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Another new year. I hope it's a happy one for all of us, more content, productive, and satisfying. I never make resolutions. they are more often than not these promises we never end up keeping, which only breeds a sense of defeat because we can't live up to our own word to ourselves. I make silent promises to try, to hope, to want, and I think that's all anyone can really do. This is the year I'm going to continue to be myself. It's the thing I'm best at doing, and a promise I'd have no trouble keeping, to anyone.
This feels like a good year already. Maybe it's because it's the first time in decades I've passed the traditional eve celebration feeling good about myself, about what I've done, and about what I now know I can do. The future may not be so bright I've gotta wear shades, but it feels pretty good, and it's been a long time since I've been able to say that too. I guess last year's trauma, was a lot more cleansing than I could ever have anticipated, and although it was one ugly mess, I'm not sorry for some of the results.
I rarely think about death, but sometimes a twinge of my mortality arises, and I realise my age, how much time has passed, and how little time may be left. I consider what I've not done that I could have, and how much is yet missing. We search for the meaning and purpose of this fleeting life. I think the only real purpose to life, is to live it, to make as much of the time we are given. Time shouldn't be wasted; there's no infinite amount. Learn like you'll live forever, live like it's your last day on earth.
Many sculptors, right up to Michaelangelo and beyond, had a great respect for the human figure, taking great pains to render musculature as realistically as possible. Yet the Greeks sculpted the penis in such tiny proportion, particularly compared to the size of the sculpted testicles. Michaelangelo's painting of Adam on the Sistene Chapel ceiling, shows a particularly tiny penis; which I find perplexingly odd, considering that Michaelangelo had a keen respect for the male figure, equating it to a symbol of divine power. Some say the tiny proportions are related to respect for the divine, a wish to alleviate vulgarity.
I think people misunderstand the poetic axiom that beauty is truth, and truth beauty. They seem to understand only the superficial concept of beauty. It's not the surface that matters, it is the honesty of fact that does. A lion on the hunt, gorging on prey, is a beautiful thing. It is truth. Even that which we take to be ugly, can have its own beauty, its own truth. While the larger picture can be hideous, what comes before, and what comes after, are ugly, but there is that one perfect moment, and that perfect moment happens in all things.
No better feeling on cold nights, than to crawl sleepy into a cool bed that slowly warms up around you as you dreams. No better feeling than waking all snug and warm in a nest of soft blankets, on a cold morning, with a hot tea or cocoa waiting for you. No better feeling than a hug to take off the emotional chill, that thing which makes one safe and feel protected and loved. No better emotion than contentment, which is satisfaction coupled with happiness and faith, and the knowledge that all is well, or that all can become well.
Someday I'm going to lay my speakers on the floor and introduce the person downstairs to the joys of PWEI, or 1000 Homo DJ's. His incessant and loud enjoyment of house and ambient music, is, as I've stated so many times before, more than annoying. I fail to comprehend how this gentleman is not yet deaf. That constant drumming of noise is not of any use to anyone but people in the same room the sounds are coming from. Outside of that range, house and ambient don't attach to the heartbeat and body rhythms. They are merely droning and incessant irritants.
There is something about the promise of a new year. Perhaps it's the concept of a clean slate, being able to start with no baggage, nothing to tie you to the past, particularly an unpleasant past. This year I let go of lots of stupid personal baggage. Little bits of garbage from the past. Sometimes I worry that it will dog me again, and perhaps it will. Cutting off memories, though, is impossible, and like cutting off a limb. You cannot ignore what makes you what you are. All of your past adds to become you as you are now.
This carpet is filthy. It was here when I moved into the flat, wasn't in great condition then, and certainly isn't now. I've got the weakest vacuum cleaner in existance, which might suck up some small amount of dust superficially, but isn't at all good for a deep cleaning. I should have the thing steam cleaned or shampooed, but the smell of the soap they use is vile, and aggravates my chemical sensitivity. I should just rip it all out, but it was installed far too efficiently for me to do it alone, and I've no idea what's underneath it.
Why the hell is it that Captain Kirk always comes up with the good ideas, and very few other people are ever allowed to? He's an indufferable, pompous, shrill, domineering twonk, with about as much brain power as your average bubba, yet he always has the answers. It's irritating. He's a loud-mouth, a bullying boor, yet he beats out Mr. Spock's superior brain power on a regular basis. I so dislike the obvious character tools they use in television shows. They're so formulaic, so lacking in any subtlety. That is Kirk's problem, right there, he has no subtlety, no finesse.
Someone asked recently, what the oddest things I've ever eaten are. The list includes octopus, squid, alligator, pigeon, frog legs, pine tree seeds, 180 homemade Jamaican rum, and RIT dye powder. The rum could have stripped the paint off the side of a barn at a hundred paces, and the RIT dye was something I did when I was five years old. I thought it was jello powder. The pigeon, by the way, was very tasty as I recall. No, it's not those grey and white monsters that invade the inner city. They breed a special type of pigeon for eating.
The worst feeling in the world is hunger. I've been hungry, spent weeks eating little more than rice and frozen vegetables. It hurts, in a profound way, when I see others hungry, especially when there's nothing I can offer but moral support. Being hungry is embarassing. How, in this world that has so much for many, can we let people starve? I'm not talking only of those in countries we traditionally see as having little, I'm talking about rich, fat nations who are traditionally seen as having plenty. There is nothing to do but feed one person at a time.
I do not trust money, or things surrounding money. I find it a terrible burden and a master that makes clean spirits in dirty animals. The love of money is not the problem, it's the hoops one must jump through to get it that are, and the dance that those with money make you do. Money makes poor friends out of people, and someone who is nice to you after you give it to them is, to me, not a person to be trusted. Rather, you shouldn't trust emotions based on relationships involving money. Money is, unfortunately, the new god.
Big boobs might be nice to look at, but they aren't nice to carry around. They're a strain on the back muscles, and a pain in the arse to find clothing to fit. They don't make you "more womanly", aren't more attractive, and they get in the way. A wise person once said that more than a mouthful, or a handful, is a waste, and it's true; at least according to any male I've ever asked. Speaking as an owner of larger than average breasts, I couldn't imagine being any larger. In fact, I wish I were a bit smaller.
What is this fascination people have with having the body of an emaciated 12 year-old? I have yet to meet a man who finds that stimulating in any way, and it does not look pretty. I've seen the effects of anorexia up close, and it's one of the ugliest and painful things it's ever been my misfortune to witness. You stop looking human, and even sounding it. You look constantly ill, likely are, and will cause permanent damage to your body because of the disease's effects on your system. Free speech aside, groups who promote anorexia are nothing short of abusive.
I have this basic dislike of receiving roses as gifts. I find them... unimaginative. I also don't care for diamonds, yellow gold, or fur coats; none of those supposedly traditional female trappings. I like flowers, but I prefer purple flowers, or gladiolus, or tiger lillies. When it comes to gifts I guess I prefer something from the heart, or at least the mind. I appreciate the spirit of giving, despite what the gift might be, but I like imagination, real thought, something that shows the person knows me, or at least tries to, or cares how I feel and think.
I've gotten so much better at the "live and let live" thing, but there are still some things that drive me absolutely bloody bonkers. Like chewing. I can't stand hearing someone chew, semi-grunt, or smack their lips while they're eating, especially when I'm eating too. It's worse than nails down a chalkboard or squeaking styrofoam. It also drives me nuts when people fidget, especially when it's some monotonous noise akin to Chinese water torture; like tapping feet, clicking nails, crinkling paper. Is it just pent up kinetic energy? Some base nervousness that makes people fidget? It's something I don't do.
Most of the time I have no brand loyalty; I couldn't care less about labels, particularly on clothing. There are, however, a few items for which I can make no exception. Coca Cola. I must have it. It's sweet, cold, fizzy goodness has no comparison. Logitech. I wouldn't use a non-Logitech mouse if someone paid me to do so. I've had no problems with them that I wasn't responsible for myself. Parmalat (nee Beatrice). It's the best tasting, and best preserved, milk I've ever had. The Neilson brand goes off fast, and always tastes sour, even when it's supposedly fresh.
There's a type of headache called migraine, which sometimes has symptoms called "aura". Aura can range from visual problems (loss of sight, bright flashing spots, zigzag lines, etc.) to physical ones that can include tingling and numbness in the face. You can also experience confusion, slurred speech and nausea. Most often aura preceeds pain, but many get migraine symptoms with no pain, especially the nausea. The physical aura, particularly tingling and numbness, have been likened to that experienced by someone having stroke, as well as the slurred speech and confusion. Stroke victims experience vision loss only, no other visual problems.
There's no weakness in taking responsibility for your actions. In fact, I've found doing so has made me stronger, more whole and stable. It's not easy at first, and requires admittance of shameful mistakes and tendencies. You must sometimes face a lot of ugly truths. But once done, there's cleaner air to breath. I'll own up to what I've done, but I won't take the guilt for things I've not. That's another difficult aspect of responsibility; feeling bound by the pain and anger of others, taking on their guilt. It's unfair to do it, and to make others do it.
I dislike victims. I am ashamed of when I was one. How lacking in pride and strength, that I would pawn my faults off on others, and make it a public spectacle. Playing victim is allowing others to control you. I find that repugnant. Things happen to us all in which others are involved, but it's not their fault how we choose to react. That is our choice. It's allowed to feel badly if someone hurts you, but it's unfair to blame them for your resultant actions and feelings. Ultimately, just about everything a person does is their own choice.
People waste much time worrying about what they cannot do, and little time realising what they can. Ignore big pictures, work on little things. Accomplishing little things makes for much satisfaction. There's always an answer; it's just a matter of finding it. There are no magic cures, or perfect answers, but it's never All Over. Helpless feelings don't need to master you. Be proactive. do something rather than nothing. Answers come in their own time, but they won't come if your eyes aren't open, and your eyes won't open if you don't try. Start somewhere, doesn't matter where, just start.
Sometimes I shower at my grandmother's. This, of course, leaves me in the position of having to use her shampoo and such, which is usually the cheapest stuff she can find, and boy does it do nothing for my hair. While I was washing my hair with this coconutty crap she had (I didn't notice the jellybean scented one til it was too late, damnit), I remembered something my cousin had pointed out to me about a month ago (in regards to that particular bottle of coconutty shampoo) that had gone unnoticed by everyone until that point:
It's called "Placenta".
Human behaviour fascinates me, particularly motivations. Occassionally I become more keenly interested in some particular behaviour aspect. As much as sameness exists in many aspects of online life, there is still no rule of thumb by which one can measure why a person might do something. Currently it is a specific online behaviour that I'm curious about. What would cause a person who very says that, for example, being slagged online is of no meaning to them, yet they spend inordinate amounts of time discussing that situation, including the fact that it isn't important to them, or doesn't bother them?
You know, it gets cold in Ontario. Despite my area being part of the southernmost region (One of my American friends even refers to this area as being "the Miami of Canada"), it dipped down to a balmy -15 C today (5 F, for the heathens). It's at times like this when I go look at the temperatures for the Yukon, or Northwest Territies, Watson Lake in the Yukon hit -44 C last night (-47 F, for the rest of you), and then I feel a whole bunch better. It's also at times like this when my friends in Vancouver mock my cold-induced pain.
Strength does not come with coldness, hardness, rigidity, or the unwillingness to bend. Strength comes from suppleness, adaptability, and the willingness to change. It is when one is rigid, that there is the greatest potential of breaking.
Changing as a person often involves having to admit that you are wrong. Too many people have far too much pride to admit that they are wrong. That is why some people never change.
Barter doesn't belong in a friendship. If you make people pay in order for you to be around them, what you are doing is not friendly, it is cruel.
When a person refuses to admit to their faults, own up for mistakes, and take responsibility for themselves, and assumes that the world revolves solely around them, don't we see this person as immature? Self-centered? Selfish? Most of us are brought up being taught that having responsibility, self-awareness, and consideration for the feelings and beliefs of others, are the actions of a mature human, a better person. What, then, do the immature actions of a nation make that nation? What does it say of a nation whose citizens stress maturity to their children, but not in their own global actions?
The world's a big place, despite how small various media might make it. Man is concerned with what happens in that world, particularly in his own backyard. Man sometimes forgets that the world is not privy to what happens in his backyard, and also that when something is going on in his backyard, something may be going on in someone else's that might eclipse the importance of other backyards. Interpretation of a backyard is not universal. Expecting, and assuming, someone to interpret your backyard the same way you do is foolishness... and to outside parties it can quickly become irritating.
Blame is a stupid thing. There are ways to look at fault, causes and effects, and catalysts, and placing fault where it rightly lies without causing diminishment to yourself or others. There are ways to accept fault, in yourself and others, without becoming a slave to it, without degrading yourself and making yourself into a martyr. Blaming other people for your actions, and what you are, is understandable when you're five, but after a certain point it is ridiculous, and I'd be disgusted at myself if I continued to put that much power over me into the hands of others.
I love Pink Floyd. I don't think they've ever done a bad album or a bad song. However, even I, in my Pink Floyd loving state, don't think that Comfortably Numb or Hey You are the sorts of songs that should be on the radio at 6:30 in the morning when people are just crawling out of bed. (Particularly Hey You, one of the more depressing songs ever.) This does not make for a cheery morning if the first thing you hear is a song about some emotionally crippled lunatic (who may or may not look a lot like Bob Geldoff.)
I'm proud of myself. I've been doing so well with my courses; much better than I'd imagined I was capable of. I'm still not working to potential though, still not doing enough work at the right times, and leaving things until the last minute. But I'm getting there. I haven't yet got a final mark under 80, and only one assignment grade was under that; I got a 76 for. Still, that's not a bad grade at all. I've never in my life got grades like this so consistantly, not in grade school, high school, nor the first time I tried university.
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