There is a mouse in my room.
Colour me unimpressed.
If I really wanted to, I'd use this mouse as a metaphor for everything that's pissing me off right now: small, invisible, hiding itself amongst all the books and movies and distracting crap I keep crammed in my room, robbing me of sleep and unsettling me just because I know it exists. I haven't seen the sonofabitch yet, so that adds to its insidiousness. I don't know if I'm afraid of mice, but I don't like the idea of someone living in my space, someone freeloading off my rent, without my permission.
As a metaphor, it upsets me. As vermin, it annoys me. Either way, I'll kill the fucker if it ever comes out. My policy on pest: Zero Tolerance.
Exterminatingly-yours,
Inari
If I were an animated cat, I would be...Dragon, from The Secret of NIMH. The one who ate Mrs. Brisby's husband.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Deep End Diving
I'm exhausted which means I'm in the perfect frame of mind to blog.
So if there's one thing I've learned from three years of film school and countless sleepless nights on sets is that the biggest favour you can do for yourself is to just own up to your ignorance and not give a fuck. I figure, it's pretty inescapable...I'm never not going to know something and the fact that I don't know these things usually doesn't say anything about me except that I'm inexperienced, which is probably the best shoe-fitting definition of who I am. I'm young, inexperienced and full of desire to learn and experience as much as possible in as little time as possible. That said, this experience still hurts and it still sucks and it makes me want to just go home and blog and eat chocolate cake with whipped cream which is exactly what I'm doing right now.
I am so tired. And I can't stop thinking about how much I miss him. And how long it's taken for me to realize just how much of him I've lost. God, I get so angry sometimes.
Exhaustingly yours,
Inari
If I were inappropriate film innuendo, I would be..."Dolly in."
So if there's one thing I've learned from three years of film school and countless sleepless nights on sets is that the biggest favour you can do for yourself is to just own up to your ignorance and not give a fuck. I figure, it's pretty inescapable...I'm never not going to know something and the fact that I don't know these things usually doesn't say anything about me except that I'm inexperienced, which is probably the best shoe-fitting definition of who I am. I'm young, inexperienced and full of desire to learn and experience as much as possible in as little time as possible. That said, this experience still hurts and it still sucks and it makes me want to just go home and blog and eat chocolate cake with whipped cream which is exactly what I'm doing right now.
I am so tired. And I can't stop thinking about how much I miss him. And how long it's taken for me to realize just how much of him I've lost. God, I get so angry sometimes.
Exhaustingly yours,
Inari
If I were inappropriate film innuendo, I would be..."Dolly in."
Monday, September 22, 2008
when i was 5 i was a bunny with a fat lip
“My favorite review described me as the cinematic equivalent of junk mail.”
It's a mad house.
We're all super busy.
So. I'll be brief.
I live for this rush.
I'm only 20 for 3 more days.
I love to write. I love what I'm writing and think about it all
the time. I talk to the dead about it. It helps.
I feel that already this is probably the best week of September.
The weekend was meaningful. And this coming weekend will be
even moreso. I want there to be lots of kissing... but not
involving me. I wish to be a spectator and commentator
but not an actor in the sensation.
I'm living off of the energy from my acting class this morning
and my memories of past autumns. of your apple pie.
of my - "im a funny girl phase".
i miss that phase. I want to be joe pesci in Goodfellas.
do I amuse you? im funny?
My fingers hurt but I can't wait to touch my cello strings.
I seriously am in love with Mary Louise Parker
and wish i wrote WEEDS.
I am surrounded by sexy women and love it.
(shout out to my roomies , my sister and homegirls o and my
regular hooker. (all my bests in one big bannana boat bowl
of Thumbs Up Korean for a cool 5.95.)
My head feels light and airy.
I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders
or is slowly lifting up.
Thank you for one of th most life-changing and life shaping years.
It was brilliant.
I feel alive. And that's all I've really wanted since the day i died.
xo
Lo is HIGH.
ps. If I were halloween treats I would be:
- the house that gives the orange, can of RC cola, rockets and a halloween
pencil with a black tip. o how i miss trick or treating on walts street
Steve Buscemi
It's a mad house.
We're all super busy.
So. I'll be brief.
I live for this rush.
I'm only 20 for 3 more days.
I love to write. I love what I'm writing and think about it all
the time. I talk to the dead about it. It helps.
I feel that already this is probably the best week of September.
The weekend was meaningful. And this coming weekend will be
even moreso. I want there to be lots of kissing... but not
involving me. I wish to be a spectator and commentator
but not an actor in the sensation.
I'm living off of the energy from my acting class this morning
and my memories of past autumns. of your apple pie.
of my - "im a funny girl phase".
i miss that phase. I want to be joe pesci in Goodfellas.
do I amuse you? im funny?
My fingers hurt but I can't wait to touch my cello strings.
I seriously am in love with Mary Louise Parker
and wish i wrote WEEDS.
I am surrounded by sexy women and love it.
(shout out to my roomies , my sister and homegirls o and my
regular hooker. (all my bests in one big bannana boat bowl
of Thumbs Up Korean for a cool 5.95.)
My head feels light and airy.
I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders
or is slowly lifting up.
Thank you for one of th most life-changing and life shaping years.
It was brilliant.
I feel alive. And that's all I've really wanted since the day i died.
xo
Lo is HIGH.
ps. If I were halloween treats I would be:
- the house that gives the orange, can of RC cola, rockets and a halloween
pencil with a black tip. o how i miss trick or treating on walts street
Steve Buscemi
Monday, September 1, 2008
Singapore Sling
Chapter One
They say there are two sides to every story. I agree with “them” who ever they may be - assuming “they” is actually a small and highly secure unit that controls and directs the tides of popular culture. I also assume that “they” were born in bland business suits and use a profuse amount of Depp styling products, all the while planting such all-purpose universally recognized truths and idioms within society for the masses to adopt, and later reference at their convenience (like I am doing right now.)
I argue however that there are more than two sides to every story given the obvious factor that a “story” usually involves a number of characters each with their own set of experiences resulting in burgeoning stories that shoot off of the main branch. “Spin-offs” one might identify them as. A story can also focus around a single event that affects a group of characters related or otherwise. This single event may be one individual’s experience, but in turn stirs the pot of so many people’s daily grind. Explicably becoming a smorgasbord of story as opposed to one serving of a single dish from one restaurateur.
A woman gets cancer for the second time. This time however she does not respond to any of her treatments and thus lies in a hospital bed on New Years Eve hooked to an IV drip, eyes half closed, jaundice skin the color of squash and sunken cheek bones that remind her youngest daughter of the animated crypt keeper from the YTV television series she watched as a child.
This woman is surrounded by the closest members in her family, all paying hyper attention to the sound of her breaths, the acute rise of her tummy up and down -- the slightest pause making each of their hearts skip a beat, sometimes in unison. At this point the members of the woman’s family present, are all dumbfounded by the mystery of life, death and the lottery of disease -- lost in the silence of thought, memory, prayer, all of which are too ideal for the current and seemingly expected inevitable dooms of the woman’s ill-fated reality.
The heart rate monitor beeps.
The woman’s youngest daughter rests her head against the woman’s chest, feeling the bump of the mastectomy scar from 9 years earlier through the thinning fabric of a hospital gown washed a batch too many. She hums Day Dream Believer by the Monkeys as finally, the woman’s body succumbs to the evil unknown invading her cells, traveling her veins – reaping her of her old age, her motherhood, her every last desire on Earth that could have been (should have been), and catapulting her into an entirely separate unknown. This unknown being the second of two sides to this woman’s story. The story that ensues while on the “other side.” Hence there are two standard sides of one person’s being. One while alive on Earth and one that carries on after that person has passed on to whatever and wherever the other side may be. In any case, after the woman passes on, her being perpetually affects and crafts the stories of all those she touched as she goes on to live inside the hearts of each of them all at varying degrees but really to a fucking immeasurable level.
Chapter Two
This is not the woman’s story. This is the result of the woman’s story on her youngest daughter’s being – whom of which just happens to be me.
Cocktail anyone?
xoLO
They say there are two sides to every story. I agree with “them” who ever they may be - assuming “they” is actually a small and highly secure unit that controls and directs the tides of popular culture. I also assume that “they” were born in bland business suits and use a profuse amount of Depp styling products, all the while planting such all-purpose universally recognized truths and idioms within society for the masses to adopt, and later reference at their convenience (like I am doing right now.)
I argue however that there are more than two sides to every story given the obvious factor that a “story” usually involves a number of characters each with their own set of experiences resulting in burgeoning stories that shoot off of the main branch. “Spin-offs” one might identify them as. A story can also focus around a single event that affects a group of characters related or otherwise. This single event may be one individual’s experience, but in turn stirs the pot of so many people’s daily grind. Explicably becoming a smorgasbord of story as opposed to one serving of a single dish from one restaurateur.
A woman gets cancer for the second time. This time however she does not respond to any of her treatments and thus lies in a hospital bed on New Years Eve hooked to an IV drip, eyes half closed, jaundice skin the color of squash and sunken cheek bones that remind her youngest daughter of the animated crypt keeper from the YTV television series she watched as a child.
This woman is surrounded by the closest members in her family, all paying hyper attention to the sound of her breaths, the acute rise of her tummy up and down -- the slightest pause making each of their hearts skip a beat, sometimes in unison. At this point the members of the woman’s family present, are all dumbfounded by the mystery of life, death and the lottery of disease -- lost in the silence of thought, memory, prayer, all of which are too ideal for the current and seemingly expected inevitable dooms of the woman’s ill-fated reality.
The heart rate monitor beeps.
The woman’s youngest daughter rests her head against the woman’s chest, feeling the bump of the mastectomy scar from 9 years earlier through the thinning fabric of a hospital gown washed a batch too many. She hums Day Dream Believer by the Monkeys as finally, the woman’s body succumbs to the evil unknown invading her cells, traveling her veins – reaping her of her old age, her motherhood, her every last desire on Earth that could have been (should have been), and catapulting her into an entirely separate unknown. This unknown being the second of two sides to this woman’s story. The story that ensues while on the “other side.” Hence there are two standard sides of one person’s being. One while alive on Earth and one that carries on after that person has passed on to whatever and wherever the other side may be. In any case, after the woman passes on, her being perpetually affects and crafts the stories of all those she touched as she goes on to live inside the hearts of each of them all at varying degrees but really to a fucking immeasurable level.
Chapter Two
This is not the woman’s story. This is the result of the woman’s story on her youngest daughter’s being – whom of which just happens to be me.
Cocktail anyone?
xoLO
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
In Toronto
It's a little early for a Summer '08 post-mortem.
As you might have noticed, I've deleted most (i.e. all) of my previous entries. I'm not going to offer an explanation except to say that I own 1/3 of this blog and I can do whatever the hell I want with my fraction. Hah! However, I do offer sincere apologies because self-censorship isn't really what this space is about. At least, that's how I see it. What's the point of publishing free-hand rantings if you stop and regret it later? My usual philosophy is: You've tainted the air with your words, now live with it. There is always that moment of hesitation before you click that shiny, orange 'Publish Post' button and once you do there is no going back (in theory). But alack...alas...that's what I've done. Not to be gone forever mind you...only to resurface years later as 'Inari Classic'.
I'm so happy to be home. It's good times. I woke up far too early...probably something to do with the time difference even though time zone logic would suggest otherwise. Already the moods are going up and down and now I'm wondering if my moods are only undulating because I pay such close attention to them. Hmm? I need to get out of this gorgeous brain of mine and start living present-tense! At least, that what I imagine my imaginary therapist would tell me.
No plans for today or for any of the days leading up to when I go back to work. I need to print out a schedule for my boss that will somehow keep my weekends open and still allow me to make enough money to pay rent...and make my movie...and maintain my rather expensive book-buying habits. Gosh, Inari! You got a library card! Use it!
I have nothing else to say. Odd. I probably shouldn't have posted.
Too late now.
Head-noddingly yours,
Inari
If I were a lyric, I would be: "I got soul but I'm not a soldier"
As you might have noticed, I've deleted most (i.e. all) of my previous entries. I'm not going to offer an explanation except to say that I own 1/3 of this blog and I can do whatever the hell I want with my fraction. Hah! However, I do offer sincere apologies because self-censorship isn't really what this space is about. At least, that's how I see it. What's the point of publishing free-hand rantings if you stop and regret it later? My usual philosophy is: You've tainted the air with your words, now live with it. There is always that moment of hesitation before you click that shiny, orange 'Publish Post' button and once you do there is no going back (in theory). But alack...alas...that's what I've done. Not to be gone forever mind you...only to resurface years later as 'Inari Classic'.
I'm so happy to be home. It's good times. I woke up far too early...probably something to do with the time difference even though time zone logic would suggest otherwise. Already the moods are going up and down and now I'm wondering if my moods are only undulating because I pay such close attention to them. Hmm? I need to get out of this gorgeous brain of mine and start living present-tense! At least, that what I imagine my imaginary therapist would tell me.
No plans for today or for any of the days leading up to when I go back to work. I need to print out a schedule for my boss that will somehow keep my weekends open and still allow me to make enough money to pay rent...and make my movie...and maintain my rather expensive book-buying habits. Gosh, Inari! You got a library card! Use it!
I have nothing else to say. Odd. I probably shouldn't have posted.
Too late now.
Head-noddingly yours,
Inari
If I were a lyric, I would be: "I got soul but I'm not a soldier"
Saturday, August 16, 2008
This Sally wants her Harry.
The release of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince has been delayed from November 2008 to July 2009.
8 months.
I manage to have the worst thought possible. How many people, who were looking forward to the film, will die between November and next July? I know what you’re thinking… and yes, I am a riot at parties.
Six degrees of separation: A law of the universe? Would the Earth turn backwards if we were disconnected from the person next to us on the subway? Hopefully not, since at the moment I feel about 10,000 degrees away from everyone in the universe.
My soul is currently split seven ways.
1.
I want to dance. The kind of dance where you’ve been partying up a storm the whole night, and you’re both gross, sweaty, and sloppy. But you find each other. Your hands find their places, and suddenly the group party falls away and it’s just the two of you. Maybe one of you tries to say something, but the noise carries it away. Thundering loud club music, and yet somehow you’re softly swaying in each other’s arms. Like nature. Like waves to the shore.
2.
I want to hold hands. The kind where the fingers lock. So innocent, yet oddly saucy, happening secretly in the dark of a movie theatre, or a club, or some campus walkway at night… No one is around to witness it. Who grabbed whose? Can’t remember. It happens with neither of you mentioning it before, during…. or after.
3.
I want eye contact. The kind of moment where I want to ask what the eyes are saying. And they answer me wordlessly.
4.
I want to be hugged. There were times when I felt so bitter about being hugged. When I felt so upset, so angry… and suddenly I was being hugged. I didn’t hug back, and all I could think was how mad I was that they had the nerve to think that this stupid hug was going to make me feel any better. They are just arms, and cruel people have arms too. But right now I want a hug. I want to be on that selfish receiving end… where I can weep, and keep my arms at my side …and still they continue to hold me, trying to blanket the fire.
5.
I want a kiss on the shoulder blade. It sort of always sneaks up on you. Since, I am rarely looking at my shoulder blades.
6.
I want a hand to brush the hair out of my eyes. Even if it isn’t really all that much in them.
7.
I want to be in the same room as someone who cares about me. Between four walls, zero degrees of separation, sharing the air, and the universe with someone else.
Because when the world starts to spin backwards, when I’m not in the room with someone who cares… I start to think about the one who doesn’t. And then I think of our first dance, and his hands and eyes; I think about the Xs and the Os. I think about the drunk nights, the sober mornings. I think about my dad waiting with a shotgun, and then passing him the keys to his car. I think about all the time spent…
And I wonder how substantial a difference 8 months really makes.
Signed,
Desiree Thrash
If I were a screenplay revision colour, I would be… Buff.
8 months.
I manage to have the worst thought possible. How many people, who were looking forward to the film, will die between November and next July? I know what you’re thinking… and yes, I am a riot at parties.
Six degrees of separation: A law of the universe? Would the Earth turn backwards if we were disconnected from the person next to us on the subway? Hopefully not, since at the moment I feel about 10,000 degrees away from everyone in the universe.
My soul is currently split seven ways.
1.
I want to dance. The kind of dance where you’ve been partying up a storm the whole night, and you’re both gross, sweaty, and sloppy. But you find each other. Your hands find their places, and suddenly the group party falls away and it’s just the two of you. Maybe one of you tries to say something, but the noise carries it away. Thundering loud club music, and yet somehow you’re softly swaying in each other’s arms. Like nature. Like waves to the shore.
2.
I want to hold hands. The kind where the fingers lock. So innocent, yet oddly saucy, happening secretly in the dark of a movie theatre, or a club, or some campus walkway at night… No one is around to witness it. Who grabbed whose? Can’t remember. It happens with neither of you mentioning it before, during…. or after.
3.
I want eye contact. The kind of moment where I want to ask what the eyes are saying. And they answer me wordlessly.
4.
I want to be hugged. There were times when I felt so bitter about being hugged. When I felt so upset, so angry… and suddenly I was being hugged. I didn’t hug back, and all I could think was how mad I was that they had the nerve to think that this stupid hug was going to make me feel any better. They are just arms, and cruel people have arms too. But right now I want a hug. I want to be on that selfish receiving end… where I can weep, and keep my arms at my side …and still they continue to hold me, trying to blanket the fire.
5.
I want a kiss on the shoulder blade. It sort of always sneaks up on you. Since, I am rarely looking at my shoulder blades.
6.
I want a hand to brush the hair out of my eyes. Even if it isn’t really all that much in them.
7.
I want to be in the same room as someone who cares about me. Between four walls, zero degrees of separation, sharing the air, and the universe with someone else.
Because when the world starts to spin backwards, when I’m not in the room with someone who cares… I start to think about the one who doesn’t. And then I think of our first dance, and his hands and eyes; I think about the Xs and the Os. I think about the drunk nights, the sober mornings. I think about my dad waiting with a shotgun, and then passing him the keys to his car. I think about all the time spent…
And I wonder how substantial a difference 8 months really makes.
Signed,
Desiree Thrash
If I were a screenplay revision colour, I would be… Buff.
Friday, August 15, 2008
The KKK took my baby away!!
Morning After Disclaimer: I wrote this entry last night and waited to post it until the morning mainly because my stolen internet was not cooperating with me. Looking back, I should warn you that it reads more like a PMSing rant as opposed to a thoughtful blog entry. Funny thing is... I'm not PMSing.
Enjoy...
I feel people watching me. I know when people are looking at me and seeing me work or play or eat or whatever humanistic ritual I am conducting like everyone else – I know some are wondering what is running through my head. What is going on behind those eyes? If only I could explain in a few short words I wouldn’t be the rogue I am told that I am from those onlookers I have encountered in my life.
What are other people thinking? I watch people. I know they are thinking something but I don’t know what exactly those somethings are. Truth be told, I’m too often consumed by my own thinking, lost in a labyrinth of personal thought that it really doesn’t tickle my curiosity all that much when it comes to other peoples mental activity. If I’m interested I will ask. And when I am really interested… I will ask a lot. There are a few people in my life that I am very interested in and would like to get to know them so much more… I am just nervous to make that leap! It will happen when the moment is right.
Anyways! -- A lot of people in my life can be quite transparent actually. And although they think they are subtle and alluring; well you’re not.
In fact, I believe that the people who think they are one way (which makes them look cool to a specific degree) and actually take the time to tell others that they are this way they think they are are actually the complete opposite. And I would argue that this makes the whole lot of these folk come off as jackasses.
On that note - I was out with a peer not to long ago and all they did was talk about themselves. Come to think of it, all they ever do is talk about themselves. (There are only few people I can tolerate this from – some of which I actually quite enjoy this from - but this is comprised of only a special select few).
Anyways, at the end of the night finally this person asked about me and mentioned how they always seem to be the one who does all the talking. Well that’s because they start talking about themselves and their current fleeting plans, meaningless sexual escapades and other various shenanigans….and anytime I try to segue and share a personal experience to relate to their’s and perhaps shift the conversation to a more theoretical note… they shift it right back to superficial nothingness and repetition by not acknowledging my comments by doing something like taking a sip of coffee or posing for the onlookers around them… meanwhile making themselves look like a big ol’ dumbass.
It is these types of people – the self-involved\unaware\talkers-never listeners-kind- that are the most unaware of their actions in public and who are genuinely conceded to an incurable extent. Forever will they ask me what’s on my mind only after the coffee is done, the bill is paid and I’m ready to bolt home to my roommates and our patio and cut loose the extra baggage.
This belief of mine actually reminds me that --
Recently, one of the most valued and respected individuals in my life recommended I pen my own personal manifesto – a short impassioned volume on my thoughts and beliefs exploring some of the most powerful claims and truths I have learned and made in my life and formulated as a result of my accumulated experiences.
The manifesto would focus predominately on the definition of human behavior, nature and relationships – as all manifestos are technically variants of such defining subjects.
The bulk of the manifesto would ruminate sex and love – the fact that I do not believe that true romantic love involves sex – because sex is lust and human’s innate need and desperation to get off.
In relation, some of the other (and perhaps significantly less sexy topics in comparison) include human weakness - how controlled we are by our peers and by food and addiction in general. Humans are slaves to their addictions. Humans are slaves to their constant paranoia and thoughts about others thinking about them. And ultimately, humans are slaves to time.
On another note. I just finished watching Requiem and made myself a tea with a jenk-load of sweetener, both of which are activities that always put me in a “pissed off with the human race – the world is damned and was made that way because we thrive off of it” kind of mood. If we know the habits we do are bad why do we continue to do them?
The sick thing is… (and I bet you most people watching Requiem experience similar reactions) is that this movie does not scare me away from ever doing drugs even though it so intensely shows the tragedy it can often lead to. The movie, rather, is powerfully successful and difficult to watch and a true portrayal of human behavior because it scares me that it doesn’t scare me away from drugs. Like - I can understand without actually understanding. I can see how easy it is to get lost in it all – unable to find your way back – unwilling and unwanting to find your way back.
Which leads again to human weakness. Why are we so goddamn weak? So much bad happens to so many people unasked for… and yet here we are going and putting it on ourselves.
People get raped by unwanted disease and hardship everyday and yet people rape themselves willingly with drugs, or lies, or body image issues, or jealously or work or romance and relationship drama -- and they think that these issues are the important ones. These are mere distractions. Death is a mere distraction. The root of all of this self-rape-near-death?? Insecurity. And those who are distracted with drama and issues etc etc are those ones who fail to acknowledge other people’s lives in their company and ask only about them when the bill is long paid for.
LA LA LA. Distraction. Our minds are mush. Our hearts are goo. Our brain is fried. We are controlled by our bad habits. People THRIVE off of drama and problems and hysterics.
The funny thing is - I’m feeling for the most part happy these days with the occasional downer moment – nothing I can’t grab by the balls and challenge and work through – which is why sometimes I just don’t have that much to say to you and I am completely content in my routine. Which is also why you are probably not interested to hear what I have to say or what is going on with me… No drama. All smiles.
Two New Goals –
1) Be open to breaking routine. Carpe Diem blah blah blah….
2) Babes knit - so learn the fuck how!
Honesty Circle #1 –
I like to flirt with girls but only the ones that work at cafes or sushi take out places on Queen St E. and give me free extras and dig my head scarves.
Peace & Love Gangstas.
-LO.
If I was any sort of drug device\paraphernalia I would be:
The tied Elastic band.
Ps – DON’T IMPOSE YOUR BELIEFS ON OTHER PEOPLE’S ART. MAKE YOUR OWN GODDAM ART. And while you’re at it… go and throw your big ugly signature on it down in the corner or all over the first and\or last title card of the film. Damn Auteurs. Move the hell to France and eat all the goddamn cheese you want. I’m happily resistant to eating dairy. Even though I had a glass of milk today and it was deeee-licious! Mooo. Bahhh. GRrrr. Cryyyy… tear….
Enjoy...
I feel people watching me. I know when people are looking at me and seeing me work or play or eat or whatever humanistic ritual I am conducting like everyone else – I know some are wondering what is running through my head. What is going on behind those eyes? If only I could explain in a few short words I wouldn’t be the rogue I am told that I am from those onlookers I have encountered in my life.
What are other people thinking? I watch people. I know they are thinking something but I don’t know what exactly those somethings are. Truth be told, I’m too often consumed by my own thinking, lost in a labyrinth of personal thought that it really doesn’t tickle my curiosity all that much when it comes to other peoples mental activity. If I’m interested I will ask. And when I am really interested… I will ask a lot. There are a few people in my life that I am very interested in and would like to get to know them so much more… I am just nervous to make that leap! It will happen when the moment is right.
Anyways! -- A lot of people in my life can be quite transparent actually. And although they think they are subtle and alluring; well you’re not.
In fact, I believe that the people who think they are one way (which makes them look cool to a specific degree) and actually take the time to tell others that they are this way they think they are are actually the complete opposite. And I would argue that this makes the whole lot of these folk come off as jackasses.
On that note - I was out with a peer not to long ago and all they did was talk about themselves. Come to think of it, all they ever do is talk about themselves. (There are only few people I can tolerate this from – some of which I actually quite enjoy this from - but this is comprised of only a special select few).
Anyways, at the end of the night finally this person asked about me and mentioned how they always seem to be the one who does all the talking. Well that’s because they start talking about themselves and their current fleeting plans, meaningless sexual escapades and other various shenanigans….and anytime I try to segue and share a personal experience to relate to their’s and perhaps shift the conversation to a more theoretical note… they shift it right back to superficial nothingness and repetition by not acknowledging my comments by doing something like taking a sip of coffee or posing for the onlookers around them… meanwhile making themselves look like a big ol’ dumbass.
It is these types of people – the self-involved\unaware\talkers-never listeners-kind- that are the most unaware of their actions in public and who are genuinely conceded to an incurable extent. Forever will they ask me what’s on my mind only after the coffee is done, the bill is paid and I’m ready to bolt home to my roommates and our patio and cut loose the extra baggage.
This belief of mine actually reminds me that --
Recently, one of the most valued and respected individuals in my life recommended I pen my own personal manifesto – a short impassioned volume on my thoughts and beliefs exploring some of the most powerful claims and truths I have learned and made in my life and formulated as a result of my accumulated experiences.
The manifesto would focus predominately on the definition of human behavior, nature and relationships – as all manifestos are technically variants of such defining subjects.
The bulk of the manifesto would ruminate sex and love – the fact that I do not believe that true romantic love involves sex – because sex is lust and human’s innate need and desperation to get off.
In relation, some of the other (and perhaps significantly less sexy topics in comparison) include human weakness - how controlled we are by our peers and by food and addiction in general. Humans are slaves to their addictions. Humans are slaves to their constant paranoia and thoughts about others thinking about them. And ultimately, humans are slaves to time.
On another note. I just finished watching Requiem and made myself a tea with a jenk-load of sweetener, both of which are activities that always put me in a “pissed off with the human race – the world is damned and was made that way because we thrive off of it” kind of mood. If we know the habits we do are bad why do we continue to do them?
The sick thing is… (and I bet you most people watching Requiem experience similar reactions) is that this movie does not scare me away from ever doing drugs even though it so intensely shows the tragedy it can often lead to. The movie, rather, is powerfully successful and difficult to watch and a true portrayal of human behavior because it scares me that it doesn’t scare me away from drugs. Like - I can understand without actually understanding. I can see how easy it is to get lost in it all – unable to find your way back – unwilling and unwanting to find your way back.
Which leads again to human weakness. Why are we so goddamn weak? So much bad happens to so many people unasked for… and yet here we are going and putting it on ourselves.
People get raped by unwanted disease and hardship everyday and yet people rape themselves willingly with drugs, or lies, or body image issues, or jealously or work or romance and relationship drama -- and they think that these issues are the important ones. These are mere distractions. Death is a mere distraction. The root of all of this self-rape-near-death?? Insecurity. And those who are distracted with drama and issues etc etc are those ones who fail to acknowledge other people’s lives in their company and ask only about them when the bill is long paid for.
LA LA LA. Distraction. Our minds are mush. Our hearts are goo. Our brain is fried. We are controlled by our bad habits. People THRIVE off of drama and problems and hysterics.
The funny thing is - I’m feeling for the most part happy these days with the occasional downer moment – nothing I can’t grab by the balls and challenge and work through – which is why sometimes I just don’t have that much to say to you and I am completely content in my routine. Which is also why you are probably not interested to hear what I have to say or what is going on with me… No drama. All smiles.
Two New Goals –
1) Be open to breaking routine. Carpe Diem blah blah blah….
2) Babes knit - so learn the fuck how!
Honesty Circle #1 –
I like to flirt with girls but only the ones that work at cafes or sushi take out places on Queen St E. and give me free extras and dig my head scarves.
Peace & Love Gangstas.
-LO.
If I was any sort of drug device\paraphernalia I would be:
The tied Elastic band.
Ps – DON’T IMPOSE YOUR BELIEFS ON OTHER PEOPLE’S ART. MAKE YOUR OWN GODDAM ART. And while you’re at it… go and throw your big ugly signature on it down in the corner or all over the first and\or last title card of the film. Damn Auteurs. Move the hell to France and eat all the goddamn cheese you want. I’m happily resistant to eating dairy. Even though I had a glass of milk today and it was deeee-licious! Mooo. Bahhh. GRrrr. Cryyyy… tear….
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