I love that after all this time, after having seen all the movies countless times, after crushing on various actors to various degrees in various periods of my life I still see Harry Potter & Co.in my head the way I did when I read the first book for the first time. Whenever I think of them as adults I see the features of the children they used to be, I see the the fingerprints of the joy and sorrow of their lives, the small wrinkles, the little things, the signature movements.
Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home, and that's the most important thing Rowling thought me, not the whole love conquers all evil and the values of friendship and all that.
She showed me that literature, that fantasy will always be there for you to turn to whenever you need it the most, that the stories live on in your head if you want them to, and if you don't like the ending, you can just close your eyes and pretend, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.
Tuesday 28 August 2012
Wednesday 22 August 2012
Inappropriate sex joke
What's the difference between light and hard? One can sleep with a light on
Because I just really had to say something that paints me as funny and awesome after all that emotion.
Insert inappropriate fart joke here.
Because I just really had to say something that paints me as funny and awesome after all that emotion.
Insert inappropriate fart joke here.
And I'm telling you
Music is life and life is music.
Nothing, nothing makes me as delightfully emotional as music does. It feeds my soul or it poisons my mind, doesn't matter, it makes me feel alive like nothing else ever could.
I used to have a decent voice, a decent range, terrible sense of rhythm and eagerness to learn more, to be able to preform, to be able to pour myself into the notes and die on a stage only to be alive because of it. Yes, dreaming big is important, and yes, with enough time & money it could be done, I could be another average singer with something meaningful to say. It's just that I realized that it's not my part anymore, maybe it never truly was. My part is, in a way, so much important than that.
A few years ago a dear friend of mine said after a gig where every single thing went wrong that he was okay because every time he started to, you know, be not okay, he just looked at me, saw the joy and unconditional love on my face and knew that nothing matters, and everything is going to be just fine as long as I'm there. Now I don't even have to be there, he just thinks of me for a split second, and it's the same effect. I'm his anchor.
It happened again with bands, other musicians and I realized that that's what I am - a reason to play just one more gig, to put up with just one more fight, to take just the next small step. Because I believe in them like children believe their fathers to be superheroes, and even if it's not true, even if they are bound to let me down, they try as hell not to.
So that's what I am, an anchor. I don't have to be me, I don't even have to be there, but that's what I'll always be anyway.
Thank you, all of you lovely people for letting me be a small part of the wonders that you create, and thank you for appreciating it.
And thank You, for reminding me what I love most.
Nothing, nothing makes me as delightfully emotional as music does. It feeds my soul or it poisons my mind, doesn't matter, it makes me feel alive like nothing else ever could.
I used to have a decent voice, a decent range, terrible sense of rhythm and eagerness to learn more, to be able to preform, to be able to pour myself into the notes and die on a stage only to be alive because of it. Yes, dreaming big is important, and yes, with enough time & money it could be done, I could be another average singer with something meaningful to say. It's just that I realized that it's not my part anymore, maybe it never truly was. My part is, in a way, so much important than that.
A few years ago a dear friend of mine said after a gig where every single thing went wrong that he was okay because every time he started to, you know, be not okay, he just looked at me, saw the joy and unconditional love on my face and knew that nothing matters, and everything is going to be just fine as long as I'm there. Now I don't even have to be there, he just thinks of me for a split second, and it's the same effect. I'm his anchor.
It happened again with bands, other musicians and I realized that that's what I am - a reason to play just one more gig, to put up with just one more fight, to take just the next small step. Because I believe in them like children believe their fathers to be superheroes, and even if it's not true, even if they are bound to let me down, they try as hell not to.
So that's what I am, an anchor. I don't have to be me, I don't even have to be there, but that's what I'll always be anyway.
Thank you, all of you lovely people for letting me be a small part of the wonders that you create, and thank you for appreciating it.
And thank You, for reminding me what I love most.
Sunday 19 August 2012
Saturday, wait
I've been rereading Pride and Prejudice for the thousandth time and obviously I had to watch the BBC version and Bridget Jones because. Colin Firth I adore you.
Keira Knightly, I do not adore you. You just rub me the wrong way but don't worry, were we ever to meet you probably would not like me very much either, so I just avoid you and that's that.
However. Today I woke up to the sound of someone yelling in through my window whilst ringing the fucking doorbell continuously even after I shouted out that I'm coming (I'm so angry that this that's what she said does nothing, not even a snicker from me, pffft). She then, without a fucking good morning or - god forbid - sorry for waking you, went on to order me to go down with her immediately because her ceiling is leaking and it must be my fault.
Now, I have had my fair share of broken water pipes and clogged toilets and shitmonsters that I do not even know the name for that my first reaction was to check all our water stuff to see if there's a problem on our side. Everything was fine so down I went to her apartment where there were a few drops of water on the wall (not the ceiling) that, frankly, did not warrant waking me the fuck up at 8 am on a Saturday. I proceeded to very politely tell her to call a professional and if the dude determines that it is somehow my fault then obviously I would pay for everything but there's nothing more I can do at that moment so just stop yelling at me.
I then ran to get cash from an atm because these things are expensive, especially so if you are a woman (they ALWAYS cheat you, no matter what you say or do, fuckwits) and waited around smelling like a sick person usually does after a feverish night (and no, no doing the nasty this time, I am genuinely ill).
At this point I knew it was going to be a fucked up day and there was zero chance of it getting better, so decided to do something I've been putting off for seven years: watch the movie version of Pride and Prejudice.
It's bad. So very bad. Still, there are some small things I do like about it, plus it passed the time and gave me something to work out my frustrations on.
After flushing the toilet at least fifty times as per the request of the handyman guy (who did not try to bang me, what has this world come to, I don't get it) it turned out that the shouting witch-lady effed something up and I had nothing to do with the whole thing whatsoever, so I did not go broke. Needless to say she did not apologize for all the yelling and you know, ruining my Saturday, making me run around with a fever. Nah-ah, she did not even utter a polite goodbye, she just turned around and walked the fuck away.
But really, the whole point is that I am obviously in love with Mr. Darcy (both the William and the Fitzwilliam edition) and I adore Colin Firth and that the Keira Knightly version is so bad.
Keira Knightly, I do not adore you. You just rub me the wrong way but don't worry, were we ever to meet you probably would not like me very much either, so I just avoid you and that's that.
However. Today I woke up to the sound of someone yelling in through my window whilst ringing the fucking doorbell continuously even after I shouted out that I'm coming (I'm so angry that this that's what she said does nothing, not even a snicker from me, pffft). She then, without a fucking good morning or - god forbid - sorry for waking you, went on to order me to go down with her immediately because her ceiling is leaking and it must be my fault.
Now, I have had my fair share of broken water pipes and clogged toilets and shitmonsters that I do not even know the name for that my first reaction was to check all our water stuff to see if there's a problem on our side. Everything was fine so down I went to her apartment where there were a few drops of water on the wall (not the ceiling) that, frankly, did not warrant waking me the fuck up at 8 am on a Saturday. I proceeded to very politely tell her to call a professional and if the dude determines that it is somehow my fault then obviously I would pay for everything but there's nothing more I can do at that moment so just stop yelling at me.
I then ran to get cash from an atm because these things are expensive, especially so if you are a woman (they ALWAYS cheat you, no matter what you say or do, fuckwits) and waited around smelling like a sick person usually does after a feverish night (and no, no doing the nasty this time, I am genuinely ill).
At this point I knew it was going to be a fucked up day and there was zero chance of it getting better, so decided to do something I've been putting off for seven years: watch the movie version of Pride and Prejudice.
It's bad. So very bad. Still, there are some small things I do like about it, plus it passed the time and gave me something to work out my frustrations on.
After flushing the toilet at least fifty times as per the request of the handyman guy (who did not try to bang me, what has this world come to, I don't get it) it turned out that the shouting witch-lady effed something up and I had nothing to do with the whole thing whatsoever, so I did not go broke. Needless to say she did not apologize for all the yelling and you know, ruining my Saturday, making me run around with a fever. Nah-ah, she did not even utter a polite goodbye, she just turned around and walked the fuck away.
But really, the whole point is that I am obviously in love with Mr. Darcy (both the William and the Fitzwilliam edition) and I adore Colin Firth and that the Keira Knightly version is so bad.
Always look on the...fuck
Pretty much all my life I've always known that nothing that's amazing and good and fanfuckingtastic can last or at least can always be perfect. When you're in love first you get the constant and amazing sex-marathons and the not being able to go on a whole minute without thinking about the other and whatnot, and then, in time you have mediocre bouncy-bouncy whilst thinking of having to shave your legs soon and deciding against it because meh. And yeah, I'm going with that metaphor.
Therefore I'm surprised that I was surprised when things were not as perfect as before and even though I know that it will be back to being amazing next time if I can help it the problem is it's really not me this time and I can't even understand what the fuck is going on.
In somewhat related news I got older (obviously, so have you, and you are getting older now because time and shit) and altough the whole birthday-thing went way better then in the last few years (with some of the most thoughtful gifts I have ever received, be it slips of paper or words and hugs, they made me melt like the emotional bitch that I am), it was... well. There's always next year.
And no, this is not a hint to plan me a surprise party or anything related to that, I despise surprises anyway and let's just forget about the unpleasant stuff because I just don't want to talk about any of it anymore.
Therefore I'm surprised that I was surprised when things were not as perfect as before and even though I know that it will be back to being amazing next time if I can help it the problem is it's really not me this time and I can't even understand what the fuck is going on.
In somewhat related news I got older (obviously, so have you, and you are getting older now because time and shit) and altough the whole birthday-thing went way better then in the last few years (with some of the most thoughtful gifts I have ever received, be it slips of paper or words and hugs, they made me melt like the emotional bitch that I am), it was... well. There's always next year.
And no, this is not a hint to plan me a surprise party or anything related to that, I despise surprises anyway and let's just forget about the unpleasant stuff because I just don't want to talk about any of it anymore.
Saturday 11 August 2012
It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live
I'm sitting in a coffeehouse (I refuse to call it coffeeshop, that's a different thing entirely and waaay more fun) writing shit and I feel like friggin JK, what with the only being able to afford one cup and whatnot. I'm also secretly charging my various electronic devices under the table because I'm that desperate.
As to how I'm coping with being deprived of technology of any kind all week, well, I've been reading a lot. I think I read everything that's compulsory for two of my classes in one week. Reading in candle light is surprisingly fun, though generations before me had to do it, so I have no right to whine (not that it ever stopped me before).
As to my shiny happy new self, it's still here, which is surprising. This week was probably one of the worst I have ever had, so many things just blowing up in my face (not in a nice, that's what she said way), and still being unable to ask for help, much less accept it when it's offered. One of my new, wonderful and might I mention über-cute (winkwink) friends helped me realize how far I've come just by being there and pointing shit out - shit that comes naturally to most people but we, the lovely fucked up snowflakes that we are, simply cannot cope with. And then we can. Okay, it took years and years of therapy, but still, it's there and it's progress and I'm so fucking proud of myself for not crawling back to my head the second the shit hit the fan. (I always picture that and it cracks me the fuck up. Every. Single. Time.).
I do realize I turned from awesomely cracktastic to a deeply disturbed whiny bitch, but hey, at least now you don't have to harass me to give a fucking sign that I have not topped myself.
As to how I'm coping with being deprived of technology of any kind all week, well, I've been reading a lot. I think I read everything that's compulsory for two of my classes in one week. Reading in candle light is surprisingly fun, though generations before me had to do it, so I have no right to whine (not that it ever stopped me before).
As to my shiny happy new self, it's still here, which is surprising. This week was probably one of the worst I have ever had, so many things just blowing up in my face (not in a nice, that's what she said way), and still being unable to ask for help, much less accept it when it's offered. One of my new, wonderful and might I mention über-cute (winkwink) friends helped me realize how far I've come just by being there and pointing shit out - shit that comes naturally to most people but we, the lovely fucked up snowflakes that we are, simply cannot cope with. And then we can. Okay, it took years and years of therapy, but still, it's there and it's progress and I'm so fucking proud of myself for not crawling back to my head the second the shit hit the fan. (I always picture that and it cracks me the fuck up. Every. Single. Time.).
I do realize I turned from awesomely cracktastic to a deeply disturbed whiny bitch, but hey, at least now you don't have to harass me to give a fucking sign that I have not topped myself.
The truth is rarely pure and never simple
I look like I have a major hangover even though I'm only sleep deprived partly because there was a karaoke event last night in the pub-thingy across from my apartment (and it's not nearly as much fun when you're not one of the happy masses but rather a sleepy boring fuck in a residential area) and partly because I stayed up till dawn reading and rereading The Importance of Being Earnest. I would like to point out that were Oscar Wild alive today, he would make an excellent addition to our little circle of brilliant misfits. I bet he would not be a spoilsport and would even sing Sodomy with me. Ahem.
Anyway, I'm no literary snob, or at least I try not to be one, but I do tend to make fun of, how shall I put it delicately, literature of the easily digestible kind, and it is just a hoot and a half when other like-minded people take part in this badass activity. Therefore it gives me great pleasure and self-satisfaction every time I read this part:
Anyway, I'm no literary snob, or at least I try not to be one, but I do tend to make fun of, how shall I put it delicately, literature of the easily digestible kind, and it is just a hoot and a half when other like-minded people take part in this badass activity. Therefore it gives me great pleasure and self-satisfaction every time I read this part:
"Oh! it is absurd to have a hard and fast rule about what one should read and what one shouldn't. More than half of modern culture depends on what one shouldn't read."Yeah, I did just put a quote there. It seems I'm that kind of a person and I really am okay with that.
Monday 6 August 2012
And I wonder
I missed my fun side. I missed liking myself, missed wanting to be my friend, missed the whole I'm having fun so I don't give a fuck what you think attitude. It's so different from my apathetic not giving a fuck - this is so good.
So yeah, I can't sing, still, I really hope this Wednesday karaoke shit is going to be a regular thing - with these people, with me giggling into the microphone while holding on to my friends for dear life. Hell, I'll even have a hangover every week if that's what it takes.
So yeah, I love you all and now I'll do something devilish lest you all think I've gone all soft and cuddly (why is it that with you I actually go all soft and cuddly and touchy-feely?)
So yeah, I can't sing, still, I really hope this Wednesday karaoke shit is going to be a regular thing - with these people, with me giggling into the microphone while holding on to my friends for dear life. Hell, I'll even have a hangover every week if that's what it takes.
So yeah, I love you all and now I'll do something devilish lest you all think I've gone all soft and cuddly (why is it that with you I actually go all soft and cuddly and touchy-feely?)
Sunday 5 August 2012
Fuckin' A
At one period of my life I was going by A. I don't even remember the crowd I was running with or why the stupid nickname, my guess is there were foreigners and I got fed up with hearing my name mispronounced (it's one of those names almost every nation has so I really don't get it).
Now, every time someone says 'fuckin' A' for a split second I think that they either want to fuck me or have done so regularly in the past.
Wednesday 1 August 2012
Ugh, reflections of the ugly kind
“The hottest places in hell are reserved for those who, in times of great moral crisis, maintain their neutrality.”
Dante, Inferno
Next time I tell myself no, I'm not going to attend the protest for whatever noble cause/gay pride/hey government, this is fucked up thingy because I'm scared and it's self preservation to stay at home, shut up and swallow, well, kick my ass please.
Though the fact that my conscience suddenly awakened is a huge sign of my depression and general apathy giving room to feelings and shit and this is amazing. It's overwhelming almost to the point of resulting in yet another round of paralyses, but it's only almost and not quite.
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