Talk about discrimination... making men stupid.

New political proposal: men should have extra money when staying home with children.
Reasons: 1) to have more men stay home, and 2) to fill the difference between how much money they lose if the man (high pay) stays home instead of the woman (low pay).
Arguments: better with carrots than whips, meaning it's better to make it more desirable to have men stay home than to force men and woman to stay home equally much.

Idiocy: why do men have to be "tempted" to stay home? Can't they figure themselves? Should they have a piece of chocolate every time they're good boys and do their dishes too? Should they be electrocuted every time they choose the picture of the car rather than the doll? Get the pay equal to begin with, then start blabbering about this shit, if the problem even remains then.

excuses

This week is vacation. Sunday I was desperate for things to do, but today I'm starting to realize that one week won't be enough, all attributed to different points of view. For one, I want to restore all (or at least some) of my savefiles. My memorycard was stolen again and for good a month or so ago. Considering that there's about 800+ hours put down in ~15 games, I think it might take a lifetime to do it all again. Well, since I'm on stupid computers the week out, I won't be around online much.

I also found an old game called Princess Maker 2. It's silly, but very fun. I mean, it wasn't released in the English-speaking world for being sexist, but whatever. For those of us who don't enforce game-logic in the real world (aside from trying to push Ctrl-z all the time, or looking for a *continue* button) it's fun to see what happens. You care for your daughter from ten to eighteen and try to prepare her for a good life. Apparently it has about 70 different endings; I've gotten two so far. This is probably as close to mother instincts as I ever got =P. It gulps down time as if it was a teenager drinking alcohol, though.

Now I'm going to town to fix my glasses. I didn't break them! They just... broke.

Size Matters

Wednesday we went to K-stad to the office of VF (the local newspaper) with school and got to see some about how and where they work. The journalism info itself was lukewarm, but then we got to watch the presses. About eight or so giant machines printing all the pages of the paper at the same time, sending them to a machine in the middle that put them together and folded it, spitting out completed papers on a production line. They sounded like an airplane trapped inside a too small hangar, and there was this smell, like chemicals. They were blue, but loads of oily tubes and stuff stuck out everywhere and in places someone had patched them up with parts of newspapers, probably to stop leaks or something. And I watched these monsterous freaks of nature, and I really, really, really wanted to work with them. When I called mom, she said, of course working on a newspaper would be perfect for you. But I think she misunderstood.

Pink Power Ranger

Here's something for you to elaborate on: tell me one of your most significant memories from middle school (I guess for Swedes that translates to 4-6th grade, approximately).

Loosely connected to my previous post: we had a woman here talking about - and if I translate literally it gets funny - "Power and Sex". Obviously we were talking about feminism and equality. She had a slow start, but then she had some interesting things to say, and the discussion afterwards was reasonably fun. Seeing the difference between "sex" and "gender" seems more and more necessary.

Anyway, she pointed out that we tend to contrast men and women against each other as though everything one is, the other is not. Weird. We do the same with light and darkness, and everything else we decided to divide in no less or more than two: attribute them with qualities they do not inherently possess. Like Rik said, we define things by what we think they're not, instead of what they are. Much like science then, right? To know if swans are only white, we do not test their whiteness: we look for swans of other colors. And now it's like we discovered there are sixtyfive nuances of "white". Bet Jesus didn't see that one coming.

Tell me something;

Who am I?

The question of whether I am a man or a woman confounds me; are there only two possible standards? Must I cathegorize myself in one of these? Does who I love and don't love make a difference, do I have to put these labels on myself in order to come to peace with myself? In the final choice, I have simply pointed to my born body to avoid making a decision. Nature made me woman. But does that mean I am a woman? Would changing my body make me a man, any more than I am woman now?

Am I the sum of my actions? The total of my projects? The thoughts in my head? Am I who I think I am, or who you think I am, or is there a universal constant somewhere? Identity has as many variations as there are humans. I know who I am, I can feel the essence of my creature, but does that really make a difference? For the rest of me, thoughts, actions, body, appearance, behavior, clothes, the color of my eyes, it must all contribute to who I am, right? Having a female body doesn't make me a woman, any more than being able to write makes me a writer. But does being a woman mean I have a female body, and being a writer mean I can write? That man can be born in the "wrong" body seems the be generally acnowledged through transexuals. That there are wonderfun writers out there who never got the education to put it to use, I have no doubt. Are these the only options? Is there only "right" and "wrong"? Is this what being a "human" is about? What if I don't want either?

Does this mean every single point of my character is individual and isolated? No man is an island. Cause and effect. They cannot be unconnected and unaffected. This means that being a woman in a female body makes me different than being woman in a male body. This means every single point of my character stands in delicate balance to every other; that variations are endless, that analysis is impossible. Everything about everyone is a sliding scale with a million points of reference and genres and cathegories are useless and despicable.

Following all this comes the knowledge that: knowing what I am will change who I am.

Therefore: Tell me who I am.

Seems I disappeared there for a little while. Well, I've felt for a while now I've just been rambling about whatever and not really contributing to anything but making myself silly, so I was waiting for inspiration to stike, but we all already know it never just "strikes". To my excuse, I've been ill as well as having a bad two last weeks, so there. I've read through some old stuff to remind myself what I'm doing, and as usual most of it isn't half as good as I pretend it is, but the other half I daresay I can live with. That is, though, the half I already posted, so expect nothing new for a while. The problem with being a novel writer, as opposed to short stories, poems or other, is that it may take a year or two for a book to form and finish. I have at least three projects in the air that I like, but have no illusions about finishing within the nearest months. But maybe it's worth the wait, I dunno. That said, I shall retreat back into my corner and continue pretend I'm a functional human being, and hopefully jot down a few words while I'm there anyway. As for everyone else, I wish I could be a better friend, but I guess we all do. There're a lot of things we all do.

Twirks

Speaking of stupid fascinating impulses, I just had the strongest one to seduce my teacher. If God had given me a little more shrewdness, the Devil would've had a lot more fun.

On a different, yet the same, note:
It's a lot easier to do something for someone else than for yourself, at least if it's something you don't want to do. I thought about my fear of failing at school (caused, make no mistake, by my own character in combination with the unforgiving IB) and of how I could be made to make an effort - how to motivate me so to speak. I think the most important is a teacher I personally respect, not just professionally, but also like as a person. This attraction I've told you about before, this obsession with people and beauty (not just conventional beauty; I use the word in lack of others to point to that specific something some people have) may play a large role here. But once again, my observations about how to create a pefrect surrounding for my living and learning is thwarted by reality; I have no control over what teacher I get. Just like I'll never get that house in Gibraltar with all of my friends inside.

Hey, I suddenly remember, the only teacher I really respected in primary school was this young woman with curly brown hair who I was totally crushing on and who played football on weekends. Can't remember her name, but I remember her. I loved her voice.

Please go over to Rik's blog. This must be why I have friends. So that my insanity doesn't show too much, but is still allowed freedom and happiness. It may signale my weirdness that I am suddenly ever so much more proud of that we are friends. And since our "gang" lacks in "gay" (or does bisexual count as gay?) and needs to be statistically and politically correct, please apply for membership before the end of April, you get the first year's member's fee for free!

Vlei

I just finished the book I had to read for school: Doris Lessing's The Grass is Singing. It's a fascinating book, partly because of what it portrays and what it says. It's the story of a human fate in Southafrica, I can't set a clear date since I have no sense of years and dates, but it's written 1950 and they talk about a war. The main character Mary is a rather naive girl, a prisoner of her childhood, carefree as long as the environment is carefree. Once it is no longer, it becomes a book that digs deep into her life and mind. It also shows a clear and bitter view of the relationship between black and white in the country, between what was right and wrong to the people of then and there. It looks into silent rules of society, subconscious mindsets that spreads or excludes without people ever really thinking about it. Simply the way white farmers must think to treat the black natives the way they did; and to protect the world they have built, they must continue to think so, without any alternatives. And in that kind of world, when one of the "superior" community finally falls so far down that the line between black and white comes down strictly to color, bad things happen, even if no one takes action simply because of it; it follows the rules of group behavior.

Speaking of the book rather than the content, I like the way Lessing has left a lot to the reader. There are times when she explains down to tiniest detail why someone would do as they do, but even in these exquisite explanations, she delivers some extra information in the form of interpretation. We are left to fill in the blanks ourselves, most of the time subconsciously. It gives a deeper understanding of psychology, as close to practice as theory could get. All in all, it is a good, interesting, and entertaining book, though oddly not as captivating as the other adjectives would suggest, perhaps because it covers the concept of "why" rather than try to keep the suspense, since the book, litterally, begins with the end. Either way, it is worth its time.

On a completely different subject: The Gray, my cat, is currently wearing headphones.

Working my stuff

I made a DeviantArt account today and added some stuff to it, just for fun. I'm not really up to managing more than this blog, so I'll just use it as a playground. I mean, it's too big; it's impossible to be seen. I posted two texts there, and after doing that I realized that neither of them are posted here. So just to be fair and square I'm posting one of them here too. The other is connected to Kirya, and I'm not sure I want people who read Kirya to read this yet, so it'll stay in hiding. But this other one, Killer, I like it a lot.

Continuing with controversity:

I'm thinking soon I'll be confident enough to let you guys onto my real NC-17 works; the dark side of my writing, so to speak. You guys do know I write shounen-ai for fun, right? Otherwise I don't know where you've been. (This has no connection to Killer, straight male fans, no danger of boys kissing there!) And I put (almost) as much effort into making it good as I do all other writing; I hate that badly written slashficition crap! So stay tuned!

Get a grip!

Why can't we all get along? The conflicts of the Middle-East, the hatred in certain religious groups, bullying and gang wars, it seems far away from most of us. We look at these people who kill for what we deem as nothing. Then remember; there must be someone in your life that you don't like. Be it a work partner, a relative, a neighbor, maybe the friend of a friend, or the wife of an uncle. Think of that person. Think of all the things that person has done to you that you deem unjust and mean, all those little things that really are nothing, but amount to Mars's enormous 27 km. Most often it's about respect; the problem with that is that there are no physical proof, most people will say; what do you have against her/him really, and you'll be forced to say "I don't know" or maybe "he acts like a three year old" or "she's just doing that to hurt me" and everyone around will be forced to choose side blindly.

Now imagine spending your entire life side by side with that person, and tell me, why can't we all get along?

Is the only solution to stay away from that person? To separate yourself from him/her? What if you have friends in common? Will they have to choose? Will you have to leave people you love behind, to be able to... what? Live in peace? Preserve your self-respect?

Now listen closely; I don't think that's true. Throughout conflicts in my life, people have always hit their limits when it comes to some things and some people. And they will, ultimately, say it's someone else's fault. Sometimes it is. Regardless, I have never never had to leave anyone for anyone else's sake. I have never had such problems with people. The biggest problem I have with people seem to be either that they don't like me, or that my friends can't get along with each other. I can see the psychological reasons behind actions, I can read people like open books. But just because I know it doesn't mean I understand. Communication is the best tool, but when used the wrong way it may do more damage than help. I still think it's better to talk about something when you find it a problem, to a limit where nothing more can be done. And be honest! There's no point in talking if you're going to lie in the end. I'm not saying you can't wrap it up in silk, that's often better than just running people over. But also, don't forget to listen. Communication means the words go both ways!

So listen, friends and foes:

Why can't we all just get along?

Being Absent-Minded

I had something interesting and profound to say, seriously, but I have forgotten it.

The lack of posting is due to being home over the weekend. Going home thursday and staying all the way through sunday was quite an overdose, actually. Unless my edgyness was caused by the generous amounts of chemicals introduced in the form of chocolate and liqorice, it seems I can't handle being with my family for very long anymore. I thought I'd test the hypothesis by not eating any candy of other snacks next weekend (a good practice of discipline and faith too). If it's still a problem, I may have to rethink my plans of studying from home next year. It may still work if I get my driver's licence and live above the garage, but it will take serious self-discipline if I'm to practice driving. Driving is boring. My mind tends to wander.

Going to K-stad tomorrow. Bringing home friends from there. I'm going to flunk my philosophy test because of it, so they better entertain me. =P