Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Migraine

in retrospect the onset should have come as no surprise


my behavior as of late has been cranially questionable

sifting and shifting brain cells

ignoring sleep

growing drunk on nostalgia

searing pain behind my right eye could have been predicted


though it is nothing like the pain I used to feel in adolescence


when I treated eating as an option to be avoided

hoping to become the stick thin invisible I believed was beautiful,

would garner love

when I treated sleeping as a luxury to be indulged as a last resort

hoping to become the whip smart aesthete I believed was impressive,

would garner respect

when caffeine meant copious cups of English Breakfast tea, extra sugar

having not yet trained myself to drink coffee,

would eventually


when my brain was still under development, unconstructed, unformed


the pain back then

would send me to my dark bedroom for hours

could not be dispatched with three Advil, some water, and time

forced out any belief in a benevolent deity

should have been predictable, but I never saw it coming


so some things don’t change

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Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Exhibitionism


"Will you be comfortable revealing so much of yourself on your blog?" He asked me.

He is a writer I know. The question was asked in response to a poem I had written which I post below.

While I was torn as to whether I should post the poem here or not, all my reservations relate to whether the poem is technically good, whether any of you actually want to read poetry in general, and the fact this particular poem crawls so far into my belly button, the reader may suffocate before reaching the end, the fear that I would be revealing too much never crossed my mind. I mean, this is a blog, what exactly am I doing here if not revealing myself? Yes, relatives read this blog, but it isn't like this poem is about sex or information I have sworn I will take to the grave, so really, at worst, they will roll their eyes. Yes, I may reveal aspects of my character which I find to be unattractive, but it's just a poem, it isn't a naked picture of myself (though the unmistakable self-absorbed child of privilege tone of my writing is not unlike cellulite in its ability to shame me and, let's face it, if I could ditch the unattractive parts of my body and character, I would put an NC-17 rating on this blog and block all family members' IP addresses because I really am that much of an exhibitionist. Maybe. Except I would probably worry that I was too arrogant and imposing myself on the internets).

It is interesting, however, to question where the boundaries lie. Obviously, I am a shameless attention whore. That being said, I tend to view the act of revealing information (on a blog or in life) as akin to being naked in the gym locker room; I assume no one is paying attention because they've seen it all before. Of course, I could be completely wrong about this, someone may well be checking me out as I towel off after a shower. But if they are, well, it isn't as if I am a new species of human being and I can only hope they are thinking complimentary thoughts about what they see.

And if I should inadvertently reveal more than I intended, I imagine I have already revealed so much, no will notice that I have revealed too much. If there is so much to see, how can anyone know the parts that were not meant to be seen?

This analogy starts to break down when we analyze the different venues. Nudity is a side effect of showering, whereas blogging is not a side effect of life. I don't disrobe in the gym locker room in the hopes that I inspire admiration and/or envy in those who see me, whereas, yes, I do post things here because I want your love and respect, anonymous though it may be (unless, of course, you choose to leave a comment).

**********************************************

watching the relentless advance of age

years pass, but nothing seems to change

still plagued by fear and unhappiness

still shamed by naivete and silliness

trying to call the shots and taking not a one

unravelling all the work when it's only partially done

years wasted chasing all the wrong dreams

increasingly dissatisfied with all my schemes

desiring, but not really wanting, fame

clueless and unwilling to play the Business’ game

like the song said, I wanna be adored

except love like that soon makes me bored

paralyzed by my pursuit of perfection

disgusted with the mirror’s reflection

afraid of what tomorrow brings

afraid I can’t withstand rejection and its stings

stuck here at a border between then and now

wanting to move forward and not knowing how

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Monday, April 19, 2010

The Kid Knows What's Important


Julian says to me this morning, "Mama, when I grow up, I don't think I will be able to be a rock star."

"Why not sweetheart?" I ask, not sure if I should compliment him on his clear eyed realism or encourage him to pursue his dreams regardless of the odds.

"Because my guitar can't get loud enough."


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Saturday, April 17, 2010

Redecoration


As I may have mentioned, I am change resistant. I spend a ridiculous amount of time deciding what I like and then I stick with it forever. Or at least until I grow so sick of it that I can no longer avoid making an adjustment. Which is what has happened with this blog. I feel I have written myself into a corner, limiting what I allow myself to do here to such a degree that I no longer use this space for my original purpose, which was to force myself to write and put myself out there for public consumption. I have sunk back into the bad habit of telling myself that what I create is not yet good enough for other people, that I will bring shame upon myself, and this fear of rejection has forced me into a state of paralysis. Which is worthy of ridicule in and of itself when one considers that there are, maybe, three people who even read this blog and they rarely leave comments. If I am completely honest, what I am really afraid of is trying and failing, so instead I just don't try and fail anyway. But time passes and I get older. So as you can see, I have made some cosmetic changes around here and, hopefully, this will inspire me to move forward, or at least, sideways. Because I can't stand still forever.

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Friday, April 16, 2010

Linguistic Absences


There are moments when words fail me. Moments when whatever illusion I may have that I am intelligent or articulate is shown to be simply that, illusion, and all the goals I have for myself are as substantial as a mirage. And as likely to come to pass. I feel I have been in this state of inability, of panic, of fear for some time now. Years. This stagnation is like water, it flows into every crevice and drowns every last bit of motivation and confidence I may have sustained and I am left with the carcass wondering what to do with it. Can it be resurrected? If not, how do I dispose of this thing now that it is just a deadweight? And how do I deal with all the disappointment and grief I feel at the loss of something which was so very important?

I could almost accept the loss of performance from my life because I had words to fall back on, words had always been a source of nourishment to me even and had provided solace. It was alright if I didn't act or dance because there was this other, deeper, better way through which I could express my artistic vision. But now I am having to accept that I may even have to let go of words, that all the thoughts in my head will never be expressed beyond the boundaries of my skull. And I can't accept this, I tell myself it is just a phase, but the fear prevents me from breaking through, so I am stuck here, without words.

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Already Yesterday



Deep down, I am still a goofy, awkward, giddy 16 year old girl who can't keep her cool and who, when in the presence of certain rock stars, has to fight the nearly overpowering urge to squeal.

So I saw The Church earlier tonight (well, actually, it was technically yesterday, though I tend to use blocks of sleep, as opposed to clocks and calendars, as lines of demarcation between yesterday and today. So now you see one of the reasons I posted the video I did. The other reasons are that they played it at the show and all the footage of the Aborigines is a bit, um, odd. It makes me think of how much our perceptions have changed since the 80s, of Modern Primitives, of how we all took anthropology with Gail Kelly, but not all of us ended up anthropology majors). I can say something offhand like the show was great, go see them when they come to your town if they haven't already. But that hardly explains all the levels on which the show was great for me. Because once a group has passed into that multiple concerts over many years realm of my experience, every concert is measured against previous ones I have attended, the past informing the present, and while I bad concert can disappoint and leave me wondering if I should just live with my memories, a great one becomes hard to evaluate because I am overwhelmed by the nostalgia.


So the concert has inspired my inner fangirl to keep me from my bed, and though I will refrain from writing a detailed account of the evening, I am nevertheless impressed by my urge to do so. I used to always feel this was after concerts, but now, I can't remember the last time I felt like this. Oh, wait, actually, I totally can remember. It was Roddy Frame, London, September, 2001 when I stayed up writing every last embarrassing detail in my journal because no amount of jet lag would make me sleep and poor Fred had to deal with it then. And I suspect my giddiness and giggliness is much the same as it was then and, in truth, for much same reason. An acoustic show of songs you have loved since adolescence is good, but meeting the creator(s) of the aforementioned songs is even better.

But it is really late and no matter how much of a giddy teenager I am on the inside, I have to wake up in a few hours to take Julian to school.

But, yes, in case you had any doubts, it was awesome. Though I am not entirely sad to report that I failed to contain all the squeaking and giggling. It is good to be reminded that one's youth is still there, waiting to pop out to embarrass one every now and then.

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Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Consider Yourself Warned

The photo above was taken by Jo Dahlmans from the Netherlands. go check out Spaceweather.com for more amazing photos.

From Spaceweather.com
One of the biggest prominences in years erupted from the sun's northwestern limb yesterday. The massive plasma-filled structure rose up and burst during a ~2 hour period around 0900 UT on April 13th

The expanding cloud could deliver a glancing blow to Earth's magnetic field around April 15th.
I am almost (though not entirely) convinced this will have no effect on your your ability to electronically file your taxes (so don't get any ideas).

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Monday, April 12, 2010

Recipe for Lego Rage


This is something to which every person who has ever attempted to put a Lego set together can relate.

Take a very excited child who desperately wants you to build the item in question right this instant. Add in the directions which are mind-numbingly simplistic while simultaneously being cryptic and vague. Slowly introduce the inability to find the the ONE SPECIFIC PIECE on which the entire project hinges. Let simmer.

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Saturday, April 10, 2010

Eggsterminate!


This is brilliant.

I am surprised it hasn't been done before, given the obvious pun and all the Dalek related art out there. It is the sort of thing I wish I had thought up, though I lack the skills to eggsecute (see, I just can't help myself now) this. Go check out the step by step pictures (and the artist's other egg designs, all are brilliant).

Also, I never thought the Daleks and R2-D2 to be physically similar, but something about the egg rendering makes the differences less meaningful. Of course, the differences in their bottom halves would be impossible to convey in an ovoid form, not to mention that one is good and the other(s) are evil.

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