greeks

This is my reply to an imdb.com thread about the movie Alexander, and said leader's sexual orientation. Most of the replies on the thread were along the lines of "OMFG he's a fanny-bandit gross!" or "I won't believe that such a great leader was a FAG!" or some sort of middle in-between. It made my head hurt. So....read on and enjoy.




Wow, all the bigotry is making my brain develop a tumor, much like my cellphone does. [Thanks to all the intelligent replies, however, in particular, FBforshort and Darth Maligna.]

Now, although I know that this subject has been beaten to death and then some, I just love arguing for the sake of argument, so now I shall...on a topic that hasn't been hit with a baseball bat.

Alexander is only considered 'great' because history is written by the winners in any situation--in world history, this happened to be Patriarchy, with a capital P. If history were written by women, or even egalitarian rule (*shocked!gasp*), it would no doubt praise Alexander's leading capability, but go on to question just why military victories and conquering other peoples is a good thing in the first place. He paved the way for the Roman Empire---oh, good, so he made it even more possible for people to be killed and then assimilated by yet another Empire in search of power, for the Celtic warrior peoples to eventually be defeated, and for the decline and fall of Paganism to Christianity, which eventually led to the Burning Times/Women's Holocaust. Wonderful.

The issue here is not Alexander's sexual orientation, which was Greek, if anything---the issue here is that men are always portrayed as the 'Lords of the Universe' and that stories about ancient times rarely focus on women, because the rulers of the world have buried those stories. Amazons become myth, most high school students don't know who Sappho is, and the Goddesses of Pagan times are demonized--Lilith, to name one--or turned into male gods--Janua Coeli, who became Janus (and now, if you look up her name, it lists her as the 'wife of Janus')--or turned into male saints--Juno Augusta, for example. Alexander was portrayed as a great leader, which he may or may have not been, depending on your viewpoint--but his mother, who was obviously a supplicant to the Minoan Serpent Mother Goddess, is demonized in the movie and not even mentioned in the history books. [By the way, kudos to Angelina Jolie for being so wonderful and gorgeous.] And all of Alexander's "I've taken you farther than my father ever dreamed" lines? Sure, he did. He surpassed his father's dreams. So where did he get the ambition from? His mom, obviously. His mom is the one who groomed him to rule, who made sure he did. And she gets treated like crap. In Troy, where was Kasandra? Neither seen nor mentioned. The strongest woman character in that movie was Andromache, and if you've read The Firebrand by Marion Zimmer Bradley, you know what a travesty that is. In all the King Arthur stories, Morgan le Fey is demonized, and Merlin exalted. Why? Because Merlin is male. And Morgan le Fey is a human incarnation of the Celtic War Goddess Morrigan. No, we can't have any strong female deities, now can we? That would threaten our precious and rather fragile manhood. In the history books, Queen Boudicca is seen as crazy bitch, and Medea is always portrayed that way. Medusa? Angry Bitch #19823982. Never mind her right to be angry.

Frankly, I could care less about Alexander's sexuality. While it's always nice to see guys kiss, and it chalks one up for the gay community (of which I'm a member, I may add), he was a strong leader whether or not he was gay or bi or pan. The point is that these movies and these stories put women 'in their place'--in the shadows, or demonized if they're given a front row place. The only Goddess mentioned is Aphrodite, who was by no means the strongest of them.

Someday, we'll live in a world where it will please people of all walks of life to see a lovely love story on screen, regardless the characters' genders and sexual orientations, and where people aren't bigots because they recognize that it takes all kinds to make a world.

Beat.

*bursts out laughing* Wow, I'm funny. Go me.

I'm Not Okay (I Promise)

I'm not okay.

I fake it till I make it; I smile and I wave and I am that lovable bitch that everyone wants to hang out with for some fucking unfathomable reason. I cook and I clean. I do the laundry. I read books. I post to my blog like a good girl. I write essays that spark controversy and I write prose that few believe I wrote. I surpass what I am every day in every creative endeavor. I dress like a girl and I wear make-up and I make sure I look my best (as good as I want to look being my best). I leave the hair-dye in too long and I sing too loud and off key and inside I'm screaming....

I don't sleep and I drink coffee and I eat badly; I go to my counselor's after getting into a good mood. I punch the wall in the shower so I won't kill someone. I take alcohol and pain-killers in the hope of killing my liver or some other vital inner part of myself, hoping it will die with the voices. The voices don't go away. Inadequate. Ugly. Stupid. Selfish. Greedy. Loud. Bitchy. Imperfect. Lazy. Cold. Heartless. Worthless. The words drill into my brain, bouncing in my echo chamber, reminding me of what I don't want to see and what I don't want to remember. I know it's there and I know I'm not perfect and I know and I know, but I cannot accept it--I do not want to accept it. I do not want to and I can not accept that I am human because I have such high standards of my own behavior and when I fail I find reason to hate myself even more and it starts a cycle over and over and over again.

I wear my emotions on my sleeve; I can't guard myself for shit. I'll keep on getting hurt because I fucking ask for it.

If this is what you want, then fire at will. I'm open. How much more can you wound my heart? It died long ago; I don't think there's a beat left in it. Just hit me again and again and again until I bleed--is this what you want? Is this what you want me for? A punching bag for your issues? Is this my lot in life?

Abuse me, if you think there's any worth in beating a dead horse.

revtwentytwotwenty

And I keep driving and driving and driving till I can no more till the gas runs out till the headlights hit what I don't want to see and my dashboard is my altar and my stereo is my screambox and no one will hear me all locked up in my moonbeam of mealtimes of soulfeeding of lost and wondering and I hope they never find me because of course they can't swim.

There are games I play in my head to keep me entertained to keep the voices at bay to keep them from saying what I shouldn't hear why does it hurt so much?

They're sucking at me, sucking at my life force drinking my blood and sucking me dry and these are games that my vampires play and I think I might be enjoying it now.

Transylvanian concubine. I know what flows there like wine.

Orwellian

This is my final essay for history class. I don't expect anyone will read it; I'm just trying to fill up my blog with random and senseless posts. However, if you like it and wish to cite it (somehow I doubt this) give credit where it is due, or I'll hurt you.

Totalitarianism and Economic Disparity in Modern America

Totalitarianism is a modern version of absolutist monarchial rule. It has arisen in fascist and communist states, and has been feared in the minds and hearts of American citizens, and probably the rest of the Western world. However, America has become the very type of empire which it feared for so long. How well do post-9/11 events in America match the earmarks of totalitarianism?

Pretty damn well. The Patriot Act, disguised as a way to 'keep us safe from the terrorists', has taken away our civil liberties, kicking them out the door before they've had their morning coffee. It's a sad thing to see in a country that was founded on dissent and terrorism—America has been a grand experiment in democracy since its conception. Unfortunately, Aristotle was right: Democracy, even in its highest form, is perverted.

Not only the Patriot Act is something to be worried about—other decisions and bills have made America into a fascist state. The Padilla decision vested complete power over the American population—including citizens—in the president. Jose Padilla was arrested and held in prison without a charge for over three-and-a-half years before someone brought the question before the Supreme Court of 'whether or not we can do this'. The decision of the Supreme Court was that citizens can be arrested and put in prison 'at the President's pleasure.' There is a similar practice in Canada and Britain: one can be held in contempt of court "at her majesty's pleasure", but one must be charged first and is only held for twenty-four hours. Jose Padilla is, as far as I know, still in jail without a reason.

Bush's regime is fascist—the blending of corporate and political power into one scary entity. However, one of the scarier facets of Bush's regime is the stacking of the Supreme Court with severe right-wingers. We may be able to get rid of Bush and take our nation back (a hope that many still entertain), but we'll never get rid of these guys. Supreme Court justices will be in power until they retire or die—and as Bush is choosing young Fundamentalist Christo-Fascists, we're going to have less-than-liberal decisions coming out of that court for the next fifty to sixty years. That tyranny will last the lifetime of my generation.

Other practices, such as renditions, torture, and secret prisons, have been in practice in America for over twenty years by the CIA and other such organizations. This is nothing new, except that now we know about it.

Bush's alliance with Halliburton and other oil companies as well as the Carlyle Group gives him complete rule over our source of energy and our media and information technology. Our communications are monitored, what we see as news is controlled, and songs like "Walk Like An Egyptian" or "New York, New York" are banned from radio stations owned by Clear Channel. Al Gore has figured out that the way to get the country back is to start his own television station—which he has done. It can be seen on the internet, the last standing place to get information.

Glorification of war is another hallmark of totalitarianism—or at least fascism. The War in Iraq has been called the 'fight between good and evil' and many soldiers think of it as a 'war for Jesus'. What better way to glorify war than to say it's either Us or Them (thank you, Mussolini)? It stirs patriotism (fancy word for nationalism) in even the most anarchic of our citizens, and adds to a drive to support the war effort. This pushes the gap between rich and poor open wider: rampant warmongering leads to rampant consumerism, and drives people to buy things to prove their patriotism. As well, you don't see rich people's kids going off to war. There is a belief in this society that rich people are inherently better than poor people, simply because of the economic disparity. We're obsessed with celebrities and want to be like them; everything is about the almighty dollar; everything we do is to 'make it big'. The intelligent person forced into mindless work because of a lack of funds for higher training brings a gun to work because he just can't take it anymore; the bright student mocked for her abilities because of her appearance or background shows her classmates what real pain is when she finally snaps and finds grandpa's arsenal. If one isn't rich or pretty, one isn't worth it.

In totalitarianism, war is a constant state—in 1984, Oceania was either at war with Eastasia or Eurasia and allied with the other. Bush has refused to give an exit date for Iraq, and the Army is having trouble finding recruits. The possibility of a draft looms on the horizon. In reality, this war is the same war we've been locked into for a century. World War I didn't solve anything and led to World War II. World War II, in turn, solved some problems but created others, leading to the Cold War. Then, because of our fear of the soviets, the CIA trained people in Afghanistan to fight off Russia—those trainees of ours became the Al-Qaeda, which is now terrorizing our nation. American citizens are banging their heads against a wall—or they would be, if they were informed of any of this (or had you as a teacher). We're going around in circles—these wars (this war) solve nothing, and just create more conflict, misery and waste.

Bush obviously subscribes to the idea of the Divine Right of Presidents—he believes that "God told him to invade Iraq". Alliance with religion is another warning bell—though not necessarily a hallmark of Orwellian societies. The "God made me do it" reason is an excuse, a justification, of his need for revenge on Saddam for trying to kill his daddy and his need to control the oil in the world. Of course, this is all conjecture—Bush could be just a puppet, ruled by his seconds-in-command, who are the real world leaders. I frankly don't know what's scarier.

Marx said that economic disparity [thru class struggle] drives history. What is driving the war in Iraq? The gap between the haves and have-nots? Or the looming end of easy oil and ridiculous consumption by only 5 per cent of the world's population—us? Victory in Iraq means a monopoly over Middle-Eastern oil for a country that consumes too much.

Economic disparity has always driven the survival of human beings—in the dawn of our race, 'economy' meant 'food source'. Difference in food source led to wars and migrations on the part of our ancestors; as economies and money-systems developed disparity there drove the events in human history. Marx held that all politics were class struggle arising out of economic disparity. I don't think he could have foreseen the advent of globalism, best described by the phrase "think globally, act locally" Globalism is taking hold in the thoughts of many people today. Never before have we heard a cry to not be a "have" nation, to back off from "progress" and consumption. For example, in China workers are rioting because the policies of their country are ruining the ecosystem. They want to go back to more sustainable agriculture. Marx never would have imagined that. The "haves" and the "have-nots" want the same thing: demonstators at the World Trade Organization Summit wanted a sustainable ecosystem as well.

Currently, economic disparity is driving totalitarianism in this state. Money talks, and it seems that all the rich people are the conservative right-wingers. The richest people, of course, do not want to give up what they have—today's landed aristocracy wants to keep the status quo.

The gap between the haves and the have-nots, both within the US and among nations, is large and dangerous, and drives the glorification of war. Army recruiters target poor areas, because the appeal of a group that will pay one's way through college is great when one is on welfare or otherwise mired in poverty. In the Iraq War, already more than two thousand of these kids didn't live to use their college education, because they died in senseless war before their tour was up. In Iraq, 'insurgents' are really just mad about the theft of their oil, government, country, and way of life. The need for Fascist America to police the world has ripped away what they held sacred, impoverished them, and driven their need to drive us out. Just as the world did nothing when Hitler invaded Poland, so the world is doing nothing when Bush invades Iraq. So far the War in Iraq has cost 226 billion American dollars—funds that could have been used to get everyone off welfare, to fund finding an alternative to oil, to fund the educational system so teachers don't live hand-to-mouth and kids get a good grounding in not only world politics but also sexual relations, or to give every American healthcare. Instead, the government is more concerned with keeping us cowed with either fear or patriotism and giving healthcare to Iraqis. (Not that I don't think they shouldn't get it—but I do think that we need to start at home.)

Keeping us cowed with fear and patriotism drives our need to consume—when you watch television, that's all it is: fear and consumption, fear and consumption, in an endless cycle. "Killer bees attack; go buy duct tape." No wonder Wal-mart is so big—our very media, the ones who are supposed to bring us the truth, do nothing but fuel our desire to spend. And by spending, we are funding the war effort and the ones who keep this country under an iron thumb of Christo-Fascist b.s. $226 billion is the wedding ring that holds together the sacred fascist union of government and big business—in which government is the bitch. Except that this wife doesn't cook and clean up after her husband—she lets him do what he pleases to her household, destroying the environment with his dirty laundry and leaving bottles of toxic waste around the living room of the world. His depleted uranium is left to poison the children of tomorrow, and the wife goes and plays bridge with her friends, ignoring her children's cry for help. Doctor Mom has become Doctor Kevorkian. The American Empire needs euthanasia.

What many don't realize is that even if we do get a complete monopoly on oil in the world, our way of life is coming to an end. If we stop consuming as much as we do—I'm talking a ninety per cent decrease by 2030—it will be a gentler end than the alternative. If we don't cut back consumption, our society will collapse into total chaos.

Totalitarianism and economic disparity go hand in hand in today's world, fueling a warmongering state and a gap between haves and have-nots. Class struggle is as big an issue today as it was a century ago—with not as clearly defined classes. Today's landed aristocracy—or corporate big-wigs and conservative rich families—want to keep the status quo, and the impoverished 'left' do what we can to stop that. Like it or not, the status quo has to change—and while their god may come with a rapture option, mine doesn't. If we're going to do something, it must be done quickly, before we're living in Orwell's Airstrip One or Huxley's Brave New World, and it's too late to change anything. The time is now.

subterrania

All of this Past

Oh sweet dear merciful Goddess, You who nations form for, hear the cry of one of Your supplicants. Help me to be a healer in times of need, a shining light for my sisters and brothers in anguish, a beacon in this hell called earth, something to hold on when all else feels null. Help my problems to become insignificant, help me to rise above my ego into my higher self. Help me to keep myself to myself, to become that which all marvel at for her calm in the uttermost catastrophe. Only a few shall see the truth; only a few to who I will show myself.

Rev 22:20

Oh voluptuous gorgeous Goddess, You who carnal desires are realized for, hear the plea of Your daughter. Awaken the You within me; help me to be a vertible sex goddess in my everyday life. Help me to show my divine sensuality in every move, every step, every breath. Help me to be a light of raw passionate sexuality in a bleak world of suppressed and not allowed, help me to cleanse warriors of war, a modern vestal virgin in service to You. Help me to find that which heals, that which pulses from the root chakra in cleansing spirals upward, help me to be an agent of Your pure, divine sexual healing.

Judith

Oh all-knowing, all-seeing Goddess, You who great epics are written for, hear the thought of one of Your scholars. Help me to be a vertible store of knowledge. Help my mind to quiet, to be still, and receptive to Your knowledge. Help me to be able to retain that which I know I have a knack for, help my studies to become clear to me. Help me through the next years of schooling I have ahead of me, and help me to carry on in Your name. Help me live to the full potential of my intelligence.

Death Dealer's Descent

Oh powerful blood-thirsty warrior Goddess, You who wars are fought for, hear the plea of a knight in Your service. Help me to be a warrior for you, to bring your name to the forefront, and to smite down religious intolerance where it rears its ugly head. Help me to be a help to the lonely, the unwanted, the scapegoats, the feared and the hated. Help me to help those who are beyond help. Those that society rejected because of 'difference', those that cannot find love. Let me be a warrior to change the world to accept those that are different--let me join Your army of truth-seekers as we fight to undo the wrongs that have been done; as we fight to make the world friendly to all regardless all differences that separate us. Let those differences unite us as a human family. Let us rejoice in them, as we rejoice in our similarities. Let us remember that we are brothers and sisters, and that we once spoke a common language: a language of love.

Weak and Powerless

To the Lonely Generation, as this is what I am calling my generation: I know you are angry, I know you are alone, and I know you want change. I know you have given up. We have been told that we'll never do anything of worth, but when we come up with any sort of idea we are not listened to. We retreat into castles built of black paint and blaring music, into our walls of superficiality and shallow behavior so we won't feel the hurt that comes when we're told our thoughts don't matter. We retreat and are hated for it; we come out to fight and are booed off the battlefield. Those who run our world won't listen and think that we are of no worth; when we accept this and stop caring, we are looked down upon for our apathy. There seems to be no end to this cycle.

Awakening

We need to stand and take our world now. The time is now. The adults keep on saying We are the ones we have been waiting for--I think that applies to us more than anyone else. The time of the last generation to rule is reaching its end--soon it will be our turn. What are we going to do? Are we going to drift in apathy until Oh, shit, we're in charge aren't we? What the fuck are we supposed to do? Or are we going to start something now--start building the leadership skills we'll need in order to save humanity?

Falling Through The Sky

Because it is up to us. It is up to the Lonely Generation to use that anger we hold deep inside to get up and save humanity, and the world. Fossil fuels are running out and our society will collapse without a source of power so abundant and effortless. We have to reduce our consumption and put our brilliant young minds together to find a solution. We have to reduce our population size, and if celibacy is the answer, then so be it. We have the strength--we must use it. And we must not fear using it. We must come together in peace and tolerance, putting aside our arguments and grudges in order to come up with a plan to fix our world.

Because it's the only one we've got. And I don't know about your god, but mine doesn't have a rapture option.

All circuits are NOT busy

The telephone computer lady lies to me. I shall find her in the small hours of the night and put a bat up her night dress.

Happy Sinterklaas Day, by the by. Today is Dutch christmas, when Sinterklaas comes around on a horse with his 'elf' (read:slave), Black Pete, and puts gifts in children's wooden shoes that they leave by the hearth. But as Black Pete is in charge of putting the gifts into the shoes, he fucks up and five-year-olds get mommy and daddy's 'love snacks' (like Belgian chocolate body paint). At least, this would happen were Holland not home of the uber-conservative Protestants. At any rate, this is Holland's traditional winter celebration--a way to blame the black guy, once again. I don't know where it stems from; maybe I'll do some research and write a paper on it. When I was young my parents and I celebrated it, as well as Hanukkah and Christmas...so I got 3 chances at presents.

Another winter holiday we celebrated but one that did not gain me any gifts was the Winter Solstice, or Yule, as I call it now. There is a huge fire festival on the 21st of December on Granville Island, where I used to live, in Vancouver, Canada. It is more a form of performance and mixed media art than an actual Pagan festival (Vancouver is an art hub), and all the big city heathens come and join in the festivities. One of the most fun parts about it, especially for the creatively inclined, is the lanterns you can make in the weeks leading up to the 21st. There are classes at the various studios at Granville Island where each person makes a lantern of their
own design, and at the festival everyone who's done so has a lit-up lantern. The afternoon is brightly lit (it gets dark /really/ early this time of year in Vancouver) with gorgeous tissue-paper lanterns. The festival itself is a combination of fire-dancing and fire-works---really quite a spectacular show---as well as communion with one's fellow Vancouverites.

Vancouver is home of the fire festivals--aside from the Solstice, the Symphony of Fire happens annually---sponsored by a cigarette company, but no one complains because it is a gorgeous event one doesn't want to miss. It's several nights of fireworks that can be seen from various places in the city, put to music. Different countries are represented each night. To hear the music one can listen on the radio or go to the official watching place (which is horrendously expensive, so most people don't). We had a perfect view from the apartment building where we used
to live. Usually we'd get together with the neighbors down the hall and watch the show together. Sometimes we'd go to another place in the city and sit on the dewy grass with other city heathens, enjoying what Vancouver has to offer.

I think it was partly the presence of fire festivals in my youth that led to my current religious affiliation. More correctly said, I've always /been/ a Pagan; I've /known/ for 9 years. And, unfortunately, I do not feel that my Pagan nature is supported at all here--I felt much more support, both from the humanity around me and the limited nature found there, in the dreary rainy city of Vancouver, B.C.

I miss home very much.


And maybe I don't really know what I want to do, but at least I know I have the freedom to change my plans--as one should be able to at this age. I'm 19; I'm spontaneous. ...on second thought, maybe my age has nothing to do with it. I'll probably always be spontaneous. This is something the rest of the world cannot handle.

They can fuck off.


Everything is floating right now. Which is...fine.

Eden

There has been something preventing me from caring this past month; preventing me from living since July. I fake it pretty well. No one knows that each breath I take I hope will be my last; no one sees the deep rends in my heart. I feel like I'm choking. There's not enough air here, there's not enough to keep me going. I've lost the ability to smell life, to taste it like I should. Everything is one more gray, shapeless blob, something that I cannot distinguish from the rest of the gray that makes up my world.

I live lies inside my head to make me feel better; I tell lies to my mother so she won't worry. No, I don't smoke, yes my grades are fine, I was tired when I left that message, I'm fine, I'm ok, just the same old same old, I'm eating right, I'm sleeping fine, things are fine with me and whoever, I'm low on cash but I'll be fine, there are other lesser problems in my life you should look at, I have no big problems, please don't worry I won't kill myself.

I never really tried to live when Blue was here and now that she's gone I can't do it anymore. I never ever appreciated what she gave and now I've never felt loss so strongly. I took for granted what I thought would be around forever even when I KNEW it wouldn't be.

And every day I wish God had taken me instead.

Harry Potter and the Magic Rock: Further Dumbed Down For American Children

On that note, I've seen the fourth HP movie and OMG IT IS SOOOO GOOD. And if you hadn't read the book, you were really fucking confused--which I applaud, wholeheartedly, because it will prompt people to read the fucking book. Motherfucking stupid-ass American (& Canadian) kids. Y'all ignorant. I blame the parents, really. They should /make/ the kids read HP before watching the movies--or if the kids can't read, they should read to the kids. Spend some quality time with your kids! Stop using the TV as babysitter. Lazy bastards.

It pisses me off when people are like "Let's have kids and do a real crap job raising them to get a silent and totally pointless revenge on our own parents thereby fucking over the rest of the world by letting loose more mal-adjusted teens on the world in 18 years time when we kick our kids out for being themselves (or as much of themselves that they can be after the stranglehold we had on their souls for so damn long)". Because the world really needs more fucked-up teens.

On the plus side, people going into psychology will make a killing.

So will I, but for different reasons.

Fields of Innocence

I watched Resident Evil: Apocalypse with the commentary on. I must say....Milla Jovovich and Oded Fehr's commentaries rocked so hard, until someone decided to splice in bits of Sienna Guillory's interview. Which had me screaming "SHUT UP BITCH!" at the TV. And then I turned into a T-Virus Zombie™ and ATE her. Everytime Milla & Oded start getting really funny, there's Jill Valentine just yapping on about how she loves the 'humanity' of the series (ummm...it's about zombies? hello?) and how she loves this about her character and that about her character and blahblahblah....Which would be fine...in an interview. In the commentary all I want to hear is the actors or maybe even directors making fun of the movie. Which is what Milla and Oded did. Made fun of themselves. Which makes me bow down in front of my Milla shrine so much lower. I'm literally under the carpet at this point.

Red Tape/Agent Provocateur

I posted a comment on Ashen's blog in response to her Law of Entropy entry. I doubt anyone read it, but it's prompting today's entry.

I desire power. The only thing that I desire more than power is to have Blue back, and that's not going to happen.

I desire all kinds of power. I want to rule the world, politically and emotionally. I want to be a leader that no one assassinates because for some reason no one can fathom, everyone loves her. I will rule for my own purposes; I do not delude myself with ideas of "Wanting to bring peace to humanity" or wanting to do things "for the greater good." I want to be in charge so that all assholes have to answer to me. I want to be in absolute power so that I am above the law.

I want to be unrivaled in my psychic abilities. I want my ability to heal to be so strong that you don't need Western medicine at all. I want my telepathic powers enhanced to the point of being able to literally control people with my mind. I want telekinetic powers, so I never have to lift a finger again. I want mental control over my own biological processes so I would have to sleep but once a week and eat but once a month. I want to able to collapse someone's brain with one flick of my mind. I want to be able to set up shields that deflect magical and physical blows. I want to be able to pin-point certain people within a population and with one unleashing of my powers, to be able to wipe them all out. I want to make entire islands disappear.

I want my physical power to draw more fear than awe and attention. I want to be finely muscled, so I look feminine and soft but am nothing but tightly corded iron. I want to be able to knock out anyone, no matter their stature. I want swordplay abilities that would frighten Lancelot. I want to be the fastest runner, the strongest swimmer, and the best at any weapon I get my hands on.

I want to have knowledge and a wit that makes idiots gibber and intelligent people bow their eyes respectfully. I want to be able to kill a man at forty paces with one blow of my tongue. I want the ultimate manipulation techniques at my disposal.

I want the world at my feet. I want to be the world's dark mistress. I want to be the one you call "Madam" with a hint of fear in your voice, enough for me to relish but not too much to turn me off. I want to be the one that haunts your dreams and nightmares. I want to be the one in charge of your very existence, because I get off on that sort of power.

I want this power. I want it so badly I can almost taste it. And maybe someday, in this lifetime or the next, I'll achieve it.

Parasol

So, again, I do not care enough to make a difference. This has been my MO for the past few months. I haven't cared enough to go to the gym, to not smoke (though I haven't for weeks…I only do it when I feel it), to take charge of my life, to not fall into debt, to write my novel, to not procrastinate, to do anything positive or productive. I've been in this funk of wake up at noon, go to class, go to work, go home and sleep. Leave the dirty dishes in the sink until my roomies do them; leave the mess on the table till it's shoved over; leave the laundry on the line till it falls off. Don't check the oil in my car, or take her in for check-ups (way overdue for an oil change). I don't do enough religious stuff, I don't clean my room, I wear dirty clothing or I don't leave the house for lack of motivation to get dressed. I don't always wash my face, I don't trim or clean my nails, I pick at my scabs, and I don't follow sound medical advice, like "Don't mix vodka and painkillers." My liver hates me. I can't save any money for anything, because I keep on spending it on junk food. I don't cook, I don't eat healthily enough. I have nightmares and want to go back to them. I had an exam last week and five quizzes. I didn't do a single one, nor did I give the teacher a heads up that I wouldn't be able to. As far as some of my friends are concerned, I've disappeared off the face of the earth. I didn't reconnect my phone when it was cut off; I don't call people; I don't clean up my messes; I don't do what I say I'll do; I haven't consulted the Tarot in months; and I haven't consulted my pendulum since I found out Kurt is involved. I don't catch up on my reading; I'm in the middle of thirty books at once; I say I'm going to try fanfic but I'll never really do it; my fiction is sliding downhill; I say I'll come into the bookstore but I don't; I go to poetry slams for the money and I'm sick of poets; and I can't even post this entry because my computer is like la la la what internet? I've only ever finished one video game, and since roomie smacked me because I was going to (didn't, mind you) walk in front of the TV when he and two boys were playing Mariokart, I haven't wanted to.

I think I'm coming down with something. It's called apathy. Apathy, or depression, or something. But I'm not even really sad. I'm just….blah. I suppose it is apathy. Right now all I want to do is quit school and work for a bit. I haven't had a real vacation from school since……well, if a vacation is doing just what you want to do, then never. Guatemala doesn't count; I was doing schoolwork while there and that did tarnish the experience. As for access summers with dad…I never get to do what I want to do when I'm with him. I've been in schooling of some sort since I was three years old. Sixteen years later and I'm an embittered teenager who's given up her dreams because they won't help people as much as being a doctor will. Everybody's an actor, everybody's a poet, everybody's doing some creative bullshit. "Hi, I'm writing a novel." The world responds "OH, so am I! What a COINCIDENCE!" Yeah, real fucking coincidence. And I can't say anything except what's supportive, because I'll sound like fucking cocky. I guess it just bothers me that everyone wants to get into everyone else's niche. Like Hilary Duff just fucking splayed and straddled over every single genre known to humans. Musician/actress/writer/whore/whatever. Like when people I know who are totally NOT into languages at all pretend to be all knowledgeable about Latin or Greek, because of the rise of movies that make Latin cool. I'm like, "Can you PARSE, bitch? Can you DECLINE? Can you fucking translate? NO? Then shut up!" Latin was ALWAYS cool. It's a great base for other languages. And people only get into it or use bad Latin to make themselves seem more important and smarter than they are.

And it's not just the forte-thieving that bothers me. I dabble in fortes not my own, sure. It's when people are deluded into thinking they're the next Beethoven or Chopin or the next Anne Bishop. NO. No, you are not. I dabble in music. I suck. I hold no delusions of this. I have no more musical talent. It wasn't nurtured and as such that energy got diverted into writing. But I dabble because I enjoy being able to play classics on the piano and maybe someday I'd like to make my poems into songs. Not because I think I'm a child prodigy, or that music is my calling. It's not, I suck.

You meet people waiting tables in LA and most of them will say, "Oh, I'm an actor." Oh, really? Do you have an agent? Auditions lined up? Headshots? Are you constantly working the acting line? Are you going to auditions—any and all—and callbacks? Are you trying? Or are you just waiting on tables, hoping that talent scout will come in and see you and say, "Yes…yes…this is the next Alan Rickman/Gary Oldman/Emma Thompson/Kate Winslet [insert appropriately good actor's name here]. I must have you for the lead in Tarantino's next film!"? Because if it's the latter, you're not an actor. You're a waiter. And that's all you're going to be unless you take fucking charge of your career. GET AN AGENT. Get some fucking headshots.

And by the way, that shit NEVER happens to the little guy. The only way to become an accomplished actor is to work at it. Don't be deluded by stories of big breaks and being 'in the right place at the right time'. If you wait around for that you'll never get any fucking work.

So what's the point of my being a filmmaker? Whose lives will I change? No one's life. If I were a doctor, I'd be in the business of saving lives every day. And that's what people need. Actually, what people really need is more doctors like me—integrators of natural healing and Western healing. Whatever you got, I can give you the full treatment. And maybe I'll get more respect for being an energy healer.

"I'm a filmmaker." *is met with general disdain; oh god not another independent filmmaker*

"I'm an energy healer." *is met with Get away from me you FREAK*

"I'm a doctor." And a filmmaker and an energy healer, but I won't say that. *is met with awe and reverence.*

What would be more appealing to someone who has spent her entire life being an outcaste in a group of outcastes? I'm the Untouchable the other Untouchables didn't want to play with as kids; I'm the Untouchable the others ignored.

And it's not so much that I choose to be an outcaste. It's more that I choose to be me, and the world doesn't want that. They want a skinny iconoclast; then she can be admired for her weirdness. If you're fat and weird, then you're fucked.

Sweet the Sting

I think what Joseph Campbell was saying that went click was something about how we're all god, we're all from the source, except a lot more poignantly and eloquently, and I just went, "Yeah, that's it, that's what I lost and I need to find." And then I didn't find it, it just appeared again. And it's still there, no matter how angry I get with my goddess. I guess I've just evolved in my faith, in the point where I can get angry with god. Because it was that for a long time, I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to be mad. But now I can. I can while my faith stays somewhat intact. Or repairs itself, at least.

Sometimes Dreaming

Last night Robert, Ashen and I watched four movies on my mom's Plasma HD Bigscreen TV, which was fun. After they left I hung around and got depressed. I put Blue in a more reverent place than the kitchen table, covered in crap; I looked through a journal from one of the worst times of my life and was surprised to find virtually no writing about the stuff that was going on; I looked through my parent's wedding album (enough said); I looked through my baby book and that was really depressing because it confirmed to me that my entire existence is innate. I haven't changed at all in the past 19 years. I'm the same person I was as a baby. My personality is not learned at all. I'm the same as I always was. And it did make me kind of sad that my childhood was only the first three years of my life, but maybe that would have happened even if the tragedies hadn't started. Others would have taken their place. But still...to think that even though my life has tempered me in the fires of pain and injury, that I have not changed for the better...that is sad. I may have changed for the worse. I was not as angry and vengeful when I was a child. But I was acknowledging my fledgling Antichrist powers even then. One of my first sentences was "I'm a demon baby."

But my problem right now is that I can't feel Goddess anymore. I can't get back to that place of perfect faith that I held. And I want to, because I don't see anything else to save me at this point.

The thing is, I'm just so fucking close to losing it. I can't feel the hurt anymore but I know it's still there. It's deep below, waiting for something else to lance it. And when it's lanced....I don't know what will happen. I need something to hold on to. And she's gone. So I have to forge that bridge to god by myself now. It's up to me, but I don't think I'm up to the task.

Guess it's time to figure out.

"Like a thousand other commanders on a thousand other battlefields, I wait for the dawn."

Hikari

I think all my integrity died.

It has, actually, and I just discovered the reason why yesterday (yesterday being at one am Sunday morning).

Up until 8am HST July 1st, 2005, there was ONE being in my life who actually made me WANT to be a better person, because in her total forgiving innocence, she loved me when I was beyond being lovable, and when I was a complete asshole. This made me feel guilty in a good way, and in that guilt, I didn't want to hurt her anymore. So I tried. I made an effort to better myself, an effort to be a good person. And it worked. I was getting steadily better. Still really fucked up, but getting there. Slowly working on it. Working on turning all my senseless rage into righteous anger, and getting past the STAB.

And then she was gone, just like that, and I wasn't even around to say good bye. I still feel shitty about that, and I have lost all desire to be a better person.

I've also lost the ability to fall in love with other people. I think this is because when she was around to love me, I could allow myself to love others as deeply as I did because everything would be alright as long as she was there. I would always have her, even if I didn't have others. So I could allow myself to fall in love. But now I don't have her anymore, I don't have that assurance that someday things will be better and until then, I have my beautiful BlueSky to keep me straight and honest. I can't fall in love anymore, because I can't allow myself to. And that scares me, because I don't know if I will ever heal enough to allow myself that again. I don't know if I'll ever have another who did the same for me as Blue did.

And of course I'm just realizing all this now. I can't say these thousand words to her because she's not here.

And because I don't want anyone to see me cry because I think it's a sign of weakness (only with myself--I don't see others as weak if they cry), I sit alone in my car and play music to make me weep. And I do weep. Usually I have to change my shirt afterwards because it's soaked through with my tears.

It's my only medication now. That and surrounding myself with people so I won't have a single quiet moment. Because in every quiet moment that comes, I think about Blue. And I feel the wound as sharply as I did two and a half months ago. So I have to either find alone-time when no one can walk in on me so I can cry it all out, again and again and again with no end in sight, or I need to wallow in a social life or in video games or anything else that gets me to stop thinking.

I need to stop thinking.

No. I need to grieve. But I can't grieve in the way I need to, because I have to pay the bills. So I need to pretend like everything's fine. And I succeed, until it hits me like a bullet and I gasp for breath.

And if you think I'm overreacting, you lose your firstborn child and tell me that. Because that's what Blue was to me. She was my daughter. She was with me for 13 of my 19 years. That's a long-ass fucking time. I don't think I'll ever completely heal.

Cause a thousand words...call out through the ages...they'll fly to you...even though I can't see, I know they're reaching you...suspended on silver wings...oh a thousand words...one thousand embraces...will cradle you...making all of your weary days seem far away...they'll hold you forever

Yeah. Those were a thousand words I couldn't say, babe. And I regret it with every breath.

Ohne Dich

Philosophy from Greece

Keep this philosophy in mind the next time you either hear or are about to repeat a rumour.

In ancient Greece, Socrates (469 - 399 BC) was widely lauded for his wisdom.

One day the great philosopher came upon an acquaintance who ran up to him excitedly and said, "Socrates, do you know what I just heard about one of your students?"

"Wait a moment," Socrates replied. "Before you tell me I'd like you to pass a little test. It's called the Triple Filter Test."

"Triple filter?" asked the acquaintance.

"That's right," Socrates continued. "Before you talk to me about my student let's take a moment to filter what you're going to say. The first filter is Truth. Have you made absolutely sure that what you are about to tell me is true?"

"No," the man said, "actually I just heard about it."

"All right," said Socrates . "So you don't really know if it's true or not. Now let's try the second filter, the filter of Goodness. Is what you are about to tell me about my student something good?"

"No, on the contrary ...".

"So," Socrates continued, "you want to tell me something bad about him, even though you're not certain it's true?"

The man shrugged, a little embarrassed.

Socrates continued."You may still pass the test though, because there is a third filter - the filter of Usefulness. Is what you want to tell me about my student going to be useful to me?"

"No, not really ..."

"Well," concluded Socrates ,"if what you want to tell me is neither true nor good nor even useful, why tell it to me at all?"

The man was defeated and ashamed.

This is the reason Socrates was a great philosopher and held in such high esteem.

It also explains why he never found out that Plato was shagging his wife.

Light and Shadow

I want to crawl into a trash can and drag myself down to the curb and maybe things will be better in the morning.

Conquest of Paradise

Have you ever wanted something so bad the very thought of not having it makes you want to throw up? I think that would pretty accurately describe my mental/physical state right now. Except I'll be vomiting a lot because I can't have what I want.

And the 80s health teacher inside each and every one of you is dying to say, "No, stop being so negative--of course you can have what you want! You're a person! You deserve it!"

No, I CAN'T. Because what I want so badly right now is to travel back in time to the Late Pre-Classic or Classical period of the Mayan society and live out the rest of my life as a priestess back then...before that land was so brutally destroyed.

Now tell me I can have it.

This desire is always there. It's just particularly strong when I've been studying Mayan history for the better part of two hours.

Thank Goddess For New Zealand

Or at least their pizza.

Official Note from Hell
We, the management of Hell, have not previously endorsed or known about this particular establishment's advertising methods. Now that we are aware, we do fully support and endorse all their endeavors and any such to follow. The topic of this advertisement has, indeed, been part of Hell's Mission Statement for quite some time, especially in regards to Mr. Bush. As for where Mr. Bush and other such bastards will go when they pass from Earth, we are currently working out creating another plane of existence, owned by Hell and operated by Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, whenever he chooses to give up his position as Waste-lock. (At such time as said plane is created, Hell will be able to ease up on our space issues by shipping bastards from the past to their new 'living' quarters.)
Thank you for your time,
-Jezebel Antichrist,
Head of the World Domination Department and
Chair for the Demon Housing Project

Not Angry Anymore

HOPEISNOWHERE
QUICK! What does it say above?

Bnudaldehk So Tajudeuh

E's mucehk so vyedr eh risyhedo uha bancuh yd y desa. Vnus ZG Nufmehk (fruca haqd puug, E bnateld, femm pa Harry Potter and the Podiatrist's Sandals) du so vydran (dryhgc tyt, E muja ryjehk du fung vuin zupc) du kut.

Oac, kut ec bynd uv risyhedo.

N.E.B. TISPMATUNA
Hedfed, uttsahd, pmippan, dfayg
????--2005

If you're not totally confused, you play too many video games.

Don't translate it if you don't want HP6 spoilers. (Though whomever (who? whom? I still haven't learned the difference) hasn't read it at this point is a LUUZER.)

Tied Up and Dried Up and Dead to the World

And now, apparently, I'm NOTHING TO EVERYONE else. Which is the way it should be online, really. I should be more important to people in my life than to people online.

Wow. I'm shaking with anger as I write this. I am really fucking angry. I'm mad at Ryan, I'm mad at Andy, I'm mad at Robert, I'm mad at my father, my mother, GOD, Peter (STILL!), and so many others. I'm mad because I'm tired of being DISMISSED, SHOVED ASIDE, and being told I'm WORTHLESS. (ADMIT: Mom never did this. But I'm still pissed at her.) I'm mad because even when they're not /saying/ this they're SAYING it. In so many silences and fucking unspoken words.

Has ANYONE ever cared about what I might want? Anyone? I don't see any hands. Has ANYONE ever thought that I might have opinions, that it might hurt ME when my friends fuck around the way they've been doing, that it might hurt me really fucking bad when you don't 'have time' right now, that it hurts when I'm reminded again how unwanted fat girls are because you (AGAIN) go for the skinny one even when you say you LOVE personality so FUCKING much, hurt when you break off what NEVER WAS IN THE FIRST PLACE, hurt when I'm TOLD OUTRIGHT that I'll "NEVER" get a boyfriend, hurt when my only link to sanity dies and I'm NOT EVEN THERE (FUCK YOU GOD), hurt when I can NEVER EVER have a POINT in an argument, when YOU'RE always RIGHT because you're the PARENT---has anyone EVER thought that this bullshit might hurt me?

ANYONE?

NO! NO, they don't, and I just smile and take it up the ass like I'm SUPPOSED to, because I am a healer and compassionate and so much more fucking mature than everyone else. I'M TIRED OF BEING MATURE. This is MY time, this is about ME, and MY feelings, and FUCK EVERYONE ELSE.

I am so fucking tired of being a doormat. I'm so tired of passing off compliments, of taking the blame, of being the world's BITCH.

I am NO ONE's BITCH. I am MY bitch.

And yes, it HURTs when you pass me off. It HURTs. And my heart is a muscle so abused and so USED to it that I won't say anything. So it's up to YOU to stop breaking that fragile organ.

Don't be like the rest of the assholes.

Stop slapping me for being me.

a bit heartened, a bit saddened

Taken from an article about vigils held for Cindy Sheehan:

"She is being likened to a modern-day Rosa Parks," Brann said, referring to a leader in the civil rights movement of the 1960s.

The very fact that they have to explain who Rosa Parks is/was....just kind of makes my soul die inside. And really, Parks was just fed up. Not like she had an agenda.

Or maybe I'm overreacting.

Never Look Back

I say never look back, but I don't really mean it. I can't help but to look back. Especially when I know I'll never see you again.

You would have been thirteen today.

I feel like I've lost a daughter.

And I have. I have lost a daughter. I raised you for twelve years and ten months. I was with you for most of my life, and you were with me since you were old enough to leave your real mother and your brothers and sisters, furry bundles of joy to other peoples houses.

You were my bundle of joy. The only one I had in a bleak universe. You were what made it all worth it. When the going got really, really, tough, I kept myself alive not for mom, not for my grandparents, and not for my friends--but for us, because I knew that if I killed myself, I'd never see you again, and you'd be without your mistress.

When no one else could stand me, when even my ever-tolerant mother hated me, and when I was the biggest asshole on the face of the planet, you stood by me. Even when I dyed your fur purple. (And I stand by that--it looked really good.)

You never left me. All my pushing away, all my trying to prove that my worst depressions had me right, all my trying and trying to be unlovable so I could play the victim--and you never stopped loving me. You proved me wrong, and for that I am so fucking grateful.

You reminded me that there is light everywhere, that I just have to look in the right places. You reminded me that I am loved by some semblance of divinity, and that I won't be deserted by that becuase you'd always be there. Even if I knew you wouldn't /always/ be there, I knew that we'd be together, even when apart, and that in the end, you wouldn't die alone. You'd be with your pack. You'd be with your loved ones.

How fucking wrong I was.

And now, with you gone, I can't imagine being lovable again. I can't imagine taking another step forward, because all I want to do is to go back--back to when you were still with me.

Back to when I was still with you. Those words I didn't say often enough haunt me, because now I'll never be able to say them again.

I love you. I love you more than I love my friends, more than my family, more than any man that I've given my heart to (there have been a lot, and none of them worthy). I love you more than all the suns and moons and stars in the universe. I love you more than I love life itself. I love you more than I love me. You were the only one who made me happy. You were the only furry bundle of joy in my life that stayed.

You were my universe. And now you're gone.

coding hurts my brain and hands

So today I found a grain of sand embedded in my foot. Which was weird, to say the least. It was if my foot said "MMM...SAND." and then decided that it didn't like sand anymore, so I felt this hard thing in the soft part of my foot that felt like glass and I wrench it out and it's....a grain of sand. And I proclaimed, very loudly and with great dignity, "What. The. Fuck."

Boadicea

.and if I ever say otherwise, kill me.

Ok, I hate the kissy-face noises that couples make to each other. It makes me gag. And if I ever have a S.O. and s/he does that to me, I'll throw up and then kill him/her.

I also hate PDAs to excess (read: dry-humping in the mall; lots of drool/slobbering whilst kissing; snogging on benches; and not being able to be separated for more than 0.5 of a second, not even to go to the bathroom); phone conversations ending with "No, you hang up!" ad in-fucking-finitum; couples who go to a movie they haven't seen and don't actually watch it (it's so fucking disrespectful to the filmmaker...unless of course you're watching The Land Before Intelligence Time Three Hundred Gajillion and Ten---then by all means, snog, cause it's the only worth you'll get out of the 16 bucks you paid to get in [aside from this exception, see below]); and when people seem to lose their spines when they enter into a relationship. "No, honey, I don't have any plans for the future except to be your spouse and have lots of kids and to do whatever you want to do! Tee hee!"

What I love about relationships (not mine; other people's)......holding hands. Hugging. Quick, sweet, chaste kisses in public (what you do in private is your business). INDEPENDENCE. Compromise without compromise (meaning, I'm willing to work with you on various issues but I will not take your bullshit and you will not take mine). Fun, carefree, non-sexual frolicking through fields of daisies. (Ok, so I'm a fucking hopeless romantic. Are you barfing yet?) Fun, carefree, non-sexual frolicking through the dairy section of Safeway (and this must include big blocks of cheddar cheese, somehow...and yes, I did say 'non-sexual'). Going to a movie you've seen several times already and watched to snog in the back, though if you do this in Star Wars a plague upon both your houses. Playing games of Mad Libs to compose poems/wedding vows for each other. Laughter. Love without price. Love without conditions. A willingness to grow and change together. A willingness to sing love song duets on Karaoke Night at your local sushi bar. Hand-feeding food to each other in that really sweet, very sappy way that only couples can do (and this will, of course, lead to either sex or a steamy snog session on the couch/dining room table/kitchen counter back home, and that's good too).

There's lots more that I love, and lots more that I hate. But this is enough for one entry.

.I've learned that I'm pleasantly furious half of the time.

About everything. Everything everywhere, and everyone, in everyplace and everytime. But most especially, I'm furious about the Gender Wars. I mean the atrocities done from men to women and from women to men: husbands beat their wives; wives kill their husbands in retribution; girls lie about rape and get guys sentenced to jail; men rape women and get away with it; women deal crushing blows with words of steel and men commit suicide; men leave women for one younger and prettier; women leave men for one richer and older; men are afraid to commit but can't admit, and relationships become years wasted in a love that goes nowhere; women aren't ready for sex but don't let on until it's too late to say wait, and if you're lucky he'll pull himself back but you've gotta let him know; and because of all this or maybe a part of all this is men and women afraid to love each other because they might get hit.

With humanity's great capacity for good and evil and great capacity for learning, you would think that we'd begin to get it. That it is harder to walk the path of good, but in the end, so much more worth it.

I'm using Freud's analysis of the psyche as an analogy of where demons, humans, and angels fit on the scale because it's what really does what I think justice: demons are the id, humans the ego, and angels the superego. Angels are so into pure that they won't put nutella on their bagel; demons take chocolate syrup baths and live in decadance without substance. Humans have a nutella bagel once in a while, but mostly eat granola. And therein lies the balance.

But there are...influences. Something pushes humans one way or the other.

I'm begining to bitterly think that it's nothing more than choice.

i want to stop thinking.

Only a Plank Between One and Perdition

.that horrible midpoint.

There is this horrible midpoint between beautiful and beautiful in two different cultures: the aboveworld culture of the beauty myth, thin is in, etc, and the underworld of fat admiration. I am at that midpoint. Camryn Manheim*, apparently, is at that midpoint. At the midpoint, you're 'too fat' for the aboveworld, and 'not fat enough' for the underworld. It seems that the people who like girls my size are few and far between.

And yes, I specify women, because for men it seems not to matter. I wouldn't know, I'm not a fat man (not biologically, at any rate), but it really seems that fat men have an easier time getting dates than fat women do. My dad has had no problem securing three wives and five million girlfriends in his lifetime, and there was never a time when he was 'skinny' (except pre-puberty, but that doesn't really count, now does it?). In fact, the rather portly countenance of my father and his mother are, I'm sure, what I inherited.

Now, I'm not at all blaming genetics on my weight. I know that it's psychosis, years of self-hate and abuse, and depression that has contributed to the size I am now. So no, it's not the fault of my DNA. But my genes are a factor, like it or not. Just as my genes for soft teeth are a factor in my having several cavities and one gold tooth, and just as my genes for bad fucking luck are a factor in my wisdom teeth choosing to come in underneath my middle molars.

Like it or not, I'm big, and like it or not, I'll never ever be smaller than a size 12. (Come to think of it, I wouldn't want to be. My mother thinks I could be a size 10, but that's just too much work. I'll be happy with a 14.)

Yes, my body is huge, yes, I'm a fucking fat-ass, and I wouldn't consider myself pretty. The first two points I'm making are facts that I have accepted, and the third is 1/2 self-hate and 1/2 "Yeah, I wouldn't date me."

Regardless, the self-hate is still huge, still there. It's what fueled my anorexia and made me lose twenty pounds (which I gained back at the slightest whiff of acceptance in Guatemala, where they like women no matter what size). It is what forces me to go to the gym when I'm exhausted and push myself beyond my limits. It's what makes me choose a salad, or no food at all.

These are, in my view, good things. I need to lose this weight. Not for the beauty myth, the non-existent perfect body, or for the purpose of landing a boyfriend (though that would be a welcome side-effect). No, I need to lose this weight because I will most likely die if I don't. Yes. It's sad and it's true. I'm 18 and I'm facing serious health problems because of my weight. I can feel the near-heart attacks coming on, and when I throw out my back or my hip or my knee, I know it's not because of my joints because I drank a fuck of a lot of milk as a kid---it's because of my weight.

Being 128 pounds overweight is no small deal. It is a very big deal. And while I am this weight, I can't have kids, because the dangers already inherent in pregnancy combined with the dangers I now face would irreperably damage my health. I can't get lipo, either suction or selection, because doing so would make pregnancy impossible. Bit of a Catch-22, or it would be if I didn't have another option.

Yes, good old-fashioned working out, eating right, staying fit, and losing weight naturally.

Of course I can't do that normally. I have to do it my way.

So I got a membership at 24-hr Fitness and now go to the gym at 2 in the morning, after eating maybe 500-1000 calories a day. (Remember: 1200 calories/day is a starvation diet.)

*Incidentally, Camryn Manheim is amazing, beautiful, smart, and a wonderful actress, and anyone who thinks otherwise can answer to me and my Feminist!Fist of Death.

.but there must be something else.

Besides this whole 'horrible midpoint' thing, I do believe that there is something else that prevents people from loving me. Or from being close enough to me to love me without fear.

I've thought this for a while, and it was only after hearing it from someone else other than my mom that I really started to believe it.

It's my passion. My utterly raw enthusiasm for life or whatever else I fling myself at. (That includes depression.) If I do film, I do so with abandon, throwing everything I have into that piece of work to make it spectacular. If it's classes, I work my ass off. If it's a relationship, I scare my partner.

And I think that people see this coming before they see anything else. Even if I try to be demure and muted in order to get to the next phase of courtship, it wears off very quickly and the person leaves in interest of calmer, more controllable prospects.

Because let's get one thing straight: I will not be controlled. And I can't be calm. I try to be calm. But something excites me and whoops! There went that plan. So I just have to be myself and hope that someone who is male, likes girls, and is single will appreciate me and love me for who I am.

... ... ... ...

So a life of solitude it is, then.

.hypocrisy is a many-tongued demon.

And yes, I am fucking bitter about this: the shit that people spew about personality and smarts mattering more than the body size/type/looks (you know--mind over matter). It's BULLSHIT. Utter bullshit. The people who say this are in denial. They will indeniably go for a certain type, because it's in our natures.

I, for one, prefer girls who are shorter than I am, and skinnier (and who isn't?); I prefer guys who are tall and slender---but these are just preferences. Possibly completely overridden in favor of personality and brains and sense of humor. As well, totally possible for me to find people who don't 'fit' my preferences as totally gorgeous and attractive. It's not set in stone.

But at least I acknowledge my preferences. I acknowledge that yes, I am human, and yes, I have likes and dislikes. But they're not even written down in spiritual law, much less engraven in stone.

Most people don't. They don't acknowledge their preferences. They pretend they don't care, and then when asked why they won't go out with someone, they'll give bullshit answers: "She's not my type," (how can you have a type if you won't acknowledge your types?) or "I'm going to become a monk and have taken a vow of celibacy." Which is pure bullshit for someone who's 17. I can't believe I fell for it.

You know what? Stop telling me it's not about body size for you. Stop that line. Stop telling me that you care much more about personality, because it's obviously not true: I've been single for four years and you apparently like my personality enough to be my friend, but not my S.O. Tell you what: for once, be fucking honest, and maybe when I see you act differently, I'll consider believing the mind/matter line.

But for now, don't even fucking bother.

All of this Past

Found this delightful bit of writing at this site (courtesy Vox Humana):

Dear Mr. President,

It has come to our attention that, due to a prolonged period of rather adverse weather conditions which has now abated, the United States currently has much of our soil piled up on top of it. Granted, this did not happen during your administration, nor did it, as far as we can determine, happen during anyone's administration. We therefore hold you blameless in this matter.

We would, however, like to have all of it back. This would include silt, sand, gravel, miscellaneous pieces of rock, and, of course, the topsoil. You need not return the groundwater because we do have plenty of that up here, but also to spare you the difficulty of trying to send drippy packages through the mail. Regular post would be fine, but FedEx would be splendid and also go a long way toward repairing your rather sad reputation up here.

Thank you for your immediate attention to this matter.

Sincerely,
The People of Canada

---

Corpse At The Gym

I have never felt so dead inside in my entire life. I feel a great aversion to doing anything that requires emotional energy. However, working out at the gym is fine. When people ask me how I'm doing, I want to say, "I died two weeks ago. How are you?"

There are times when it hits me and I start sobbing uncontrollably for a minute or so before I slap myself and say, "Dude, you're driving. Get a grip!" I have started keeping a box of tissues in my car for this very purpose.

And I think I've lost my...caring for things. If I ask a friend to hang out with me and s/he says no, I'm busy, then I really could care less. I go and do something else. It's not loneliness. It's almost like the loneliness is my comfort as much as the company is.

I don't feel like talking. Silence took my voice. And it's not like the previous 'no talking' bouts I've had. This time I /really/ don't feel like it. So I don't.

I suppose people think I've fallen into a dislike of them. This isn't true.

I just....

I need some time. That's all.

And at the same time I feel like that time that I need will never ever be enough. That no matter what I do, this pain will not ease. This grief will not dissipate.

When I went to go see her, I kept on expecting her to wake up. I expected her eyes to open and see me, and I expected her to smile. I thought my wonderful wolffy dog would return to me.

And even now, I find myself thinking that I should have tried to reach her. That I should have tried to bring her back.

This is how I know that I walk the borders of the Twisted Kingdom. Gray shapes make up my world. I don't know where reality begins or ends.

There is a big, gaping hole in my heart. I can feel her not being there as sharply as I felt her presence when she was alive.

The night before I left Guatemala there was a documentary on a wolf pack on tv, dubbed in Spanish. I couldn't watch it.

Revelations 22:20

PARENTS LIE.

YAY I AM NOT DEAD ON BD!!!!!!!11111oneoneoneeleven

I met people who think like I do: 'fucking Christians' and 'fucking Texans'.

Which is unfair, because I know Christians who are really cool and I know Texans who are really cool and I know Christian Texans who are really cool, so I know that it's just a stereotype and I'm generalizing.

But then I think of raptureready.com, and I cringe at the utter....there's not even a word for it.

Then I think of my dad, who's not even from Texas originally but lived there long enough to /be/ Texan (yes, he does have a gun--3 of them).

And then I think of Bush.

And I realize, generalization or not, there is a Christian Texan in charge of this fucking country--a Rapture-believing, Christian Texan. Who thinks that God wanted him to be President.

Well, you know, God also wanted us to "Love Thy Neighbor", but SORRY CANADA AND MEXICO! And also, God said "Thou Shalt Not Kill, unless you need their oil, in which case bomb the fuckers." Yes. That was in the Gospel of Bullshit.

I'd say we're going to Hell in a Handbasket, except for two things:
1) The Handbasket is broken down--terrorist bombs, you know;

and

2) Hell is my home, it's nice, and where we're going is much, much worse.

One Winged Angel, full version

I need a new mp3 player. mine sucks.

If you read yesterday's entry, don't think I'm being shallow and immaterial and not thinking of my dog. If i think of Blue any more, I'll cry. and it'll be fucking Niagra Falls. I can't afford that yet. Not until I have someone to hold me while I cry, and that's not forthcoming here. So I have to hold in the grief and rage for 8 or so days, until I get home, and be happy and smiley in the meantime. Because it depresses people when they ask how I'm doing and I say "My dog died on Friday." When I really want to say "My daugther died on Friday," because that is what Blue was to me, but that would attract unwanted attention and questions.

I'm so fucking fed up with people's sympathy. I want someone to hold me. For as long as I need it.

Only one person has ever done that for me (though I'm sure, if given the opportunity, others might), and I might get to see him as I pass through LA. If you pray at all for me, then pray that I get to see him and ease my heart's anguish. Don't give me your sympathy. Empathy I'll take. Sympathy I can't stand.

And while you're at it, give a kick to God's corpse for me. She's fucking dead as far as I can see.

I am so done

This is it. God has had my soul on slow-cook for years, and I'm finally fucking done. Ready to be served up when Lucifer comes over for tea tomorrow.

Fuck you God. Fuck you and your whole holier-than-thou posse.

Was eleven days too long for your great fucking omnipotence? Was it? You couldn't make my wonderful canine companion's kidneys hold out the eleven days it would take me to get home? Was that too much for your little hands of doom and greatness? Could handle creating the fucking universe but not keeping Blue healthy long enough for me to see her one last fucking time?

Blue was all that mattered to me. Through thick and thin, when the going got tough I was able to keep my faith in You, God, because Blue was with me. Even when I was close to losing it all--her smiling furry face was there to remind me that You existed, and that You loved me.

I knew it was her time. How could I not, between her back breaking and her heart failing and her energy dropping like a lead balloon? I knew. But I hoped that you would love me enough to let me be with her. To be with someone, not all alone in Guatemala. You couldn't even let it happen before mom left. You had to be completely sure that I had no one to hold me as I cried and cried and cried until the 98% water that makes up my body was gone. You had to be sure that she wouldn't survive my abscence, even after I decided to come home a month early, and you had to be sure that I would be alone in my grief and anger.

Whatever trust I might have placed in you is gone. FUCK YOU. Fuck you god. You fuck and you fuck and you fuck with people until they can't take it any more and turn to drugs and alcohol and theatre.

Oh, gee--just when I decided to quit those three, just when I thought my life was picking up--sure, there's no money and I'm still fat as fucking hell, but life was getting steadily better and had been stable for months--no suicide attempts in weeks! Big fucking improvement, don't you think?--then, then you had to do this. And not even the fucking courtesy of letting Mom be with her. Mom was in LA.

Do you even care? Or notice? Too busy searching the divinenet with yahweh! to make her last 11 more days? Her spirit would have held out--it wasn't a broken heart she died of. It was her fucking kidneys that gave out.

But I suppose your Sniper Rifle takes up a lot of energy.

That's it. I'm done. The only angel I believe in now is One Winged...and I have a lot to learn from Sephiroth's anger.

Know that my anger is great...and I shall strike down all in my path with a great and terrible vengenance.

...a short word from our sponsor

*the Goddess steps up to the microphone*

Ahem.

Hello everybody. Enjoying yourselves? Good.

I would like to say a few short words on those things called 'periods'.

*She clears Her throat, then speaks in Her patented Awesome Voice®*

WOMEN BLEED. DEAL WITH IT.

Thank you.

*She steps down from the microphone*

*EV steps up*

Thanks Mom!

*turns to audience*

Now, that's something that has much more meaning coming from the Mother.

Happy June, everybody!

Epiphany Time!

I've come to the [shocking] realization that food is evil. It's full of these really unhealthy things called 'calories'. And some foods are your death-knell, if you are of a certain bloodtype.

Wheat, dairy, and sugar--oh my! Wheat, dairy, and sugar--oh my!

They've come to take my muscle and give me fat! They've come to cover what should be the body beautiful with unhealthy obesity! They are the bane to the huntress, to my very existence!

Take them away! Do away with them! Kill them! Boil them, mash them, stick'em in a stew!

Don't let them take my muscles!

And here in lies the problem. I love wheat, dairy, and sugar. Mmm....crackers. Mmmm....ice cream. Mmmmm....brownies. Which is bad for someone who's lactose intolerant. Actually, most humans are lactose intolerant. We're not supposed to have dairy after age 2. We ignore it. Just as I have ignored it, lo, these many years. But no more! I feel like shit every time I eat these things that are bad for O blood-types. And great every time I do what the book suggests. Ergo, there must be something to this diet. For me, at least. Not all diets work for all people. But I'm thinking this one is the way to go.

So I must be strict with myself. I must say "NO!" to wheat, dairy, and sugar! No to bloating, no to severe muscular pain, no to premature diabetes, no to premature arthritis! No more shall I gain weight because of my eating habits! No more! No more shall I eat to relieve stress! No more! No more shall I skimp out on going to the gym 7x/wk, or to the chiropractor 3x/wk! No more! And no more shall I let myself be bogged down by peer pressure! No more!

*takes a deep breath; calms down*

Do you have any idea how hard this is to accomplish when you work in a pizza parlor?



~FIN~

Moonlight Sonata [First Movement]

This has to be my favorite piece from Beethoven. It is so hauntingly gorgeous. I want to die to this music. This is music to die to. Quietly passionate, sensual, insistent...heart-rending. Everything a good death-scene needs. Being an actress in every thing I do, every word I speak, every step I make--I make each scene of my life an Oscar-worthy performance, something to entertain the masses. My death scene shall be spectacular. I should like to die like the Diva Plavalaguna--at the climax of my greatest role, closing night, as I'm taking my bows---BANG! BANG! Two gunshot wounds, in my torso, hitting some vital organs. Moonlight Sonata plays as the audience exits, quietly masking the screams of fear and confusion: Am I next? Why her? She was at the peak of her career! Are they coming for me are they coming for mearetheycomingforme..... I am still standing. The pain is great, but I am transfixed by the blood on my hands. I hold my hands up, out, for all to see, and slowly fall backwards. My leading man catches me and lowers me gently to the ground. He is panicking. EV, he says, finding some cloth to hold against me, to stop the blood that has begun to spill across the stage, EV, it's alright. We'll call the ambulance, we'll get help. You won't die. I smile peacefully, say nothing. He does not understand. I can feel the darkness on the edges of me, waiting to lap me up, to take me Home. He is upset...I wish to comfort him in some way--can he not see that it is my time, that I am ready to let Her take me? That it is alright with me--I have lived a good life. I have raised children. I have had a career that pleases me. I have healed and been healed. I have loved and been loved. Life has been good...and life must end. Now I must go Home, to Her, to Him. To the Mother, to the Father--finally I can be at peace for a while. I reach a hand up to caress his face, to let him know that it's alright. Crimson streaks across his face as my hand falls. He grabs it, holds it. You're not going to die. I'm not going to let you. I squeeze his hand, smile, and fall backwards into the abyss.

I can smell hyacinth and rose...and I can tell I'm going home.

Liberi Fatali [Parade Vers]

There are ants in my computer. When I type, they come out of the keyboard and then we play a game of HULK SMASH SMALL INSIGNIFICANT INSECTS. It's a fun game. I think they like it, but after playing one round they're too tired to play another.

Come What May

I'm tired of taking shit from people. From now on I'm acting like the Queen I am. I have a Court, I'm gonna rule it. And that's that. In my Court, my word is law. In my life, my word is law. No one rules me. I rule myself. And I take care of myself and my subjects as best I can. I don't want people to save me from myself, I don't want well-meaning friends to interfere in what they may think is unhealthy, and I certainly don't want people telling me what I can and cannot do. I am Queen. I can do what I damn well please. Like it or not, things go my way--no highway option. And my way means the way that is best in the long run--that is best for all around. It means compromise, not catering to one or two influential and whiny courtiers. Deal.

Not-a-Note

I give up. I just give up.

You have a life. I understand that.

You have a life other than me. I understand that too.

And you have a job. That is what I'm having trouble grasping.

I guess I just have to get used to the fact that I'm not worth your time. And I'm sorry for thinking that I was.

Don't think that I'm writing this because I want you to apologize, or change in any way. I don't. I'm just letting you know that I'm sorry for being such a bitch about what is, essentially, your life, and that I'll stop now.

Don't bother trying to include me, because I know you're doing it only to be polite. I can take a hint. I'm not worth your time. I'm sorry for thinking I was that important.

Raid

Fucking philosophers! They breed like cockaroaches.

"OH, you're a plumber. What on earth is that?"

At this point, sleep would be good.

Prince

Ashen's computer is a monkey. And she's ripped out my tongue and is beating me to death with it. And she just shoved an Aleve pill in her ear and it got stuck. And now it's sitting on my carpet covered in ear wax.

I love my family.

from the tshirthell newsletter...

Prince Charles got married this weekend to his long time mistress Camilla Parker Bowles. There has been no official word on whether or not the Prince of Wales will stop having relations with the decaying remains of Princess Di, which are still hotter than his new wife.

Napalm and Silly Putty

You know what's been really fun ever since I got my nose piercing?

Sneezing.

Yeah. I can attack people to my right now.

Because life is all about balance

I'm really not in the mood to post, but it's not really fair to you guys to leave you hanging on the sordid details of my fucked-up life.

Blue, my wolf-husky companion, and the only person who's made me happy in my life, with whom I've spent the best moments of my life, who kept me going during my 9-year suicidal depression, came down with congestive heart failure yesterday afternoon. Mom came home to her new place after we'd spent a few hours cleaning out the old house to find Blue seizing on the floor. She'd soiled herself, which she would /never/ do under normal circumstances. Mom literally flung the first few boxes she saw out of the truck and carried Blue downstairs with the help of a neighbor and rushed her to the vet. She called me on the way over so I heard most of the details. The vet was closed and she was going to try the other vet across town but made the better decision of knocking anyway on this vet's door. He was still there and they started giving emergency treatment to Blue.

Mom hung up at about that point and said she would come get me in a while if Blue stabilized. I started sobbing and did so for the next hour or so. Ross was home and he comforted me as best he could, but there's really no comfort for something like this. When I got to the vet's and talked to him, he said that Blue had been dead, basically, when she'd gotten there. He brought her back from the dead and if Mom had been 2 minutes later he wouldn't have been able to.

I spent some time with her, as much as I could. She was happy to see us. She's still at the vet's. She still has a 10-15% chance of living, though she was doing much better this morning.

Lacking any other way to deal with this grief that has landed in my lap, I got suitably drunk last night, and was suitably hungover for all of today.

For those of you who don't know how deeply I feel for my canine companion of 12 years, let me put it in a sentence: if she dies, so do I.

Of course I realize that she's a dog, and that she doesn't live as long as humans do. Of course I fucking realize that. I've only lived in the presence of dogs/wolves since before birth--I've only been raised by a woman who's spent at least the past 30 years raising litters of dogs, who's told me the stories of how she cried when Amaruq was brutally murdered. Of course I fucking know.

It doesn't make it any easier to deal with, and no--I'm not being fucking melodramatic. If Blue dies, so do I. I die inside. My physical body will keep going through inertia. I will be a husk.

Think what you want. It may not be the end of anyone else's world but it's the end of mine. Blue is my world. I love her more than I love life itself. She has always been there for me and she has always fucking accepted me. She has never turned away from me because I'm me. She has never turned away from me because I was being a real bitch. She has always known me to be her mistress, her junior pack leader, and she has always, always loved me. And I have always loved her, from the moment she came into my life. She has kept my sanity. She has kept my heart safe. She has made sure that I can still love.

Without her, life is meaningless.

Anticipate

It's this constant cycle of creation and destruction that goes on for eternity. But it's ok, because only the finite is destroyed and the infinite preserved because this is all just physical. My roommate and I started getting existential today with the theory of evolution and the big bang theory and stuff. He says that our current big bang is just one of many, and that at the end, when the universe stops expanding it will reset itself and everything will start over again. My theory is that the universe is a force, maybe conscious, and that that force is divine, and that the big bangs are like yawns or something, and really it's not god but that's the name we've given it so we might as well stick with it. So who is god? We are god. We, collectively, form this consciousness on a higher level and that is the god of our dreams. This god is powered from the Source, or the Universe--the Divine All that runs throughout every living thing. So are there other worlds out there, with life that's similar to ours? Maybe not similar---but not completely different either. Or maybe we're completely alone in this universe, and maybe everything that we do, even if it's remembered in the history of Earth, will never ever matter because the universe will just reset itself and new Earths will form in the new universe with new humans. But maybe something will remain--if not written records, than artifacts: cds, laptops, lightbulbs. Whatever. But this made me think----no matter how big I get as a filmmaker, no matter how many novels I write, no matter how many degrees I get, no one but the people in this universe will know that---will remember me. And speaking as someone who seeks a little recognition (not mega-amounts, but a little), that's a scary thought.

But you know, we never brought talk of the afterlife into this. What if the afterlife, the summerland, the whateveryouwanttocallit, exists outside our universe---maybe floating just outside the gates or maybe in its own universe that won't reset? So even if this Universe does reset, we won't, because our souls will remain in the afterlife. But what happens to those who are in earthly incarnations when the universe does reset? Where do their souls go? Are they lost? Do they remain to be the first souls born into the new universe? Do they become something else entirely? What happens? And this force, this Divine All--did it create the afterlife too, so that we can live on in some respect?

I don't know the answers to any of this. It's all speculation. And if we're going to refer to age in relation to the amount of big bangs there have been, then I'm not that old of a soul either---only 74 incarnations. That fits into this Earth's lifetime (and maybe other planets as well).

Watch Siberia

One who knows nothing can understand nothing.

The Earth is angry. She's gathering her strength for the great shaking. We have upset her. She has slept. She will rise, like it or not. This isn't the end. This is the beginning. This world is changing and our habits need to change with it. Our very survival--the survival of our species, the survival of other species, our brothers and sisters, the survival of the planet and the survival of our legacy depend on it. Something's coming, and She's angry.

When the Goddess speaks through me, I have no choice but to let Her.

Up Up Up Up Up Up

I'm mad enough to scream right now. I really hate being treated like a wild animal who can't control her impulses and needs her friends to save her from herself. I can control my impulses. I don't always choose to, but that doesn't mean I'm not capable of it. It's the same way my dad treats me, the way counselors and teachers treat me. I'm sick of it. I'm human. I'm not governed by my emotions. I listen to my emotions, I realize when I shouldn't do something because I'm tired/angry/whatever, and I don't ignore what my heart tells me but I do not let my emotions govern my actions or behavior. I also don't let my stomach govern my eating habits. If I did that, I wouldn't be able to be anorexic, now would I?

I don't need to be saved from myself. If I ask you to help me, be glad that I've dropped my pride long enough to do so. Don't assume that when I don't ask for help it means I need it but can't ask. I will ask if I really think I need help. I don't care if you want my food. Tell me, and I'll let you have it. I don't care if you think that I shouldn't have the food I want. Tell me, and maybe I'll take your advice. But don't take physical action before verbal. Don't act like I need to be physically restrained. That betrays what little trust I have with you. And yes---'little' trust. I don't trust anyone. If I trust you enough to feel safe with you--a feeling I have with maybe two other people, if that--then don't fuck up that trust. Talk to me like an adult. It's more than anyone else does.