Decisions

June 19, 2008

I have decided to open a second blog called Parody of Virtue for better thought out pieces of writing. This is after reading the comment I got about my ‘personal beliefs’ entry which made me realise that yes, this is a largely pointless and meandery blog, written for myself to clarify my thoughts in an attempt to maintain sanity and improve my mental agility. And vent, but that’s so obvious a thing to do with a blog it’s barely worth mentioning. On the one hand it’s my personal blog and although I am happy for people to read it I don’t write with an audience in mind. On the other hand I’m not helping myself as a writer if all I do is spaff out a train of thought every day. Writing quality reviews and opinion pieces will serve me much better and provide a better product should anyone happen to read it. Whether it will actually be any good or not I don’t know. It will probably begin somewhat subparr and improve with time.

This is breaking my brain somewhat as my motivation is being diverted from work ie the things I actually get paid to do. It doesn’t help that I find it harder to concentrate with menstruating but that’s usually fixed with a cup of coffee. Sidenote (and further indication of my hormone driven ADD) I discovered last night where I can buy frozen pig’s uterus. After all those stories you here about people chowing down on pig’s penis and it never once occured to me that pig’s uterus would be just as tasty. I wonder if it tastes different if the pig has had a litter?


Decaff

June 13, 2008

The thing I like about Zelda Fitzgerald is that she is totally jaded but, unlike her husband, she isn’t bitter. She’s like the decaffeinated version, and as a big advocate of decaff coffee that is in no way an insult. In Scott’s writing you can feel the niggling tension headache of withdrawal (from all kinds of substances I don’t doubt) the lack of appetite from dry nausea and an undercurrent of misanthropy that has yet to find a target worthy of trying to muster up some bile. Zelda, on the other hand, loves humanity; she loves the naivity of youth with all its melodrama and foibles and the jadedness of adulthood where there is no point in making a fuss about anything for what good would it do? You might as well make the best of the situation, and it’s not even such a bad situation when you remember you’re still young, insanely rich and a member of American high society. Where Scott saw the poiniency of the lifestyle Zelda laughed at how ridiculous it was – and I imagine that this irritated Scott but I love her for it.


Cynicism radar: 29.95 with free sarcasm alarm

May 29, 2008

Last night I watched the new magically recut magical magic new version of Blade Runner, and while it was fun to see Adama as a young and kinda freaky-looking man I could not see any obvious difference between this and the director’s cut. It raised a tweak on my cynicism radar, particularly when I remembered the email I got from amazon.co.uk with a note saying they had completely remade the film from the bits on the cutting room floor. Which they (of Blade Runner rights ownership) obviously haven’t so I can only conclude they are screwing me for cash.

Cynicism radar can also help you identify people as those who may be fine at acquaintence but are not to be relied on in crises. Like those who think wife beating is a private matter and nothing to bother the police with, and leaving a friend on the street is ok if you’re trying to patch things up with a partner. Ok those are fairly obvious things but they confirmed to me that people I’d already chosen not to trust deserved my lack of faith.

I have long had a problem with a clogged up thought process. So far I have tried whining about it, writing this blog and ritual magic to help the problem, and I’m now starting to see how things I do could have been better if I’d thought about it more at the time. Which sucks but is a start so I’m not going to beat myself up about it. Want to hear a really sick cliche? I have to stop wanting to do things and start doing things. I hate all that self-help life-coaching positivity-mantra bull-shit. It’s sickening and twee and reeks of desperate weakness – probably why women are encouraged to do it. That pisses me off too: women be strong and do something for yourself by acting as pathetic as possible! I think the 12.99 that crappy book costs would be better spent on a big creamy coffee treat and an epic piece of cake. None of that skinny latte skinny muffin shit neither – I’m on to you starbucks, you with your fake fair trade ‘but we have to screw the africans or where will our profit come from?’ attitude.

Speaking of attitude, how badass is the angry stripping woman?:

http://commentisfree.guardian.co.uk/cath_elliott/2008/05/so_angry_i_could_strip.html

Considering I’ve been stared at, honked at, shouted at, talked at, curbed crawled, asked inappropriate questions about my sexual history and had my arse groped at a bus stop at lunchtime I can appreciate this problem. I do not dress to be leched at and I ain’t even that pretty, though I’m young and well-endowed. What I find most insane about this article is the number of responders implying that the author is just jealous because she’s not much to look at and probably doesn’t get this sort of attention. Again, I call bullshit. I feel a deep well of pity for all women who enjoy the greasy stares of grotesque men. And before anyone says it even if George Clooney or Johnny Depp asked me to get my tits out all they would see is my angry face.

 Edit: I forgot to add that I love the Mary Wollstonecraft quote at the end of that article. If only my cage were so shiny #sigh#


Secrets

May 27, 2008

What I should have been writing about today, of course, are my secrets which are untraceable, rather than my public experiences which will glow of me-ness to anyone I am non-sexually intimate with.

On friday I was in a fug. I’m not sure where the word comes from but I feel it means a misery fog – it is thick and gloomy and makes you feel a bit isolated. I bought a small notebook (I now wish I’d gone for a bigger one) took myself to a coffee shop and sketched out the basic plotlines for the four major characters in my new script story. The women are clearer in my head but that seems normal, the men will come out in time. The fug became less sticky – or I started vibrating from the caffeine. My evening improved from there.

The point is that I haven’t pulled my disappearing act for a long time. It’s not something I ever did that often (unless you include the times I pretended not to be in my room/asleep). I didn’t think it was something I needed to do anymore, having left behind all the destructive people I did know and now being in contact with comparitively small (if persistant) stresses.

I think I did it for other reasons. A primary factor is the lack of personal space I claim as mine. My room is used for storage of my things and as a guest bedroom. That means guests own the space over me. The room is cold and isolated. It is cluttered. If I did go up there my partner would probably seek me out for having withdrawn.

Another problem I have is that things are always on. I’m all for watching a bit of telly, but when you’re constantly surrounded by tvs, pcs, consoles, sky+, even the fridge hums and the extractor in the kitchen. It’s too much. It’s never still. It puts me on edge, which is why I think I like the opportunity to scribble in a notebook.

The best part about going to a coffee shop is the feeling of having noone’s hands on you. No one knows where I am (there must be over a dozen coffee shops within a mile square) and it is incredibly unlikely that anyone will find me by accident, especially given my choice of seats. It’s like being in a bubble. I don’t have to play up to anyone, or feel any tension, or provide any support. And if I have a notebook I can write too.


God baiting

May 14, 2008

Excuse me for being groggy. I got 5 hours sleep for the second night in a row. The cat is now in the bin. The coffee is half drunk, so fluency should improve during discourse.

I usually wait til after lunch to make my post, giving me time to consider what I might discuss, but today I know what to talk about. I also need a writing warm-up while the coffee finds its way to my veins, which I imagine are something like cable insulation tubing. Combined with my nutritious breakfast of supermarket sushi and kettle chips I’m well on my way to my five a day.

Last night I took part in a pagan ritual with BMF (best male friend, in case any person ever starts reading this. The people I expect to talk about most are him, Best Female Friend, Partner, housefolks, and possibly colleagues and boss). BMF is passionate about his religion, and I am always pleased when he shares this with me. I have taken part in group rituals he’s lead before which have involved a guided meditation to call up the guardian spirits of the elements and the sharing of bread and wine (consecrated bread tastes so much better for some reason) but this was the first time we’d done it by ourselves and at my house.

We chanted to invoke the god Hermes. Chanting something over and over, particularly with at least one other person, puts you in a weird state. I felt blissful, was swaying quite a bit, felt uninhibited. I also felt I couldn’t look up, not that I was afraid to, but that I couldn’t comprehend how much I didn’t deserve to. It was like the top half of the room wasn’t there anymore. I focused on channeling my energy into the offering plate, bowing lower towards it over time as if I was deflating. BMF said after that he could almost see the energy I was pouring out – like the ghost of sand falling from my fingertips. It was exciting.

The purpose of the ritual was to clear communication pathways in my brain and gain clarity of thought. I have long felt that my thoughts were too flitty, I would catch a glimpse of something I’d want to think about but the slightest tap of distraction would dislodge it again and it was back in the cloud. I spend a lot of time wondering where my thoughts have gone (probably early onset alzheimers). I am hoping it will give me the ability to focus properly and develop my creative skills. I have the maturity to know that a carefully considered composition is so much more deep and meaningful than a spontaneous outburst, but I don’t have the confidence to trust myself to work on a big project. I keep saying I should read a lot more first for the experience but it is secondary experience – it is both vital and an excuse.

I also had my cards read. I am about to undergo a major internal change, and must maintain my confidence when people try to knock it because I do have the inner strength to overcome, I just don’t credit myself with having it. Some of the other housefolk had readings but I have not asked them about it yet.