinda proud of that, even if it's just a sketchy thingamabob. I also hate his other arm. That's why it's outside the frame. "I totally ran out of paper... uh monitor! I did!"
And eh, his ears are under the bandana. I, uh, kinda forgot about them.
*EDIT* Please click it? His mouth looks really weird zoomed out like this -_-