Flush Nivel Precisements
Sep. 21st, 2011
Aug. 3rd, 2011
May. 6th, 2011
07:28 pm - Unpleasant
There's a big disconnect between me and the rest of the world. I'm full of unrestrained ideas and pooled up in my head and my heart, and I'm usually loathe to talk about them, because I end up having to explain not what I am talking about, but why this or that detail is important, and what is this factor in my idea that is not normal or whatever, and the conversation diverges and the topic changes and life moves on and it's as if I never talked about it at all. So, with unnecessary abruptness, I am typing out a few of them:
-I don't want to believe in God. God separates us and creates guilt and shame. People can love people. God can only love his chosen what come unto him, and scorn or pity or plaintive, disappointed longing for everyone else. I don't need everyone to love me. Just a few people. A few awesome people. They probably don't know how awesome they are, but that's okay. I'll tell them. (If you are reading this, you're awesome, just in case you didn't know)
-I like ugly and death and dirty as much as I like pretty and life and clean. Everything has its place, its time, and its being. I smell delicious foods, pleasant spring air, cancerous gasoline, weird plastics, infected wounds, coconut shampoo and stinky butts. I see funny cartoons, hopeful studies of the future, woeful reviews of history, vapid cooking shows, and terrible horror films. I listen to melodious strains of thoughtful, beatific harmonies and abrupt, screeching, randomized cacophonies. I touch things rough and smooth, hard and soft, wet and dry. I eat olives and McDonald's fries and Boston butt and steamed asparagus and circus peanuts, and I often taste things I probably shouldn't even think of putting in my mouth. Every sensation doesn't just give me a status report of the environment. It defines what I am in relation to my world. I am nothing, inert, non-sentient, if I do not react to experience. Senses are our link to existence, our connection to the world outside our squishy little brains, and it's too often they are taken for granted by denying sensations other than the most manufactured pleasantries we surround ourselves with.
-I often imagine myself in horrible situations. Sometimes by choice, sometimes by accident of thought. Whenever I do, I always try to imagine every detail of what that would be like. Trapped in a car wreck and grievously injured, unable to move for an hour while the emergency crew brings in equipment, being blind or paralyzed for life, living in a country where I was a hated minority to be mocked, persecuted, abused without remorse, or abandoned alone and isolated with no hope of rescue or meeting another person. Things like that. I work these concepts over in my head, because I will, of course, try to avoid these situations as much as possible. I never want to take for granted the fact that I live in a comfortable home surrounded by comfortable amenities in a comfortable society.
-And if I ever get really old and can't do anything, or don't know where I am anymore, I want a bright white room to stay in. And my computer. And I will probably cry a lot, because I will miss everyone I ever knew that I could remember, perhaps some more for those I can't remember. And that will be okay, though it would be better if someone I've known for a long time came to visit every now and then, just to talk, maybe get a hug. I try to listen to every old man or woman who tries hard to talk to me. This is what they want. To be heard. To have friends. To not feel like the last time they talked to someone was truly the last time. If I get that old and that alone, I will make it a point to try to talk about something that will be interesting to folks younger than me. I hope I get that chance, too.
I know stuff like this can sound sociopathic and very weird, but I don't feel comfortable if I am not challenging the concepts of an everyday life with such radical, unpleasant ideas. The contrasts make me ever so grateful for what I do have.
Mar. 26th, 2011
So, for those who haven't been on FB or close to my boozum, I've been bustin' my butt, just a little, at my job, bein' all promoted and stuff. Nobody's found a replacement for my old position, and my one other manager is... a stereotype personified, we'll just leave it at that. I feel like I've been given a room full of balloons and been told to fit them in a shipping crate. I keep stuffing things in only to find some of them have bounced back out. Bleh. But the work is not much harder than before, and still not nearly as awful as my last job. This is not a case of overworked or of impossible task, but of my learning a new stride. In the meantime, I think I'm going to get advice that I need from my peers, and stop taking advice that I've been given. The distinction is important.
Mar. 24th, 2011
Mar. 12th, 2011
Isn't there a way to buy/copy one's journal to a CD perhaps? I find myself drifting away from LJ, but I want a permanent copy on hand if I could have one...
Sep. 1st, 2010
09:40 pm - Just so's y'all know...
I will not be linking anyone's page to any other websites.
If you're on my flist, I trust you plenty 'nuff to have tact, and I won't bother telling you what and what not to do with my words. I've no secrets, only discretion. And as for you folks who I call friends, never you fear. Your personal lives are personal, and I wouldn't have shared your junk with anyone anyway.
Sideways from that, I've taken to going to a local MTG tournament that meets regularly. So far, I have lost every single game I've played, except one team game where Tim won the game almost by himself. Made me depressed, but also pissed me off so bad I insisted that Tim and I meet to build a two-deck horror for the next tourney. His scary deck plus my Frankenstienian team concept should equal a serious worry for all the pros at the meet. Plus... this will help me get out of the house, talk to people outside of work, and socialize.
I realize I am nothing without people I can talk to, and I am so terribly, terribly awful at internet communication. Don't be mad, my friends. I haven't forgotten you... just myself. And as I have had to do numerous times before, now that I have been quietly reduced to human dust, I will rebuild myself and my friendships.
Aug. 31st, 2010
29th - Wham.
30th - Bam.
31st - Thank you, ma'am.
Aug. 29th, 2010
Sometimes I like a long melodic ribbon of dronery. Some days demand something with pounding bass. Every now and then, I need something like Secret Mommy. The complete chaos that is not as chaotic as it at first seems offers the sorting mechanisms in my brain something exceedingly complex to chew on. There are people who describe their mind as a calculator, processing data and producing results. My mind is more... kind of like a shredder that works in reverse. It soaks up piles of debris and knits it all together into a recognizable piece of worthless junk. So I like to feed it looks aggregations of sound like this. To keep it fed, y'know.