Just came back from Uppsala. Great weekend. My mood curve went up 100 points, then dropped 150 when the time came to leave. When I'm around these people, I'm in this bubble and I don't need anyone else. That's why I don't want to move there, because I think it's healthy to meet other people too, and it's scary to be so caught up. =P Then I thought, what the hell, you don't need anyone's acknowledgment to feel good, girl! Not even these guys, no matter how great they are. I didn't think I'd be so easily manipulated, but my mood curve took another flash-jump up 65 points. So now I'm pretty much back to normal. Especially since I've actually done my homework.
I don't know why I keep coming back to what feels like the same subject, but - another analogy since they're my thing: my mind is a horse, and I haven't tamed and trained it properly, but it's so beautiful in the wild that I'm reluctant to do so even if that would increase the effectiveness. Make sense?
I think reading The Game is helping my confidence. Weird. But appreciated.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Ever get the feeling that you don't belong in your own family? You're not alone.
I made one of those realizations today that I imagine makes the difference between kids and grownups (that sounded really cheesy, but I'll keep it). I've been criticizing my parents pretty hard for the way they've treated my sickly little most-beautiful-in-the-world... ehrm, I mean my cat. Mostly the way they've been talking about him, like he's over and out already. But it's just their way of dealing. Mom almost started crying today talking about him. Just watching him getting worse has been wearing on all of us, especially coupled with grandma's condition (which is all too alike). Some things I know without really knowing it, know what I mean? I know it intellectually, but I don't understand it. Well, today I better understood that I've been the one pretending I'm the only one who loves him, when we only feel it different ways. I've been missing the most part, away at school. They've been dealing with it day-by-day.
My family and I are still very different, and I still can't stand them too long periods at a time (but who can I stand too long periods at a time?), and often it feels like I'm the only one fighting to adapt so we can coexist, but they are my family. For better and worse.
I made one of those realizations today that I imagine makes the difference between kids and grownups (that sounded really cheesy, but I'll keep it). I've been criticizing my parents pretty hard for the way they've treated my sickly little most-beautiful-in-the-world... ehrm, I mean my cat. Mostly the way they've been talking about him, like he's over and out already. But it's just their way of dealing. Mom almost started crying today talking about him. Just watching him getting worse has been wearing on all of us, especially coupled with grandma's condition (which is all too alike). Some things I know without really knowing it, know what I mean? I know it intellectually, but I don't understand it. Well, today I better understood that I've been the one pretending I'm the only one who loves him, when we only feel it different ways. I've been missing the most part, away at school. They've been dealing with it day-by-day.
My family and I are still very different, and I still can't stand them too long periods at a time (but who can I stand too long periods at a time?), and often it feels like I'm the only one fighting to adapt so we can coexist, but they are my family. For better and worse.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Weekend summup =P
Well, I was down to K-stad this weekend, and it was nice. Been a long time since I roleplayed last. Though where we ended, it felt like I was caught between following the personality of my character and mess things up, or play nice. I've never been in that kind of situation before; I've always managed to find some viewpoint from which the character would want to do what he has to do, but not this time. Interesting.
Monday was a red calendar day, which I totally forgot, meaning I went to catch the bus at 1400 but realized there were none until 1700. Argh. So I went shopping and came back with A) the book The Game which will be incredibly interesting, I expect, and B) the game Bully which will be equally interesting but in a different way. Both bought from the perspective of psychology.
Now I'm going looking for silver rings, since my parents wanted to buy me something real and lasting for my birthday and no electronics count. How is it women's rings always look like cinderella would if transmuted into jewelry? Translation: I'm going to look for men's rings. Which are too big. I feel a slight ironic reference to something called story of my life. -_-'
Monday was a red calendar day, which I totally forgot, meaning I went to catch the bus at 1400 but realized there were none until 1700. Argh. So I went shopping and came back with A) the book The Game which will be incredibly interesting, I expect, and B) the game Bully which will be equally interesting but in a different way. Both bought from the perspective of psychology.
Now I'm going looking for silver rings, since my parents wanted to buy me something real and lasting for my birthday and no electronics count. How is it women's rings always look like cinderella would if transmuted into jewelry? Translation: I'm going to look for men's rings. Which are too big. I feel a slight ironic reference to something called story of my life. -_-'
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Overwhelming moment: when you run into the guy you barely know the name of, but just dreamed you had the most amazing sex in the world with.
He looks like Matthew McConaughey gene-modified to my tastes. (That was one hard name to spell having only heard it before!) I believe I have mentioned him before. And the little I know about his personality I like, which can't be said about too many good-looking young men.
And he has a girlfriend. Which can be said about all too many of them.
He looks like Matthew McConaughey gene-modified to my tastes. (That was one hard name to spell having only heard it before!) I believe I have mentioned him before. And the little I know about his personality I like, which can't be said about too many good-looking young men.
And he has a girlfriend. Which can be said about all too many of them.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Betters and Losers
What we know is boring. What I mean is: the grass is always greener on the other side. The whole point of the other side, is that it is where you're not. There's a whole sience about this: You don't miss the cow till the barn's empty, You always want what you can't have.
Meaning: we're all jealous.
We're all home-blind. What do all these dutch people see in Sweden? It's just forest. And what is it with germans and elks? They're big and ugly and get high on our apples (Not the germans, the elks). And yet, to my experience, the strongest jealousy is when we find someone we think are better on a subject we find ourselves good at. For my part, that means thinking someone else has written something that is better than what I can do. And my evil stepsister, my envy incarnate, dances around in my head.
But remember: this is what I tell myself.
1) People may like what you do even if they don't say anything. I do that often, like something but never come around to tell the person in question. Bad me. And it's often hard to explain why or determine what you like. (But don't let that excuse those people who constantly just call everything "good" and "nice".)
2) Jealousy is good. Jealousy fires me up, makes me want to do my best, prove myself. It teaches me things (just recently I stood corrected on the subject of using too many "," It took me a week to come to peace with that the critizism was true, but I came out a better writer).
3) Jealousy is bad. Don't let it conquer you so that you're never ever satisfied. If you're never satisified, you'll never finish, and you'll never get anything done. Find a way to put a limit where something is good, or why not perfect? Overworked works are just as bad as underworked.
4) "Better" is relative. Usually people are good at different things, and that is true even in very small subjects. Maybe I'm a hobby artist while someone else, like Björn, is more serious. Maybe I'm an author while someone else, like Rik, is a better poet. (See what I did there?) You can even take it further; maybe I'm better at writing psychological drama while someone else is better at psychological horror.
5) At the final cut, you shouldn't be the one grading yourself against others. Let others, complete outsiders, do that. And if you still lose, be a good loser. Then at least you're good at something.
Anyone got any better tips? ^_-
Meaning: we're all jealous.
We're all home-blind. What do all these dutch people see in Sweden? It's just forest. And what is it with germans and elks? They're big and ugly and get high on our apples (Not the germans, the elks). And yet, to my experience, the strongest jealousy is when we find someone we think are better on a subject we find ourselves good at. For my part, that means thinking someone else has written something that is better than what I can do. And my evil stepsister, my envy incarnate, dances around in my head.
But remember: this is what I tell myself.
1) People may like what you do even if they don't say anything. I do that often, like something but never come around to tell the person in question. Bad me. And it's often hard to explain why or determine what you like. (But don't let that excuse those people who constantly just call everything "good" and "nice".)
2) Jealousy is good. Jealousy fires me up, makes me want to do my best, prove myself. It teaches me things (just recently I stood corrected on the subject of using too many "," It took me a week to come to peace with that the critizism was true, but I came out a better writer).
3) Jealousy is bad. Don't let it conquer you so that you're never ever satisfied. If you're never satisified, you'll never finish, and you'll never get anything done. Find a way to put a limit where something is good, or why not perfect? Overworked works are just as bad as underworked.
4) "Better" is relative. Usually people are good at different things, and that is true even in very small subjects. Maybe I'm a hobby artist while someone else, like Björn, is more serious. Maybe I'm an author while someone else, like Rik, is a better poet. (See what I did there?) You can even take it further; maybe I'm better at writing psychological drama while someone else is better at psychological horror.
5) At the final cut, you shouldn't be the one grading yourself against others. Let others, complete outsiders, do that. And if you still lose, be a good loser. Then at least you're good at something.
Anyone got any better tips? ^_-
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
the Sleeper
sixtyfive dozen reasons for walking away
yet this single one force me to stay
to go on regardless the reasons
to live on in rules that aren't mine
to sleepwalk so that my emotions
go on and leave me behind
need you more than words can say
sixtyfive dozen times every day
to be there in calm and storm
to know that I am not weak
to see the truth I live within
for sleepers cannot speak
sixtyfive dozen reasons to break
for I have never been awake
and I admit that fear gets the better
and I continue to make the same mistake
and my strength is also my weakness
for this single reason is more than I can take
yet this single one force me to stay
to go on regardless the reasons
to live on in rules that aren't mine
to sleepwalk so that my emotions
go on and leave me behind
need you more than words can say
sixtyfive dozen times every day
to be there in calm and storm
to know that I am not weak
to see the truth I live within
for sleepers cannot speak
sixtyfive dozen reasons to break
for I have never been awake
and I admit that fear gets the better
and I continue to make the same mistake
and my strength is also my weakness
for this single reason is more than I can take
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
This I Share
This Is All held a real surprise for anyone who's read all the other books in the Dance-seqence. Wow. And I dunno why I started crying either, it wasn't such a big deal. Not like the overwhelmings of Dance on my Grave or The Toll Brigde. Maybe because everything is so perfect. Not happy shiny perfect, but right. I want to write like this, not copying his style, but the impact it makes on... reality? Me. There are things I don't like about how and what he writes sometimes. But then comes these moments, like watching your lover as the sunlight creeps over their sleeping face, and then... no wham, no lighbulb of revelation, but... suddenly everything is just... everything is forgiven. Everything just is.
If you have no idea what I'm talking about here, go to a library, borrow any book by Aidan Chambers, read... and be ashamed that you hadn't already.
And I haven't actually watched a lover as sunlight creeps over their face. =P But I don't know if you'd understand what I'm trying to say, if I'd said like watching your cat close his eyes and tuck his nose under his paw, or like throwing a glance over your shoulder and seeing those blonde spikes and angel wings next to you, or like watching eight huge, dirty machines spit newspapers on a production line surrounded by deafening thundering, because these feelings are special, and what makes us feel them is individual. Weird, isn't it? Because they're so grand, I'm sad sometimes that I can't share them.
Well... that's what I'm trying to do now and here, I guess.
If you have no idea what I'm talking about here, go to a library, borrow any book by Aidan Chambers, read... and be ashamed that you hadn't already.
And I haven't actually watched a lover as sunlight creeps over their face. =P But I don't know if you'd understand what I'm trying to say, if I'd said like watching your cat close his eyes and tuck his nose under his paw, or like throwing a glance over your shoulder and seeing those blonde spikes and angel wings next to you, or like watching eight huge, dirty machines spit newspapers on a production line surrounded by deafening thundering, because these feelings are special, and what makes us feel them is individual. Weird, isn't it? Because they're so grand, I'm sad sometimes that I can't share them.
Well... that's what I'm trying to do now and here, I guess.
A series of reminders to the world:
SketchChallenge-people, get down and give me twenty right now you lazy sons-of-*******.
Bored people, please peer at The Island, of course only for your own salvation.
Partypeople, if you have any more smart ideas, like, I dunno, renting leather string for me, tell me.
The manufacturers of a certain Corepad item, go fuck yourself, then get your job done.
Ninjas, don't play Sid Meier's Pirates! five hours straight unless you have Hulk-wrists immune to pain. But do play it, it's nice.
Gamers, check out the Zero Punctuation game reviews. I guess it's better if you know the games he talks about. But regardless, come on, he's Brittish.
And everyone else, please return those hundred bucks you borrowed. Yes, all of you. What? Don't remember?
Bored people, please peer at The Island, of course only for your own salvation.
Partypeople, if you have any more smart ideas, like, I dunno, renting leather string for me, tell me.
The manufacturers of a certain Corepad item, go fuck yourself, then get your job done.
Ninjas, don't play Sid Meier's Pirates! five hours straight unless you have Hulk-wrists immune to pain. But do play it, it's nice.
Gamers, check out the Zero Punctuation game reviews. I guess it's better if you know the games he talks about. But regardless, come on, he's Brittish.
And everyone else, please return those hundred bucks you borrowed. Yes, all of you. What? Don't remember?
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Someone in my family have managed to mention a certain location beginning with the letter S at least once a day this entire vacation. And my parents keep saying we've spent too much time and money on trying to cure the cat already. I don't like them very much right now. If this is his time, fine. But if he's going to die because they're not helping, then I'll be damned. I'm about to put up the ultimatum that if they don't do everything in their power to help him, I'm not coming home any more weekends. But that may be crossing a line, I don't know. I'm tired of trying to argue with them. They just don't want him to have something they can cure, because then they have to make the effort.
I have nightmares about copyright lawsuits. Putting works (especially writings) up like this feels so freaky, even if, I mean, the internet is huge, who would actually steal my stuff, of all things? But it's a little like leaving the door to the toilet unlocked with a sign that says "busy". Most people would have common sense. Some don't, and then you're defenseless.
I have nightmares about copyright lawsuits. Putting works (especially writings) up like this feels so freaky, even if, I mean, the internet is huge, who would actually steal my stuff, of all things? But it's a little like leaving the door to the toilet unlocked with a sign that says "busy". Most people would have common sense. Some don't, and then you're defenseless.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Sneakpeak!
The current SketchChallenge comes down today. The challenge went as follows: "Draw a man and a woman in identical uniforms, and make sure we can tell which is which." Once I'd done one nice picture, this other idea popped up and I had to draw that too. I dunno what the rules are about several pictures, but I guess it's just to choose one, or things would get out of hand. So I will post the first, serious one there, and here is the other version:
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, February 22, 2008
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.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
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.
Monday, February 11, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
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!
Saturday, February 9, 2008
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.
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.
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