Words are an extraordinary thing.
How easy it is to change our train of thought with a simple word replacement.
For example: 'I am scared of him...' as opposed to 'I am scared for him...'
I know good grammar has never been well-practiced among my counterparts, but for those who understand the difference, those two clauses have very different tones.
Who, in the example, is the proverbial bigger person? Many factors affect that conclusion, yes, but what does fear mean to the individual?
What does it mean to be afraid of oneself?
By what means do we size ourselves up to others?
How big a role does empathy play in how we feel about others?
This is what it means to be human - stuck between the instincts of our animalistic natures and our godlike state of mind; the teenagers of existence, again, still finding our place among others and within this realm we cannot escape.
Sunday, 25 December 2011
Somewhere I Belong
I was fascinated at how lucid I could be in times of great distress and pain. Perhaps my subconscious was sure I was wanting the same thing.
I cannot yet imagine what it feels like to lose a child, but I assume the finality of death is better dealt with than not knowing how they're faring. I still believe we were put on Earth as a social experiment of great magnitude. We are all our own beings, fashioned from others, but yet an invisible bond holds us to each other in a way that we cannot quantify.
The same is not observed for other worldly creatures, which helps substantiate my notion of us not belonging here naturally.
This is the great war we fight - with the world, with each other, with ourselves: Is there anywhere we truly belong? It's why we wander, it's why we're at an unrest.
We're all looking for signs.
For something that could tell us we're finally home.
I cannot yet imagine what it feels like to lose a child, but I assume the finality of death is better dealt with than not knowing how they're faring. I still believe we were put on Earth as a social experiment of great magnitude. We are all our own beings, fashioned from others, but yet an invisible bond holds us to each other in a way that we cannot quantify.
The same is not observed for other worldly creatures, which helps substantiate my notion of us not belonging here naturally.
This is the great war we fight - with the world, with each other, with ourselves: Is there anywhere we truly belong? It's why we wander, it's why we're at an unrest.
We're all looking for signs.
For something that could tell us we're finally home.
Wednesday, 19 October 2011
Purgatory
Someone handed me a flyer today. This was all I noticed:
Do you know that you will outlive the sun? Do you know that when the earth and the stars have all passed away, you will barely have begun your endless day? Once you are born, you will never cease to live. You will be alive eternally. Eternity has no end. This is a solemn and fearful truth. Where are you planning to spend it?
Right now, I'm in purgatory.
I'd rather go to hell than be in purgatory.
Do you know that you will outlive the sun? Do you know that when the earth and the stars have all passed away, you will barely have begun your endless day? Once you are born, you will never cease to live. You will be alive eternally. Eternity has no end. This is a solemn and fearful truth. Where are you planning to spend it?
Right now, I'm in purgatory.
I'd rather go to hell than be in purgatory.
Tuesday, 4 October 2011
Time
An average human life (so tempting it is to point out at every opportunity) is less than a thousand months long. One third of those months are spent asleep, so a conscious human existence averages about six hundred months merely. A lifetime is thus a truly fleeting thing, lodged between a sleep and a forgetting; and there scarcely seems time to draw breath in it, before its last breath is drawn.
The first mystery of time, then, is how little of it anyone has. The second is how unimaginably vast time seems on either side of the mere moments humans manage to occupy. If the universe's history were compressed into an hour, the time that humankind has existed would barely fit into the last fractions of a split second of that hour. If humanity succeeds in extinguishing itself through ecological disaster or nuclear war, the spark of intelligent life that flared in this corner of the cosmos would be scarcely noticeable between the massive weights of time that stretched before and after it.
Is it possible to explain time? St Augustine put his finger on the nub of the difficulty when he said, 'If you tell me to meet you at such-and-such a time, I have no problem; but if you ask me what time is, I cannot answer.' As a bishop St Augustine should not, of course, have worried about time, which in theology is a minor matter, for the reason that the deity is eternal, and 'eternal' means 'outside time'; and since the deity and his eternal realm constitute ultimate reality, it follows that time is unreal. And one should not worry about what does not exist.
Unfortunately, the ill-defined nature of deity and eternity makes this a rather unpersuasive thought. Time is all too real, as its swift and ever-increasing pace testifies - to our dismay and eventual undoing.
Is there any point in trying to define time?
Perhaps not. It is one of those things that escapes direct attention, although it accompanies every deed and thought. It has a mysterious elasticity, passing at different speeds for different people, even for those engaged in the very same activity. For example: suppose we are at the cinema together; you are enjoying the film but I am not. Time will pass more swiftly for you than for me. Similar hours will be as nothing to a sleeper, yet will limp on leaden feet for one who watches over him.
This protean capacity of time is a significant matter for anyone who would live well. Consider: a weekend away from home in some beautiful, exciting or fascinating new place will feel like a lifetime while one is there, yet like a split second once one is home again. Both temporal judgements will capture something of the truth, which is that time is not something absolute and objective, ticking away in regular quanta, but is made of experience. Think of loitering at home for a week, doing nothing, and compare it with jumping on an aeroplane and visiting several exotic locations in the same space of days. More life gets packed into the latter than the former - more perceptions, more thoughts, more memories, a greater range of feelings; and it is these, not repetition and stasis, that measure life.
Some people use their energy to live many lifetimes in one lifetime. Others, through timidity or lack of imagination, use up a whole lifetime living less than one lifetime. These latter in effect eat their soup with a fork; they walk about with eyes shut, fingers in their ears, cotton wool in their noses. Not for them the vivid, pungent sensations of living along their pulses, experiencing everything at it's best.
That, for Walter Pater, is what a successful life is: 'A counted number of pulses only is given to us of a variegated, dramatic life,' he wrote; 'how many we see in them all that is to be seen by the finest senses? How shall we pass most swiftly from point to point, and be present always where the greatest number of vital forces unite in their purest energy? To burn always with this hard, gem-like flame, to maintain this ecstasy, is success in life.'
The injunction to live life to the full might better, as this insight suggests, be phrased: Live all the lifetimes you can.
The first mystery of time, then, is how little of it anyone has. The second is how unimaginably vast time seems on either side of the mere moments humans manage to occupy. If the universe's history were compressed into an hour, the time that humankind has existed would barely fit into the last fractions of a split second of that hour. If humanity succeeds in extinguishing itself through ecological disaster or nuclear war, the spark of intelligent life that flared in this corner of the cosmos would be scarcely noticeable between the massive weights of time that stretched before and after it.
Is it possible to explain time? St Augustine put his finger on the nub of the difficulty when he said, 'If you tell me to meet you at such-and-such a time, I have no problem; but if you ask me what time is, I cannot answer.' As a bishop St Augustine should not, of course, have worried about time, which in theology is a minor matter, for the reason that the deity is eternal, and 'eternal' means 'outside time'; and since the deity and his eternal realm constitute ultimate reality, it follows that time is unreal. And one should not worry about what does not exist.
Unfortunately, the ill-defined nature of deity and eternity makes this a rather unpersuasive thought. Time is all too real, as its swift and ever-increasing pace testifies - to our dismay and eventual undoing.
Is there any point in trying to define time?
Perhaps not. It is one of those things that escapes direct attention, although it accompanies every deed and thought. It has a mysterious elasticity, passing at different speeds for different people, even for those engaged in the very same activity. For example: suppose we are at the cinema together; you are enjoying the film but I am not. Time will pass more swiftly for you than for me. Similar hours will be as nothing to a sleeper, yet will limp on leaden feet for one who watches over him.
This protean capacity of time is a significant matter for anyone who would live well. Consider: a weekend away from home in some beautiful, exciting or fascinating new place will feel like a lifetime while one is there, yet like a split second once one is home again. Both temporal judgements will capture something of the truth, which is that time is not something absolute and objective, ticking away in regular quanta, but is made of experience. Think of loitering at home for a week, doing nothing, and compare it with jumping on an aeroplane and visiting several exotic locations in the same space of days. More life gets packed into the latter than the former - more perceptions, more thoughts, more memories, a greater range of feelings; and it is these, not repetition and stasis, that measure life.
Some people use their energy to live many lifetimes in one lifetime. Others, through timidity or lack of imagination, use up a whole lifetime living less than one lifetime. These latter in effect eat their soup with a fork; they walk about with eyes shut, fingers in their ears, cotton wool in their noses. Not for them the vivid, pungent sensations of living along their pulses, experiencing everything at it's best.
That, for Walter Pater, is what a successful life is: 'A counted number of pulses only is given to us of a variegated, dramatic life,' he wrote; 'how many we see in them all that is to be seen by the finest senses? How shall we pass most swiftly from point to point, and be present always where the greatest number of vital forces unite in their purest energy? To burn always with this hard, gem-like flame, to maintain this ecstasy, is success in life.'
The injunction to live life to the full might better, as this insight suggests, be phrased: Live all the lifetimes you can.
Tuesday, 16 August 2011
Peanut Butter Bliss
I only know that your face, the sound of your voice, will never diminish for me.
I refuse to give you up.
There are people like that, after all - individuals who resist the current, who hold out against that betrayal. Who refuse to take their small bouquet of mis-remembered moments and leave.
You'll run into them at the supermarket, or while waiting in line at the cinema, and they'll say, "I had an acquaintance many years ago," or "I once knew someone who I cared for very much who also loved oranges," and suddenly, standing there waiting to pay the cashier, or clutching your movie ticket, you can see them leaning into the current's pull, hear the rocks of the riverbed clattering like bones.
Sometimes we do the right thing - the only thing - and be hated for it. Inevitably.
Even justly. (Perspective?)
I refuse to give you up.
There are people like that, after all - individuals who resist the current, who hold out against that betrayal. Who refuse to take their small bouquet of mis-remembered moments and leave.
You'll run into them at the supermarket, or while waiting in line at the cinema, and they'll say, "I had an acquaintance many years ago," or "I once knew someone who I cared for very much who also loved oranges," and suddenly, standing there waiting to pay the cashier, or clutching your movie ticket, you can see them leaning into the current's pull, hear the rocks of the riverbed clattering like bones.
Sometimes we do the right thing - the only thing - and be hated for it. Inevitably.
Even justly. (Perspective?)
Where Are We, Jes?
When I read, I form pictures in my mind. That is, after all, the point of the written word, yes? To create a film in the mind's eye using your characters, your setting, your pace - with their script. Using one's delicious imagination, you become a movie director.
But what about those times when the picture you had all that time turns out to be (even slightly) incorrect? Unfortunately, I have had this experience myself, not too long ago.
It is utterly disappointing (to me).
I feel as if I've betrayed the author - but is it not the author that has betrayed me, by not painting a picture I could translate?
It's all in the detail.
I fear I may be slipping away. Getting lost to things that are of no importance. I will try to read (everything) with clearer understanding.
Adieu.
(excerpt from my book.)
Jesamania.
But what about those times when the picture you had all that time turns out to be (even slightly) incorrect? Unfortunately, I have had this experience myself, not too long ago.
It is utterly disappointing (to me).
I feel as if I've betrayed the author - but is it not the author that has betrayed me, by not painting a picture I could translate?
It's all in the detail.
I fear I may be slipping away. Getting lost to things that are of no importance. I will try to read (everything) with clearer understanding.
Adieu.
(excerpt from my book.)
Jesamania.
Monday, 15 August 2011
Destabilise
I have been dreading writing this post. Not for lack of things to say, but because I know I will be lying, inevitably, about some things.
Even if I deny it, every other post of mine has been for the readers, and not written for me. This time, fuck you guys (in the nicest possible way), because it's about time I start speaking to myself about some things.
Let's start with family.
Big ugly topic, eh. You have no idea.
It's an unfortunate thing to say that the people I call friends have not had the opportunity to know me throughout all my transitions. Not many people know the story of my life. Do I prefer it that way? Mostly, yeah. The last thing I want is to elicit sympathy because of circumstances I'd been in. There are things that I've been through that I wouldn't wish on anyone, but I am grateful for having experienced it.
I used to be a happy child. Obviously, things changed.
When I was 12, my mother, who was no longer married, began this relationship with a co-worker. Right from the outset, I was against it. I had this childish notion that it was wrong for a mother to bring strangers into what was an established home space. And so I let her know, in no uncertain terms, that I hated what she was doing. No doubt it upset her. I became a troublesome child at that point. I would let him know that he was not welcome in our house, and it probably tore my mother in two. Eventually, she decided to break things off with him, but it seemed almost impossible. He was very taken with my mother, you see, and refused to let her leave. He told her that if he couldn't have her, no one else could.
On the 29th of September 2005, he took her life along with his.
That man stole a mother away from 3 children, a sister from her siblings, an aunt, a cousin, a friend. He changed so many lives by taking away one.
It was a difficult time for me. I'd never been so lost, so eager to follow anyone who could make me forget. We endured months of court cases in attempt to find somewhere stable for my brother and I to stay. Can you imagine what that's like? Imagine telling a child that they're a burden. We were made to stay with our biological father, and his family. I couldn't bear to welcome new people into this new life, so I spent a lot of time on my own. 'Family' became a new concept to learn. And I'm still learning. Somewhere in my heart, I know that as dysfunctional as my family history might be, its only made me stronger. I'm a better person for learning how to appreciate all the small things. That's what it's about, right? The particles of being.
Speaking of beings, I want to be able to tell you what draws me to people I deem important.
I have a lot to give, emotionally, physically, intellectually. All I want to be happy is a companion. Someone with whom I can share my deepest thoughts, and not have them be subject to judgement. It probably sounds conceited of me to say so, but I feel that I am not appreciated for what I am, what I have to give. I am a lot of things to many people, but I am not who I want to be to them. Does that make any sense? I'm not able to be myself, because no one would understand me as I am. Ok, that isn't entirely true. But there are times when I can only remember who I am, by remembering you.
These people who are important enough to remain, are those who treat me as an equal. They teach me, as I teach them. We're following these derelict trains of thought together, because we want so much to understand, so we can be understood. There are entire lifetimes in every thought, and it saddens me that I cannot share some of them with you.
But I will try. Sometime.
Perhaps.
Jesamania.
Even if I deny it, every other post of mine has been for the readers, and not written for me. This time, fuck you guys (in the nicest possible way), because it's about time I start speaking to myself about some things.
Let's start with family.
Big ugly topic, eh. You have no idea.
It's an unfortunate thing to say that the people I call friends have not had the opportunity to know me throughout all my transitions. Not many people know the story of my life. Do I prefer it that way? Mostly, yeah. The last thing I want is to elicit sympathy because of circumstances I'd been in. There are things that I've been through that I wouldn't wish on anyone, but I am grateful for having experienced it.
I used to be a happy child. Obviously, things changed.
When I was 12, my mother, who was no longer married, began this relationship with a co-worker. Right from the outset, I was against it. I had this childish notion that it was wrong for a mother to bring strangers into what was an established home space. And so I let her know, in no uncertain terms, that I hated what she was doing. No doubt it upset her. I became a troublesome child at that point. I would let him know that he was not welcome in our house, and it probably tore my mother in two. Eventually, she decided to break things off with him, but it seemed almost impossible. He was very taken with my mother, you see, and refused to let her leave. He told her that if he couldn't have her, no one else could.
On the 29th of September 2005, he took her life along with his.
That man stole a mother away from 3 children, a sister from her siblings, an aunt, a cousin, a friend. He changed so many lives by taking away one.
It was a difficult time for me. I'd never been so lost, so eager to follow anyone who could make me forget. We endured months of court cases in attempt to find somewhere stable for my brother and I to stay. Can you imagine what that's like? Imagine telling a child that they're a burden. We were made to stay with our biological father, and his family. I couldn't bear to welcome new people into this new life, so I spent a lot of time on my own. 'Family' became a new concept to learn. And I'm still learning. Somewhere in my heart, I know that as dysfunctional as my family history might be, its only made me stronger. I'm a better person for learning how to appreciate all the small things. That's what it's about, right? The particles of being.
Speaking of beings, I want to be able to tell you what draws me to people I deem important.
I have a lot to give, emotionally, physically, intellectually. All I want to be happy is a companion. Someone with whom I can share my deepest thoughts, and not have them be subject to judgement. It probably sounds conceited of me to say so, but I feel that I am not appreciated for what I am, what I have to give. I am a lot of things to many people, but I am not who I want to be to them. Does that make any sense? I'm not able to be myself, because no one would understand me as I am. Ok, that isn't entirely true. But there are times when I can only remember who I am, by remembering you.
These people who are important enough to remain, are those who treat me as an equal. They teach me, as I teach them. We're following these derelict trains of thought together, because we want so much to understand, so we can be understood. There are entire lifetimes in every thought, and it saddens me that I cannot share some of them with you.
But I will try. Sometime.
Perhaps.
Jesamania.
Thursday, 16 June 2011
When Things Fall Apart
The centre does not hold.
What does 'perfect' mean? Flawless? Beautiful? Success? Unmarked?
How is that we all have different ideas of what it is?
That is because perfection does not exist as an entity. It is a concept. A concept used for comparison. We mark things according to how close they come to being ideal - to you.
THAT is what perfection is. A subjective notion.
How many people allow that cognition to cloy their reality?
A laconic description must exist..
Tell me, if I find beauty in one's pain, does that make me an optimist or a sadist? Irony amuses me.
That we ARE but our own Gods; why are we so inept, so inadequate unto ourselves?
Pain is alive, yes.
We cannot choose whether or not to feel pain. That is what draws me in awe. We can, however, choose if we want to suffer. Sometimes, we choose suffering as a means of atonement, and other times, we choose it because it forces us to reawaken - to move on.
Perfection is as prone to morphism as I am. It changes every time we envisage something better, more pleasing, more efficient, more encapsulating.. More forbidden.
Perfection is exactly that which we could never have.
When something big happens, time divides into before and after, the before time breaks up into dreams, the dreams dissolve to darkness. This bifurcation is necessary. Leave the past in the past; go find the future.
Sigh. The solace of infamy.
I have done it again.
What does 'perfect' mean? Flawless? Beautiful? Success? Unmarked?
How is that we all have different ideas of what it is?
That is because perfection does not exist as an entity. It is a concept. A concept used for comparison. We mark things according to how close they come to being ideal - to you.
THAT is what perfection is. A subjective notion.
How many people allow that cognition to cloy their reality?
A laconic description must exist..
Tell me, if I find beauty in one's pain, does that make me an optimist or a sadist? Irony amuses me.
That we ARE but our own Gods; why are we so inept, so inadequate unto ourselves?
Pain is alive, yes.
We cannot choose whether or not to feel pain. That is what draws me in awe. We can, however, choose if we want to suffer. Sometimes, we choose suffering as a means of atonement, and other times, we choose it because it forces us to reawaken - to move on.
Perfection is as prone to morphism as I am. It changes every time we envisage something better, more pleasing, more efficient, more encapsulating.. More forbidden.
Perfection is exactly that which we could never have.
When something big happens, time divides into before and after, the before time breaks up into dreams, the dreams dissolve to darkness. This bifurcation is necessary. Leave the past in the past; go find the future.
Sigh. The solace of infamy.
I have done it again.
Friday, 27 May 2011
if you like my poems let them
One of my most heinous crimes is being overtly too succinct. There is so much I can feel, but still be unable to give you words to paint this picture.
(If) only you would understand. Maybe the pain is mandatory?
Maybe if you saw me, you'd be able to see it in my eyes,
the way I see it in yours.
Seeing with newer eyes,
the old pain.
Falling Away With You... " I travelled half the world to say, You Are My Muse."
What is this musery.
"Pills of information, pills of misinformation, we swallow a handful everyday."
"Willingly and by choice. If only tags existed to differentiate between them.. And even then, would you not still willingly be misinformed if it felt better? Pills, you say. Way of life, says I."
It is no secret that I miss you.
It's all routine.
(If) only you would understand. Maybe the pain is mandatory?
Maybe if you saw me, you'd be able to see it in my eyes,
the way I see it in yours.
Seeing with newer eyes,
the old pain.
Falling Away With You... " I travelled half the world to say, You Are My Muse."
What is this musery.
"Pills of information, pills of misinformation, we swallow a handful everyday."
"Willingly and by choice. If only tags existed to differentiate between them.. And even then, would you not still willingly be misinformed if it felt better? Pills, you say. Way of life, says I."
It is no secret that I miss you.
It's all routine.
Soliloquy of the Solipsist
I?
I walk alone;
The midnight street
Spins itself from under my feet;
When my eyes shut
These dreaming houses all snuff out;
Through a whim of mine
Over gables the moon's celestial onion
Hangs high.
I
Make houses shrink
And trees diminish
By going far; my look's leash
Dangles the puppet-people
Who, unaware how they dwindle,
Laugh, kiss, get drunk,
Nor guess that if I choose to blink
They die.
I
When in good humor,
Give grass its green
Blazon sky blue, and endow the sun
With gold;
Yet, in my wintriest moods, I hold
Absolute power
To boycott any color and forbid any flower
To be.
I
Know you appear
Vivid at my side,
Denying you sprang out of my head,
Claiming you feel
Love fiery enough to prove flesh real,
Though it's quite clear
All you beauty, all your wit, is a gift, my dear,
From me.
~Sylvia Plath
I walk alone;
The midnight street
Spins itself from under my feet;
When my eyes shut
These dreaming houses all snuff out;
Through a whim of mine
Over gables the moon's celestial onion
Hangs high.
I
Make houses shrink
And trees diminish
By going far; my look's leash
Dangles the puppet-people
Who, unaware how they dwindle,
Laugh, kiss, get drunk,
Nor guess that if I choose to blink
They die.
I
When in good humor,
Give grass its green
Blazon sky blue, and endow the sun
With gold;
Yet, in my wintriest moods, I hold
Absolute power
To boycott any color and forbid any flower
To be.
I
Know you appear
Vivid at my side,
Denying you sprang out of my head,
Claiming you feel
Love fiery enough to prove flesh real,
Though it's quite clear
All you beauty, all your wit, is a gift, my dear,
From me.
~Sylvia Plath
please (don't) stop
It's this air.
It subjects us to beautiful thoughts and wondrous ideas, and then
tells us that it is not ours to have.
Why do you taunt us so?
There is much to love without having created.
Admirers.
Where is the line?
In my mind crawls babies of epiphanies,
my potential genius.
What bars them?
You.
You, with your fanciful promises
of unending happiness, storage of
fulfilment, and loving lies.
You hinder my growth
by not letting me live
as I ought to.
But I have made you,
you exist as some delusion
of Mine.
Yes, you are but a thought,
a potential ideal
in a 3D space,
that has failed me.
How unbecoming.
You are mine, my creation
that deems to possess me?
Am I subconsciously claiming Myself back?
I will never understand you,
you are Unfinished.
robotic.
clipped.
We cannot exist in togetherness;
We cannot exist apart.
There is a train of my thought
that binds me to you.
We do not feel alive
unless we are hurting,
is why.
It subjects us to beautiful thoughts and wondrous ideas, and then
tells us that it is not ours to have.
Why do you taunt us so?
There is much to love without having created.
Admirers.
Where is the line?
In my mind crawls babies of epiphanies,
my potential genius.
What bars them?
You.
You, with your fanciful promises
of unending happiness, storage of
fulfilment, and loving lies.
You hinder my growth
by not letting me live
as I ought to.
But I have made you,
you exist as some delusion
of Mine.
Yes, you are but a thought,
a potential ideal
in a 3D space,
that has failed me.
How unbecoming.
You are mine, my creation
that deems to possess me?
Am I subconsciously claiming Myself back?
I will never understand you,
you are Unfinished.
robotic.
clipped.
We cannot exist in togetherness;
We cannot exist apart.
There is a train of my thought
that binds me to you.
We do not feel alive
unless we are hurting,
is why.
Tuesday, 3 May 2011
Here I Go..
Sometimes I feel like throwing my hands up in the air
I know I can count on you.
Sometimes I feel like saying
Lord I just don't care
But you've got the love I need
To see me through.
Sometimes it seems that the going is just too rough
And things go wrong no matter what I do.
Now and then it seems that life is just too much
But you've got the love I need to see me through.
When food is gone you are my daily meal ,
When friends are gone, I know my saviour's love is real
Your love is real
You got the love
Time after time I think
Oh Lord what's the use?
Time after time I think it's just no good
Sooner or later in life, the things you love, you lose,
But you got the love I need to see me through.
You got the love
Sometimes I feel like throwing my hands up in the air
I know I can count on you.
Sometimes I feel like saying
Lord I just don't care,
But you've got the love I need to see me through.
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
You Got The Love - Florence & The Machine
I really love this song, but somehow, when I played it this morning, it made me feel different. Dad calls it 'growing up', but I think of it as a paradigm shift in the right direction.
I spoke to Emile yesterday. I'd like very much to tell you who Emile is to me, but it won't mean anything to you. I'd rather you learn about him by reliving his thoughts, as I do. Anyway. We had a conversation that went pretty much like this:
Emile: What are we? :(
Me: Seekers.
Emile: But what if there isn't any answers?
Me: There is nothing but answers. We're looking for questions that fit. Finding ourselves in our past so we can create a future. You can't know what something is if you don't know what it isn't.
This may seem totally unrelated to the song, but it's probably because your mind isn't as warped as mine. I've always been a cynic, it's in my nature. I'd always thought that I was better off for it. But there's always a point at which you can find no solution, and you have to trust someone else to tell you what is right - and here's the catch - you have to really trust them enough to believe that they're leading you down the right path.
Uh, sidenote: This has nothing to do with religion, okay, that nonsense is for another day.
So yeah, I'm at that point where I am trusting someone with my heart. I am going to believe him when he tells me that love is real. I think I'm ready for it.
Yours (in faith - omg the 'f' word, yes)
Jesamania
I know I can count on you.
Sometimes I feel like saying
Lord I just don't care
But you've got the love I need
To see me through.
Sometimes it seems that the going is just too rough
And things go wrong no matter what I do.
Now and then it seems that life is just too much
But you've got the love I need to see me through.
When food is gone you are my daily meal ,
When friends are gone, I know my saviour's love is real
Your love is real
You got the love
Time after time I think
Oh Lord what's the use?
Time after time I think it's just no good
Sooner or later in life, the things you love, you lose,
But you got the love I need to see me through.
You got the love
Sometimes I feel like throwing my hands up in the air
I know I can count on you.
Sometimes I feel like saying
Lord I just don't care,
But you've got the love I need to see me through.
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
You got the love
You Got The Love - Florence & The Machine
I really love this song, but somehow, when I played it this morning, it made me feel different. Dad calls it 'growing up', but I think of it as a paradigm shift in the right direction.
I spoke to Emile yesterday. I'd like very much to tell you who Emile is to me, but it won't mean anything to you. I'd rather you learn about him by reliving his thoughts, as I do. Anyway. We had a conversation that went pretty much like this:
Emile: What are we? :(
Me: Seekers.
Emile: But what if there isn't any answers?
Me: There is nothing but answers. We're looking for questions that fit. Finding ourselves in our past so we can create a future. You can't know what something is if you don't know what it isn't.
This may seem totally unrelated to the song, but it's probably because your mind isn't as warped as mine. I've always been a cynic, it's in my nature. I'd always thought that I was better off for it. But there's always a point at which you can find no solution, and you have to trust someone else to tell you what is right - and here's the catch - you have to really trust them enough to believe that they're leading you down the right path.
Uh, sidenote: This has nothing to do with religion, okay, that nonsense is for another day.
So yeah, I'm at that point where I am trusting someone with my heart. I am going to believe him when he tells me that love is real. I think I'm ready for it.
Yours (in faith - omg the 'f' word, yes)
Jesamania
Rain
There is a reason for things having to change. We may not appreciate them, but we must accept them.
I'm still just me. Learning to love, learning to live, spelling things correctly.
I've come to realise that not everything is to be understood.
Things are changing
Faces going from strange to familiar,
To strange again
In one surreal blur,
Lost, awake and unafraid.
I know home from its cinnamon breath.
Things are changing
And you
But you stay the same
Your fear of mirrors
Your love for flight
And the scar on your brow
She sang in the distance, lost in the field:
We’ll run away, join a circus
live off the land, on fresh air and
Cigarette smoke
Curling away from your lips
Grey, but the happy kind
I see the dead wind dance
Like your tongue behind your lips
Things are changing
I can feel it when we kiss.
And your happiness
Drawn with bare fingertips
And remains of dry blood under your nails
In molten puddles of wax
Those candles kept us up
These candles help us sleep
Things are changing
But the nightmares are now pleasant dreams
And the demons wear flowers in their hair
Dance like the waves
colliding in farewell
Praying for rain.
There are no tears
Out here in the fields, things are changing
But they’ll always
Never quite change enough.
Happiness will find me, and stuff.
Thank you for just being there for me.
If nothing else - for you, I Will Try.
I love you, Cohen.
I'm still just me. Learning to love, learning to live, spelling things correctly.
I've come to realise that not everything is to be understood.
Things are changing
Faces going from strange to familiar,
To strange again
In one surreal blur,
Lost, awake and unafraid.
I know home from its cinnamon breath.
Things are changing
And you
But you stay the same
Your fear of mirrors
Your love for flight
And the scar on your brow
She sang in the distance, lost in the field:
We’ll run away, join a circus
live off the land, on fresh air and
Cigarette smoke
Curling away from your lips
Grey, but the happy kind
I see the dead wind dance
Like your tongue behind your lips
Things are changing
I can feel it when we kiss.
And your happiness
Drawn with bare fingertips
And remains of dry blood under your nails
In molten puddles of wax
Those candles kept us up
These candles help us sleep
Things are changing
But the nightmares are now pleasant dreams
And the demons wear flowers in their hair
Dance like the waves
colliding in farewell
Praying for rain.
There are no tears
Out here in the fields, things are changing
But they’ll always
Never quite change enough.
Happiness will find me, and stuff.
Thank you for just being there for me.
If nothing else - for you, I Will Try.
I love you, Cohen.
Thursday, 14 April 2011
#pwning and #winning - 42 times over.
Here I am again!
Sooo... I SWIPED INTO RED LAN WITH MY OWN STUDENT CARD OMG I'M SO HAPPY.
Here's a post about another important person in my life. If you can't tell by the title of this post, I am a Twitterian, hence the hash-tagging. Also, this person I'm about to tell you about encapsulates the essence of awesomery, and winning, and pwning - just by existing.
His name is Cah-vie, and he will be proud to know that I've just created a link.
Cah-vie, also known as Caveshen Rajman / CaViE / CaVoKeR / King Awesome / Pilot, is me, in a different form, basically. You know that cheesy part in Avatar when that weird-looking dude tries to explain the 'I See You' part? Yeah, Cah-vie and I get it. He kinda knows what I'm saying without me having to say it.
I'll pretend you're nodding because you know what I mean, but in reality, you have no idea what it means to have someone totally unrelated to you that is able connect with you so awesomely. He is the little voice (worm?) inside my head that reminds me to keep my chin up, because I am Jesamania.
Hullo, it's Cohen again. He plays DotA. Eeeew. :/ CnC FTW.
Whatever that means.
Cavie and I have our own language. It's pointless telling you about it, because it isn't something you would notice, never mind be able to learn. SHAME FOR YOU.
I met Cah-vie on Facebook, but I only really became his friend when I met him on campus. His 3-year experience of campus life enabled me to lose my n00b title very quickly. Now I skip lectures like a pro. :D
He looked after me. There is no way I could tell it to you without sounding all soppy and stuff.. Anyways. Yeah. Cah-vie. Me.
I remember those days as if it were only a few weeks ago.. Sitting at the pond.. Feeding toxic caf chips to the invincible koi fish.. Sipping on chocolate milkshakes.. Solving the world's problems.. OH YEAH.
SO much more to tell you about him. For another time, perhaps?
The point of this post: Jesamania + Cah-vie = 42
I'm glad to have found him so early in my life. It just means that we've had a little bit longer to #pwn the world for.
Spooning, you?
Yours in pensiveness,
Jes.
Oh! Yeah! Twitter! Me! Follow! You stalker, you. Here I am ---> Jesamania
Sooo... I SWIPED INTO RED LAN WITH MY OWN STUDENT CARD OMG I'M SO HAPPY.
Here's a post about another important person in my life. If you can't tell by the title of this post, I am a Twitterian, hence the hash-tagging. Also, this person I'm about to tell you about encapsulates the essence of awesomery, and winning, and pwning - just by existing.
His name is Cah-vie, and he will be proud to know that I've just created a link.
Cah-vie, also known as Caveshen Rajman / CaViE / CaVoKeR / King Awesome / Pilot, is me, in a different form, basically. You know that cheesy part in Avatar when that weird-looking dude tries to explain the 'I See You' part? Yeah, Cah-vie and I get it. He kinda knows what I'm saying without me having to say it.
I'll pretend you're nodding because you know what I mean, but in reality, you have no idea what it means to have someone totally unrelated to you that is able connect with you so awesomely. He is the little voice (worm?) inside my head that reminds me to keep my chin up, because I am Jesamania.
Hullo, it's Cohen again. He plays DotA. Eeeew. :/ CnC FTW.
Whatever that means.
Cavie and I have our own language. It's pointless telling you about it, because it isn't something you would notice, never mind be able to learn. SHAME FOR YOU.
I met Cah-vie on Facebook, but I only really became his friend when I met him on campus. His 3-year experience of campus life enabled me to lose my n00b title very quickly. Now I skip lectures like a pro. :D
He looked after me. There is no way I could tell it to you without sounding all soppy and stuff.. Anyways. Yeah. Cah-vie. Me.
I remember those days as if it were only a few weeks ago.. Sitting at the pond.. Feeding toxic caf chips to the invincible koi fish.. Sipping on chocolate milkshakes.. Solving the world's problems.. OH YEAH.
SO much more to tell you about him. For another time, perhaps?
The point of this post: Jesamania + Cah-vie = 42
I'm glad to have found him so early in my life. It just means that we've had a little bit longer to #pwn the world for.
Spooning, you?
Yours in pensiveness,
Jes.
Oh! Yeah! Twitter! Me! Follow! You stalker, you. Here I am ---> Jesamania
The Beginning of Forever.
Today is the 14th of April.
On this day last year, nearly 2700 were killed in a magnitude 6.9 earthquake in Yushu, Qinghai, China.
So obviously this is a ground-breaking, mind-blowing date.
It is also Cohen and my ONE MONTH ANNIVERSARY.
This is a Co-post, as in, Cohen's posting here too, today. Say hi, Co.
Hi! It's me, Cohen... again. You might know me from from the OTHER blog that nobody reads i.e How Troublesome. Right now, my dearest Jessie is amazed because I just made a link. I feel so happy, knowing that I make her smile so much. I'm surprised that she's not sick yet. We kissed so much on Monday, and I had influenza. Yassers, she has one strong immune system. Unnnghhh laaanie. TTFN.
Never fear, readers, I will be sick by the end of today.
So Cohen and I have been dating for a month. Of course, we've known each other for much longer than that. It's quite a strange so-how-did-you-meet story. Cohen began liking the posts I would write on a mutual friend's wall on Facebook, which led me to requesting his friendship late one night. Somehow, he didn't mind that I was a hermit, and took a liking to me. Long story short, here we are, in ANT LAN, not making out or anything, because we can't "interfere with other LAN users".
A month may not seem like a long time, but trust me, it is. Anyone who says a decade is longer than a second, has not lived my life. Time is a morphable entity. We've been through so much already. Being the extremist that I am, liken our relationship to two sine graphs on the same set of axes. Up, down, all around, just like love should be, right? We're still learning to love. He makes me happy, and that's all that matters. I'd like to think that this is one step of the rest of our lives together.
"Whatever our tomorrow may be, we'll make it beautiful together."
ATCHOO! It's me again... again. I'm taking a tiny break from updating my blog so I can resume my co-posting duties! Jessie is trying to TAME her hair as I type this. God, I love her hair (and I'm not just dating her for the hair, damnit). It's so... flaafy. I've never seen anything like it. I could even sleep in it, if she asked me to. I hope our kids will have hair like that.
Gotta love him.
There's so much I have to thank him for; so much I've learned about myself by learning about him. He is an amazing, beautiful person, and I wish one day he'd see in himself what I see when I look at him. I am grateful for every moment I have with him. We're gonna make this last.
I suspect that this post is long enough. I WILL BE BACK BECAUSE I HAVE MORE TO SAY ABOUT OTHER THINGS, LIKE FAIRIES AND SPOONS AND CLOUDS AND OTHER SUCH AWESOMERY.
But this post is for you, Cohen. Our Love > 9000.
Thank you for one month of the rest of our lives together.
I love you.
I love you too, Jesamaine.
Adieu, readers.
On this day last year, nearly 2700 were killed in a magnitude 6.9 earthquake in Yushu, Qinghai, China.
So obviously this is a ground-breaking, mind-blowing date.
It is also Cohen and my ONE MONTH ANNIVERSARY.
This is a Co-post, as in, Cohen's posting here too, today. Say hi, Co.
Hi! It's me, Cohen... again. You might know me from from the OTHER blog that nobody reads i.e How Troublesome. Right now, my dearest Jessie is amazed because I just made a link. I feel so happy, knowing that I make her smile so much. I'm surprised that she's not sick yet. We kissed so much on Monday, and I had influenza. Yassers, she has one strong immune system. Unnnghhh laaanie. TTFN.
Never fear, readers, I will be sick by the end of today.
So Cohen and I have been dating for a month. Of course, we've known each other for much longer than that. It's quite a strange so-how-did-you-meet story. Cohen began liking the posts I would write on a mutual friend's wall on Facebook, which led me to requesting his friendship late one night. Somehow, he didn't mind that I was a hermit, and took a liking to me. Long story short, here we are, in ANT LAN, not making out or anything, because we can't "interfere with other LAN users".
A month may not seem like a long time, but trust me, it is. Anyone who says a decade is longer than a second, has not lived my life. Time is a morphable entity. We've been through so much already. Being the extremist that I am, liken our relationship to two sine graphs on the same set of axes. Up, down, all around, just like love should be, right? We're still learning to love. He makes me happy, and that's all that matters. I'd like to think that this is one step of the rest of our lives together.
"Whatever our tomorrow may be, we'll make it beautiful together."
ATCHOO! It's me again... again. I'm taking a tiny break from updating my blog so I can resume my co-posting duties! Jessie is trying to TAME her hair as I type this. God, I love her hair (and I'm not just dating her for the hair, damnit). It's so... flaafy. I've never seen anything like it. I could even sleep in it, if she asked me to. I hope our kids will have hair like that.
Gotta love him.
There's so much I have to thank him for; so much I've learned about myself by learning about him. He is an amazing, beautiful person, and I wish one day he'd see in himself what I see when I look at him. I am grateful for every moment I have with him. We're gonna make this last.
I suspect that this post is long enough. I WILL BE BACK BECAUSE I HAVE MORE TO SAY ABOUT OTHER THINGS, LIKE FAIRIES AND SPOONS AND CLOUDS AND OTHER SUCH AWESOMERY.
But this post is for you, Cohen. Our Love > 9000.
Thank you for one month of the rest of our lives together.
I love you.
I love you too, Jesamaine.
Adieu, readers.
Wednesday, 13 April 2011
Time In A Bottle.
Welcome, readers. I trust that you've taken your meds today.
I am Jesamania.
There are several reasons for why this blog exists. Firstly, I'd like to thank my love, my flame, my muse, Cohen Singh, for creating it for me. You may not have known, readers, but I am quite inept with technology. I have, however, befriended the computer geniuses of the world who will help me in my technological endeavours, as such. Already this computer is annoying me with distasteful Americanized spelling options, which I have no idea how to disable.
Anyways.
I would call myself a writer only in the true sense of the word. I have a penchant for writing about topics that interest me, compacted into these tiny little MIND-BLOWING pieces (conceited, much?). Thing is, I write them on paper, using a pen - Yeah, how old-fashioned, I know. But screw what you think, I love my books, okay. So it was suggested (multiple times, and by many people) that I impart some of my musings in the form of a blog. So here I am, typing ridiculously slowly (because my fingers are old-fashioned too), a blog For The People.
Yes, reader, I just called you a People.
You may be wanting to know a little bit about me, yes? No? I'll tell you anyway.
First and foremost, I am what you've been looking for. The world is not a complicated place, if everything's connected. Think of me as your conduit. Something is a part of Everything, and I am Everything. (Z0MG POLYMORPHISM, but I digress.) <cough>
In saying so, I am composed of those around me. WOW I HAVE A BRILLIANT ANALOGY THAT YOU'LL ONLY UNDERSTAND IF YOU KNOW SOME BIOLOGY SO GOOGLE IT OKAY. The universe is a cell, and Earth, it's nucleus. You People are the floating nucleotides in it's nucleoplasm, and I am the DNA. You make me, but I am my own.
By the title of this blog, you may have noted the connection to The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy. Yes. I'm currently reading the series, and am quite taken by it. Again, thank you, Cohen.
"Err... I'm a chronic Jesamaniac, and I can't seem to get enough." ~ Cohen Singh, in realtime.
There are few people in my realm that are worth my mentioning. But they're all amazing, and worth knowing. I'll do a blog post for each of them.
Until next time, readers/Peoples.
Now that you know I am the Answer, I will take you on a journey to discover what the Question is.
Onwards!
I am Jesamania.
There are several reasons for why this blog exists. Firstly, I'd like to thank my love, my flame, my muse, Cohen Singh, for creating it for me. You may not have known, readers, but I am quite inept with technology. I have, however, befriended the computer geniuses of the world who will help me in my technological endeavours, as such. Already this computer is annoying me with distasteful Americanized spelling options, which I have no idea how to disable.
Anyways.
I would call myself a writer only in the true sense of the word. I have a penchant for writing about topics that interest me, compacted into these tiny little MIND-BLOWING pieces (conceited, much?). Thing is, I write them on paper, using a pen - Yeah, how old-fashioned, I know. But screw what you think, I love my books, okay. So it was suggested (multiple times, and by many people) that I impart some of my musings in the form of a blog. So here I am, typing ridiculously slowly (because my fingers are old-fashioned too), a blog For The People.
Yes, reader, I just called you a People.
You may be wanting to know a little bit about me, yes? No? I'll tell you anyway.
First and foremost, I am what you've been looking for. The world is not a complicated place, if everything's connected. Think of me as your conduit. Something is a part of Everything, and I am Everything. (Z0MG POLYMORPHISM, but I digress.) <cough>
In saying so, I am composed of those around me. WOW I HAVE A BRILLIANT ANALOGY THAT YOU'LL ONLY UNDERSTAND IF YOU KNOW SOME BIOLOGY SO GOOGLE IT OKAY. The universe is a cell, and Earth, it's nucleus. You People are the floating nucleotides in it's nucleoplasm, and I am the DNA. You make me, but I am my own.
By the title of this blog, you may have noted the connection to The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy. Yes. I'm currently reading the series, and am quite taken by it. Again, thank you, Cohen.
"Err... I'm a chronic Jesamaniac, and I can't seem to get enough." ~ Cohen Singh, in realtime.
There are few people in my realm that are worth my mentioning. But they're all amazing, and worth knowing. I'll do a blog post for each of them.
Until next time, readers/Peoples.
Now that you know I am the Answer, I will take you on a journey to discover what the Question is.
Onwards!
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