My Harp

Ebony, mahogony,
lithe, curved, carved--
the essence of perfection.
Strings, wires, steel, seat;
how patiently you await me.

I sit before you, infront of you,
my arms and legs wrap around you
and hold your body close.
My fingers rest on you--
waiting, while you tremble.

Quivering, anxious, yearning
you strive towards that one need--
that reaching desire.
My fingers move, they dance
across you and you respond joyously.

Sweet notes pour forth, filling
the air with a melody of
heartbreaking sadness;
of bittersweet joy.

I stroke you, I caress
and my hands glide over your body.
Cascading notes shiver in
the sweet song, the melody
we make together.

My fingers dance over your strings,
my hands and arms glide
over your body, caressing
the perfect, lithe curves.

Through the air sings our song
the sweet melody
that is nothing more, nor less
than the pure music,
the sound of my soul.

Do not judge me.

Don't judge me, don't look at me and condemn me with your eyes, your oh so subtle slights. For in judging me you are judging yourself, and by condemning me you are finding yourself wanting. I am no more, nor less than you, I do not judge you, I'll not find you wanting, for I have no right, yet you dare put that right over me?

You dare to look at me and think you know me, and what you know disgusts you, when what you know is only rumour? Gossip? And you -dare- to think that you are better than I, that you know what I am like, what I like, what is in my head, better than I do, and in that knowing, you are superior to me?

You may perhaps wonder what prompted this post? It's really quite simple, as all my rants tend to be. Mother dearest. You recall me mentioning that she had called the school and told my year team leader, explicit details of what I was like, what I liked? Teachers seldom know when to keep their trap shut, and this is a classic example of such, the majority of the teachers, people I HAVE NO IDEA WHO THEY ARE know me by name, greet me and I see that fucking look in their eyes. That they've judged me and found me wanting for being different from them, from what's 'normal'.

Understandably, I am a little bit annoyed.

It's like....you can tell you know? The way people look at you, then glance aside, the slight twitch of their features that they think they controlled, and most telling of all, how fast they vacated a room when I entered. What RIGHT do they have? By what high ideal can they point to and say with certainty, 'this is why i'm better than you?'.

*sighs*

You understand perhaps, why I say that I have next to no privacy? Mother dearest has told EVERYONE she knows that she's having problems with me, EVERY fucking person that knows me, through her, knows. And she wonders why I dislike her so? I mean, we were going fairly well, mainly because I have recalled how very much I have to hide from her, about what I honestly think and feel.

I had forgotten that I had to, when I spent two years with my dad, just me and him. And consequently, she exploded on finding out what I thought and felt....so now I just have to hide it again. Ah well, you get that. I hide from everyone, no one, not one person among you who read my blog, know -everything- about me, even though I have invited you into my mind via this.

There is one that knows quite alot, and that's mainly because he's as perceptive as me, but the rest of you are floundering. No offence, but you are. I let him into my head before any of you, but I'm still waiting for him to turn tail and run, flee in disgust. As I wait for you likewise to do.

Oh, and Xin, I have read them. They're quite good, in a couple. But I'm just saying what my Lit teacher says. I just like the guys writing, who gives a toss about what he's trying to hint at? But then, you're a religious person, I am not so...*shrugs* it's well enough.

Blake

Xin, psssh....most people take one look at that poem, it's length and just quail (?) whimper and say 'is too loooooong' and you want me to make it -longer-? Heh, ah well. Aside from the fact that I have next to no idea as to where next take the story... Even if I could keep it up at that level of poetry anyways, since I've slipped out of my poetic phaze, I'm writing short stories more often now. But anyways, lets get onto the topic of my post.

William Blake, a rather skilled poet and so on, he was also an artist, or so the theory goes, pro-christianity anti-church though. He's the only one of the poets that we have to study that I actually -like-, and as such, I can recall a great many more of his poems than almost any other. Which is a boon in itself I suppose.

As I went from field to field is one of my favourites, I actually used it last year in my lit exam heh. I also like The Fly, a nice, short poem actually. I'd type them up, but I currently do not have them with me, and I'm not confident enough in my memory of them to be able to quote them accurately, or adequately and that would be a far greater injustice than by simply omitting them.

Another poet that I like, Lord Byron, well...one of his poems, Fare thee well is rather good, albeit a rather -long- poem. It's about this father bidding farewell to his wife/lover, lamenting the separation.

But tis done, all words are idle
words from me are vainer still,
and the undying thoughts which bridle
force their way without the will.

Fare thee well-- thus disunited
torn from every nearer tie,
alone in heart, and soul, and blighted;
more than this I scarce can die.

Last two stanza's, rather nice I think. It's got something like 23 verses, so ...yeah. And that's the bell to start yet another day, unfortunately. Until then, fare thee well.

A couple of things

First off, yes Xin, I -did- write 'The Grassy Hill', if I didn't I would have acknowledged the author, as I have with all other poems that I haven't written myself so it really shouldn't be that hard to believe :P But thanks for the glowing response regardless, if you think a couple passages were difficult to follow in -that- poem, you should read one of my other poems (I might post it...later on) there's one line, or rather two in the first stanza that I'm still not happy with. -_- that is an awkward rhyming scheme.

Second, since I doubt you go back and re-read the comments, I've taken to replying to them on my next post so that you still get a reply and others get the hint to -read- the dratted things :P Yeah...I know that the story went off on a tanjent slightly, it wasn't entirely intentional, just giving a background of the narrator and the brother and things, a bit on the society. It was a 30 minute quickie, so...yeah. If you honestly desire to read more about that tale, I suppose I could write some more up, I had -intended- it to be a detective story-like thing, but well....I've reached the conclusion I'm not detectively inclined. >_>

Third, the actual reason why I decided to post; Uni. It's big. Scary. I dun like it. I spent yesterday at Curtin University for an English conference thingy, and I got lost before I'd even started...and then when I found where I was supposed to be, I got lost again...looking for the next venue which I'll have you know, was at the OPPOSITE end of the campus. -_- And I asked for directions and even had a MAP and I -still- got lost. Dun tease me, I has no friends :(

But my directional faux pas aside, it wasn't too bad, hour long lectures and the like, cafe's bloody -everywhere-, literally. A couple were actually useful, the Othello, Texts and Contexts and the first lecture that slips my mind...ah, No Sugar...no...bah. Can't remember it, were actually fairly good. No Sugar had very little to do with the actual story, it was mostly about the type of story it was, a frame story with two narrators yaddah yaddah yaddah...I fell asleep in that lecture >_> What! I was tired. I'd worked the night before, went to bed at 11pm, got up at 6.30am where I was looking forward to sleeping into 7, I worked again last night after getting a major brain-drain from the lectures...*sighs* So yes, to say I'm a little bit dead today would be an understatement.

Oh and Xin, I am of the same opinion that a mutual....friend, lets say, has. It royally -sucked- that your school wasn't there. Then I wouldn't have been quite as much of a loner in the Lit lectures. *sulks* Although she was saying that it would be so she could hang out with you and all that jazz...gods, I know it's very bad of me to say this, but I -hate- selfish people. And yes, I know I'm being hypocritical with that statement, hence why I try to be as unselfish as I can. Not that mother dearest believes that but lets not go into -that- little subject shall we?

She also told me a tale of you being a right moron, wasabe is -hot-. You do NOT eat LOTS OF IT at once and expect to keep your dignity. It doesn't happen. Sushi = good. Sushi + soy sauce = good. Sushi + wasabe = edible. Wasabe(i?) = BAD. Do try to remember that next time you get dared to make a fool of yourself sweetie.

The Grassy Hill

‘See that hill, the one hidden away, out of sight?

If you sit and wait, quiet-like, watching till night,

you might see something few have seen before,

a rare vision gleaned straight from old folk-lore.

A something hidden, something secret,

something I doubt you will ever forget.

‘Hush now, the sun has finally gone,

do you hear it, that faint wafting song?

Sit sit, do not move, else you might not see

this mystery, this beauty I know you want to be.

Look there! Do you see it, see the slight change?

Patience now, if you want to see it, you will manage.

‘Do you see them as they peer out,

searching for watchers they’re sure to be about?

The little creatures that shy from Man,

and search the grass around their little door,

though they freeze at all they think they saw.

‘Hush, hush. Ah! Here she comes from below

the minuscule little lady that runs this show.

The regally glowing Queen of the creatures hidden

beneath the surface of mortal woes to gladden

the heavy heart with joyful dreams

where nothing is what it seems.

‘She throws gleefully coloured balls

deep within her soil crafted halls,

where all the creatures come to dance

and hope to make a memorable entrance

before their delicate crystal Queen,

Ruler of the Realm of the Mortal Dream.

‘There, you see her now, her crystal form

glinting in the moonlight as though torn

from the mysteries of a half remembered dream,

a delicate nightmare that makes you want to scream?

Do you see her, the delicate crystal beauty of her,

and in seeing the ethereal beauty of her, do you fear her?

‘Now, now, don’t look at me like that

you know this is not fantasy, but fact.

Can you not feel the urge, feel the need

to turn and run with a blood-curdling scream?

Her fragile form holds an ice-cold heart,

you would know this, if you were smart.

‘See her subjects, as bright as bright can be

dancing joyous in coloured gaiety,

they twirl, spin and dance,

their performance’s sole purpose is to entrance

the unseen watcher beneath the full-moon

knowing that helpless, they will come out of hiding soon.

‘There, the magic is set, the trap is ready,

will you resist, though the urge to move is heady?

You want to join them, surely there is no harm,

not a movement, not a twitch that might cause alarm?

The twirling dance goes on and on

moving to the distant wafting song.

‘Your finger twitches, tapping in time with the soft beat

and before long, it is joined by both your feet.

Go on then, go and join them. Stand.

For after all, you are only a mortal Man.

So stand and go, yes you will,

and dance with them, into the grassy hill.’

Some faint sense twines through the spell

as the hill closed behind him, tolling a death-knell.

He turns and tries to run and flee

but the song snatches him up with glee

and gently sweeps clean his mind;

till there is not a thought to find.

‘Welcome to my Realm, the world beneath the surface,

a world filled with lies and endless grace.

You shall know, no more, no hate nor joy.

Well mortal, did you like my crystal decoy?

There, there, mortal, no need to cry

though you will never again see the sky.

‘Little mortal, you came to me willingly,

though I lured you with words, you see

there is none to blame but yourself,

but you will not grow old and placed on a shelf,

this age is yours to forever enjoy

while you spend eternity as my mortal toy.’

And in so hearing the mortal cried,

wept for the death longed for and denied.

Their fate sealed as they danced under the hill,

not knowing the Queen moved in for the kill.

Now they spend eternity at the feet of the Ice-Queen

soundlessly screaming, in this nightmare of a Dream.

Inbreeding, that's not.

I'm my own granpa

I'm my own granpa...I'm my own granpa
It sounds funny, I know, But it really is so
I'm my own granpa.

Now many many years ago when I was 23
I was married to a widow who was pretty as could be
This widow had a grown up daughter who had hair of red
My father fell in love with her & soon the 2 were wed
This made my dad my son-in-law & changed my very life
My daughter was now my mother cause she was my father's wife

To complicate the matter, even though it brought me joy
I soon became the father of a bouncing baby boy
My little baby then became a brother in law to dad
And, so, became my uncle though it made me very sad
For if he was my uncle then that also made him brother
Of the widow's grown-up daughter who, of course was my step-mother

I'm my own granpa...I'm my own granpa
It sounds funny, I know, But it really is so
I'm my own granpa.

Father's wife then had a son that kept him on the run
Now he became my brother, for he was my father's son
My wife was now my mother's mother and it makes me blue
Because although she is my wife, she's my grandmother, too
Now if my wife is my grandmother, then I am her grand-child
For every time I think of it, it nearly drives me wild
And now I have become the strangest case you ever saw
As the husband of my own grandmother; I'm my own grand-pa

I'm my own granpa...I'm my own granpa
It sounds funny, I know, But it really is so
I'm my own granpa.

By Guy Lombardo.

(The italics dun wanna leave T_T) Ironically, my family is pretty much the same hehe, hell confusing. See, my mothers boyfriend is my fathers brothers girlfriends son. So, already we have a bit of a confusion happening. But if my uncle marries his girlfriend, that would make my mothers boyfriend my step-cousin, his mother my step-aunt. Still with me? Good, no problems.

Now, if they -didn't- get married but my mother and her boyfriend -did- then that would make my uncle my great-uncle, his girlfriend my grandmother, my father my brother-in-law, and I would be my own cousin.

Lets say they -both- got married. This would mean that my uncle would be my great-uncle, and grandfather-in-law, my mother would be my aunt, her boyfriend would be my cousin and step-father. My uncles girlfriend to my mother would be an ex-sister-in-law (parents divorced), and a daughter-in-law. Which makes me both my own cousin, aunt and neice. My mothers boyfriend is my brother-in-law, my father my grandfather and I'm sure I'm missing some relation lines in there....

So yea, we -sound- really inbred, if either of the two married that is, but we're not, honest. Two completely different family lines, the mother and son of one, with an uncle and mother of the other, but it's no biggie. Have fun getting your head around -that- little knot of a family tree ^_^

New language!

Hehehe, my blog at school has changed language, no longer is it in italian, and no longer do I 'pubblica' anything, now I 'mempublikasikan kiriman' hehe, indonesian :D

I can read this language, I even know it, semi-fluently at least, considering that I studied it from years 4 to 8 and was top of the class for most of those years. It was fun, I've always liked learning another language, and if the school -stays- with indonesian, this semi-fluent language of mine, I'll be even better at it, or so the theory goes. Especially since it has quite a few words that are spelt the same or similar to english, just pronounced differently.

'Pencil' is pronounced pen-seel, so yeah. ^_^ This is fun, I'm dredging up a language I havent used in years and stunning myself with how much I actually remember. ...although I can never remember what 'yes' in indonesian is, no is tidak but...hmm. Much cause for thought.

Ah well, a blog written in the morning before my day has happened, not sure if this is wise, but it shall do, for I don't want to bring you lot down with my emo-ness.

Oh and Xin, why would you have had to worry? I've been 'getting it out of my system' for ages now, ever since I got this blog actually, judging by the amount of rants i've put on here, about mother dearest and other irritating persons. Oh, speaking of irritating, you know what -really- pisses me off? The 'emo' people.

You know, those that pretend to be emo and all *stab stabby rip stab* yet you can -tell- that its just an act and all they really think about is how to fit in with the 'emo crowd'? Gah. A 'friend' of mine actually insulted me with just that thing, you know the Youtube 'Emo song'? He showed that too me, expecting me to laugh and I actually got quite angry, it's people like that, that make fun, a mockery of real inner turmoil that make me wonder -why- I bother trying to be tolerant. Fair enough they haven't had any reason to know what it's like, or why people would do that, but they could at least have the common courtesy to keep the mockery to themselves.

You don't see people pointing the finger and laughing at goths, punks, rock-chicks etc do you? Fair enough nerds, geeks, the intellectual type are mocked, but not in that same way, they're mocked for the fact that from all that brain power they lose their dress sense. I'm just as guilty heh, what I wear, I wear for comfort rather than looks, if it looks good on me that's just a bonus. But....like, they're making a mockery of the fact that some people -are- suicidal, and they make the assumption that all 'emo's are suicidal...I'm rambling aren't I?

Sorry, but that debate we had, 'that we regret the rise of the emo culture' (check through my blog archives if you're not familiar with it) hit home, sort of, and I've been thinking, off and on, about it, until I let you lot know my thoughts, yet again. Aren't you getting tired of listening to the same stuff? Get a new opinion, point of view!

Sheesh, I want to be thought provoking, not thinking for you. Thinking is good for you, it doesn't matter what the rice-cracker says, thinking IS a good thing.

terimah kashi. (thankyou, see! I -do- know the language :P ...although, I don't recall if that's the right spelling >_> <_<>_> shush.)

Counselling session two

Today I again went and saw my counsellor, it was....interesting. Not sure in a good or bad way though. She had me playing in a sandbox XD Hehe, it was fun....ish.

Also had a second guy in there, he was a trainee apprentice shrink or something, which means I'm either a deadly dull and boring case, or a hyped out spastic one....i think I'll go with the latter heh.

I am currently a bit tired, just ....who would have thought it was so draining to cry you know? *yawns* so my thinking isn't working too well, hence why this post is so short, and ...yeah, incoherent.

I'm yelling at you lot too, I feel all neglected like since you're not reading heh, see, I -told- you that you'd get bored eventually and wander off :P

Today we has...a patronizing idiot for a counsellor.

So, my day went as it usualy does, schoolwise at least, and on the last subject of the day, Human Biology, I walk in and my teacher says that she got an email asking me to go down to the counsellors office, which was fair enough, but a bit of a surprise.

I didn't expect it, honestly, and after the last interaction I had with her, I don't recall if I had my blog by then nor if I mentioned it....? Anyways, I'll mention it again. What happened was mother dearest and I had a major fight (the first major one actually) and I told a teacher, the teacher emailed her and I got an appointment. I specifically asked her NOT to tell my mother, and the very next day she did!

I confronted her on that little factor, and told her that I was seeing another counsellor, she tried to use the excuse that there -was- a danger because I had run away from home. I said I -hadn't-, I was still living under my mothers roof, wasn't I?

Gods how I hate do-gooder, well-intentioned CATHOLIC counsellors. They'll do what they bloody well please and ignore what anyone says to the contrary. And to top it off, she was patronising too! Graaaar!


Oh, and my printer/scanner doesn't like my laptop, or my laptop doesn't like my printer/scanner, in either case, it don't work like it should :( I can scan, the program is working, I can see the pre-scan image fine enough, but when I scan it, it doesn't show up as being scanned and I can't save the piccy! *weeps* So, I'm gonna have to go to a decent computer techie and get some more memory installed in my laptop, like, ALOT of memory, since the average compy has about 80 gig, at a minimum, and my awesome laptop has a massive 10 gig, whoo! ....and a whole 3.2 gig...no, less than that now, free. And that's just from programs that I use. I've pulled out -everything- that is non-essential, even the unneccessary programs, and still we're using a heap of gig. *sighs* There's nothing else to take out! Except for the program files, the records and whatnot, which -I- can't get to easily. :(

Printer/scanner

I love nerdy friends, people that frequently make their living from coding and computer hardware/software...it's so handy when they help you out. ^_^

Well, my CD drive for my laptop is stuffed, ergo, when in said laptop the laptop won't boot up, so my printer/scanner that I got from my father for christmas has been a paperweight for half the year, a flash looking paperweight but a paperweight none the less. But no longer!

Said friend of mine asked me what the make, model, style...the whole fruit of my printer/scanner was, I obliged and he found me the software, on the net, to download onto my computer. 40.2MB of downloading -_- four and a half hours later....we start installing! Yay! I was all bouncy and bubbly and yaay!

Fine, fair enough....and then to test to see if the dratted thing was working, I tried to print out a story. Nothing happened. The test page printed out (after I fixed the paper jam) and then I flipped the test page over into the scanner part to align the cartridges or whatever and whee, is done! That was great.

I open up the actual program....an hour later it finishes loading because it had to configure for the first use. -_- and I scan a picture into my computer! ....I think. I'm not entirely sure if it worked or not because I set it to being a black and white picture, fine fine, I tried to change where it would be sent to...twenty minutes later I give up since it tended to not co-operate. I click scan.

Waiting....waiting...waiting....

Not responding...

Waiting...waiting....waiting....

Still not responding...

Waiting ...waiting....waiting....

Do you get the feeling I was rather bored at this point?

Wait some more.....and successs! it hummed and buzzed and and and.....that's it. -_- Not responding...waiting...waiting waiting....

So I got sick of waiting, understandably since it took about three and a half hours to get the humming. 9.30pm, I start shutting things down, ....not responding....close godamit! ah-ha! we have shut down. 9.45pm my laptop in it's entirety actually starts shutting down, so I pull out the printer, take it back to my room return for my laptop and folding cords up, put it in my room...by now I can shut it since it will have finished shutting down. That's the usual amount of time it takes to shut down by the way, if not longer. ( We wont mention the hour and a half boot up time...>_> I was having quite a few issues with my laptop that day)

So, when I get home today, I'll most likely be ensconced in my room, fiddling with my laptop and printer and ensuring that they both work properly and are speaking to each other, and then, if the scanning actually co-operates, finding the dratted picture I scan into my laptop. Course, he was -very- amused at how much I thanked him, sort of like thankyou thankyou tahnkyou thankyou thankyou thankyou thankyou thankyou thankyou! It's working it worked heee it's working thankyou!!!!!

*coughs* yes, well I think I shall leave it there, before you all think I've lost my marbles completely. But it's the small things in life that make living bearable. :)

Oh, and I'm in a wonderful mood, if you haven't noticed :P

The Future

In lieu of something decent to say, have a story. Written in word, so excuse the proper formatting.

It’s a time beyond memory, a time beyond reason. A time where the good guys are allied with the bad guys and the bad guys are just wrong. When every step could be the last one you take on your own feet, where you can’t turn to the authorities for help or even medical assistance, because they’re no doubt worse than the people you need help from...

Where murder is rampant, robbery the course of the day and hatred oozing in the air. This is where he grew up, in this mire of misery, this swill of self-pity and hatred. My brother, my only living relative and the worst of the lot. He moved from the mire to the shadows and from there became one of the ‘good’ guys. The public love him, he seems to be genuine in his promises but I know better.

This is the tale of my brother, the story he doesn’t want told, not now, not ever, so I cannot speak but I can write and the world knows that he’s my brother so he can’t make me vanish. I’m the mute, the freak, the one he pulls out when he wants the sympathy votes yet in his eyes is the hate, the hate that is instilled from birth into each and every one of us.

He’s my brother and I love him, but mostly I hate him, for what he’s done to me, to the world and how nobody ever notices. I can’t let him see that though, not from me. I’m his only support, the only one he feels he can count on. I’m the only one keeping him human because he knows how much I hate the ‘bots, cyborgs and the AI’s. Everyone else loves them. In this age, with these advances, you don’t get sewn up, you get a transplant, a substitute, a mechanical, electronic replacement.

He’s my brother and I love him, but how I wish he’d left me my tongue! I can walk, I can see, I can write, I can hear but I cannot speak. I am pitied because I –could- speak, I’m one of the few that the techs would love to get their hands on, there’s only about one hundred of us, out of all the billions of people in the world. We can be formed, improved, into something more, something that is like a god, or even higher, yet I refuse to get the transplant, the substitute because I know the techs wouldn’t be able to resist going further and ‘improving’ me. Because I refused to let my brother pay for my improvements, I am both revered and pitied, I am both more and less than them, in their eyes. Sure, I could be more, but I would lose my humanity, my me-ness, and that’s too high a price to pay, for some bits of metal.

This is the world I live in, where the quality of your electronic ‘improvements’ and the quantity of them matters more than who you might have been. This is the world my brother was born into and the world he rose to power in; this is reality, one of science and fantasy. This is what I hate, the cold impersonality and this is what I want to change, to give Mankind back its humanity.

Enjoy. Oh, and things are better with mother dearest, she's gotten over her pique and is leaving me alone, i'm still walking on eggshells but yeah, it could be worse I guess.

First counselling session.(14th June, thursday)

Well….It went…well. I suppose. Mother dearest was icy on the way down of course, but that’s to be expected, and sort of snarky…but meh. It wasn’t what I had expected it to be quite honestly. I had expected to have to sit there, with mother dearest beside me while she spoke to the counsellor and told them all that I didn’t do and all that fruit, and the counsellor would turn to me and ask “Is this true?” Mother dearest would jump in and say “Course it is, I don’t lie.” So I’d shrug and say “Must be. Since if I say anything to the contrary, it’ll just be a lie, since that’s all I can do, isn’t it mother dearest?”

But that didn’t happen! I was dragged along as an afterthought, and I got to speak to the counsellor, Jean, by myself, she went on about confidentiality and such, stuff that she legally has to talk about, I told her about my first attempt and how after asking the school counsellor NOT to call my mother or say anything to her, she called mother dearest anyways so I was a bit…iffy about councillors. She completely understood.

We went through this sheet thing, where she asked me why I wanted counselling I said because I knew I was depressed and even my father knew …you know, stuff like that. And what I hoped to get out of counselling. Heh, that was easy to answer, to be happy, to no longer be depressed or to be actually clinically diagnosed with depression or something, which mother dearest still denies I have.

She said, the counsellor, that if she had a magic wand, what would be three things I would wish for? To be overseas and have my own house, to be self-sufficient and to be happy, where I was and who I was. Heh, maybe, if she fixes up my head, I’ll be able to know how to do it for other people, professional like you know?

After, mother dearest asked how long I was looking at needing therapy for, she said at least 6 months, since mother dearest didn’t want me missing out on school or the like, and they aren’t open on the weekends, although I’m usually working and if I’m not working, she’s sleeping. So instead, next week, I’m getting picked up from school or something along those lines at lunchtime or so since I don’t have any TEE subjects after lunch on that day, Thursday. That’s when my next appointment is. She seemed quite….happy you know? When I told her that I had a blog and that I used it for dealing with the problems that I had, she seemed glad that I had a way of letting it out.

It was…refreshing…to have someone willing to listen, that –wouldn’t- go to my mother and blab, and that was actually willing to see my side of the story, who hasn’t yet been charmed by mother dearest. *shrugs* So yeah….we’ll see how well this works out, won’t we? Oh! I have to pay for the sessions too, thankfully the price is lowered from the $25 a hour to $15, which I can manage to pay on a weekly basis much more easily. Ah well…we’ll see, won’t we?

My Mother; My Enemy

(written Wednesday night, 13^th of June)

So we have it dear readers, the culmination of mother dearests and my relationship. She has admitted that she is my enemy, when I have been telling my father that for years. She is my enemy. And thus, we end the relationship.

The last time I apologise, the last time I let her hurt me, if it is only a tiny amount. “If you can’t rely on your family, who the fuck do you rely on?” she said to me, she also told me to “Grow up, wake up and look at reality around you. The sooner you learn to stand on your own two feet, the better off you’ll be.” Stand on my own two feet? Since when have I relied on anyone else? Oh right, my father. I suppose I should distance myself from him too?

She reckons that something has died inside her, that this is my life, my reality, where I’ll grow to be very lonely. People will only love me, she says, when I love myself. How right she is. Isn’t it ironic? In her aim to hurt me, to make me cry, she hit the nail on the head. I don’t love myself. I can’t. I hate myself, I hate that I’m so much like her it scares me. I hate how she’s hurt me, I hate how she’s forced me to be something I’m not…You all know what I’m like, you all know me better than she knows me, but because the me –you- know, isn’t the same me that she knows, she assumes that I’m stringing you along. That I’m deceiving you.

She begrudges me, because she has to go to a councillor tomorrow and tell them that she can’t cope with me. She begrudges me because the councillor quite correctly names my suicidalness as a cry for help and she doesn’t want to see that. She can’t. She begrudges me the money I’ve cost her, even now, when I ask for next to nothing for –myself- as a want, -not- a need, she begrudges me that. When I need a new school uniform, or shoes, she begrudges me that she has to buy them. She begrudges me the fuel it costs her so that ‘we can go out places’. I have not asked her, yet this year for her to take me someplace that I didn’t need to go so that I wouldn’t disappoint someone other than myself. She begrudges me for being depressed, for being suicidal, for one of my friends, whome cares for me deeply, going almost mad with grief when they thought I was gone, and threatening her life. She begrudges me for wanting my independence, she begrudges me for hating her, she begrudges me for not knowing why I should have apologised. I still don’t know. She begrudges me for not being able to tell her what –she- did wrong…when she cannot do the same for me? She begrudges me for the arguments she has with her boyfriend, she begrudges me the food I eat, the water I use, she begrudges me my life, my very existence and the hardships I’ve put on her. She wonders why I hate her?

“If you get yourself in trouble, you fuck up your life, don’t come crying to me.” She says “Go to your fucking father, I don’t want to know.” Like I would go to –her- for help? She would most likely only make the situation worse.

She says “You always say to me, I love you because you’re my mother, well I love you because you’re my daughter.” Like that’s supposed to hurt? I had a talk with her, obviously, I apologised to start things…and it came to this. My mother, my enemy. The entire conversation, I was silent, except for maybe a no, or a yes, motionless except for a shrug of my shoulders but everything she said to me, every word that came from her mouth, you could see it in her eyes, see it in her face, everything was designed to hurt me, to get me to cry so that she could gloat and say “The truth hurts, don’t it?”

She’ll not see me cry, ever. I will not give her that satisfaction, she already has the satisfaction of hearing me apologise, never again will I be so weak as to think that there might have been something worth salvaging. Might have been. No longer. I do not care. She can deliver all the ultimatums she likes, make all the threats she likes, I’ll just shrug, move around them, get on with my life as though she was not in it, for she will not be, come the end of school. Come my final exams, I will be gone. Perhaps I should plan more, start looking for houses, or something, who I’m supposed to stay with….but I cant …care you know? If all else fails I’ll go live with my father, if he refuses me, I’ll live on the streets, I don’t care.

She says I’ll become a hermit, she says that like it’s supposed to hurt me. She reckons that because I spend so much time on the internet, I’ll lose my ability to communicate with others. I don’t care. Nothing she can say, nothing she will say, has said, will hurt me any more. Nothing.

So, regardless, I am my own transport, except for perhaps Friday nights, when they need me here to look after the child, otherwise I am on my own, under my own steam. It is liberating, is it not? It should have come to this years ago, then I would not have had to rely on her, I would not have had to….depend on her good will. You know something? When I was oh…13 or so, she would have had me riding to the bustop, near on 7km away, because –she- didn’t want to have to get up at 7am to take me at 7.30. Then she used the excuse that my dad couldn’t take me, not and work. She would have made me too, come rain, hail or shine, ride to and from the bustop, uphill one way, downhill the other, a 2 hour walk uphill, because –she- didn’t want to pick me up. My father told her, that it might work in summer, but what about in winter, when it was raining or –2 degrees or colder? ‘fuck school, I’m staying home’. So, she saw the sense and I didn’t have to hoof it. But now, ah, now I do.

Good thing it is 2km or so from the bustop to m-..her house, is it not? A mere 20 minute walk. An hour’s bikeride from work, but then I’m crossing two suburbs and going uphill to boot. Half-hour ride to work. But hey, it doesn’t matter you know?

Ah yes, I’ve just received orders, I’m to go with her to the councillors, tell them what’s going on because I won’t tell her. You need to listen to be told something. You cannot listen if your gums are flapping mother dearest, try shutting up for a bit, you might be amazed at what you hear.

Oh joy, she just came in, yelled at me because she had to see the councillors. “What are we going to tell them? That you saying you were going to suicide was only for sympathy? Is it the truth is it a lie?”

I shrug.

“Well which is it?”

“A bit of both maybe.”

And so on, until she gets fed up and says “Fuck you.” And shuts the door.

Ten minutes later the boyfriend makes a comment “From what I’ve heard so far, it sounds like you’ll be lucky to come home with her tomorrow, sounds like they’re going to lock her up.”

“Once they find out what she’s been doing, they ought to.”

Charming little family aren’t we? If this is so dear readers, and I do get locked up, then do not panic, do not stress, I’m sure I’ll still go to school, I’ll post my blogs when I can, so that you can be reassured of my existence. But it brings something to light does it not? Nymphomania. An irrational and unreasonable need for sex. Perhaps I’m one of them, perhaps I have that problem, as well as being depressed. Wouldn’t it make my life just dandy dear readers?

But then, I’ve known for years that I was crazy, you’ve most likely known for as long as you’ve known me, that I was a bit round the bend, they just haven’t gotten around to diagnosing me. In an odd way I’m looking forward to it, to being diagnosed as insane…then I would be out from under her roof, would I not?

Weak...*sigh*

Yes, I am weak. Very weak. And don't you go disagreeing with me either! I am ashamed of myself, or will be, for what I will do tonight...this evening.



*sighs* yes, well, you are aware that mother dearest and I are still fighting? She desires an apology so I'll have to give her one, even though I still have next to no idea for what I'm apologising for. Yes, it is weak....but I am so sick of the blasted fighting. I'm sick of always being in the wrong, sick of always having to apologise. Yet it's a habit that is hard to break you know? Especially when it keeps the peace in the family.



Oh, and I've been given the suggestion to label my faults, list them and then each and every day try to fix them. So, here they are.



1. Arrogance. Major fault, I'm a very proud and arrogant girl, I try not to be, but I fail. Therefore, to fix this, I will no longer have an ego. Nothing I do shall matter, zippo, nyet, nada. If I have nothing to be proud of, then I'll have no arrogance, and I'll become a better person.



2. Intellect. This links on with my arrogance, if I wasn't so smart and all that fruit, I wouldn't be arrogant nor have an ego the size that I do. Therefore, I will strive to be as blonde and idiotic as I can, a simpleton that gets good grades. *smiles faintly* Xin seems to manage quite well. But regardless, verbal volleyball matches are out the window.

3. Petty/meanness. That I relish walking out for the fact that I will place a financial pinch on my mother. So, regardless that such an event will happen, that she'll feel the pinch once I move out, I shall try not to relish it, for that is something that -she- would do, and I do not desire to be her.

4. Patience. How is this a fault? I do not have enough of it, I get too irritated too swiftly with anyone of a less intellect than I, and therefore I have a low tolerance for fools. But, I shall strive to be more patient, and understanding and tolerant, should be easier now that I'm going to try to join their masses eh?

5. Lying. I'll strive not to lie, not that I do anyways...well, mostly. *sighs* well, unless you ask I'll not divulge anything, and what I divulge will not be a lie. Do not ask unless you wish to know...therefore, I'll be mostly silent around mother dearest, for she accuses me of lying all the time. But there you have it, tis still a flaw that needs to be improved/removed.

So there we have it, five flaws that I feel I can change, if anyone knows any others by all means, tell me. Please. I'll not hold it against you, I honestly wish to know.

Mother dearest (a decent sized rant to get off my chest, long)/ At least I try…

(written last night, and on my laptop so excuse the bad formatting of a hasty post before an exam)

Ah yes, here we are again, at this old familiar topic no? I’m sure you’re all sick and tired of hearing of my woes and mistreatments and what not, I know I would be. If I were you I’d yell at me and say ‘grow up! Get over it!’ but that’s just the thing dear readers, I –have- grown up, I –am- over it…I don’t complain about her every day do I? I don’t moan, bewail, cry out my self-pity all week do I? I –do- find other topics to discuss, and even perhaps make –you- lot think for a bit, but when she gets this blasted petty I –have- to say something you understand? I need some outlet for this…annoyance.

So. The event for today that prompted this post? Simple. I had an exam today, lit, no biggie, spent half the day (the half that wasn’t exam) in the school library, reading and editing one of my stories (about 61pgs worth…I got to about the 31st page before getting seriously bored of the tale and reading a Koontz book) which I didn’t mind, much more fun than calling up mother dearest and asking her to pick me up from school, not that she’d do it regardless understand? I’m still my own transport in that sense, like I need her. But that’s all a side note, let me continue, I caught the bus home and, since this morning she told me that I’d be walking home, I was fine with that. We all know I’m a bit on the large side and could use some exercise no? She tells me quite frequently. Getting off the bus a stop later than I usually do (cutting out about 200m distance) I start off. No problem. Texted my father, getting him to pay for my leavers jacket and setting up things so that I could spent the upcoming school holidays at his place, I was sweet, I had my book, it was a briskly cool day. No probs.

Then I got home. *sighs* I wasn’t sure if they were awake or not, so I simply let myself in, dumped my bag in my room and went into the kitchen, got myself something to eat and drink, and then –she- came in. First words from her mouth, in that condescending spiteful tone I think most mothers manage to create when they’re feeling superior

“Enjoy your walk?”

“Yeah.” I reply, what else do you say to that? I mean, I’m not about to break down and say ‘oh no mummy dearest, it was absolutely –horrid- it was cold and to –far- and my legs –hurt-. I’m soooooooooo sorry, please please please forgive me and pick me up from the bus stop tomorrow? I –promise- I won’t not react when a friend of mine threatens your life!’ Yeah right.

One, there is no way on this green earth I’m going to grovel to –her- of all people, I –don’t- grovel. I don’t beg, I don’t crawl, for –any- reason. And two, how can I apologise for not reacting as she thinks I should, at the thought of someone wanting to kill her when I quite frankly want to do just that? –I- am not the hypocrite here.

Well, since she was in an obviously foul mood, after asking me absently how I went in my exam ‘Alright’

“What exam was it?”

“Lit.” English literature.

“You always do well in lit you say, why don’t you think you did so well?”

“I had no quotes and a –“ mental blank before I even started the poetry section, not that I get to say that.

“That’s because you didn’t study on the weekend.”

“I tried.”

“You’re always trying.”

At this point I just walked out. Wouldn’t you? I mean, what –else- does she expect me to do? As mentioned, I hit a mental wall BEFORE the weekend, in which I had intended to study and memorise five poems and numerous quotes from Othello and Cloudstreet, not that I got to explain that to –her- of course.

So yes, wouldn’t you want to avoid –that- little argument waiting to happen? I’m heartily sick of them. But no, she couldn’t leave it lie and about what…maybe fifteen minutes later she knocks on my door and opens it, walking in “What, aren’t you a member of this family tonight?”

I said “What? I’m just reading.”

No reply to that. “Oh and I need some pads.” Sanitary napkins etc, female things. So she goes and takes some. No, by your leave, no may I have some, just ‘I need some, gimme, yoink’.

After calling the cat to get her to come out (failing) she left. I was like yay…maybe now she’ll leave me be? No such luck. A half hour later, she’s back again “I don’t like the person you become when you’re on the internet.”

I don’t reply, I’ve heard this all before and she doesn’t bother to listen so hey, why bother?

“So you’ve got two choices, just like she has (the bf’s 6yr old daughter), you have the choice that either the internet is just for study, nothing else BUT study, or I get it disconnected.” She was rather smug at pronouncing this. I’m heartily sick of that threat. I even called her bluff once, granted that it was in a major fight, but I would have seen it through ‘go on then, get it disconnected, I’ll even watch you’. Nothing happened, since I’d gotten so fucking sick of her that I’d walked out. Literally, I had every fucking intention of spending the night on the streets.

I didn’t reply.

“Well, what’s your choice?!” Like I had one?

“I’ll use it for study.”

She gets the cat, murmuring “She doesn’t want you in here, she doesn’t want anyone in here, hates everyone she does.” Someday, I should tell her how keen my hearing is no?

I’ll admit quite freely that I’m petty myself. I mean, I can’t wait until I move out and I can go to social (social security, the dole) and say “I’m living away from my parents now, and I’d like to change the account number that my payments go into.” See, they go into –her- account. And with that last, little sentence, it’s $170 a fortnight from her budget, gone, like that. And then there’s the $90 my father pays her as child support, money to feed me, that’s fortnightly. Lets see….$340 + $180 a month that’s…$520 so far. Then there’s my $40 rego and electricity (fortnightly), the phone bill when it comes in (around another $50-70) so lets go for the upper end…and take $20 a fortnight…So, we have $520 + $40 + $70 that’s 520 + 110 …$630 a month, on average. Poof, gone. Petty of me to relish that eh?

Ah yes, and she’s just opened the door and said “You can come out of your room now, I’m going to bed. Thankyou for your conversation tonight, it has been both riveting and stimulating, most enjoyable. Thankyou.”

“Good night.” What else do you say to that? I mean, it’s not –my- fault she was in a foul fucking mood when I came home, it’s –her- fault that I chose to –stay- in my room rather than argue with her. Can you see my point?

Oh, and yesterday because I didn’t do the dishes in the time period she wanted them done, she threw a temper tantrum. Pulled the phoneline from the socket and screetched at me to get off. I’m like….look at the detached phoneline, look at my laptop, look at her, look at the detached phoneline. “Fine. Do you want me to do them now?” The dishes that is.

“It’s a bit fucking late aint it?”

Charming person, my mother. Throws the takeaway on the table “There’s your dinner.”

“Can I at least go on to say goodbye?”

“You can go on after dinner to say goodbye. And then you’re doing the dishes.”

I don’t have anything against chores, I –know- I’m a lazy person, I admit it freely, I admit my faults. I don’t like that they’re there, I don’t –like- to know that I’m more similar to my mother than I thought I was but…I admit it. I see my flaws, I know them, I try to fix them (I fail mostly, but that’s due to laziness, another flaw) but… you know? I get it done, I help out, not as much as she would like (ie, doing everything) but a hell of a lot more than she portrays me doing. But then, it’s not hard to do more than nothing, now is it?

I try to be understanding, to see her side of things and all, I try to be patient, I try. I mostly succeed too…I rarely have to blow up at her, not that it does any good, and I blow up even less than I did, because of this. I can state what she says, what she does, what I do, my own thoughts. Sure it’s justification, but I admit that! I admit that I’m not the angel I might portray myself as, I know I’m far from the perfect daughter, far from the perfect anything really, hell, I’m barely even good. I’m often fond of saying, when pushing someone to do something that is good for them and they reply ‘i’ll try’ I say ‘Good, that’s all anyone can ever ask of you, that you’ll try.’ But trying isn’t good enough any more is it? I –try- my hardest at school, I –try- to do the best that I can, but my best isn’t good enough, and trying doesn’t cut the mustard any more. *sighs* I try. What more can you ask of me? What more do you want? I try. I fail! I know I do, I fail miserably, but at least I –try-. ‘Tis better to have tried and failed than to have never tried at all’ someone famous said that I think, I don’t know who though. Or maybe he was talking about love? Meh.

I try.

I try to stay sane, I try to be happy, I try to smile, I try to enjoy the life I have, I try to be grateful, I try to be understanding, but …I fail. More often than not I fail. You who know me fairly well, you might wonder why I’m such a good friend, in your words? Why I care? Because I try. It’s not hard, to care about someone, it’s not hard to be there, to listen, to help. I’ve tried to help myself, I’ve failed miserably, but I still tried! I’m too stubborn and proud to let anyone else help, and compared to others that I’ve helped, my problems are microscopic. One (I failed to help him completely heal, unfortunately) was raped when he was 13, repeatedly. Every lunchtime, for a week by these three boys. He is now petrified of men, of people, he can’t trust anyone. He’s given me the details of a couple of the rapes, and trust me, it’s not pretty. They hurt him, hurt him something cruel, and now…now his head is stuffed up so that for him, pain –is- pleasure, he doesn’t understand the softer emotions…feelings…sensations. Compared to that, to the hell that his life must be, what are –my- problems? I helped him sleep at night, I helped him trust, a little…to learn to love, before he bolted and distanced himself from me. But I didn’t help him heal, I failed, but at least I TRIED.

Another, I’ve mentioned him before, his parents died or something…were out of the picture and he had to run with a gang, real mean bastards. They took his nephew (cousin, little brother, I’m ashamed that I cannot remember completely) and tortured him, the kid was SIX and they tortured him, broke his little fingers….you name it. Ugly, ugly thing to do to a child. And he, my friend, my love, he went after them. He was FIFTEEN, he shot one, beat the other with a piece of wood because the cops didn’t CARE. He was fifteen, fifteen and he had to kill. What stuck with him, all these years, was the guys eyes when he shot him, the pleading in them…not anything else, just the eyes. Compared to that knowledge, that…experience, what are –my- problems?

I hate myself, for making such a big deal over the way my mother treats me…I know so many people who’ve had it worse…who –have- it worse…so I try.

*sighs* What more do you want? At least I try.

Robert Graves

A poet, I quite like him, though I don't know much about his history, biography and all that, but here are a couple poems by him, short ones that I think are either fitting for myself, or mocking at that which I mock. ;)

History of the Word.

The Word in the begining was the Word
For two or three but elsewhere spoke unheard,
Found Words to interpret, which for a season
Prevailed until ruled out by Law and Reason
Which, by a lax interpretation cursed,
In Laws and Reasons logically dispersed;
These, in their turn, found they could do no better
Than fall to Letters and each claim a Letter.
In the beginning then, the Word alone,
But now the various tongue-tied Lexicon
In perfect impotence the day nearing
When every ear my lose it's sense of hearing
And every mind by knowledge be close-shuttered--
But two or three, that hear the Word uttered.



Rather neat eh? I like how it has double meanings, it -could- refer to the spoken language, and how everything is based on what you say and what you know, or, if you're religious, it could refer to the word of god and all that fruit. Guess which interpretation I favour? ;P


The Naked and the Nude

For me, the naked and the nude
(by lexicographers construed
as synonyms that should express
the same deficiency of dress
or shelter) stand as wide apart
As love from lies, or truth from art.

Lovers without reproach will gaze
On bodies naked and ablaze;
The Hippocratic eye will see
In nakedness, anatomy;
And naked shines the Goddess when
She mounts her lion among men.

The nude are bold, the nude are sly
To hold each treasonable eye,
While draping by a showmans trick
Their dishabille in rhetoric,
They grin a mock-religious grin
Of scorn at those of naked skin.

The naked therefore, who compete
Against the nude may know defeat;
Yet when they both together tread
The briary pastures of the dead,
By Gorgons with long whips persued,
How naked go the sometime nude!


Mmm... yes, another favourite of mine. Go the insulting connotations towards religion :D Okay, I'll explain some meanings of the words in here, 'lexicon' or 'lexicongraphers' is basically language, the way in which you speak. Basically. 'Gorgons' is simple, the Greek Gorgons, you know, Medusa and co? It's referring to them. Wonderful imagery.

Ugh....braindrain/ Only in America

Whoo, we've had a week of study, the first exam come and gone and I've hit a mental brick wall. Literally. I am unable to study any more. My brain refuses to memorise and learn any more. It has given up, refused, gone on strike, quit...you name it.

And thus you have the reason why I do not study. I try, I fail, I push to study and I reach a mental wall. You can only push so far until you hit the limit. Physical limits, mental limits....yeah, I've reached my study limit.

And, on reaching this limit, I have to memorise five poems for my lit exam which is in....five days now. I won't be able to effectively study for another month or so, at least. Joy. Guess which exam I'm expecting to fail?

*sighs* ah well, my mental capacity is preventing me from giving a decent post, so have some one liner joke things.

Only in America......do they use answering machines to screen calls and then have call waiting so they won't miss a call from someone they didn't want to talk to in the first place.

Only in America......can a pizza get to your house faster than an ambulance.

During the constitutional convention in 1787 when it was proposed that the National Army be limited to 3,000 men, George Washington whispered from his presiding
chair, “Then we should have another article providing that no foreign nation with an army exceeding 3,000 men be allowed to invade.”

Yeah...go the american intelligence....now there's an oxymoron XD

Lord of the Desert

I love this poem by Phillip Kirke, I studied it for year...9 english, wow what a long time ago, but it brought me into the love of the word 'sibiliance' ....it's wonderful. ^_^ Awesome poem too.

Oh, sibiliance is the repeatedness of the 'ss' sound. Hehe.

The graceful black snake glides effortlessly,

Across the searing sandy sea,

A winding trail lies in his wake,

Gliding, sliding, lithe, black snake.

Small black eyes search the ground,

Gliding on without a sound.

A winding trail lies in his wake,

Rippling, weaving, lithe, black snake.

With tireless grace his body moves,

Leaving endless winding grooves.

A winding trail lies in his wake,

Dark and soulless, lithe, black snake.

In blazing sun his scales shine,

Gliding on till end of time.

A winding trail lies in his wake,

Endless movement, lithe, black snake.

Deserts, dunes, eternal sand,

Parched and dead ground is his land.

A winding trail lies in his wake,

Lord of the Desert, lithe, black snake.

Exams

Whoo! Exams yeah. They're off to a flying start! off and racing, raring, ready to go and...

We leave our notes at home. -_-

Yeah, go the cleverness. It might have something to do with the fact that I spent the entirety of last night running for my life. And I woke up, was able to wake up and jerk myself out of the dream when I was trapped, had electrified razor wire on one side of me, a house infront of me, barbed wire on the other side and a tractor bearing down on my ass. Fun fun.

Yes, we are sooo clever. At least I remembered my calculator, and that's only because I put it in my bag last night. Ah well, I still reckon I didn't -completely- flunk it, I managed to answer all the questions at least, even though parts of some stumped me, those parts were usually only worth one or two marks. 21 questions, 3 hours, 7 questions an hour...yay, we actually manage to get it done whoo.

*yawns* ah well, I'm dog tired now, exhausted, pooped...braindrained and then some. And mother dearest decided that I could spend the rest of my day at school joy of joys, and I'll get to do the same bloody thing for my remaining three exams yay. Oh how -fun- that will be -_-

And that's the summation of my thoughts for today, given that I'm not actually thinking very well. Enjoy.

Choir boys....don't ask.

Ah yes, a conversation from back when I was younger, more naive, innocent...hehe, it's still funny.

The Rt. Reverend Herod- "Theology - We are in it for the Choir Boys" to "Reddy-hiya: you sick depraved thing" How? says:<-- Him

hey

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says: <-- me

how're you?

The Rt. Reverend Herod- "Theology - We are in it for the Choir Boys" to "Reddy-hiya: you sick depraved thing" How? says:

not too bad, yourself?

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

perdy good i guess

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

pissed off at dialup aye

The Rt. Reverend Herod- "Theology - We are in it for the Choir Boys" to "Reddy-hiya: you sick depraved thing" How? says:

:)

The Rt. Reverend Herod- "Theology - We are in it for the Choir Boys" to "Reddy-hiya: you sick depraved thing" How? says:

yes, the joys of technology

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

lol

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

i dream of broadband aye

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

and a job

The Rt. Reverend Herod- "Theology - We are in it for the Choir Boys" to "Reddy-hiya: you sick depraved thing" How? says:

:P

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

well is true aye, i need the money for broadband where i'm usually staying coz i've gotta be paying completely out of my own pocket aye

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

......i just got your nick

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

....thats wrong

The Rt. Reverend Herod- "Theology - We are in it for the Choir Boys" to "Reddy-hiya: you sick depraved thing" How? says:

ROFL!

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

...really wrong

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

YOU'RE A CHOIR BOY!!!

The Rt. Reverend Herod- "Theology - We are in it for the Choir Boys" to "Reddy-hiya: you sick depraved thing" How? says:

its even more wrong when you consider that Reddy, one of my best mates, is almost your perfect choir boy to boot... blonde hair... blue eyes, etc, etc.

The Rt. Reverend Herod- "Theology - We are in it for the Choir Boys" to "Reddy-hiya: you sick depraved thing" How? says:

;)

The Rt. Reverend Herod- "Theology - We are in it for the Choir Boys" to "Reddy-hiya: you sick depraved thing" How? says:

and i'm doing Theology next year. ;););)

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

OMG!!!

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

*shudder* wrong mental images

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

that i -really- didn't want aye

The Rt. Reverend Herod- "Theology - We are in it for the Choir Boys" to "Reddy-hiya: you sick depraved thing" How? says:

ft

The Rt. Reverend Herod- "Theology - We are in it for the Choir Boys" to "Reddy-hiya: you sick depraved thing" How? says:

pffft

The Rt. Reverend Herod- "Theology - We are in it for the Choir Boys" to "Reddy-hiya: you sick depraved thing" How? says:

:P

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

rofl

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

omg

The Rt. Reverend Herod- "Theology - We are in it for the Choir Boys" to "Reddy-hiya: you sick depraved thing" How? says:

:P

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

i feel sorry for the liddle choir boys aye

The Rt. Reverend Herod- "Theology - We are in it for the Choir Boys" to "Reddy-hiya: you sick depraved thing" How? says:

considering i should be choir captain next year as well....

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

....i feel -really- sorry for them

The Rt. Reverend Herod- "Theology - We are in it for the Choir Boys" to "Reddy-hiya: you sick depraved thing" How? says:

:p

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

*shudder*

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

think of their innocence!

The Rt. Reverend Herod- "Theology - We are in it for the Choir Boys" to "Reddy-hiya: you sick depraved thing" How? says:

pffft

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

the innocence people, the innocence!

The Rt. Reverend Herod- "Theology - We are in it for the Choir Boys" to "Reddy-hiya: you sick depraved thing" How? says:

innocence my arse!

All lies are based in truth and the truth lies says:

lol

Course, we've been fairly good friends for a while, he's British though, so I see him once in a blue moon, like I see most people heh. But when I do see him, we talk for a fair bit, it's great. I tease him about being so churchy, this convo was a few years ago now by the way, and torment him about his crushes. Both on his own friends, and on the ladies. It's amusing, because none of his friends know that he's bi, and it's a bit of a problem when he wants his best mate eh?

V <...::: holy arrow :::...> says:

I don't much care what the farm animals are suffering xD

Lost in oblivion and following a line of chaos says:

lol

Lost in oblivion and following a line of chaos says:

so you just molest the pigeons instead?

V <...::: holy arrow :::...> says:

I do not!

Lost in oblivion and following a line of chaos says:

poor birdies

V <...::: holy arrow :::...> says:

I molest random girls I see

V <...::: holy arrow :::...> says:

xD

Lost in oblivion and following a line of chaos says:

rofl

Lost in oblivion and following a line of chaos says:

i feel sorry for the homeless

V <...::: holy arrow :::...> says:

*cry*

V <...::: holy arrow :::...> says:

I don't do homeless!

Lost in oblivion and following a line of chaos says:

lol

Lost in oblivion and following a line of chaos says:

but they -would- be random girls

V <...::: holy arrow :::...> says:

Stop pwning me :(

Hehe, see Xin? You're not the only one I take the mickey out of.

Irony/Eyes- they link, trust me!

Define the term. It’s not so easy now is it? Yet everyone knows what it means, they know what you mean when you say ‘now isn’t that ironic?’ with that bitter tone in your voice, that self-mocking expression in your eyes, yet no one, not one person, could actually be able to tell you what the blasted word means. It’s definition.

If you go to the dictionary, you get a rather large paragraph.

Irony; n pl; -nies 1. a figure of speech or literary device in which the literal meaning is the opposite of that intended, especially, as in the Greek sense, when the locution understates the effect intended, used in ridicule or merely playfully.

And that’s just the first definition! Already I’m confused, and this is the dictionary we’re talking about. The second definition;

An ironical utterance or expression

3. simulated ignorance in discussion (Socratic Irony)

4. the quality or effect, or implication of a speech or situation in a play by the characters of the piece (dramatic irony)

5. an outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been expected.

6. an ironical quality [L, from Gk: dissimulation, understatement]-Ironist n

So, lets dissect the definition shall we? This is according to The Macquarie Concise Dictionary, Third Edition by the way, we must name our sources or be accused of plagiarising. An Ironical utterance or expression, that helps us understand what the term irony actually mean does it not? But that is only because we already –knew- what irony is.

I’ll be honest with you, I haven’t got the least idea what Socratic Irony is, but I’m assuming it’s got something to do with Socrates? That dead Greek guy, smart as all get out and all that. Dramatic irony I can define much more…coherently than the dictionary. Quite simply, it’s when the audience know something about a character that the actual characters of the play do not know. You all know Shakespeare right? Othello? How about Iago? –The- bad guy in all of Shakespeares plays, a rather nasty piece of work isn’t he? Brilliant, but evil, conniving, untrustworthy, deceitful. –We- know this, we the audience know how evil he is, indeed we’re told right from the start, yet it is not until the final act that the rest of the cast realise. And all through the play there are references to ‘honest Iago’, this is dramatic irony.

(yeah, I’m bored, so sorry if this starts to sound like a literary critical essay, and I can’t get on the net tonight so I have to do something to keep my mind occupied).

Oh, and what the devil does ‘locution’ mean? And no, I didn’t spell it wrong, it’s what the dictionary have. Lets see….locution n; 1. A particular form of expression; a phrase or expression.

2. style of speech or verbal expression; phraseology.

That’s almost as bad as the definition for irony. Not even the dictionary knows the meaning, a concise, short, -understandable- meaning for irony, instead it has to rely on examples, and even then it can’t move away from the word ‘irony’. Do any of you know the song, Isn’t it Ironic? Who sings it slips my mind for the moment, but the lyrics are all full of ironic circumstances. ‘It’s a traffic jam, when you’re already late, a no smoking sign, on your cigarette break, it’s like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife, isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?’

‘he waited his whole damn life, to catch that flight and as the plane crashed down he thought, well isn’t this nice?’ Irony, the word, the term, the idea, cannot be defined by itself, it is instead, defined by it’s expression, the way in which it is used.

‘Figures’. A phrase I use all the time, throughout my blog. Something happens to boost my spirits, I’m like ‘yes! I had a good day today!’ and then I go home, and as expected, something happens to screw up my mood. That something is usually mother dearest. I even had a genuinely happy post once, I had things all planned out, I would get a scholarship for a uni over east, in my gap year I’d travel, and work, getting paid for travelling, and be happy then. I was doing well at the time, in my classes, or I thought I was. That was when I was at least passing all of them. I had spoken to a few people that I rarely speak to, and I was HAPPY, genuinely, earnestly happy. It was even titled ‘life is good’, you see what I mean? I was joyous, expectant, anxious but exhilarated, things were going MY way and I could see how they were, how I could control things so that I walked where –I- wanted to, not where anyone else wanted me to.

*Sighs* But, as expected, since I finished my blog with ‘life is good, now, ask me again tomorrow, or even this evening, and I’ll tell you a different tale’. And sure enough (that blog didn’t get posted by the way, for some spastic malfunction of the server) that evening, mother dearest burst my bubble, ruined my good mood, as expected, and life stopped looking quite so rosy. Figures eh?

She comments that I never smile, a friend of mine, whom I text regularly, commented on seeing my fugly face, ‘you should learn to smile honey, you look sad’. I have mentioned before, even from my very first post that I was a bit ‘emo’, depressed. Heh, no one actually believed me, not from the first post. Sure I was stringing them along, positive that I wasn’t ‘emo’. Yes well, we all know that I was telling the truth do we not? I haven’t honestly smiled for years, since I was oh…11 or so, at least. Oh don’t get me wrong, I –can- smile, spending 8 years on stage, performing does that to a girl, I can smile like the best of them and keep that smile in place, but it’s not real you know? It’s not a smile that comes from my heart, it’s just an expression not a smile. I’ve perfected that smile, polished and honed it, so that anyone who saw me smile, in real life or on a camera, would never have thought that I didn’t know how too, that I didn’t smile from pleasure.

Even via text, like this, on msn or the like, I do not ‘smile’ as such, if I put something else in with the word it’s usually ‘faintly’ or ‘slightly’. I don’t smile like you do, you smile with your whole body, your face glows your eyes light up and you look –happy-, your entire body is happy from the force of your smile. The force of the emotion you felt that caused you to smile, to laugh. I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. Not really. When I’m happy, my eyes glow, literally. Amused, they dance. You know that expression? ‘her eyes danced with amusement’? With me it’s not an expression, they do. My eyes laugh at you, even if the rest of my face is impassive. My eyes show my mood, and as such, change colour. Don’t look at me like that, I’m telling the truth! When I’m mischevious, or impish, messing around and knowing that I can get away with it, they are green, a rich, vibrant green. Piss me off, genuinely piss me off so that I’m –angry- not just annoyed, and nigh on raging, they’re purple. You know the roiling, dark, angry purple of storm clouds? That sinister rumble that’s just beyond hearing yet you can see it in their underbellies? That’s my eyes. Neat eh?

Now, you may be wondering what colour my eyes actually are, usually. My redeeming features, my eyes and my hair. Hair’s no biggie, curly, thick, lush…yeah, I’m proud of my hair, when it’s not frizzing and driving me batty. You know why I say my eyes? They’re very pretty, blue and green. No, not one blue and one green, they are both blue and green. The green of new growth around the pupil and the glittering blue of the ocean, or a sapphire. Rich. They mingle with each other you know, blending as natural colours are wont to do.

But colour aside, my eyes have an unnerving quality. They’re very intense. I’m a perceptive girl, I see things that others miss, and as such, I see more than most people. My eyes show that, they’re too knowing. Not very many people can meet my gaze, and hold it. My father’s one, Xin is another. And even then, with Xin, I think it is because brown eyes are hard to read. And I’m not sure if his eyes are brown or black…meh. My dad, because he has nothing to hide from me, and I do not hide from him. I know him better than my mother does, and I get along with my father better than I do mother dearest.

People think you don’t, wouldn’t notice if you don’t meet their gaze. If they look at your nose, or between your eyes, at an ear, whatever. But I do. That’s where most people look, when, or if they gaze at my face at all, they look at my nose, or between my eyebrows, my mouth, my cheek. Never at my eyes. They might glance there briefly, but what they see, the knowing, the perception, is too much and they have to look elsewhere. I challenge you, to meet my gaze and hold it. To let me see into your eyes, as I do with everyone, and not shy away, to not look somewhere else to put up thicker defences than what you had before meeting my gaze again. Think you’ll be able to do it?

I don’t.

(Sorry for the massive long post, but I’m in a thinking mood. And now I’ve just come up with another topic hehe.)

One of the common cry’s that have been circulating around, since I worried you all, is that I’ve done so much for you, that I’ve comforted you when you needed it and all that fruit. That it’s from my lack of concern for myself, which is why –others- care so much?

This might hurt you, but I tell you honestly and genuinely, that I would do exactly the same for anyone. I offer exactly the same, -for- everyone. If you need a shoulder to cry on, you can cry on mine. Need a comforting arm wrapped around you, a post to lean on, a rock to cling to in the turbulent waters of your emotions, your problems, I’ll be there. Friend, foe, stranger, all are one and the same to me. I do not care about your race, your beliefs, your prejudices, so long as you don’t try to force them on me, I’ll support you.

I’m a loyal lass, once you’ve earnt my loyalty, come Hell or high water, I will stand beside you. And even should you choose to not want my support, think that you don’t need me to stand beside you and face the world, dare it to do it’s bloody well worst, then know, that even then, I’ll be waiting.

It always, always surprises me at how lightly people take their friends, at how they’ll just…brush them off, ignore them, break up with them as though they are of no matter. Perhaps it’s just me, because I haven’t had very many people to –call- friend, well, whom I would call a friend in any case, but those that I do call a friend, I value. That’s why I’m here. Because of those that would not be around, those that I call a friend. A select few, very few, now that I think on it, but I value them, I care for them more than others. Only one of whom I know, face to face, would I call a friend. And he berates me for not talking about my own problems heh. I much rather talk about his, about any of yours, than dwell on my own.

It’s bad enough that mother dearest thinks I call her a bitch. I ask you, honestly, genuinely, when have I –ever-, on my blog or outside it, called her a bitch? Just said it said that I hate her because she’s oh, -sooo- mean? WITHOUT giving you the events? And even then, if I had not on that occasion, you could tell, you know why I would say it? But no, I don’t accuse her, as she does me, I just complain about what she does. *sighs* Yes well, I think that’s enough about that for now. I’m rather proud of myself, all that posting and mother dearest only got mentioned what…twice? But things are doing a bit better now, she’s given up on trying to control me, for a bit, since I proved to her that I would NOT be controlled and that I did NOT actually, need her for transportation. I was willing to be my own transport, even to the effect of riding through the biggest crime suburbs in Perth to get home in the middle of the night, on a Friday night none the less.

Meh, I think I’ll stop now, and go to sleep or something of the like, before I find something else to talk about. I’ve been typing for an hour or so, and I think that’s enough.

And I really ought to stop writing a blog when I’m in a thinking mood, I wouldn’t want you people to think I actually have a brain and can think at all, let alone faster than most of you. Scary thought aint it? An intelligent female :P