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| 01-February-2008, 09:54 |
| Prone |
| Public |
| musing |
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Nice, fun, random thing about me is that I always say what I mean at the moment, based on my current accumulation of knowledge, and I always gather more knowledge which causes me to change my current position.
Saying things to me like, "But you said..."
Well, sure. My mind, it changes. My positions, they shift.
Ten years ago I called myself a deist (I think).
Ten years before that I wore the whole armor of an Evangelical Christian.
Bringing up a person's past seems useless to me, that was a snap shot of a person when it currently does not matter. "Two years ago, you stated that you believed..."
*blank stare*
I guess in the context of trying to make someone a liar that could be valid, but something like belief and value? Those aren't fucking constant, and if they are, you're the one losing out.
Say you feel strongly about [environmental issue of choice] does the fact that you drove a [pollution causing automobile] five years ago make you a lying two-faced jackal? And you felt passionately about both?
News flash, that's humanity and changing currents.
And if you've done and felt the same way your whole life, in my book, that makes you boring and uninteresting. Someone else might favor you; I won't. People who never change their minds, hearts, or attitudes spark no flames in me. Something should change, for better or worse, for wiser or more foolish.
I take a person on their current value system. I keep checking their 'temperature,' to keep up with them. Today's asshole can be tomorrow's guru. Yesterday's libertarian is today's communist. Ideals are fluid and do not make the person. The person, at his or her core will be the same libertarian even when they are a communist. Your personality isn't rooted in your beliefs.
So what have I changed?
I don't think being so focused on music theory and ear training lessons is the way to go. I want a more loose practice structure. More "fucking around" on my guitar and less, "trying to get it right."
I think learning too much music theory will make me less creative (but I still plan to learn it later). I think too much 'getting it right' will make the same beast out of me. I want to just go to 5 year old with a pot and spoon mentality.
Also, I'm killing the metronome. I think it might make me sound like a robot. I'll pick it up later, when 50 bpm isn't a challenging pace.
Yeah, all that above BS because I went from, "I want to learn music theory," to "Fuck music theory. Lets jam."
Check with me next week. I might have something new.
Fuck, by March, I might not even be playing guitar.
know thyself
That's me, and I love this bitch.
"There are different "stages" or "states" of mania. For example, a minor state may involve increased creativity, wit, gregariousness, and ambition."
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| 30-January-2008, 16:28 |
| Informative, Drunk, and Plenty to Say |
| Public |
| musing |
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I adore the internet like a best friend.
Once I used to spend my weekends in libraries, in the reference section, for hours, looking up random stuff. Reading up on things I'd never need to know. I once read an Encyclopedia of Torture. I knew what water boarding was before Bush Sr even took office.
So, I discover the internet and the power of the search engine. Information highway indeed.
That's what I like about the internet, the "librarian that won't shut up." That drunk bitch can talk me to sleep.
So, it's with that back ground in mind that I say a special thank you to a non-sentient entity.
Thank you, internet, for having all this great information for teaching myself how to play guitar.
Oh, and thank you for telling me all that other stuff, all the things I didn't know I didn't want to know, the images burned in my brain, the people I've encountered, even the psychotics.
Mwah.
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| 30-November-2007, 11:40 |
| Um... rambling. |
| Public |
| musing |
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I have concluded that putting information out is the best defense for taking information in.
Taking information in is not so bad in and of itself, it's the quality filter today.
Someone eated it.
I hear her giggling.
A thought I had, yesterday, when the day was brighter, better, happier.
My eyes are watering, yo.
I cleared my throat just a minute ago.
Stop it! Just stop!
Die, aliens, die.
Thought. Yesterday.
I saw a movie, a B movie, reminiscent of a book...
Death Note. Reminded me of Death Note, but a B movie.
I thoroughly enjoyed this movie for the thought it made me think.
My writing, the creative kind, is like a B movie, an NC-17 rated B movie.
And I smiled at this thought, because I found it awesome, not derogatory in the least.
Gratuitous sex and violence. I love that stuff.
I fancy that I have a better flow of plot, but sometimes, I know I don't.
I plot around where I can put the sex and violence, but I love that stuff.
And I'm writing! For no one! I can put as much graphic deets in as I please.
And it pleases. Does it ever.
I never want to be published. Publishing requires review.
Review requires palatability.
May my work never be easily digested.
Okay, it's not that graphic or gratuitous. I exaggerate.
More than you know
But I like my sex scenes. They were the hardest thing ever for me to write when I left my christian past. My sex scenes, when I was 15 read like,
"and then they went to bed.
The next day..."
So precious! So cute! So full of innocence and naivety!
It's not porn these days, but the movie definitely can't show on cable until after 10pm.
Is that how long they wait these days?
I haven't written in much violence lately. Note to self: get back to killing soon.
But not this story. Nah, not this one.
The other hilarity is... I think ... I can't remember.
But I laugh, and that's good.
I laughed today, but at stupidity, and because I couldn't scream "ASS REAMING MORONS FROM SPACE!"
My co workers wouldn't get it.
Few would.
Few do.
Do you?
Things like that. They make me laugh. When I write them. Later read them.
I laugh.
Making my self laugh.
My true purpose in life.
So I get so ... Die. Bitch. Die. ...when I come across the unfunny, the irritating, the irate.
I want to laugh, but I huff and puff and...
Don't be angry, B.
Don't let the microscopic invaders of your temple win.
There is peace and love in the light.
That's it. Find the funny bone. Touch it... gently.
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| 30-November-2007, 11:23 |
| (no subject) |
| Public |
| musing |
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I am frantically searching for the emergency brake.
The plot for my fragile sanity is in motion.
The ache in my head grows stronger
while my tolerance for [so many adjectives...] grows weaker.
I swallow liquid draining slowly down the back of my throat.
I feel for warm skin, but only feel cool and cold.
Well, we always knew you were sick.
Why should I be bothered?
Why today?
Have I entered the "dark period"?
Is epic weather is my future?
Seriously. EPIC WEATHER.
Whose fucking idea was that?
By now, you may realize that the "dark period" refers to something.
Wish I could give you a link.
Alas, it was a useless e-mail about website transition.
If you have concerns about the "dark period"
Please dial this number
and wrap the phone cord around your neck.
I have a short fuse because my body is busy fighting
invading hordes of alien microscopic species.
That's what I say.
I wonder if it's true.
I hope my body wins.
I hope this fuse has a quick respawn.
I hope short isn't relative to like, the distance to the moon.
Maybe the horde has infected my brain tissue.
Turning me into a raving whining bitch
and a swallowing aching child
simultaneously.
Go! Body! Go!
Fight! Fight!
Fuck a cheer. I want to go home.
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| 30-November-2007, 08:39 |
| Irritation |
| Public |
| musing |
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You cannot begin to imagine how greatly I can be irritated by seeing things I do not want to see.
Pathological even.
Images, pictures, text, animations.
If I deem a space sacred, if I want something gone, I want it fucking GONE.
That little orange flag is about to drive me up the damn mountain and into the mouth of a volcano.
And that's so sad...
Why can't I just block it out? Why???
I can. And did. *peace*
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| 20-November-2007, 20:23 |
| Ignored? Neglected? Rejected? |
| Public |
| musing |
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My heart is full of festering anger and resentment.
Burning and churning and growing larger everyday.
I just want it to go away.
Not that important.
No big deal.
*sighs*
Illuminating though.
My pride will heal.
See... I offered to give away something special to me to others in honor of my birthday. Lovely, isn't it? You know how many people took me up on my offer?
Oh, come on. Guess?
Zero.
Two people couldn't say no. They were going to say yes anyway. I knew that.
Three others were reminded in my fit of temper tantrum and replied only because of that, not because they actually read anything I wrote to begin with - or read it and didn't care and were only shamed into saying yes later.
One of those three I don't even fucking know. Utter stranger.
Seething with rage just under my skin.
So, I'm just going to burn the extra CDs and send them to more people who don't have the option of saying no or ignoring me.
My relatives.
Wow. That makes me feel grand.
It's nice to be unread when I *know* I'm unread.
It sucks to think there are people paying attention and being sadly mistaken.
I'm slothing all that dead weight off come the new year.
The balance needs to be restored.
I am giving way more than I'm getting back.
*laughs*
I am giving and no one wants what I have to offer.
Seething.
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There are so many things that I want to do right now.
Right now.
This kind of desire creates a bottle neck. So many things to do and I just stop doing anything.
I work very hard to stay on track. Do. This. First.
But I want to...
but I want to...
but I want to...
Do. This. First.
50,000 words - however you get there. You are going to get there.
It's funny how I'm spazzing about this, but given a day x 1,666 minimum word count, I'm only 70 words behind that.
I just feel this sense of dread that any moment I could fall thousands of words behind. It's not for not knowing what to write either (is it ever?) it's all the other things I keep thinking would be so awesome to do when I'm writing.
I found this great avatar creation app. I spent all last night creating an avatar for each character in my story. It was so fun.
I found another one, two other ones today. I want to create all of them in that one too, so that I can get a broader perspective on their personality.
Why don't I just write that?
There's just something about looking at "auburn wavy hair, green eyes, burnt sienna skin" that looks SO much better in pixels than text. It says nothing about the character though, does it? Actually it does when I dress them up and put them in a background. I stared at the pictures and laughed and laughed as I could 'hear' them being themselves, just from an image.
I am supposed to be writing now. Pretty pictures later.
I actually found 'somewhere' to put the estate. Thing is, I can't ever just 'put' something somewhere. There's planning and such that I don't have time to do.
I am supposed to be writing now.
They are all related. All the things I want to do.
I have a game coming in this afternoon: The Witcher. I'm really looking forward to playing it.
My best friend finally grabbed Guitar Hero III. She can now bring her guitar over so that we can unlock the Co-Op fun stuff.
I've started a muscle training program. Five days in and let me tell you. Don't poo poo on the benefits of resistance training. Srs Biz
Not to mention I was studying for some certification training, but it fell off my importance meter. I have until February to be prepared.
Most of these things are compartmentalized. My best friend can only come over in late evening. The exercises only take 20 minutes a day. I can reach my word count in 2-3 hours, when I'm actually writing. I don't usually write at home, so playing games won't cut into that.
If I just stuck to it and got the writing out of the way in the morning I'd be okay, but I get so wrapped up in trying to figure out what the news of the day is.
Right.
More writing there.
Less writing here.
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| 02-November-2007, 10:39 |
| Tiny Monsters |
| Public |
| musing |
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This was not written for here, but I'm not going to publish it "there." This venue is as 'open' as it gets.
Plus.
Anyone reading my chatter in this abysmal, random spot, has my adoration.
There are lots of things about myself that I've been "self-correcting" since puberty.
One of them is my tendency to 1) talk fast and 2) talk a lot and 3) lack of tact.
4) Unhinged silliness. Giggling fits. Breaking down laughing. Not knowing when to stop / shut up / leave it alone / go away. "What the fuck are you on?" I still hear it, but not as much.
5) CUNT. I can be mean, oh so very mean, and cutting, and snooty. See lack of tact on that part. If I thought it, I said it, and since it was true, it needed to be said. I've been a bad girl, but I try to be more discriminating these days.
6) Cold. A lot of this started out as "making up emotions" but it's true what they say, if you fake it long enough, you get the drift. I actually made a comment yesterday from an effort to be truly empathetic. My husband was the best at this one. He sat me down and told my affect made him feel like I wouldn't care if he was dead or alive. That I didn't care if anyone existed or not.
I'm pretty sure I do care. I really believe I do. However, I don't act like it at all. I like people. I enjoy them, but if anyone disappeared... I react to that thought by shrugging. Sure. I might even cry, but so? Shit happens. Anyway, just because I'm a borderline sociopath doesn't mean I have to act that way. I can pretend to care. People like that. So when I come home. I say hello. I hug him. I ask him about his day. I tell him about mine. I even would stand at the door and force myself to enter the house with a smile.
My "normal" face looks like an murderous scowl, I hear.
It's worked. I don't have to coach myself to be 'warm' anymore.
And... we still haven't gotten to the point of this post.
7) V A N I T Y
Fuck people. I'm vain. I'm oh so vain. Deep down I think I'm a queen and worthy or worship and praise. I think I'm beautiful, most beautiful. I'm brilliant, interesting, alluring. My shit stinks, but it's the best stink you'll ever turn your nose up at.
Yes. That monster. That monster I keep serious tabs on. Because that monster makes other people feel worse, especially people I like: WOMEN. I fucking love looking at, adoring, and being around women, but most women are so painfully insecure. You straighten your back and she takes it as a challenge.
Well, just any insecure person. I can't love me as much as I love me and expect anyone to want to be near me. I don't know why, but that's the way the fucking game is played. I can't talk about myself and all my glory because no one fucking cares but me. I get it. I understand.
So, I try to garner attention by being worthy of it. I don't ask for people to like me, I make myself likeable. I'd fucking hate to be an attention whore.
Worship is only as sweet as when another person views you as a goddess, not when you proclaim yourself as one.
Why am I talking about all of this?
*sighs* Some things, they just rub my vanity wrong.
WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING WRONG THAT I CAN'T GET MORE ATTENTION?!
*pitiful laugh*
So not important, but, questions like that burn bright in my head for a moment, and it's times like that when I have to say, "Settle down, cutie."
[I suspect it's because I'm married, but I didn't ever not have these thoughts when I was single. So, not that great a reason.]
Wow. This is definitely one of those times when I should type something up then delete it. Chalk that up to much of the "no one cares about what you have to say" mantra.
So funny though, after all these years I'm known as quiet, serious, kind, friendly, and ... well no... I think people know I think incredibly much of myself, just not how much of a monster I could be about it.
And now we're done.
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| 03-October-2007, 06:24 |
| Killing in the name of |
| Public |
| musing |
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I have been watching a series regarding serial murderers and the profilers that catch them. After a few days of this I began wondering yesterday, "What kind of profile do I have?"
To have a profile you need to have a reason to be profiled.
"Okay, so what kind of murderer would I be?"
This line of thought entertained me on my drive home. I consulted my husband on the issue, and even put the question to him. His was a passionate diatribe. In short: political assassin. I could have guessed that.
Me? He thought that anything that had pentagrams and other 'occult symbolism' would immediately point to me. Charming. Really. However, if I had a mental electrical fire I might be persuaded to do a little blood work for Lucifer or a minion of decent rapport. *shrugs*
I also realized I don't have the kind of drive it takes to be a murderer. For one... oh my god, the effort, the traveling. I really don't care about people so much as to interrupt my day to go snip one off. *shrugs*
But still... I think my best M.O. would be one where I could convince people to do the job for me. Cult leader would pin me down, for sure.
But then I got crafty, and it caused me giggles for the rest of the day.
I could put on the "Whole armor of Christ" and kill in God's name.
NO ONE WOULD EVER CATCH ME. *laughs*
But the *most* interesting of all this was when I was driving to the store yesterday evening. I thought to myself...
you know, after watching a series about murders you asked yourself what kind of murderer would be. You never once thought you could be a victim or anything.
Didn't really follow that, but I found it interesting.
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| 27-September-2007, 17:51 |
| Star |
| Public |
| musing |
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I'm just no good with sharing. I want to make a point, and I can't even get it right to myself. I want something and know that I don't really want it at the same time. I'm content with my discontent, but it never stops the yearning, and the yearning seems to be all I really want.
I still yearn.
What I yearn for sounds pitiful spelled out.
The darkside.
What I have makes my nose curl.
Angelic light.
See? When I get to this point the weight of "fuck that noise" comes crashing upon me and there's nothing more I can think to say. "How fucked up is that?"
How dark is dark enough? Do you want to be frightened? Scared? Scarred? Paranoid? Wounded? Crazy?
Angelic light? Who the fuck are you kidding? Seriously. You mean like, "In a pit full of demons, I'm the least of your worries?" Yeah. I think that's it.
This entire sentiment is full of -
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| 14-September-2007, 11:26 |
| Question |
| Public |
| musing |
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Does there have to be one way?
Standards allow you to know what to expect.
Or should I just try every method I think of at the same time?
Fun, but chaotic, and could lean to burn out.
Then you're saying I should pick a standard?
Or may you should try everything one at a time?
Isn't that just as chaotic as the first one?
Not as chaotic. The advantage here is that you may find one method works better than another. You can't really make a mistake here.
You don't know this.
And yet, I still say it.
Suppose you can make a mistake. Sure. You could fix it, or you could fuck up permanently and irrevocably. So, what are you going to do, nothing?
Point taken. Um... what have I decided to do?
For fuck's sake. Something. Preferably one at a time, with little overlap.
I'm nervous.
Super. So?
*sigh* Thanks.
No problem, Love. Reflect later. Act now.
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