Dunno what this is, or where it came from, but if someone does make a game from it, I think I'd like it.
Also, another thing to distract me from studying; BlankIt (a webcomic). Great art and not too much text, so quick to read and fun. And not that I'm a pedantic browser of the gigantic webcomic world, but I haven't really seen anything like it this far. And have you noticed that reading the comments for webcomics are as fun (and somethimes more fun) than reading the comic in itself? Not this one though. Despite the infinite lolness of internet voyeurs, the comic does manage to one-up it most of the time.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Between my mail (that is my starting page), Loverboy's comment, the Nightflyer's dream, Athela's recollections, and my roomie chasing a thieving cat around the apartment, I have completely forgotten what deep wisdoms I was going to share with you when I opened my browser. Yay.
My mail also told me that the universe has set its sight on teaching me that effort and outcome are completely unrelated, which I would have thought a stupid lesson, but if that's the way the world really is... With other words, I got a VG on my Grammar test. I should be happy, but deep down a big churning "what!?!" distracted me from the joy and celebration.
And don't forget, tomorrow's Mother's Day!
My mail also told me that the universe has set its sight on teaching me that effort and outcome are completely unrelated, which I would have thought a stupid lesson, but if that's the way the world really is... With other words, I got a VG on my Grammar test. I should be happy, but deep down a big churning "what!?!" distracted me from the joy and celebration.
And don't forget, tomorrow's Mother's Day!
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Artificial Intelligence
There are so many things I wonder that begin something like this:
I wonder what people would do if X happened,
or
I wonder if it would be possible to make people do X if you did X,
or
I wonder if Love's school politics would actually work on kids,
and many more like it. But human experiments, aside from being a tad bit difficult to organize without time, money and say, expertise, are highly immoral and make people upset. And I see the sense of this.
But! If we actually manage to create artificial intelligence on the same level as the human mind, then we can do all these experiments and finally find out what...
... wait.
Dammit.
I wonder what people would do if X happened,
or
I wonder if it would be possible to make people do X if you did X,
or
I wonder if Love's school politics would actually work on kids,
and many more like it. But human experiments, aside from being a tad bit difficult to organize without time, money and say, expertise, are highly immoral and make people upset. And I see the sense of this.
But! If we actually manage to create artificial intelligence on the same level as the human mind, then we can do all these experiments and finally find out what...
... wait.
Dammit.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
The Single Mind
Late night, friends just left after a friend-intense day. Been feeling tired and uninspired and uninspiring this week. It's been the kind of week when one goes around with the intense feeling of that something should somehow be different, and a vague idea of that that something is oneself. Maybe it's chemical imbalance, hormones, weather, maybe my star is in perfect alignment with the moon or my totem animal has had an accident in bed.
Yet I don't want to sleep. Bad times like these I'm always most reluctant to go to bed, and I don't sleep as well when I do. Maybe, like a parent having lost his child in the forest, I cannot go to rest before I find that something that is missing. I wonder if not getting immersed in something, forgetting everything and being able to stop staying on my toes, might give me back the strenght I need to search properly. But that gets harder with every year, month and day I gain. Like a clock ticking down towards a time when there will be no sleep. Or maybe eternal sleep.
I hear soft music coming from somewhere far away, and my first thought is that it's the chanting of an Imam.
Yet I don't want to sleep. Bad times like these I'm always most reluctant to go to bed, and I don't sleep as well when I do. Maybe, like a parent having lost his child in the forest, I cannot go to rest before I find that something that is missing. I wonder if not getting immersed in something, forgetting everything and being able to stop staying on my toes, might give me back the strenght I need to search properly. But that gets harder with every year, month and day I gain. Like a clock ticking down towards a time when there will be no sleep. Or maybe eternal sleep.
I hear soft music coming from somewhere far away, and my first thought is that it's the chanting of an Imam.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Swenglish
I will always remember the time my mother tried to tell our guests from the Netherlands that it was carrot cake she was offering them. (Very tasty carrot cake.) She thought long and hard and then declared it "parrot cake".
In that spirit, I found these other funny quotes from when swedes have found the wrong words.
And I remember I read recently somewhere; What do you think a swede means when he says; "There are a lot of easter-lilies in my rabbit"?
... and the cat just climbed my shoulder (like a parrot) and is licking my hair fevrently... -_-
In that spirit, I found these other funny quotes from when swedes have found the wrong words.
And I remember I read recently somewhere; What do you think a swede means when he says; "There are a lot of easter-lilies in my rabbit"?
... and the cat just climbed my shoulder (like a parrot) and is licking my hair fevrently... -_-
Thursday, May 14, 2009
"Dear Diary"
I should start a diary.
Every entry would begin; "This is what I would tell you today."
I would write it in a way so that I kept the recipient in mind, as if it was a conversation, or a monologue.
And who are "you"? One and many. Known and unknown. Named and unnamed. Flesh and concept. One day I imagine you might become one, and known, and named. But maybe not. For now, you're all these things, and more.
"You" are what makes me not alone.
Thank you.
Every entry would begin; "This is what I would tell you today."
I would write it in a way so that I kept the recipient in mind, as if it was a conversation, or a monologue.
And who are "you"? One and many. Known and unknown. Named and unnamed. Flesh and concept. One day I imagine you might become one, and known, and named. But maybe not. For now, you're all these things, and more.
"You" are what makes me not alone.
Thank you.
Monday, May 11, 2009
The felt knowledge
I want to know the world.
See, the only way to understand people is to know them, slowly, over time. Seeing them in different situations, learning when they lie so that you can get to the truth. Peeling off one layer at a time until you one day realize that in any given situation you can predict, no, you can feel what this person would do. And then the deed is done. You know someone.
Normal social situations are stressful because I have no whish, no desire whatsoever to reduce people to what they seem in such shallow come-togethers. In these situations they are merely part of the decor, obstacles that I interact with with the same enthusiasm as I interact with a toaster. Not until I know I will meet them often or have met them often, do I translate them into humans and begin breaking them down into what they really are.
I can't know everyone. I wish I could, I wish I had the time and energy to meet and know and break down and understand every single human; it is fascinating, and an exhilirating pleasure to realize that I have reached the goal with even just one. And also always a disappointment because the objects of my fascination never seem to understand the greatness of it. But it is great. And it's impossible. So I pick them carefully, like choosing the right book from the library, and some are chosen for me. And the rest I have to leave as decor, as toasters.
Such a waste of humanity and me.
See, the only way to understand people is to know them, slowly, over time. Seeing them in different situations, learning when they lie so that you can get to the truth. Peeling off one layer at a time until you one day realize that in any given situation you can predict, no, you can feel what this person would do. And then the deed is done. You know someone.
Normal social situations are stressful because I have no whish, no desire whatsoever to reduce people to what they seem in such shallow come-togethers. In these situations they are merely part of the decor, obstacles that I interact with with the same enthusiasm as I interact with a toaster. Not until I know I will meet them often or have met them often, do I translate them into humans and begin breaking them down into what they really are.
I can't know everyone. I wish I could, I wish I had the time and energy to meet and know and break down and understand every single human; it is fascinating, and an exhilirating pleasure to realize that I have reached the goal with even just one. And also always a disappointment because the objects of my fascination never seem to understand the greatness of it. But it is great. And it's impossible. So I pick them carefully, like choosing the right book from the library, and some are chosen for me. And the rest I have to leave as decor, as toasters.
Such a waste of humanity and me.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Scuttling
I seem to be making a habit of not blogging, but it's as if time is disappearing. Generally, also, truth is that time is disappearing. According to our concept of time as a linear path, I have statistically now put 25% behind me, at the very least. My life expectancy can be seen as slightly on the good side of neutral, since I don't smoke or drink and keep a reasonable weight, but there are things I could do to increase the odds, like excercise more and stop abusing salt.
And I'm just a student. Once I get a job, more time will disappear. A partner, a bigger place, maybe a pet, a kid... where's the time for all this? Other things would have to go. Games. Maybe writing. Visiting faraway people. I would buy shit wherever it's closest, because it's more important to save time than money, but with money one can save time. There's never enough of either.
Feeling like I have an abundance of time is maybe the biggest luxury. No stress, nothing poking at you, no sense of wasting time that you could have done something better with.
Where am I going with this? Well, that's just the question. Where am I going? What's waiting for me down the end of that path, and is it really worth all this scuttling about?
And I'm just a student. Once I get a job, more time will disappear. A partner, a bigger place, maybe a pet, a kid... where's the time for all this? Other things would have to go. Games. Maybe writing. Visiting faraway people. I would buy shit wherever it's closest, because it's more important to save time than money, but with money one can save time. There's never enough of either.
Feeling like I have an abundance of time is maybe the biggest luxury. No stress, nothing poking at you, no sense of wasting time that you could have done something better with.
Where am I going with this? Well, that's just the question. Where am I going? What's waiting for me down the end of that path, and is it really worth all this scuttling about?
Sunday, April 26, 2009
An Answer
I read ShadowWolf's last post and was going to write a comment, but the comment grew into more of a kind of blogpost of its own, and I realized it was something I wanted to share not just with ShadowWolf, but my friends, and most importantly I think, the entire world. So there, exhibitionism ahoy, sorry SW. This is what I wanted to say about what you wrote:
Logical people like you and me, we feel that when we do something haphazardly or badly, the world would notice and punish us. This is how our brains are programmed; this is what makes sense. But the world doesn't. I've been so frustrated so many times because I've fucked up, I've been lazy, I've done wrong, and absolutely nothing happens. On the contrary, because we have some skills we consider basic and completely bland but that in all honesty not all people have, we are often praised for things when we would in fact deserve to be reprimanded. And this fucks with our heads, be sure that it does. It turns our worlds upside down, and gives a feeling of, what now? If it's this easy, then why try? If no one can appreciate the difference between something thrown together overnight and something I've put my soul in, then why do it?
Several people have addressed this before. I've read texts about it written by teachers, psychologists and the occational layman like me. We expect the world to give us the feedback we need. But those of us who do well, whether just above average or true geniuses, are expected to take care of ourselves. At least here in Sweden. And some do. Some manage to give themselves the motivation, or they find that some things are worth doing for the pleasure of doing it right. For me, that is writing fiction. I could spend my life writing a single text, simply for the pleasure of doing it perfectly. Sadly, that doesn't apply to anything else in my life, and thus, I've always been sleeping and cheating and lazying my way through school. No one's punished me, but of course it has consequences, like bad studying skills and difficulties motivating myself with anything, as well as a very unclear sense of what I actually want or not, since I never had to work for anything. But anyone who's read psychology knows that that kind of slow-acting consequences score very low on the scale of feedback that actually teach us behavior.
Some people know how to handle us. There are other us:es in grown up teacher-version out there. I have a strong resentment towards them when I meet them, because they actually force me to make an effort, but in the end it is good for me. The times I don't just roll over and give up as soon as an obstacle appears, even if I know I could get over it. But I wish there were more, and I wish I'd met them sooner, and I wish someone had spoken to me about this when I was younger.
My advice is as simple as it is difficult; confront the teacher. Question why it is good, admit you put no effort in it, ask if that shows. And if he says it doesn't ask why. By asking you show you actually want to know and am prepared for critizism. And it might be a wake-up call for him to keep a keener eye on you. But it's hard, because it means making an effort to make others expect more, and for me at least, that's willing suicide according to my inner instincts. No more lazying.
The second reason to do that is that, like a friend told me, sometimes we think things about ourselves that we subconsiously project onto the surroundings. I believe people always see my limp very clearly. I believe people think I'm too fat, and I believe people think I dress badly, and I believe people think I speak too low and unclear. If you pick out the "people think" part, you might have the actual truth. I don't know. But sometimes, we believe something so strongly that we're convinced everyone else thinks the same. So confront him, tell him you want the critizism, question how he thinks you could possibly grow as a writer if people hold back on you. Tell him you're not shy and fragile. Show him what you expect of him. If he can live up to it, he might. If he can't, well, there's a lot of teachers that can't, which is sad, but has to be lived with.
All this, because we expect or want people to understand us. Someone told me when I was writing instruction pamphlets; assume people are idiots and spell it out. Idiots are nice and gullible and frustrating as hell, but they can be educated. And if they're still doing it wrong after you've explained everything clearly, then they're not idiots; they're ignorant. Which is like being an idiot without the nice and gullible.
Logical people like you and me, we feel that when we do something haphazardly or badly, the world would notice and punish us. This is how our brains are programmed; this is what makes sense. But the world doesn't. I've been so frustrated so many times because I've fucked up, I've been lazy, I've done wrong, and absolutely nothing happens. On the contrary, because we have some skills we consider basic and completely bland but that in all honesty not all people have, we are often praised for things when we would in fact deserve to be reprimanded. And this fucks with our heads, be sure that it does. It turns our worlds upside down, and gives a feeling of, what now? If it's this easy, then why try? If no one can appreciate the difference between something thrown together overnight and something I've put my soul in, then why do it?
Several people have addressed this before. I've read texts about it written by teachers, psychologists and the occational layman like me. We expect the world to give us the feedback we need. But those of us who do well, whether just above average or true geniuses, are expected to take care of ourselves. At least here in Sweden. And some do. Some manage to give themselves the motivation, or they find that some things are worth doing for the pleasure of doing it right. For me, that is writing fiction. I could spend my life writing a single text, simply for the pleasure of doing it perfectly. Sadly, that doesn't apply to anything else in my life, and thus, I've always been sleeping and cheating and lazying my way through school. No one's punished me, but of course it has consequences, like bad studying skills and difficulties motivating myself with anything, as well as a very unclear sense of what I actually want or not, since I never had to work for anything. But anyone who's read psychology knows that that kind of slow-acting consequences score very low on the scale of feedback that actually teach us behavior.
Some people know how to handle us. There are other us:es in grown up teacher-version out there. I have a strong resentment towards them when I meet them, because they actually force me to make an effort, but in the end it is good for me. The times I don't just roll over and give up as soon as an obstacle appears, even if I know I could get over it. But I wish there were more, and I wish I'd met them sooner, and I wish someone had spoken to me about this when I was younger.
My advice is as simple as it is difficult; confront the teacher. Question why it is good, admit you put no effort in it, ask if that shows. And if he says it doesn't ask why. By asking you show you actually want to know and am prepared for critizism. And it might be a wake-up call for him to keep a keener eye on you. But it's hard, because it means making an effort to make others expect more, and for me at least, that's willing suicide according to my inner instincts. No more lazying.
The second reason to do that is that, like a friend told me, sometimes we think things about ourselves that we subconsiously project onto the surroundings. I believe people always see my limp very clearly. I believe people think I'm too fat, and I believe people think I dress badly, and I believe people think I speak too low and unclear. If you pick out the "people think" part, you might have the actual truth. I don't know. But sometimes, we believe something so strongly that we're convinced everyone else thinks the same. So confront him, tell him you want the critizism, question how he thinks you could possibly grow as a writer if people hold back on you. Tell him you're not shy and fragile. Show him what you expect of him. If he can live up to it, he might. If he can't, well, there's a lot of teachers that can't, which is sad, but has to be lived with.
All this, because we expect or want people to understand us. Someone told me when I was writing instruction pamphlets; assume people are idiots and spell it out. Idiots are nice and gullible and frustrating as hell, but they can be educated. And if they're still doing it wrong after you've explained everything clearly, then they're not idiots; they're ignorant. Which is like being an idiot without the nice and gullible.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Update xxyy
Been a while, huh. My life lately has been food, Team Fortress 2 and the fascinating Left4Dead. I seem to have forgotten this blog, which is odd, don't think I've ever done that before.
Today is sunny sunny. I'll try for a tan this year, but I say that every year. Sunbathing is so very very boring, and the sun is so very very warm and uncomfortable. It's the same with the sun as with relationships, alcohol and a lot of other things. I don't actually like it or want it, but some part of me that belongs to the great hive-mind of humanity does want it and like it because it thinks it's supposed to. So there's some kind of drive to go after it, although I know I'll be disappointed.
I'm dieting. Bad stuff. I'll go through with it because I've said I would go through with it, and once I've done that, no matter if I lost any weight or not, I'll have a huge bag of chips. What dieting is good for, however, is erasing any shard of guilt or shame for shoving candy down my throat, because being without it has me realizing that yes, it is worth it.
But I'll try making diet-ok orange mousse tomorrow, and maybe that'll put a stop to my unproportionate cravings for Euroshopper chips.
Today is sunny sunny. I'll try for a tan this year, but I say that every year. Sunbathing is so very very boring, and the sun is so very very warm and uncomfortable. It's the same with the sun as with relationships, alcohol and a lot of other things. I don't actually like it or want it, but some part of me that belongs to the great hive-mind of humanity does want it and like it because it thinks it's supposed to. So there's some kind of drive to go after it, although I know I'll be disappointed.
I'm dieting. Bad stuff. I'll go through with it because I've said I would go through with it, and once I've done that, no matter if I lost any weight or not, I'll have a huge bag of chips. What dieting is good for, however, is erasing any shard of guilt or shame for shoving candy down my throat, because being without it has me realizing that yes, it is worth it.
But I'll try making diet-ok orange mousse tomorrow, and maybe that'll put a stop to my unproportionate cravings for Euroshopper chips.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
A Simple Joy
One of my interests that rarely comes into play anymore is that of reading; books I mean then, because I read comics all the time, and I think we would need a different word for that. Because it's different from reading, yet on the same value level. Anyway. Books is another of the subjects where I rarely say anything; like with boys, and my writing, and also schoolwork, which often makes the sharing of such things difficult. Communication is rather a necessity of sharing, sadly. I think I choose not to speak because sometimes more information is less good. Sometimes sharing things with words break them. So I bide my time looking for a better way, sometimes it shows up.
I'm just filling out this blogpost to be of reasonable length. What I wanted to write here was:
Lee Child - the Jack Reacher novels.
Simple as that. I could write a 5-page essay about why or how or what, but I think you understand.
I'm just filling out this blogpost to be of reasonable length. What I wanted to write here was:
Lee Child - the Jack Reacher novels.
Simple as that. I could write a 5-page essay about why or how or what, but I think you understand.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
The Alphabet Song
Time to break form and do something silly. I get sudden inspiration during some of my walks, sometimes for the best poems ever, sometimes things I forget soon afterwards, and sometimes... sometimes things like these come to me without any effort... :P
The Alphabet Song
A is for Anarchy,
B it is for Blood,
C is for Carrie White,
D the Devil's hood.
E is for Extacy,
F is Famine's breath,
G stands for Griseliness,
and H's the last in Death.
I is for Eye sore,
oh, I got that wrong
J is for Jabberwook,
oh, what a silly song.
K's first in Killing spree,
L's a Lamia,
M is the Madman's dream,
of Necrophilia.
O is for Opium,
P is Pedophile,
Q has gone out of town,
in R for Reaver style.
S is for Cyanide,
oh, I got that wrong,
T is for Terrorist,
oh, what a silly song.
U is the Underworld,
V for Vatican,
W is so very Wrong,
and X is all that's banned.
Y is for Why, why why,
oh, I got that wrong,
Z is for inbred Zwine,
it's time to end this song.
The Alphabet Song
A is for Anarchy,
B it is for Blood,
C is for Carrie White,
D the Devil's hood.
E is for Extacy,
F is Famine's breath,
G stands for Griseliness,
and H's the last in Death.
I is for Eye sore,
oh, I got that wrong
J is for Jabberwook,
oh, what a silly song.
K's first in Killing spree,
L's a Lamia,
M is the Madman's dream,
of Necrophilia.
O is for Opium,
P is Pedophile,
Q has gone out of town,
in R for Reaver style.
S is for Cyanide,
oh, I got that wrong,
T is for Terrorist,
oh, what a silly song.
U is the Underworld,
V for Vatican,
W is so very Wrong,
and X is all that's banned.
Y is for Why, why why,
oh, I got that wrong,
Z is for inbred Zwine,
it's time to end this song.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
The Butterfly of Troy
I've had lots of thoughts to blog about, but without even a hint of easy access to a computer those get lost in the vastness of space and time.
Watched Troy last night. It's not quite as painful as watching Tristram and Isolde was but that moment when Hector walks out to meet Achilles, or the moment when Paris says "Father, burn it!" about the Greek's wooden horse, it still cuts to my bones. Because I'm a person who likes to fix things. And to watch others' mistakes, to know the humongous consequences of those mistakes, pains me.
In the case of Troy they mostly make those mistakes because of honor or because of religion (except selfish Achilles, who does them of stupidity), and then they're easier to bear. In Romeo and Juliet they make them because of youth and love, and it makes me disgusted with them. In Tristram and Isolde they make them at the wicked twist of chance, because of the tiniest circumstances and the goodwill of some, selfishness of others. Because of humanity and nature, you could say. So I watched until the pain got too great and I turned it off. I had to. My mind was imploding of sadness, and of fear for those tiny, tiny circumstances being the founding ground of life-altering decisions. The flapping of butterfly wings in Africa, that becomes the storm here.
I see these butterflies, and at times, the pain of their consequences becomes too great for one mind to handle. So I close my eyes. But the butterflies keep flapping whether I see them or not... and they're lucky to not have the brain tissue to care about the responsibility.
Watched Troy last night. It's not quite as painful as watching Tristram and Isolde was but that moment when Hector walks out to meet Achilles, or the moment when Paris says "Father, burn it!" about the Greek's wooden horse, it still cuts to my bones. Because I'm a person who likes to fix things. And to watch others' mistakes, to know the humongous consequences of those mistakes, pains me.
In the case of Troy they mostly make those mistakes because of honor or because of religion (except selfish Achilles, who does them of stupidity), and then they're easier to bear. In Romeo and Juliet they make them because of youth and love, and it makes me disgusted with them. In Tristram and Isolde they make them at the wicked twist of chance, because of the tiniest circumstances and the goodwill of some, selfishness of others. Because of humanity and nature, you could say. So I watched until the pain got too great and I turned it off. I had to. My mind was imploding of sadness, and of fear for those tiny, tiny circumstances being the founding ground of life-altering decisions. The flapping of butterfly wings in Africa, that becomes the storm here.
I see these butterflies, and at times, the pain of their consequences becomes too great for one mind to handle. So I close my eyes. But the butterflies keep flapping whether I see them or not... and they're lucky to not have the brain tissue to care about the responsibility.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Picking up on K
Watched the documentary about dog breeding that Kristin has linked. And let me tell you. If The Sims didn't convince you, this is actual, real life proof that humans, on no level, should ever be given the powers of the gods. That show-version of German Shepherd isn't a German Shepherd, it's a real, man-made mutant freak of nature, and it has to suffer from it. And give me a gun and let me shoot the bitch that thinks putting down healthy puppies because they miss the right fur mutation on their backs is perfectly sensible. Mutations are mutations for a reason; they have no evolutionary advantage so they never become the standard. Until we start fucking with them and produce animals who by all rights should all be put down at birth out of compassion. No. Give me a working dog or a mix.
I saw the awesomest dog, on that note. Head shape and tail like a (healthy) shepherd or a spitz, (sharp, I mean) but size like a Saint Bernhard. And white. I wonder what it was? It looked very fluffy and cozy. If those are mixes or sensible animals I would want one. Although it would probably fill up an apartment real good :P
I saw the awesomest dog, on that note. Head shape and tail like a (healthy) shepherd or a spitz, (sharp, I mean) but size like a Saint Bernhard. And white. I wonder what it was? It looked very fluffy and cozy. If those are mixes or sensible animals I would want one. Although it would probably fill up an apartment real good :P
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Art; the extension of Faith
Dance. Like ripples of water through the emotions of the human body. Like expressing the universe with the flickering of a wrist, with the tilt of a shoulder. The language of the body perfected into the language of music, and ultimately, to the beat of a universal heart, the heart of the world.
This is the one thing I cannot express in words. No matter how poetic I try to be, or how accurate, or however well it can have you understand what I mean, this is the one thing I cannot, never, reproduce. Quite litterally. For with my leg I will never dance. And is it the forbidden fruit that sweeps my mind away, or the passion, the immersion, the ability to close your eyes and let your body drift on the ocean of existance or be tossed between the waves of chaos, that makes my eyes tear at the thought alone?
Dance. An embodiment of the concept I call beauty. An expression, an art, but most of all a path to the insides of your soul and the discovery that it is no more separate from the universe than a molecule of air is from the air itself. The world does not matter. Not the one you see or feel through your eyes or your ears or your skin. What matters is the flow, the beat. The beating of the heart of what some would call God, but that I have no word for.
There are no words.
This is the one thing I cannot express in words. No matter how poetic I try to be, or how accurate, or however well it can have you understand what I mean, this is the one thing I cannot, never, reproduce. Quite litterally. For with my leg I will never dance. And is it the forbidden fruit that sweeps my mind away, or the passion, the immersion, the ability to close your eyes and let your body drift on the ocean of existance or be tossed between the waves of chaos, that makes my eyes tear at the thought alone?
Dance. An embodiment of the concept I call beauty. An expression, an art, but most of all a path to the insides of your soul and the discovery that it is no more separate from the universe than a molecule of air is from the air itself. The world does not matter. Not the one you see or feel through your eyes or your ears or your skin. What matters is the flow, the beat. The beating of the heart of what some would call God, but that I have no word for.
There are no words.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Shun, I summon you!
You can now get your Spore Creatures as figurines, and however silly and however disappointing that game was, I feel a slight tug at my heart at the thought of getting a tiny Shun to guard my desktop.I wonder what having a figurine done costs, generally? Wouldn't it be awesome to make the roleplaying characters one has played for a while? Or make them before starting, so they can be used as "tabletops" for those annoying situations where it matters if you stand to the right or the left of the shooter. If I was filthy rich, this is one of those ridiculous, environmental-destroying things I would do, I imagine.
I also read an interview with a scientist, who, shockingly, unveiled that scientists do not believe Spore to be very scientifically correct, while on the other hand horribly fundamental catholics have been known to protest against it (not to be confused with the impressive amount of intelligent fundamental catholics who don't believe a stupid, fluffy game to be insult enough to their religion to raise their voices). What surprised me, however, was how the interview revealed that EA actually had made claims before its realease with hopes that it would be a "tool among the scientific community". What? The lady scientist said that the prototypes that had been released earlier were much more likely to ever be used in a serious setting.
So like many, many others, I wonder; what the hell happened to this game? Halfway towards a groundbreaking, mindblowing game about evolution, about the very cornerstones of intelligent life, Maxis suddenly decided, screw this, let's make this based on five-year-olds, yet illogical and boring enough to make sure no five-year-olds ever play it. The question on everybody's lips is (or were, when they released it, I'm just slow) when did they turn into Microsoft?
Friday, March 20, 2009
Shhhhh!
Ah, secrets secrets. I have one. No surprise there, we all have secrets, but what I mean is, I have a specific secret that I will tell you about later, but can't now. I'm all for secrets, because they make life that much more interesting, and I hate ruining secrets because that wastes a lot of work and ruins a potentially awesome moment. But how difficult it is to keep secrets. I just want to wave my arms around and bounce and tell everyone, no matter how unrelated a person and how little they care. Because a secret is really only fun at the very moment it's revealed. Like the huge plot twist of a role playing game; that's what I'm working towards the whole time. And I try to make my writings unpredictable just for that feeling I'm hoping to achieve when the monster reveals its true form and intent. To see people suddenly discovering THE SECRET, that's one of my greatest pleasures of life. It's a feeling I love, when things fall into place and I can see, so obviously I want to share it.
You realize this rant is all about me trying to ease the feeling of wanting to wave my arms around and bounce and tell everyone around that secret I'm having right now, right? Don't worry, in some weeks it will all become clear. It's no big deal. It's just that it's a SECRET! :)
You realize this rant is all about me trying to ease the feeling of wanting to wave my arms around and bounce and tell everyone around that secret I'm having right now, right? Don't worry, in some weeks it will all become clear. It's no big deal. It's just that it's a SECRET! :)
Monday, March 16, 2009
Cycle of life
I'm in some sort of period where I get loads of ideas for new creative stuff, like drawings and writings and stories of all kinds. But nothing gets done. I've been wondering for a long time if my circles actually follow the calendar, as in my female calendar of monthly pain; if not only my body but my mind and my creativity is governed by this highly unwanted touch of biology. It's humbling, maybe, to in this way be reminded that I am also, only, human. But hell's balls how bloody fucking frustrating it is!
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Report from the frontline
I'm in one of those periods where I feel like a normal person. When school is okay, I get things done, I clean my house and cook real food and go to the bank like a responsible adult. While it feels awesome and I actually function, it also feels a bit like walking around in a dream, in someone else's perfect life somehow. Is this how it is to be normal, I think? Is this how people live their lives? And I waver on this line, between thinking too much and just going on.
I waver between kicking myself down again into death and darkness and depression where I can wallow in the fruits of creativity, where nothing gets done and I hate the world and postpone any kind of contact with it but there is so much more to it. Or between taking another breath, stand up, and do the dishes and go on being a normal person in a normal world filled with normal people. Always on the edge, always fighting to know what is right, what is home, what is me. I stare up at the clouds and waver between sky and heaven. And here I am, balancing on the spider silk line between ignorance and despair, squinting my eyes trying to take it all in and protect myself at the same time.
Is there a way I can be both corporate queen and goddess? Must I choose between the depths of my mind and the plains of society?
And love? Love keeps me in line and tips me over in favor of the normal world and the normal people. A safety hatch or a prison? One I stay in voluntarily, regardless, no matter if it hurts. Because who can ever be sure that there will be another high if I let this one go?
I waver between kicking myself down again into death and darkness and depression where I can wallow in the fruits of creativity, where nothing gets done and I hate the world and postpone any kind of contact with it but there is so much more to it. Or between taking another breath, stand up, and do the dishes and go on being a normal person in a normal world filled with normal people. Always on the edge, always fighting to know what is right, what is home, what is me. I stare up at the clouds and waver between sky and heaven. And here I am, balancing on the spider silk line between ignorance and despair, squinting my eyes trying to take it all in and protect myself at the same time.
Is there a way I can be both corporate queen and goddess? Must I choose between the depths of my mind and the plains of society?
And love? Love keeps me in line and tips me over in favor of the normal world and the normal people. A safety hatch or a prison? One I stay in voluntarily, regardless, no matter if it hurts. Because who can ever be sure that there will be another high if I let this one go?
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