Smygreklam från Disney för Antipiratbyrån?

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? ^_~

Chisel to the Stone like a Blade to Flesh

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.

Run!

I've been hiding. I haven't read any blogs, including my own, since the last post. Was it not for that I can't bring myself to ignore my cell-phone I wouldn't have talked to anyone either. I haven't been on facebook, and I haven't answered any mails, and yes. I've been running away and hiding.

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.

A Sense Of Belonging

I'm trying to put form to my thoughts and it's very hard. I'm a bit too emotionally involved to keep an objective optinion, and don't really know the nooks and crannies of words like ethnicity, so I'm going to run with my gut.

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".

Emotional scares

1) Up
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.

2) Down
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.

Mirror Mirror On The Wall...

I dreamed something tonight that I can't really remember anymore, but I loved it and I woke up with a sense of confidence. I managed to shower and do hair and make-up together with my usual morning routine in the same amount of time, and when I stood there, all gussied up in front of the mirror, I though "I should cut my hair myself, instead of going to a salon and paying money for a hairstyle I don't want. I'll do it right now." And I fetched the scissors, but then remembered how much time it takes just to cut the bangs, and left the scissors there as I went to work.

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'm Korean."

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.

Lost and Found

Excuse me, I seem to have lost a day, have you seen it? O.o

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.

Religion and Marriage, horse and carriage?

Peter Jöback and Oscar married this midsummer. I randomly stumbled across the clip from Expressen on YouTube. Since it's YouTube there's the usual homophobia all over, so the comments are just a sad testament to... wait, why the hell are you there watching if gays are so disturbing? I mean, it's YouTube, you had to actively look it up to see it. Now that's disturbing... Anyway, what was funny, was that the ad that came up next to it was one from zoosk.com, a dating site for homosexuals, and right below it in the Recommended Videos was one called Christian Videos Online. Whut?

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.

In His calendar, the weekly Sabbath always falls on the 8th, 15th, 22nd, and 29th of each month.

Since the mark of the beast is received if one does not worship the Creator on His true Sabbath day, and because WLC infinitely cares about our salvation and yours, WLC is offering US$1,000,000 (one million) to anyone who can convincingly demonstrate from the Scriptures that the true seventh-day Sabbath has ever been recorded in the Bible to have fallen on any other dates than those listed above."

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.

Electronic desires

I kinda miss playing WoW. It's this sneaky addiction that comes back after six months, every time. A sudden urge to let a pile of pixels hit another pile of pixels in predictable ways for a few hours. Strange. I also miss LoL, mostly because I felt I was getting somewhat good at it and I don't really have a substitute for that kind of gratification. Then I miss, lo and behold, my Razer keyboard. Old, fat HP and Logitech ones, and tiny laptop ones, can only satisfy my gamer fingertips for so long. Finally and conclusively, I miss my Playstation 3. For a myriad of reasons, but once again mostly for the feel of a Playstation controller in my hands, the weight, the perfect fit. The closest I get here is an XBox360, and as everyone knows, that's like replacing your girlfriend with a blow-up doll...

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!

Still Wish I'd Saved The Bunny

Tonight I dreamed about a grand adventure together with a Korean dandy who always smiled. Almost all the way through I had to leave him behind at little homely hotel in the jungle to keep some ugly, black-haired lady happy, however, or she would've brought about the end of the world. But she was nice as long as she was happy, and he didn't seem to mind. Hearing echoes of them laughing together at silly jokes, I continued my journey, and passed a black-cloaked figure standing in front of a burial mound. He looked mildly annoyed at all the laughing. Then I arrived at a small, perfectly square, house in the forest. Inside the walls were painted brightly yellow, and I found a bunny strangled by a plant. I had a green potion I'd found way back and hadn't known what it was for, so I poured it down the bunny's throat, but the lamps on the walls told me it needed three more to revive. Feeling I shouldn't stay too long, I just wanted to take a peek into the bathroom. Inside I found a big, long bathtub sloping down into a hole in the floor without end. In the air hung a white ball of amorphous mass, suspended by red woolen string that almost but not quite touched it. It was the great scientist's big secret, an invention that could recreate the world, and the objective of my adventure. After staring at it in awe for a while, I left the ball, the dead bunny and the house and went back to the hotel, because the scientist might be coming back, and I'd forgotten why I was looking for the thing in the first place.

Jellyfish cookies and jellyfish stew

I dreamed about sneaking around on an oil platform as the right-hand buddy of some imaginary video-game hero, and all the sneaking led us to accidentally get locked into a giant room with knee-high water on the floor together with a big summer-green sea-monster that looked like roots. It was supposed to be a boss monster, but it was sleepy so it was fine as long as you didn't step on it. We ignored it. And in that room I caught electric jellyfish, small ones, which was a dangerous business because they were drifting around like slow pinballs bouncing off the walls and if you got too close you got electrified. A randomly appearing NPC did indeed get electrified, and died and disintegrated like bodies do in video-games. We cared about as much as people care about randomly appearing NPC's in video-games. And then I fried my captured jellyfish in an iron frying pan, without stove or fire, for my mother to eat, because she liked it, but since we had no cheese I didn't want to eat with her. Instead I chopped up those "tentacles" or "hairs" that big jellyfish have into small pieces and deep-fried them, in the same magic frying pan, and shared with my brother. Those were very tasty even without cheese.

Dreamhack

Dreamhack på SVT, t.ex finaler i HoN (med en hel del StarCraft 2 snack). Känns lite konstigt att se på mainstream tv... this is the future, huh? En dag kommer SC2 ha samma tv-space som basket och handboll? För ögonblicket känns det alltid lite awkward, typ, de vet inte alltid vad de pratar om, folk som intervjuas vet inte hur mycket jargong de kan använda...

De varnar för våldsamma scener inför HoN matcherna dock, lol? O.o

What I Wish I Could Say Right

Hi.

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.

Mid-game report

Portugal 1 - North Korea 0

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.

Morning extravaganza

I'm waking up about fifteen to thirty minutes ahead of the alarm now, be it because I've gotten used to it, because it's too bright outside, or because the bed sucks. In any case it meant this morning I had extra time and took a peek at the fanfiction I ran into about my dear Korean boys. I read about a page and then took a solemn vow to never read any fanficion about them ever again. Not because it was bad - on the scale of fanfics I've read it scored rather high in both spelling and story - but because it felt just as wrong as reading fanficition about your friends, without the accompanying hilarity. Instead I've found a subbed Japanese drama series starring my favorite one of them that will satisfy my daily dose of coolness and beauty.

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.

IMPORTANT NOTICE
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

Manual on data-testing program applied on Qt based applications

Literally:
[This stuff can be useful...]
When you need to call Qt methods from your test script.
For example:
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.
For example:
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

Actually I have two more posts I could make, but I think I should probably not.

b.o.r.e.d

There are so many things I would want to do in the name of science.

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*?

Ahhh science...

but if I'd have to write a formal report on any one of those, then no thanks.

The A-list

I made a small insight and because I'm a bit bored at work I shall divulge it.

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!

The Arithmetics of Socialization

Well there you go, I actually got the urge to kill someone today. That makes it officially one week, 168 hours. I've spent almost 40 hours away and about 50 asleep, and a little more than 10 hiding away in safe, dark corners of glorious loneliness, let's largely overevaulate them to 18 (it's not, but that rounds off the final number nicely). That leaves something around 60 hours.

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.

60 hours.

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.

Second day at the Company:

Lightening the mood:
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.

wth
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

Tainted

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.

Wroom

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.

Half-Life Challenge Accepted

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.

So much yummy food there is

in my tummy, how I wish

there was none 'cause then, you see,

more food I could put in me.

Me me me

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... ^^

Deadpool research :p and some princely stuff

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.

Question :D

"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?

Lies

Let the winds lift you into the skies. Take your first breath and ascend among the clouds, listen to the birds and your own pulse, feel the warmth of the sun against your face. It does not fight you, although it might feel like it burns. It is only your own body, the limit of your eyes. The deep skies do not repel. They envelop.

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.

Vacuum

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.

Big

Is that an IPhone in your pocket or are you just very well endowed?

alternatively

IPhone - so big it turns men gay!

*hides under a blanket of shame and embarrasment*

My favorite season

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.

Summertime.

Snip Snip

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.

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.

Consolation

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.

Proper

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

till tröst.

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. 

Behind blue eyes

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.

Second-guessing.

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

Bulky pieces

aunts and nieces

staged fashion disaster

Comfortably numb.

Great ones snoring

small imploring

middle-men are fretting

All these choices

thought-out voices

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?

---

I want this t-shirt :D

A string of moments

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.

Female monster

Monsters monsters...

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...

Woof

Hello. For any other Deadpool fans, there is an animated movie, that's really two animated movies, called Hulk vs. (and this totally fucked up my punctuation so I'm adding this to make it better). In the first part, Hulk vs. Wolverine, we get... well, guess. Not sure how and exactly when this fits in with the general Marvel timeline, or which version of it it is in... whatever. The idea is that Deadpool is in it.

"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 -_-

SHORYUKEN ! ^^

Writing the earlier post (read that first please if you may) I realized I'm a terrible fan for not staying updated. So I read up, and here's the news:

• Deadpool movie absolutely and undoubtedly underway.
• Writers of Zombieland have been confirmed to be writing it.
• Ryan Reynolds is a looongtime fan of Deadpool, have read the comicbooks and are being a pain in the ass of directors, writers and generally everyone involved, at first by trying to get the movie done and then by trying to get Deadpool right. From the interviews I read (short ones, the man is not a media whore, yay) he seems to have the right idea of what Deadpool is so this is a good thing.
• Reynolds agrees that what he played in the Origins: Wolverine movie is not what he wants Deadpool to be.
• And the word is that directors and writers want to make the movie a reboot, not built on the performance in earlier mentioned movie (since it was shitty).
• There is a really nice picture about, that I don't know where it's from because Reynolds claims there is no Deadpool suit yet and that he has not worn anything along those lines. It's pretty nice. Although obviously Deadpool would laugh his head off at it. I mean, jeez, where's your sense of fun? I bet he'd like to be depicted doing unimaginable things to cute kittens, or maybe holding the severed head of Immortal Man?

So a few worries are calmed. Choice of writers can go either way. Design of suit can go either way. Last line of worry: dialogue. Rumor has it they won't be afraid to break the fourth wall, like they do in the comics (Deadpool talks to the readers every once in a while, and refers to a guy with a typewriter as the "god" of his universe) and that could get interesting. I can see Deadpool narrating himself, or having extensive inner dialogues with himself while cutting people up. Spider-Man failed epically at that, but Zombieland is actually pretty good at inner dialogue now that I think of it, so yeah.

Hope has sprung.

Monsters and heroes

I've been trying my hand at drawing monsters. I'm terribly bad at it because a) my usual style is too "clean" for it, b) I'm too careful with shadowing and c) I have a hard time thinking in "fear", be it to draw monsters or write horror. But I'm getting there. Anyway, the internets quickly took me from monsters, to wondering why there are so few pictures of Marrow online. This is her: She is one of my absolute favorite superhero-women ever. Mostly because she gets to tap into that place where women seldome are allowed; in being feral without being sexy, possessing bloodthirst without grace, and most of all getting to be ugly! Her powers, although perhaps not the most scientifically valid among modern-made superheroes, take her where they never dared to take Rogue; where they ruin her appearance, make her outwardly the monster that other mutants hide within.

This subject quickly took me to my male most favorite "superhero" (more like... supermoron) of all time; Deadpool. The general Deadpool-fanbase seem to have accepted Ryan Reynolds.I'm inclined to agree. It's something about the way he moves, which is almost the most important since the proper Deadpool have no face to speak of. Now I want him to go where other superhero-movies have backed off: where we get to see a full transfer of character to the movie screen and not just the parts twelve-year-olds with minds ruined by mainstream hollywood movies would possibly manage to comprehend after two hours. The depth, the dirt, the gleefully grinning faces of the masses every time a mutant takes a blow. The right shadowing.

Ryan Reynolds have, oddly, also been cast as Green Arrow. While I can see why, I think it's a very stupid idea of him to agree to this because if he's going to put his face on one of these characters, he should do it on only one :P but money is money I suppose. Also I suppose and hope Deadpool won't have a face at all. So whatever.

This subject took me to casting of marvel characters, or comic characters in general. This page had lots I agreed with, and a few I didn't. I do not, for example, think Anne Hathaway should be the Scarlet Witch, in fact I don't think she belongs anywhere near a real superhero. She can be Lois Lane if she wants.

The most difficult to cast, ever, for me, is Gambit. I don't know why, it should be simple, there are those I care more about or have more specific characteristics. But there are so many and yet no one that fits as Gambit. The list I linked had Jonathan Rhys Meyers, which must be the most controversial suggestion I've heard so far. He'd have to put on some weight, but sure, he's a viable option. What do you guys think? This is Gambit:
There's many different artist versions of course, but this artist is the one I like best for both him and Wolverine. So who would play him?
Taylor Kitsch?
Josh Halloway?
or more controversially
Vincent Cassel?
Jonathan Rhys Meyers?
To be honest I hate all these alternatives. For some reason.

*melts away into the song* Gawd I forget between the times, but Nickelback is and will always be IT for me. I'm going to start rating singers by how much they sound like Chad Kroeger, because that's really what I do in my head anyway.

*longing for when I get moved in properly so I can bring all my comic books*

Useless goddamn course

School in 25 minutes, meaning I'll leave in 10 minutes, meaning I should be brushing my teeth right now.

You know why I'm going at all? No, neither do I.

I forgot my window open so when I woke up there was a pile of snow on my windowsill AND ON MY COMPUTER SCREEN AND PS3 CONTROLLERS! That's why I got out of bed so fast. Don't worry, they're safe.

My class notes consist of three things:
notes and drafts on a thing I'm writing that I'm really getting into
and
philosophical, sometimes ironic, comments on whatever she's talking about
and
drawings. in pen. they look awful.

I'd get more out of these lessons if I brought my PSP. Yet somehow I feel like I'd socially really miss out if I didn't go, and also, that I need to get out of the house sometimes. Yeah. That's probably the only reasons I go. That and that I start at 2pm. If it was earlier than 12, I don't know if those reasons would weigh so heavily.

Well better get going then.

When I Should Sleep

What would it sensibly take for me to censor myself? Is it right? Should I let things censor me? Is it out of concern for people, or for myself? Is it about whether I value my creative freedom higher than people's feelings?

I don't mean writing gossip, or stuff actually about people. I mean fiction, poems, word-art. I mean as a writer. Should I give in to a censor, be it out of respect for a person, or fear of consequences? Do I, as an artist, put creative freedom above individual people's feelings towards me or others? Yes. Yes I do. But the risk of hurting someone tears up conflict in me, be it because they're interpreting strangely, or because they're stupid as dead fish. What about in the cases where they'd be justified to be hurt? Where what I write is clearly provoking, intentionally or otherwise?

What I mean is; please tell me it's silly to censor myself for this. That's what I want to hear. I want to be able to turn it off. This compassion hindering my excursions into a higher world, and my ability to share it.

Only "your favorite..."-question I actually can answer.

Första Kapitlet - Det enda sorgliga i hela boken, men icke desto mindre absolut nödvändigt.
Andra Kapitlet - Vari det sker någonting mycket besynnerligt, som dock har sin naturliga förklaring.
Tredje Kapitlet - Som handlar om Katten och några stövlar, vilka icke voro hans, samt om familjespöken.
Fjärde Kapitlet - Där läsaren får veta några siffertal och göra bekantskap med en osympatisk figur.
Femte Kapitlet - Vari läsarinnorna hållas skadelösa för det föregående kapitlets saklighet genom att bokens hjältinna framföres i en både ståndsmässig och tilltalande gestalt.

This would be the first five chapter "names" in a book from 1905 called Markisen av Carabas. I own for some reason a 1921 edition where they've instead named it Mästerkatten i Stövlar - En Munter Roman (I have no idea why or how, records of book printings from 1921 has proven hard to find, I found the book on Wikipedia only because some famous swedish actors were in a movie made from it in 1918. Because movies are more important than books -_-) It is written by a danish guy called Palle Rosenkrantz, and I have no idea what it's called in original language (possibly the same thing).

I don't know if this book and/or this author is/was famous. I assume it reached some kind of fame since it was made into a movie. I've probably mentioned this book to some people before at some point, because this is a very late post in the sense that I've known what I'm about to tell you for a couple of years. It just hit me that I should make it grandly official. I also have no. fucking. clue how I got this copy, I can't remember if I found it in a second hand store or stole it from my grandparents... I don't know. All I know is, whenever I go somewhere for a longer chunk of time I have to weigh the risk of damaging or losing it versus the idea of leaving it behind because:

I declare this my favorite book of all times. The 21th century can go fuck itself.

The Movie of 2009 Award

Movies seen lately (not in any particular order):

Ice Age 3 - <3 <3 <3 - it is very impressive of a no.3 in a series to be as good as no.1 in the series, especially when no.1 was very good too. But I like no.2 best, still, maybe because it was the first one I saw. Still, dinosaurs charm me. Throw in a t-rex and I clap and nod, give me a triceratops and I'll forgive you anything.

District 9 - <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 - I always find it easier to sympathize with animated cricket-like green aliens in terribly unfashionable clothing tearing humans limb from limb than I do with humans. I am completely serious. But aside from that, amazing movie, with amazing actors that I've never heard of before but deserve fame and fortune. It's just right with the gore to make it stay with you, and just right with the story to make you feel with the characters, but not mindlessly cheer for them. And I insist the alien was named Christopher! That's what I heard!

Beowulf (the semi-animated one) - <3 <3 - not much to say. It's fun trying to look through the legend and try to find the man and the actual story. Haven't seen any other Beowulf movie either. It has swords and kings and dragons and a naked Angelina Jolie. Blah blah blah.

Coraline - <3 <3 <3 <3 - dunno if this is actually for children or not, but it's a stop-motion doll movie in kiddie style, kinda Nightmare Before Christmas. Something about this one just freaked me out to no end. It gave me nightmares where my mom cut off the limbs off some poor animal she made me hold, and then started digging into my hand.

Sherlock Holmes - <3 <3 <3 - and one of those hearts is solely for Jude Law, whom I otherwise don't like so much but who is great in this movie. It's entertaining, but wasn't worth going to the cinema for, and Robert Downey Jr made such a perfect Iron Man than seeing him anywhere else is like it would be seeing Tony Stark putting on a pig tail and chasing zebras around a ballroom. Not good, and not funny. Also way too hollywoodized for my tastes.

Pandorum - <3 <3 <3 - I am a relative noob at horror, and especially space horror. This movie might hold lot of clichés that I missed since I haven't seen any other of them. But it was well made, and paced very nicely, and managed to have a plot not entirely predictable which is very good for a horror movie. It also had Norman Reedus, very briefly, I rest my case.

Avatar - <3 <3 <3 <3 - I would give it five hearts, but the harsh and honest truth is that the story leaves you lacking in every single way. The CGI is amazing, and see it in 3D, and I really recomment seeing it. There was true potential of a very, very epic movie here. But the moment you see the first of the alien race, you know the story. They do a reasonably nice take on it, but that can't hide the fact that it borderlines plagiarism, if that can still be applied to something that's been done over 9k times before. That it still manages to be one of the best movies ever says something about how good everything else in it is.

The Happening - <3 <3 <3 - I didn't see the whole movie, missed the start, so I can't give it a fair score. Some ppl think it's silly, I think you gotta stop looking for silly and just close your eyes and listen to the wind and let him tell you the story. Open your mind. I liked it.

I was going to give my Movie of 2009 Award to Inglorious Bastards. It's the first time I've seen Quentin Tarantino return to the genius of Pulp Fiction, instead of fillers like Kill Bill or Death Proof, or I-don't-know-what's like From Dusk till Dawn. But District 9 gave it a good fight. I think the Bastards bring it home thanks to the extra points of Christoph Waltz, despite a few weak moments in the cinema with Brad Pitt (a flaw of the script rather than the actor), because I have to pull a few points from District 9 for making me biased by involving cute baby alien. Still, the two are as close to equal as you can get without actually being it :P

That's all for the Movie Review Corner for tonight. Over and out.

A fleeting feeling

I can no longer skate
This wonderous artform
the only trace it leaves behind in the world
graceful, even lines
shallow on the cold, hard surface
and gentle ripples through cold air,
like flying without wings

I can no longer skate
and don't for a moment think
a blind man can miss sight ever as much
as the one who once saw,
he constantly reminded,
nevermind that the colors in his mind
glow brigther than in the eyes of the seeing.

I can no longer skate
While i borrow the strength
of your thighs and your calves and your wrists
to propell myself forward
like I borrow your eyes to see the world,
the bitterness of flightless creatures
is mine to cherish and to savor.

Thank god my cousin just said she was pregnant

Internal thought processes are awesome.

Situation: christmas celebrations with whole family. Grandma says something along the lines of "hey W (my brother) is the youngest of the people celebrating christmas here." I say, "Yes, he always is (because our cousins and their children celebrate elsewhere)." Grandma answers, "He shouldn't be for much longer should he?" *nudge nudge, wink wink*

Thought process: Are my cousins bringing their children here for christmas, that makes no sense, it's really far away and they have their own families to celebrate with, does she mean that my brother should get children, because he's only seventeen, that's way too young, she can't mean that although sometimes she doesn't think before she speaks, I guess he has been in a steady relationship for a while now, but seventeen still, and I guess they should OH MY GOD SHE MEANS ME!

Solution: *smile and edge away*

Kiss diagram

This nice diagram can be used for a variety of situations to determine your next action after kissing someone. If you're up for long term comittment (in all its glorious forms), or already under such a spell, then the closer to red the better. If the kiss happened with someone other than the one you're supposed to be kissing, then the closer to blue, the less the risk that that someone will kick your sorry ass out the door if he or she finds out, which means it might also be the table for "should you tell him/her". If it's just a fun night out, then it might be something to measure the evening by.

Most of all, it's just a terrible cube made in paint, that I apologize for. I just felt the need to be geeky.

Nye Nye

I wrote two poems, because I haven't written poems in a while, and because there's two main emotions that's been in my head a while that I wanted to get out. But poems are blunt instruments, so much up to the reader's own interpretations, and so dependant on the shapes and forms of words. Divine inspiration can sometimes spawn lines in my head that are perfect, but almost never an entire poem, that happens like once every six months or something. No, I was never meant to write poems. I think I'd work better writing lyrics, in that case, actually.

The only way for me to express emotions properly is to write... stories? I don't think there's a word for it, in English or Swedish, as far as I know. Not one that feels right. In any case, the backside is that it takes a lot more time for readers to take it in, and a block of text intimidates people.

But I was never one to care for such things, was I?

The other backside is that it takes a lot of time to write them, so I have to prioritize what I want to write about. That actually sucks a lot.

Well. Really, the summary of this post would go: "I wrote two poems but I'm not going to show them to you, nye nye." Hopefully someday in the future I can actually have a post going: "I wrote a new story, here!" I need a lot more of those posts.

Hehehee ^^

This blog has been very serious for a very many posts now. It needed something to lighten the mood.

The good news are, I'm finding my creativity again.

The doubtfully good news are, I'm spending half of it on drawing pron kittehs ^^ There might be more later.

The other half is spent on writing something I can't tell you about. God how I love torturing people by telling them stuff like this. It will so backfire, but wow is it worth it. ^^

I cheated out of doing some of the background to be able to post it tonight. It might get proper background sometime... maybe... ;)

Random link link link link-chain results:

Nåtgot så ovanligt som en bloggning på svenska. Anledningen är helt enkelt att jag i ett svagt ögonblick blev intresserad av svensk inrikespolitik, eller snarare, jag snubblade på en blogg från en polisman i Storbrittannien och blev nyfiken om det finns sådana i Sverige.

Polis i Sverige är intressant. Polisen ska man vara kompisar och bundis med, de ska vara perfekta och ofelaktiga människor, de ska stå ut med precis vad som helst som görs mot dom både fysiskt och i media, de ska inte ha ett vettigt system att arbeta efter utan hålla på med byråkrati och göra socialtjänstens jobb, och egentligen, slutligen, är det inte pinsamt att ett så modernt, jämnställt land som rättsstaten sverige ska behöva en poliskår? Poliser håller ju på med våld och smuts i första person, i en tid då militären helst ska sitta i bunkrar och trycka på knappar, så det är ju lite fult.

Jag hittar ingen blog för svensk polis, vare sig officiell eller av enskilda poliser. Länka mig gärna om ni hittar nån. Däremot hittar jag massor av klagande och smutskastande. "Snuten" handlar det om, om hur de gör fel, alltid, mot alla. Jag hittar chockerande lite material från polisen där de faktiskt uttalar sig om anklagelser. Allt oftast möts all kritik med stenhård, vacuumvit tystnad. Jag undrar lite över det. Om det är bättre eller sämre. För obviously skulle samma människor som klagar på dom klaga ännu mer över svaren, men ger inte repliker mer trovärdighet? Men naturligtvis kan de ofta inte svara för att det skulle bryta tystnadsplikt om saker i fallen.

Folk klagar på domstolar och högre instanser också, naturligtvis. Länk-kedjan tog mig till Inte Utan Mina Söner, där jag hittade ännu en punkt där den lilla klockan som plingat bak i huvudet när man lyssnat på genusforskning och feminism har en vettig poäng. Jämlikhet ska vara balans, rättvisa. Inte att upphöja de som var förtryckta till förtryckare. Men på många platser slår det precis så fel, och det är männen som hamnar i kläm istället. Speciellt i traditionella "kvinnofrågor", som med barn.

Hur som helst, polisen var mitt huvudämne här. Det är ett ämne som igen och igen får mig att vilja rulla ihop media till en liten boll, tugga den i småbitar, låta den bytas ner lite i magsyra och spy upp den igen, bara för eget nöje. Men. Ja. Nu ska jag sluta.

Less than 3

Uppgift 8.42 Vilka ord i samma fil har högst åtta
bokstäver och har två dubbeltecknade bokstäver i
rad, så som t. ex. »rättssal«.

8.42 egrep "^.{0,2}([[:alpha:]])\1([[:alpha:]])\2.{0,2}$|^([[:alpha:]])\1([[:alpha:]]).{0,4}\2$|^.{0,4}([[:alpha:]])\1([[:alpha:]])\2$|^.{0,1}([[:alpha:]])\1([[:alpha:]])\2.{0,3}$|^.{0,3}([[:alpha:]])\1([[:alpha:]])\2.{0,1}$" /local/dict/dsso-list.txt

Uppgift 8.43 Använd sed för att lösa om uppgiften
med att vända ordningen på us-states.txt från
överst på s. 70.

8.43 sed -r "s/([0-9]{4}-[0-9]{2}-[0-9]{2})([[:blank:]])([[:alpha:]]+.*)/\3\2\1/g" us-states.txt | sort

Uppgift 8.44 Tänk dig att en text har använt deci-
malpunkt istället för decimalkomma, dvs. där står
t. ex. »3.14« istället för »3,14«, men det ska ändras
till decimalkomma. Skriv ett sed-kommando som
byter ut sådana punkter som står mellan två siffror
till komman (men inte byter ut andra punkter!).

8.44 sed -r "s/([[:digit:]]+)(\.)([[:digit:]]+)/\1,\3/g"


Victory is mine! Mine mine mine mine!

It's also 19.30 and this took me like 3 hours... buuut...

^_________________________^

I have a gnawing feeling there is an easier way to do 8.42, cuz it's really ugly, and I really hope all of this is right... buuut....

I have concluded that I really like regular expressions. They are ultimate logic.

PS: sorry this totally invaded on the attention for your birthday cake, nallenon! I am a terrible friend!

A First Pling From The Red Submarine

I'm a afraid of a lot of things, but essentially they boil down to:

• things that inflict pysical pain, especially those that may accidentally or unexpectedly do so
• inflicting pain in all forms on other people (and to some small extent animals), intentionally or otherwise
• other people
  
• myself
• and losing myself

everything else, like sharks or clowns or rapists, or poverty or war or heartbreak:

• is too foreign or unlikely, so I can't quite imagine it or find it a waste of time
  
• is silly to be afraid of so I refuse to be
• or is, after all, just what it is, just like I don't fear death because if you die, you die

and writing this list made me wonder about the differences between fear and hate. Maybe they're just the passive and active forms of the same thing, like being fed and eating. Most things I fear I also hate, but not everything I hate I fear. Is it better to hate things than to fear them? It puts you more into control, forces you to be more assertive and take action instead of hiding and avoiding. And might make you do stupid shit like hunt wolves to extinction or bomb muslims.

Fear is good because it keeps you away from shit that could hurt or kill you. Hate is good because it makes you take action against shit that could hurt or kill you. But in the end they're both outsmarted by common sense. Crap... my brain just shortciruited from the pling of the submarine radar, the 3D image of good and bad and balance and complexity and the way things can never add up because then they'd stand still... and that made no sense to you, but I'll tell you about it someday.

I hate being afraid of stuff. Oh hey... the irony of that sentence...

A Full Circle

I've been thinking for hours now about what it is I want. What do I want to do? I've never had any sort of idea. No dream, no ambition. I always had the feeling I could do good things, but not what those things were, and not that it was the most important thing of my life to do them. What is the most important thing of my life really? And what I'm studying is ok, but it's not like I really care about it.

Could I be an author? I think about it sometimes, but I have no idea how or where to start.

Thinking too much but getting nowhere. I wish I had ambition. Something to drive me to get across those obstacles that life and society presents, and that have this far detoured me from everything I've found mildly interesting. It's never been interesting enough to seem worth the effort.

People seem to be a key word. Things happen around people. Bars, cafés, workplaces, schools, theatres... people. I don't know where I'm going with this except that I don't really want that much to do with people, not like that. I don't know how or where to start with that either.

There's so much crap to sort through in the world, to find the little diamonds. And I've never had much patience that way. I'm very unforgiving like that. I try though. I do my best, but most of the time I run out of energy. It might not seem like much. It really isn't either. But I try, on and off.

I was thinking that you people shouldn't talk to me about what I write here. Post a comment by all means, but don't talk to me about it in real time. Because here, and not here, are two separate things. I stand by what I write here with all my heart... it's more like I don't stand by who I am out in the real world. I am the Writer here.

I think sometimes that if I just got a trash job to keep me floating, I could try this writing thing for real. But I get distracted, and I hate myself for it. I do everything but write these days. Except here, from time to time. And I don't trust myself to be able to keep a trash job. I have motivation problems. Self-control problems. Actually, I don't even trust myself to be able to get one. So there.

Anyway. Writing is what keeps me sane and alive. Would be nice to make some money off it, but, as with faith, it's good enough to just have it there to anchor me. A corner of the world where I'm safe. I wouldn't say no to making money off my faith either, really, but I really don't think there is any conceivable way to do that. Though the stress of having to make a living, do I really want to connect that to one of those safe corners? Scary.

It would be so ironic, so completely... dumb, if after all this running around, what I really want to do is what my mother told me the first time I asked her what I should do, and that I then turned down firmly. Being a journalist. Writing articles. I understand now that there are more types of journalists and writers of articles than tabloid people, but still. Although irony is only a human construct. So I guess in terms of nature and spirit it would be... a full circle.

Mine.

What if marriage (or any other action or ritual or idea that symbolises monogamy) is sort of like that mantra that people learn in the military? (Do they, for real? I'm assuming so for this discussion.)

This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

I don't know why they have it exactly, but I can imagine there are strong psychological reasons. Pretty much the same as monogamy, no? Imagine:

This is my husband/wife. There are many like him/her but this one is mine.

The thought struck me and stayed, and you know what, I kind of like it. It makes me happy. ^^

There are many like him, but this one is Mine.