I wish I could wear a knee length skirt, preferably a polka dotted one, with a white lace covered blouse and a pearl necklace down the streets, eating ice cream and just seeing the beauty in everything. Watching as gentlemen pass by tipping their hats off to me; and seeing the ladies in their morning dresses heading to work, adding the finishing touches to their make up in their cars.
I wish I was a bit slimmer, a bit taller. I wish I was at peace with how I look and how I behave. I wish I was a delicate 1940s, 22-year old lady licking her ice cream peacefully, while humming a radio tune that just won't come out. I wish my days would be reading endlessly about everything and anything with Chopin in the background or Mathew Fisher. I would read about Sufism, Scientology, contemporary poetry and literature by day and go to the museums in the afternoon and end my day by getting ready to go to the Opera wearing a little black dress, white pearls and ruby lipstick and nail polish. Maybe add to the ensemble a pretty fur coat to add an air of mystery and luxury.
I wish I had my own room painted in green with a huge mahogany library that contains treasures from all over the world. I wish that room had fresh white tulips on a daily basis with sunlight coming through my large balcony; the one where I would be sipping green tea in, while listening to Um Kalthoum.
I wish my hair was thicker and richer in colour and I wish my fridge would never run out of dark, bitter chocolate that either adds to the irony called life or soothes your feelings after a really rough day.
I wish for what cannot be changed. This is my parallel universe where every Saturday I meet with poets and authors long gone, forgotten and dead and talk to them, discuss with them, figure out what they had in mind while writing this or that line, trying to unfold the traumas they went to get to grasp their genius better.
I wish I met Freud, sat on a leather arm chair drinking freshly squeezed lemonade while telling him all my little dark secrets, allowing myself to get a proper psychoanalysis once and for all.
I wish I could meet Van Gogh and ask him, was your lover worth the pain you went through cutting your ear for her? Don't you regret it? I wish I could meet Dali, and get to be part of his mad world, maybe manage to inspire a painting or two, to be immortalized till Doom's day.
My wishes are surreal. They are to be enjoyed from afar. My La-la land includes me running towards the Heights and giving Catherine Earnshaw a good piece of my mind, acting as a gypsy, a fortune-teller letting her know that her wicked ways will result in nothing but sadness to all whom you claim you love, that Heathcliff has vowed vengeance on you and your husband. That being a brat will hurt you more than anyone else. If she doesn't listen to me, or worse if she ridicules me then a good old slap on the face does has never hurt anyone before, but can easily help people to snap put of their cockiness. If that doesn't work, well murder would then sound as a great solution and she would be the one to blame.
I would go to Mr. Darcy, knock on his door, ask for an interview with him and as we fall into awkward silence, for he is to me a man with great communication issues, I would simply inform him that I of all women and little girls have never, not even once fell for your wicked charms, that you are not all that. You are cold and insensitive and you know how to make a girl wish she has never set eye on you.
In my 1940s era, I have been contemplating whether or not am I to take the invention of the internet with me, I have decided against it. Part of the magic was the wait, it adds to the overall sweetness of the thing. It would also be of great aid for me, for patience is a virtue I sadly don't possess.
In my era, I have decided that I will not follow Simone De Beauvoir’s footsteps, nor the traditional footsteps. In my era, I am to explore all the above. Finding a spouse or love is not among it. I don't know whether or not am I to have children there not because the hygienic world was far less modern than today's but because it would hinder me. How would I look if I am with Freud breastfeeding or burping my child? Or worse, how would Van Gough listen to me talk over the cries of the baby, would he be agitated, would he throw me out? How would I be Dali's source of inspiration? His muse? When I would be changing diapers and doing God knows what to whom?
How would I travel to Vienna, the Vatican City, Australia, London, Paris, and Sweden? I can pack for one person only, I could go for days without proper food, but a child, no way on earth would he/she settle for such a thing.
It sounds like an awfully abrupt ending but this is how thoughts work, they come and go all of a sudden. One either is lucky enough to catch the beginning of the thread, or keep on daydreaming, waving to it goodbye.
Okay now, I am done.
Friday, 29 March 2013
Wednesday, 20 March 2013
A Strange Peanut
I just hoped that it would be different, different from my fairy tales. I changed. I became vulnerable, I am scared. For someone who preaches independence, having someone else other than themselves to make them happy and smile is dangerous. I see it as letting go of my independence, willingly. I don't know how to explain it, but it's like feeling at peace with yourself; happy that you get the prospect of "sharing." Smiling while envisioning all the possible scenarios that might face "us". "Us"' is an interesting word. I never noticed it could be fuzzy and warmish, it feels right, no, perfect.
Usually when things are too good to be true, I tend to gradually isolate myself from them so as not to feel abandoned when it is suddenly snatched from my hands, when the Universe suddenly deems that I have maxed out my happiness account. This time I cannot, no, I don't want to isolate myself. I don't want to distance myself from what may or may not cause me misery as time passes by. I am enjoying it for the time being, in my own absurd way. I get to view things, the way I usually do. Not through the traditional contemplation logical way, just normal, I think.
A simple mathematical problem: 1+1=2. In an alternative universe, it would be a zero or even a three, but I am in this Universe and it fits, it says two. For once, I am not upset that the Universe has set the unspoken, two, an even number that could be easily divided into two equal entities where the two parts have the same luxuries and responsibilities. Even numbers are beautiful they show how things should be done between pairs. No one gets to carry a share larger or smaller than his potential, there is collaboration. Because at the end of the path, they reunite into a One, way more powerful and beautiful than the two separated.
I am not sure whether am I to feel exuberant and radiant, or skeptical and cautious. They say: "Better be safe, than sorry" but they also say that taking risks is good, that leaps of blind faith can turn to a good thing. You never really know, you just follow logic. I listen to my mind, who at the moment is void of any sense. Something really ridiculous, for a multi-tasking brain that corrects papers, listens to music, and chats on the phone at the same time. How could you back off and disappear at my time of need? I rely on you because for the last couple of years you have managed to shield and protect me from disappointments. You've taught me that people are never what they claim. That pink promises are nothing but placebos. That the so called heart, is nothing but a stupid pumping machine that assumes it knows everything when it comes to human nature; and later on rushes to the mind for protection.
Pointless. Disappointing. Stupid. Ridiculous.
Usually when things are too good to be true, I tend to gradually isolate myself from them so as not to feel abandoned when it is suddenly snatched from my hands, when the Universe suddenly deems that I have maxed out my happiness account. This time I cannot, no, I don't want to isolate myself. I don't want to distance myself from what may or may not cause me misery as time passes by. I am enjoying it for the time being, in my own absurd way. I get to view things, the way I usually do. Not through the traditional contemplation logical way, just normal, I think.
A simple mathematical problem: 1+1=2. In an alternative universe, it would be a zero or even a three, but I am in this Universe and it fits, it says two. For once, I am not upset that the Universe has set the unspoken, two, an even number that could be easily divided into two equal entities where the two parts have the same luxuries and responsibilities. Even numbers are beautiful they show how things should be done between pairs. No one gets to carry a share larger or smaller than his potential, there is collaboration. Because at the end of the path, they reunite into a One, way more powerful and beautiful than the two separated.
I am not sure whether am I to feel exuberant and radiant, or skeptical and cautious. They say: "Better be safe, than sorry" but they also say that taking risks is good, that leaps of blind faith can turn to a good thing. You never really know, you just follow logic. I listen to my mind, who at the moment is void of any sense. Something really ridiculous, for a multi-tasking brain that corrects papers, listens to music, and chats on the phone at the same time. How could you back off and disappear at my time of need? I rely on you because for the last couple of years you have managed to shield and protect me from disappointments. You've taught me that people are never what they claim. That pink promises are nothing but placebos. That the so called heart, is nothing but a stupid pumping machine that assumes it knows everything when it comes to human nature; and later on rushes to the mind for protection.
Pointless. Disappointing. Stupid. Ridiculous.
Saturday, 16 March 2013
The Lack
Fighting through an author's block is never a good battle, one has to usually squeeze the juices to come out, rather than it just flowing. To push what refuses to come on its own, can lead to disastrous outcomes. However, I am going to try my luck, and push to the extremes. If I get to write past this paragraph, it was meant to be, if not, then a draft.
Although a lot has been going on lately, yet I have never felt the urge to not to write about anything that much as nowadays. Days just come and go, the only thing that reminds me of their passing by is my alarm clock. I do not smile that much, and I don't contemplate either. I am just living day by day, waiting for something to catch me off guard. For two weeks or so, nothing had happened, but today. Today was really nice, today was special. When you make a wish, and the Universe suddenly smiles down at you, rewarding you for your patience, for your sadness, and for baring it all silently. The Universe is really beautiful when she decides to be so. You get good news that console your bad ones, and bad ones to remind you to always stick to your roots and never part with them. For, in the end, that's your place, where you truly belong, the comfort zone.
Regardless, me and my Universe are trying to find closure, a treaty, where both can co-exist without hurting one another. I get to try to observe and take in my surroundings more, contemplate about myself and my future. I get another chance to reconsider my writings as a daily ritual that is to be never ignored again by myself. In return, the Universe is ought to be generous enough and to simply let me be till I screw up; at this point, she gets to go all Karma on me.
I usually start these contemplations about myself and my growth rate. I calculate how my mind works, try to chase the stream of consciousness till its very end and analyze it. The result is most likely a puzzle with a constant missing piece. Yet, the irony of that missing piece is that I know exactly where to find it, and how. I just do not want to. There is this enormous grip that won't let go of me, I let it take over me, I don't fight, not even in my worst days and darkest nights, I just don't. There are no clashes between the black hole and myself. It is the monster in my closet, as long as I am keeping my distance, it is not coming after me.
My Monster is one I have been nourishing ever since I was 10 years old, and wow today has been 11 years, such a beauty she is, such power and such a pathetic little owner. Big talk, no action, I used to be the voice of feminism, I used to counter-argue my opponents with logic and sarcasm, now I have shrunk to nothing, a mere teacher talking on and on about something she knows is not of that great benefit to her students. She knows she cannot inspire them. She knows she does not have what they need, but she is working, as if defying no one but her inner logic, that this is not her destiny, her job, her future. She keeps postponing the day of her resignation, hoping that a miracle would come out of the blue to change her mind. Until then, she teaches in that really boring, old-fashioned way. The same way she has been taught throughout her years of studying. The same ways and the same techniques she detested so much, now she applies them. What a shame! Such a waste! Her alter-ego cannot even fight, she only pities her even more, adding salt to insult.
Her Monster is powerful, because she lets her be so. Her power is inspired by the woman's passion, grief, tranquility, happiness, and sorrow. She is her ID. She needs to be stopped, but "now" is never the right time. "Keep feeding yourself these lies, how you can demolish her in a matter of seconds!" "You lie, she is unstoppable, you know it as well as we all do! She is to be the reason for you misery, the reason for your hate. She is to destroy you. Soon!" The voices in her head battle, they keep getting louder and louder for her to listen to them, to any of them, yet she does not. She simply drowns herself in music, she stopped contemplating. "Rusty doors are not meant to be opened in broad daylight." She tells herself.
For now, she is documenting, she does not really understand what is going on. She has managed to isolate herself from herself, from the voices, she is to document and document alone.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ASj81daun5Q
Lady H.
Although a lot has been going on lately, yet I have never felt the urge to not to write about anything that much as nowadays. Days just come and go, the only thing that reminds me of their passing by is my alarm clock. I do not smile that much, and I don't contemplate either. I am just living day by day, waiting for something to catch me off guard. For two weeks or so, nothing had happened, but today. Today was really nice, today was special. When you make a wish, and the Universe suddenly smiles down at you, rewarding you for your patience, for your sadness, and for baring it all silently. The Universe is really beautiful when she decides to be so. You get good news that console your bad ones, and bad ones to remind you to always stick to your roots and never part with them. For, in the end, that's your place, where you truly belong, the comfort zone.
Regardless, me and my Universe are trying to find closure, a treaty, where both can co-exist without hurting one another. I get to try to observe and take in my surroundings more, contemplate about myself and my future. I get another chance to reconsider my writings as a daily ritual that is to be never ignored again by myself. In return, the Universe is ought to be generous enough and to simply let me be till I screw up; at this point, she gets to go all Karma on me.
I usually start these contemplations about myself and my growth rate. I calculate how my mind works, try to chase the stream of consciousness till its very end and analyze it. The result is most likely a puzzle with a constant missing piece. Yet, the irony of that missing piece is that I know exactly where to find it, and how. I just do not want to. There is this enormous grip that won't let go of me, I let it take over me, I don't fight, not even in my worst days and darkest nights, I just don't. There are no clashes between the black hole and myself. It is the monster in my closet, as long as I am keeping my distance, it is not coming after me.
My Monster is one I have been nourishing ever since I was 10 years old, and wow today has been 11 years, such a beauty she is, such power and such a pathetic little owner. Big talk, no action, I used to be the voice of feminism, I used to counter-argue my opponents with logic and sarcasm, now I have shrunk to nothing, a mere teacher talking on and on about something she knows is not of that great benefit to her students. She knows she cannot inspire them. She knows she does not have what they need, but she is working, as if defying no one but her inner logic, that this is not her destiny, her job, her future. She keeps postponing the day of her resignation, hoping that a miracle would come out of the blue to change her mind. Until then, she teaches in that really boring, old-fashioned way. The same way she has been taught throughout her years of studying. The same ways and the same techniques she detested so much, now she applies them. What a shame! Such a waste! Her alter-ego cannot even fight, she only pities her even more, adding salt to insult.
Her Monster is powerful, because she lets her be so. Her power is inspired by the woman's passion, grief, tranquility, happiness, and sorrow. She is her ID. She needs to be stopped, but "now" is never the right time. "Keep feeding yourself these lies, how you can demolish her in a matter of seconds!" "You lie, she is unstoppable, you know it as well as we all do! She is to be the reason for you misery, the reason for your hate. She is to destroy you. Soon!" The voices in her head battle, they keep getting louder and louder for her to listen to them, to any of them, yet she does not. She simply drowns herself in music, she stopped contemplating. "Rusty doors are not meant to be opened in broad daylight." She tells herself.
For now, she is documenting, she does not really understand what is going on. She has managed to isolate herself from herself, from the voices, she is to document and document alone.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ASj81daun5Q
Lady H.
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