Today, the effort of blogging escaped me and so I have been scouring the hard drive of my laptop looking for a suitable work to display. Unfortunately, none could be found and so I was pushed into a tight little corner. From this position I either would be coerced into showing one piece of my mind and what I am currently thinking or a different piece of which the same could be said.
And so it came to be that 'To Define the New Selves' has found its way into our midst.
Here, this is it.
To Define The New Selves
-Amy Miller
Who are we but pacing discoverers of the new world?
Describe us as you will but see what is to see.
Who is any person in this world
But a MySpace page
A few unread emails and
An accident in the traffic jam
On the tedious commute to the tedious job?
Who are we but pacing discoverers of the new world?
The unseeing eye to poverty and homelessness
Hardened against the needs
Of other to protect the needs of self.
Were we not happy?
Barefoot and pregnant with society
Held and in order?
Who are we but pacing discoverers of the new world?
We are grossly malformed with surgical beauty
The beauty of ourselves.
Vices become our many loves
The land walked by the corrupt.
The place where children cry for working mothers
And the nightly men who provide their wages. Or their beatings.
Who are we but pacing discoverers of the new world?
Perhaps a blog and an addiction to shoes
Those who lay waste to the true beauties.
Pacing through the concrete corridors
To avarice and breeding contempt
With our two-toned blazers and Daddy’s credit card.
The thieves with no incentive, no hungry children at home.
Who are we but pacing discoverers of the new world?
With our chain smoking and lopping of trees
Men on sites calling to women from tradition
Serenades about bitches and booties.
I personally sigh and refuse to name others or label.
We refuse to disuse faggot.
We breed through violence and bleed for sport.
23 July, 2010
12 July, 2010
Educators Are Awful
My Geography teacher is a lemon! I do not even know his name and I am fully set against learning it. I do not like him. I feel slightly awful for also judging his appearances but only a little. Very few instructors of education have made my staying in their classes practically impossible to stand and much less pleasant than leaving. Two really.
This man and Mrs Healey. Of course, I have severely aggravated my own share of teachers. There is a favourite memory of mine that regards an incident with Mr Gardiner and a whiteboard marker. I still cannot forgive or excuse this man.
His grasp of the English language disgusts me. For one, it is a ‘cause and effect diagram’ and not “chunking”. “Chunking” is a vile word and I find its pronunciation to be awful. The sound of this word makes me wish to be sick and then to maim him. Another issue is that he seems incapable of saying ‘gentlemen’ or ‘boys’ or ‘guys’ if it is to follow a phrase along the lines of ‘be quiet’ or ‘shut up’. It would appear that he is only able to complete such a complaint in regards to “the ladies present”.
I do not like sexist persons and even less so do I like them if they are of the kind who demean the sexes.
He has pixie ears. They are creepy and they are made even worse by the haircut. I want to cry every time I look at him because I feel like he is planning to molest someone. He has an odd face. It is not ugly or pretty or big or small or hairy or unshaven. It is just a face and it makes me uncomfortable. Whenever he approaches Courtney (who must ALWAYS be beside me because one of us ALWAYS has to copy something; cheating, no but teamwork? Yes.) I pretty much turn into the Incredible Hulk on the inside. I see colours and I really want to hurt this guy.
There is just something about him that makes me want to cause significant amounts of pain to him on frequent occasions. For the most part I can explain what it is at the time that does ire me so but there are moments when I just rage at him without explanation.
One explanation is that he is simply not Fiona. Mrs Tonizzo has the power to be one of the most frighting and feared teachers for a student but we had an understanding. I was odd, she was pedantic. It worked well for us. She understood the way that my mind worked. No matter how she seemed to irritate me about Alex or how she refused to have disciples of Buddha in her class, she always had that and I am appreciative of it.
Another is that I like my personal space around new teachers, particularly males. I tend to have problems until they prove themselves worthy of my regard and education related attentions. Of course, there will always be a bare level of respect. There are standards to become a teacher as there are of most things and the successful achievement of these will induce me to be respectful but not more than is necessary.
Or maybe I just do not like him. He is not my teacher, just a man at the front of my room trying to control my class.
This man and Mrs Healey. Of course, I have severely aggravated my own share of teachers. There is a favourite memory of mine that regards an incident with Mr Gardiner and a whiteboard marker. I still cannot forgive or excuse this man.
His grasp of the English language disgusts me. For one, it is a ‘cause and effect diagram’ and not “chunking”. “Chunking” is a vile word and I find its pronunciation to be awful. The sound of this word makes me wish to be sick and then to maim him. Another issue is that he seems incapable of saying ‘gentlemen’ or ‘boys’ or ‘guys’ if it is to follow a phrase along the lines of ‘be quiet’ or ‘shut up’. It would appear that he is only able to complete such a complaint in regards to “the ladies present”.
I do not like sexist persons and even less so do I like them if they are of the kind who demean the sexes.
He has pixie ears. They are creepy and they are made even worse by the haircut. I want to cry every time I look at him because I feel like he is planning to molest someone. He has an odd face. It is not ugly or pretty or big or small or hairy or unshaven. It is just a face and it makes me uncomfortable. Whenever he approaches Courtney (who must ALWAYS be beside me because one of us ALWAYS has to copy something; cheating, no but teamwork? Yes.) I pretty much turn into the Incredible Hulk on the inside. I see colours and I really want to hurt this guy.
There is just something about him that makes me want to cause significant amounts of pain to him on frequent occasions. For the most part I can explain what it is at the time that does ire me so but there are moments when I just rage at him without explanation.
One explanation is that he is simply not Fiona. Mrs Tonizzo has the power to be one of the most frighting and feared teachers for a student but we had an understanding. I was odd, she was pedantic. It worked well for us. She understood the way that my mind worked. No matter how she seemed to irritate me about Alex or how she refused to have disciples of Buddha in her class, she always had that and I am appreciative of it.
Another is that I like my personal space around new teachers, particularly males. I tend to have problems until they prove themselves worthy of my regard and education related attentions. Of course, there will always be a bare level of respect. There are standards to become a teacher as there are of most things and the successful achievement of these will induce me to be respectful but not more than is necessary.
Or maybe I just do not like him. He is not my teacher, just a man at the front of my room trying to control my class.
11 July, 2010
Explaining Down the Rabbit Hole
I could discuss my other dream but it was fairly erratic. It was also like Down the Rabbit Hole in that it was not a nightmare but more a dream that made me sad. So I will not be discussing Film in Schools. I will give an explanation to Down the Rabbit Hole instead.
I am at the beginning of something (dawn, baby Jorba) and am at peace (the proverbial olive branch) with my life. I’m comfortable with starting things for the first time or beginning things all over again. I am distracted by something captivating (butterflies) and it has coerced me into leaving a part of myself (Jorba) behind in pursuit of that something.
The forked roads and trees with black leaves made me think of a Robert Frost poem. The poem was about choices, particularly the choice between what is right and what is easy. Again, I was distracted by the butterflies and ignored which choice I made. This is about me being uncertain as to my ability to discern the difference between my choices. I run with my choice but am quickly abandoned (butterflies fly away [...party in the U.S.A...]). I am the kind of person who will choose what appears important and there are many people who will stand by me for it. When it proves itself to be a choice of hard work, more people will leave than will stay and I am alone in my beliefs.
I face criticisms but never give in to them (not feeling the cold ground) because I will not forsake my identity. The sunlight does not gently light my way but illuminates large areas and hides others. I show no fear of this. My dream self knows as my real self does; I can’t know everything but I can know enough to make life easy. The mushrooms are a symbol of things that are not as they seem. The mushrooms are poison, the bread rolls are not. I have to be wary of something trying to deceive me.
I can be led to water (the growing river) but not forced to drink; my decisions are my own. I have been given an opportunity of some sort and it is my decision as to whether or not I take it. I do and it turns sour (the net). I am dragged under but I make the most of my unfortunate situation. I talk my way out of a problem. I was not (forgive me) surprised by that talent showing itself. Next I am thrown slowly over a waterfall. This part of the dream shows how I struggle when I am not in control.
The four items I stole intrigued me. The first symbolises (to me of course) that I am losing touch with my friends. I recognise these people who are so important to me but I don’t know who they are (yearbook with no names). The people who are important to me are falling away. I have lost time (broken watch); years have gone and have been wasted. I am unsure about the name. I don’t know anyone named Amelia Sullen. Amelia always makes me think of the female pilot. I have a mild fear of flying though. It is possibly why I have never flown anywhere. Sullen implies a bad temper. So, flying and a bad mood...Mood swings? I’m constantly irritated lately and it is beginning to annoy me. Something is now growing (seeds) from this anger. Whatever it is is becoming more corporeal and important. I tried to displace my anger (throwing the seeds) and they attached themselves elsewhere. I can’t get rid of the anger in my life. I don’t know what to make of the fruitcake unless I relate it directly to myself. I don’t see myself as crazy but I know I’m at least a little odd.
The pig is how I see (most) others. They are brutish animals trying to disguise themselves. They want to take something from me and break me down. They want my individuality. Under pressure (the Dalmatian) though, others will break where I will bend and I will (literally here) have to pick up where they leave off.
I find others to be ostentatious (castle) and this makes me feel as though they are deliberately trying to belittle me. The woman in white suggests purity but also that I have learned. I did not trust her appearance and instead took precautions (tipping out the wine) and it saved me. My connection to life (the flower) is not beautiful (colourless) but it is strong (elephant reference). Recognising it is startling and throws me off balance. My show of (forgive me again) surprise is annoying in some way to others (the pig) and causes pain. I am distracted once again by a shiny and/or colourful object (the ceiling) and once again go looking for something better (‘forever’).
My enemies or ill-behaving acquaintances (the woman in white) still help me no matter what I do. I tend to make enemies who turn out to be worthwhile friends. Due to my above average communication and social skills, I have infinite (every colour of flower) opportunities available to me. Infinite as in overwhelming (passing out). Too often I let people take advantage of my care and hospitality. At times, it leaves me drained (nauseous, bleeding) and incapable of looking after my own needs. My life has been reduced to nothing (the fires) and there is a gaping hole where something is missing. The dream suggests a fear of this destruction (the falling) but also shows that I am capable of handling it (the landing). I may have been bruised and in pain but I am still alive. I am naively curious (Jorba) of how I know I will always do something insanely stupid (like chasing butterflies) and be sure I will make it out just fine.
Apparently, I told me so.
I am at the beginning of something (dawn, baby Jorba) and am at peace (the proverbial olive branch) with my life. I’m comfortable with starting things for the first time or beginning things all over again. I am distracted by something captivating (butterflies) and it has coerced me into leaving a part of myself (Jorba) behind in pursuit of that something.
The forked roads and trees with black leaves made me think of a Robert Frost poem. The poem was about choices, particularly the choice between what is right and what is easy. Again, I was distracted by the butterflies and ignored which choice I made. This is about me being uncertain as to my ability to discern the difference between my choices. I run with my choice but am quickly abandoned (butterflies fly away [...party in the U.S.A...]). I am the kind of person who will choose what appears important and there are many people who will stand by me for it. When it proves itself to be a choice of hard work, more people will leave than will stay and I am alone in my beliefs.
I face criticisms but never give in to them (not feeling the cold ground) because I will not forsake my identity. The sunlight does not gently light my way but illuminates large areas and hides others. I show no fear of this. My dream self knows as my real self does; I can’t know everything but I can know enough to make life easy. The mushrooms are a symbol of things that are not as they seem. The mushrooms are poison, the bread rolls are not. I have to be wary of something trying to deceive me.
I can be led to water (the growing river) but not forced to drink; my decisions are my own. I have been given an opportunity of some sort and it is my decision as to whether or not I take it. I do and it turns sour (the net). I am dragged under but I make the most of my unfortunate situation. I talk my way out of a problem. I was not (forgive me) surprised by that talent showing itself. Next I am thrown slowly over a waterfall. This part of the dream shows how I struggle when I am not in control.
The four items I stole intrigued me. The first symbolises (to me of course) that I am losing touch with my friends. I recognise these people who are so important to me but I don’t know who they are (yearbook with no names). The people who are important to me are falling away. I have lost time (broken watch); years have gone and have been wasted. I am unsure about the name. I don’t know anyone named Amelia Sullen. Amelia always makes me think of the female pilot. I have a mild fear of flying though. It is possibly why I have never flown anywhere. Sullen implies a bad temper. So, flying and a bad mood...Mood swings? I’m constantly irritated lately and it is beginning to annoy me. Something is now growing (seeds) from this anger. Whatever it is is becoming more corporeal and important. I tried to displace my anger (throwing the seeds) and they attached themselves elsewhere. I can’t get rid of the anger in my life. I don’t know what to make of the fruitcake unless I relate it directly to myself. I don’t see myself as crazy but I know I’m at least a little odd.
The pig is how I see (most) others. They are brutish animals trying to disguise themselves. They want to take something from me and break me down. They want my individuality. Under pressure (the Dalmatian) though, others will break where I will bend and I will (literally here) have to pick up where they leave off.
I find others to be ostentatious (castle) and this makes me feel as though they are deliberately trying to belittle me. The woman in white suggests purity but also that I have learned. I did not trust her appearance and instead took precautions (tipping out the wine) and it saved me. My connection to life (the flower) is not beautiful (colourless) but it is strong (elephant reference). Recognising it is startling and throws me off balance. My show of (forgive me again) surprise is annoying in some way to others (the pig) and causes pain. I am distracted once again by a shiny and/or colourful object (the ceiling) and once again go looking for something better (‘forever’).
My enemies or ill-behaving acquaintances (the woman in white) still help me no matter what I do. I tend to make enemies who turn out to be worthwhile friends. Due to my above average communication and social skills, I have infinite (every colour of flower) opportunities available to me. Infinite as in overwhelming (passing out). Too often I let people take advantage of my care and hospitality. At times, it leaves me drained (nauseous, bleeding) and incapable of looking after my own needs. My life has been reduced to nothing (the fires) and there is a gaping hole where something is missing. The dream suggests a fear of this destruction (the falling) but also shows that I am capable of handling it (the landing). I may have been bruised and in pain but I am still alive. I am naively curious (Jorba) of how I know I will always do something insanely stupid (like chasing butterflies) and be sure I will make it out just fine.
Apparently, I told me so.
Down The Rabbit Hole
Down The Rabbit Hole
I am curled around Jorba under an olive tree. We are in a meadow and dawn is breaking. I get up to chase butterflies, leaving my baby rabbit asleep and dreaming. I run after the captivating insects without tiring. They lead me to a sparse forest that I don’t take notice of along a forked road. Neither of the paths has been traversed and the trees have leaves that are black. The brightly coloured creatures split and stream down the paths and I continue to run, ignoring the world around me. The butterflies burst up and out of the trees, leaving me alone. The ground is cold but I am not and sunlight filters down through the trees in large chunks. I walk further down the path, watching mushrooms that look more like bread rolls grow behind me as I step. A river appears between two distant trees and stretches down to where I am. Diving in, I am pulled under by a net and recline along the river bottom. I sit and talk with shells about kleptomania. The current pulls me away and down the side of a waterfall. I fall ridiculously slowly but am unable to do anything about it. Behind the waterfall are shelves of the most random things. I reach out and pull some down with me. Crashing at the bottom of the pool, I clutch tightly onto them. On the river bank, I spread them out to dry and to look at what they are. There is a yearbook of people I don’t know but recognise. All the names have been cut out. There is a watch that doesn’t work. The name engraved on the inside is Amelia Sullen. A packet of lavender seeds has gotten wet and is growing before my eyes. I throw it away from me and the lavender attaches itself to the bottom of a tree, climbing and snaking its way up and around the trunk, becoming an oak/lavender hybrid. Last, there is a completely dry fruitcake. A piglet with a top hat beckons me to him and asks for the cake. He walks away with it and I follow him further into the forest. We encounter a small Dalmatian puppy and I carry the pig when he faints. Further in, I spot a castle. The highest tower is level with the tree tops and I feel very small. A woman in white walks me in and offers me a drink. The wine she holds out smells sickly sweet and is the colour but not the consistency of blood. I wait for her to turn and tip the flowing liquid onto a tulip as tall as an elephant and the same colour too. The flower leans down and congratulates me on my hindsight. Startled, I leap back and fall over the pig. He squeals in indignation and I crack my head against the floor. I lie on my back, stunned, and stare up at the ceiling of the foyer. The ceiling is silver and appears to be shimmering. I continue to stare and see that it is the word ‘forever’ written over and over again until there is no space left to write it again. The woman in white lifts me up. She screams in pain because I forgot to when I fell. She seats me on an enormous bed and discusses my university options with me. I lean onto the purple pillows, embroidered with every possible colour of flower and pass out. The woman in white takes the things I collected from the waterfall and sits on the floor looking at them. I regain consciousness but I begin to bleed profusely from a cut on my forehead that was not there before. I stand up and feel nauseous. The things on the floor burst into flames and burn a hole through the floor. I fall down and down and down. My descent ends when I fall painfully through the sky. I land with a sickening crunch against the ground in the meadow where I started. Jorba bounds over to me and stares inquisitively into my face before saying ‘I told you so.’
I woke up and wondered why I had an Alice dream.
It seems to me that I’m not learning. I didn’t fear going down the rabbit hole but the dream (or maybe dreams) that came after. It is when we dream that we are vulnerable and I consistently forget to keep my guard up. Disappointing.
I am curled around Jorba under an olive tree. We are in a meadow and dawn is breaking. I get up to chase butterflies, leaving my baby rabbit asleep and dreaming. I run after the captivating insects without tiring. They lead me to a sparse forest that I don’t take notice of along a forked road. Neither of the paths has been traversed and the trees have leaves that are black. The brightly coloured creatures split and stream down the paths and I continue to run, ignoring the world around me. The butterflies burst up and out of the trees, leaving me alone. The ground is cold but I am not and sunlight filters down through the trees in large chunks. I walk further down the path, watching mushrooms that look more like bread rolls grow behind me as I step. A river appears between two distant trees and stretches down to where I am. Diving in, I am pulled under by a net and recline along the river bottom. I sit and talk with shells about kleptomania. The current pulls me away and down the side of a waterfall. I fall ridiculously slowly but am unable to do anything about it. Behind the waterfall are shelves of the most random things. I reach out and pull some down with me. Crashing at the bottom of the pool, I clutch tightly onto them. On the river bank, I spread them out to dry and to look at what they are. There is a yearbook of people I don’t know but recognise. All the names have been cut out. There is a watch that doesn’t work. The name engraved on the inside is Amelia Sullen. A packet of lavender seeds has gotten wet and is growing before my eyes. I throw it away from me and the lavender attaches itself to the bottom of a tree, climbing and snaking its way up and around the trunk, becoming an oak/lavender hybrid. Last, there is a completely dry fruitcake. A piglet with a top hat beckons me to him and asks for the cake. He walks away with it and I follow him further into the forest. We encounter a small Dalmatian puppy and I carry the pig when he faints. Further in, I spot a castle. The highest tower is level with the tree tops and I feel very small. A woman in white walks me in and offers me a drink. The wine she holds out smells sickly sweet and is the colour but not the consistency of blood. I wait for her to turn and tip the flowing liquid onto a tulip as tall as an elephant and the same colour too. The flower leans down and congratulates me on my hindsight. Startled, I leap back and fall over the pig. He squeals in indignation and I crack my head against the floor. I lie on my back, stunned, and stare up at the ceiling of the foyer. The ceiling is silver and appears to be shimmering. I continue to stare and see that it is the word ‘forever’ written over and over again until there is no space left to write it again. The woman in white lifts me up. She screams in pain because I forgot to when I fell. She seats me on an enormous bed and discusses my university options with me. I lean onto the purple pillows, embroidered with every possible colour of flower and pass out. The woman in white takes the things I collected from the waterfall and sits on the floor looking at them. I regain consciousness but I begin to bleed profusely from a cut on my forehead that was not there before. I stand up and feel nauseous. The things on the floor burst into flames and burn a hole through the floor. I fall down and down and down. My descent ends when I fall painfully through the sky. I land with a sickening crunch against the ground in the meadow where I started. Jorba bounds over to me and stares inquisitively into my face before saying ‘I told you so.’
I woke up and wondered why I had an Alice dream.
It seems to me that I’m not learning. I didn’t fear going down the rabbit hole but the dream (or maybe dreams) that came after. It is when we dream that we are vulnerable and I consistently forget to keep my guard up. Disappointing.
10 July, 2010
Handbags (Are Awesome)
In my handbag I have several necessities that must not be removed save for the changing of bags.
There is my identity. First and foremost, I must have my Learner’s Permit. It reminds me of who I superficially am to myself and to the world. It is proof that I exist and am a part of the world. My birth date is provided to inform any who care that I have been here and have been here for some time. It has my name for no person can go unnamed. I have a name. I have an identity.
Then there is the bracelet. It is not pretty or particularly useful but for the memories. The bracelet was Little Sara’s bracelet. It reminds me that fire is destructive and that no life is sacred. It reminds me that I am a friend to children. It tells her story to me and I carry her with me always. The existence of a loved one proves that I have loved and been loved.
I have my epaulettes. They are blue and without stripes. These epaulettes exist to show that I am active. They show that I have earned rank and that I am doing something both useful and productive with my life. I am not wasting my time on unimportant matters but am forming a person from the shell that I am. These epaulettes show that I care. They show that I care enough about people that I’ve usually never met before and that I care so much that I will do anything to ensure they do not feel pain.
So far I have an identity, I am capable of love and I care.
My wireless internet USB. It now goes everywhere and so it should. It is how I connect and am related to others. There is no hope of ever reaching my mobile but I am always reachable via the internet. It is how I keep my others within reach and allow them to know that I am still here though that may not be where they are. It is how I share myself with the world and the inhabitants who care enough to discover me. It is my network.
The last is a recent addition. I found this again whilst moving my things and I am undecided about the merits of carrying it with me. It is my hospital bracelet. It could have been either from April or June last year but I remember the one from June was red because I was able to put a sentence together and tell them my allergy. I do not carry this with me to reprimand myself or to remind me that I must be careful. I carry my hospital bracelet as a reminder that never again will I be so weak. I will always have my bad days and worse nights but I will never fall so far as I did that year.
So I have an identity and am real. I am loved and I love. I care for others whilst making a someone of myself. There is a world that I am connected to.
I am strong.
However, there is one thing I wish I remember to keep in there more often. I swear I’m going to go postal on the wind. I should have brought a clip or something...
Terreur Nocturne.
There is my identity. First and foremost, I must have my Learner’s Permit. It reminds me of who I superficially am to myself and to the world. It is proof that I exist and am a part of the world. My birth date is provided to inform any who care that I have been here and have been here for some time. It has my name for no person can go unnamed. I have a name. I have an identity.
Then there is the bracelet. It is not pretty or particularly useful but for the memories. The bracelet was Little Sara’s bracelet. It reminds me that fire is destructive and that no life is sacred. It reminds me that I am a friend to children. It tells her story to me and I carry her with me always. The existence of a loved one proves that I have loved and been loved.
I have my epaulettes. They are blue and without stripes. These epaulettes exist to show that I am active. They show that I have earned rank and that I am doing something both useful and productive with my life. I am not wasting my time on unimportant matters but am forming a person from the shell that I am. These epaulettes show that I care. They show that I care enough about people that I’ve usually never met before and that I care so much that I will do anything to ensure they do not feel pain.
So far I have an identity, I am capable of love and I care.
My wireless internet USB. It now goes everywhere and so it should. It is how I connect and am related to others. There is no hope of ever reaching my mobile but I am always reachable via the internet. It is how I keep my others within reach and allow them to know that I am still here though that may not be where they are. It is how I share myself with the world and the inhabitants who care enough to discover me. It is my network.
The last is a recent addition. I found this again whilst moving my things and I am undecided about the merits of carrying it with me. It is my hospital bracelet. It could have been either from April or June last year but I remember the one from June was red because I was able to put a sentence together and tell them my allergy. I do not carry this with me to reprimand myself or to remind me that I must be careful. I carry my hospital bracelet as a reminder that never again will I be so weak. I will always have my bad days and worse nights but I will never fall so far as I did that year.
So I have an identity and am real. I am loved and I love. I care for others whilst making a someone of myself. There is a world that I am connected to.
I am strong.
However, there is one thing I wish I remember to keep in there more often. I swear I’m going to go postal on the wind. I should have brought a clip or something...
Terreur Nocturne.
09 July, 2010
The Replicants Are Coming.
In the industry of artificial creations, moral dilemmas are a daily occurrence. These issues range from the most mundane of ‘What if?’s to the question of human rights and whether or not artificial humans should receive them. ‘What if?’ What if we made artificial humans so human that they turned on us for it? The moral dilemmas include whether these artificial people should be awarded human rights, the acceptability of their lives as little more than slaves and if it is right to play, for want of a better word, ‘God’.
Artificial humans would be bio-organisms. They breathe, think and function like humans. The only difference is that the artificial humans would be genetically engineered. It does not matter to those who make them that they have emotions and feelings just like ‘real’ humans. As artificial humans, they would have no rights that any human would. The question of course is should they? Should artificial humans have human rights? Artificial humans will have the ability to think and feel. They could even develop their own emotional responses and collect memories of their time alive.
Androids are built for a purpose. They have a set task, a job to do. They have no choice in this process so it begs to be asked: Are they slaves and if so, is this ok? A person who was given a task, no matter if it was pleasing or not, and made to complete this task without choice would be considered a slave. As slavery was abolished many years ago, it would appear that slavery is wrong. Slavery is defined as any person owning another person. What this leads to is the debate over whether artificial humans are human enough to come under the term ‘slave’. This causes a moral issue for anyone who believes them to be so. To make an artificial human knowing that they are a slave and not perhaps a servant would be morally wrong.
Religion is a very important part of life for many people. In any corporation that designs and creates artificial humans, the workers run the risk of crossing the line and ‘playing God’. As such, the ethics behind styling one’s self as God become an issue. The debate on whether we, as humans, have the right to create life has raged for a long time. Many people believe ultimate power of creation, used to meddle and tamper with the forces of life, is immoral. All corporations which make artificial life regardless of this obviously do not agree or are likely not to even care. If there is such a person, it is simply not right to imitate God but only to venerate him.
Artificial creation is a delicate subject. The possible complications which may arise are able to seriously jeopardise the morality of the human race. Creating artificial humans may lead to regression and the reformation of slavery. These artificial humans have no rights that humans do and no freedoms. Do they not deserve them? They think therefore they are and should that not be enough? The existence of artificial people throws the natural definition of ‘human’ out the window. It would seem that our imitations of God and His divine ability to create life are simply not good enough nor are they morally right. These are the issues we must face if we are to create artificial life.
Artificial humans would be bio-organisms. They breathe, think and function like humans. The only difference is that the artificial humans would be genetically engineered. It does not matter to those who make them that they have emotions and feelings just like ‘real’ humans. As artificial humans, they would have no rights that any human would. The question of course is should they? Should artificial humans have human rights? Artificial humans will have the ability to think and feel. They could even develop their own emotional responses and collect memories of their time alive.
Androids are built for a purpose. They have a set task, a job to do. They have no choice in this process so it begs to be asked: Are they slaves and if so, is this ok? A person who was given a task, no matter if it was pleasing or not, and made to complete this task without choice would be considered a slave. As slavery was abolished many years ago, it would appear that slavery is wrong. Slavery is defined as any person owning another person. What this leads to is the debate over whether artificial humans are human enough to come under the term ‘slave’. This causes a moral issue for anyone who believes them to be so. To make an artificial human knowing that they are a slave and not perhaps a servant would be morally wrong.
Religion is a very important part of life for many people. In any corporation that designs and creates artificial humans, the workers run the risk of crossing the line and ‘playing God’. As such, the ethics behind styling one’s self as God become an issue. The debate on whether we, as humans, have the right to create life has raged for a long time. Many people believe ultimate power of creation, used to meddle and tamper with the forces of life, is immoral. All corporations which make artificial life regardless of this obviously do not agree or are likely not to even care. If there is such a person, it is simply not right to imitate God but only to venerate him.
Artificial creation is a delicate subject. The possible complications which may arise are able to seriously jeopardise the morality of the human race. Creating artificial humans may lead to regression and the reformation of slavery. These artificial humans have no rights that humans do and no freedoms. Do they not deserve them? They think therefore they are and should that not be enough? The existence of artificial people throws the natural definition of ‘human’ out the window. It would seem that our imitations of God and His divine ability to create life are simply not good enough nor are they morally right. These are the issues we must face if we are to create artificial life.
O, Relative! (Letters IV)
To Sarah,
I don’t care if you’re family now. You weren’t then and it was the wrong thing to do. Seriously, even in year eight you were trying to hook up with every guy. We were supposed to be best friends and now I’m pretty sure we’re not.
Yeah, we had that whole issue about Bree (Again, friends? I guess not.) but we’d gotten over that. It was actually bearable to live with you again and we were even up to inside jokes. Special moments and all that jazz.
Now I know you’re just screwing me over AGAIN. I was happy. Depressed maybe, but I was definitely happy. Now I’m going to be the kind of person who judges her friends. Every word will have a second meaning and I won’t trust anybody. I won’t trust you. Why did you have to do that? And why did I have to find out now. You’ve only just screwed up years of memories for me.
Why? Why couldn’t you be happy and have left my life alone? What was it that you wanted? Did you want to hurt me? Make me angry? Well, I’m not. I’m so disappointed though. Impressions mean nothing. You were the one person that I always thought I could read and I always believed you would tell me the truth. You’re a liar and I’m sorry I didn’t learn it sooner. I would never have tried so hard to keep you in my life.
There were (and are) plenty of fish in the sea so why couldn’t you have stayed away from my Nemo?
Quit complaining about your pains. You know that you aren’t losing weight the right way. You’re hurting because you aren’t eating right. You are starving your body and it is responding in a negative way. Do the right thing by your body and it will show its appreciation. Don’t and it will keep sending you signals to tell you that there is something wrong.
If you won’t do that, go see a doctor. Get painkillers or advice and then SHUT UP. It doesn’t matter and you’re fine for now.
Don’t talk about yourself the way you do. Don’t talk about guys the way you do. You complain that you always end up in relationships with jerks. That’s because every guy either has had sex with you or knows how to convince you to. You’re turning into a broken person and I don’t like it.
Enjoy your childhood. You can claim to be a mature adult but I don’t think you are. Yes, you went back to school and I’m proud. That does not mean you are mature or an adult. It means you’re ensuring that you don’t miss opportunities because of an educational disadvantage. You are unlikely to get a place in your chosen workforce due to the influx of students in that area. You need to be realistic.
You will never be the same person in my mind ever again. I wish you hadn't stayed last night.
Your Sister,
Amy.
I don’t care if you’re family now. You weren’t then and it was the wrong thing to do. Seriously, even in year eight you were trying to hook up with every guy. We were supposed to be best friends and now I’m pretty sure we’re not.
Yeah, we had that whole issue about Bree (Again, friends? I guess not.) but we’d gotten over that. It was actually bearable to live with you again and we were even up to inside jokes. Special moments and all that jazz.
Now I know you’re just screwing me over AGAIN. I was happy. Depressed maybe, but I was definitely happy. Now I’m going to be the kind of person who judges her friends. Every word will have a second meaning and I won’t trust anybody. I won’t trust you. Why did you have to do that? And why did I have to find out now. You’ve only just screwed up years of memories for me.
Why? Why couldn’t you be happy and have left my life alone? What was it that you wanted? Did you want to hurt me? Make me angry? Well, I’m not. I’m so disappointed though. Impressions mean nothing. You were the one person that I always thought I could read and I always believed you would tell me the truth. You’re a liar and I’m sorry I didn’t learn it sooner. I would never have tried so hard to keep you in my life.
There were (and are) plenty of fish in the sea so why couldn’t you have stayed away from my Nemo?
Quit complaining about your pains. You know that you aren’t losing weight the right way. You’re hurting because you aren’t eating right. You are starving your body and it is responding in a negative way. Do the right thing by your body and it will show its appreciation. Don’t and it will keep sending you signals to tell you that there is something wrong.
If you won’t do that, go see a doctor. Get painkillers or advice and then SHUT UP. It doesn’t matter and you’re fine for now.
Don’t talk about yourself the way you do. Don’t talk about guys the way you do. You complain that you always end up in relationships with jerks. That’s because every guy either has had sex with you or knows how to convince you to. You’re turning into a broken person and I don’t like it.
Enjoy your childhood. You can claim to be a mature adult but I don’t think you are. Yes, you went back to school and I’m proud. That does not mean you are mature or an adult. It means you’re ensuring that you don’t miss opportunities because of an educational disadvantage. You are unlikely to get a place in your chosen workforce due to the influx of students in that area. You need to be realistic.
You will never be the same person in my mind ever again. I wish you hadn't stayed last night.
Your Sister,
Amy.
08 July, 2010
Once Upon A Time
Once Upon A Time, in a not so far town there lived a girl who was not extravagantly beautiful or a princess or the daughter of incredibly rich parents. She was just a girl.
At night, she would stay up late because she was cursed. A wicked shaman woman sent evil dreams to her every night so that the girl's slumber was fraught with fear.
The girl knew that neither prince nor his steed could help her. Just as with Lady Macbeth, her illness was of the mind and not of the body. Even so, she was still willing to try True Love's Kiss.
Unfortunately, no one else was and so the girl found herself between a rock and this really dingy pub called A Hard Place. The girl knew that she needed to sleep for one hundred years to make up for all her lost time but there were no options available to her.
The girl tried bleeding out as Sleeping Beauty had done but to no avail. She tried poisons like those in Snow White's apple. She still could not sleep a peaceful dream.
Like the princess with a pea below her mattress, the poor girl was forever doomed to turn in her slumber and wake unrested. It was most unfortunate for all the girl had ever wanted was a fairytale.
All she had wanted was the opportunity to wear a floaty dress and be taken off to a castle where the sun goes when it sets. The girl wanted someone to wake her on every morning with a kiss. She wanted to fill a castle with oddly named children. It was not to be so.
The girl continued to dream her awful dreams and gave up on her hopes. Instead, she learned to live with her problem. The girl ignored the dreams and how they made her feel. She ignored how lonely she was and she ignored the existence of the real people around her.
The girl focussed on her lessons and studied History at a facility for further education. She lived with a close friend with similar interests and life goals. They inhabited a townhouse together until she moved in with her greatest friend.
This friend helped her with her goal of children through magic, known to most people as IVF. The two had a son and he was named Aaron Lee because Choc Hazelnut Spread was considered inappropriate. The three lived a long, full and adequate life. The father was a pilot in the RAAF. His plane was shot down and he died. The girl coped.
The girl grew old and paid off her mortgage. She sent her son to the finest institutes of education available to him. The girl memorised poetry and sang songs to herself as she went about her aging business. Mostly it was baking and cleaning. Sometimes it was baby-sitting. She always loved children.
The girl lay down and died.
She was better off.
Lit project that I'm having some fun with so crit is welcome but only if it is nice and possibly useful. Otherwise you'll ruin my day.
At night, she would stay up late because she was cursed. A wicked shaman woman sent evil dreams to her every night so that the girl's slumber was fraught with fear.
The girl knew that neither prince nor his steed could help her. Just as with Lady Macbeth, her illness was of the mind and not of the body. Even so, she was still willing to try True Love's Kiss.
Unfortunately, no one else was and so the girl found herself between a rock and this really dingy pub called A Hard Place. The girl knew that she needed to sleep for one hundred years to make up for all her lost time but there were no options available to her.
The girl tried bleeding out as Sleeping Beauty had done but to no avail. She tried poisons like those in Snow White's apple. She still could not sleep a peaceful dream.
Like the princess with a pea below her mattress, the poor girl was forever doomed to turn in her slumber and wake unrested. It was most unfortunate for all the girl had ever wanted was a fairytale.
All she had wanted was the opportunity to wear a floaty dress and be taken off to a castle where the sun goes when it sets. The girl wanted someone to wake her on every morning with a kiss. She wanted to fill a castle with oddly named children. It was not to be so.
The girl continued to dream her awful dreams and gave up on her hopes. Instead, she learned to live with her problem. The girl ignored the dreams and how they made her feel. She ignored how lonely she was and she ignored the existence of the real people around her.
The girl focussed on her lessons and studied History at a facility for further education. She lived with a close friend with similar interests and life goals. They inhabited a townhouse together until she moved in with her greatest friend.
This friend helped her with her goal of children through magic, known to most people as IVF. The two had a son and he was named Aaron Lee because Choc Hazelnut Spread was considered inappropriate. The three lived a long, full and adequate life. The father was a pilot in the RAAF. His plane was shot down and he died. The girl coped.
The girl grew old and paid off her mortgage. She sent her son to the finest institutes of education available to him. The girl memorised poetry and sang songs to herself as she went about her aging business. Mostly it was baking and cleaning. Sometimes it was baby-sitting. She always loved children.
The girl lay down and died.
She was better off.
Lit project that I'm having some fun with so crit is welcome but only if it is nice and possibly useful. Otherwise you'll ruin my day.
The Shock (Letters III)
Ryan.
I nearly died four minutes ago. YOU ACTUALLY READ THIS. I was aware that you were aware of its existence but I am truly shocked to discover that you have a presence here.
The Parliament was just a joke. It was teenagers giving each other labels to mock the political system. Oddly enough, we learnt. And it was also a really good reason to say 'The Parliament' in a weird voice whilst using quotation marks. We were odd little ones those years ago.
I'm glad you kept both hands on the wheel. I'm notorious for taking mine off. I totally understand the panic and necessity of holding on for dear life. Manual sucks. As long as you don't crash, feel free to ignore me as much as you like. Nice car BTW. Red and shiny :)
I like you. You're awesome, so don't feel bad. When I get sad, do you know what happens? I get sad and then I get awesome. True story. You should try getting awesome more often. Or just out. My blog is now officially mobile! SQUEE!
I blame you for that.
She was my friend. Now she's my sister. It's pretty awkward. You may be the only person in Pakenham who doesn't 'know' her. Go you.
The past has not disintegrated but rather taken itself apart and set itself out in front of us. The order is occasionally wrong and sometimes parts are obscured but it is there. No piece is missing because there is always a friend who knows where we are and who we were. That's what we are for. We are for remembering all the secrets and embarrassing stories.
We are The Parliament.
On to your dream. Explain, analyse and then laugh because you're pretty sure that odd socks has nothing to do with the grapes. Or Tiffany. Be willing to share of yourself more instead of telling. We do not want to know more about you, we want to know who you are.
I'm sorry that you feel isolated. I understand. Your 'friends' don't need you but they will have you. It's hard when that is all you have. You may be better off finding a friend who needs you. Or you could always bitch and moan to your mum until she lets you come back. Maddi isn't Maddi without her punk look or you.
You need more life.
Terreur.
P.S I refuse to blog and so you abstain from doing the same. I return and so do you. Manchild, why?
I nearly died four minutes ago. YOU ACTUALLY READ THIS. I was aware that you were aware of its existence but I am truly shocked to discover that you have a presence here.
The Parliament was just a joke. It was teenagers giving each other labels to mock the political system. Oddly enough, we learnt. And it was also a really good reason to say 'The Parliament' in a weird voice whilst using quotation marks. We were odd little ones those years ago.
I'm glad you kept both hands on the wheel. I'm notorious for taking mine off. I totally understand the panic and necessity of holding on for dear life. Manual sucks. As long as you don't crash, feel free to ignore me as much as you like. Nice car BTW. Red and shiny :)
I like you. You're awesome, so don't feel bad. When I get sad, do you know what happens? I get sad and then I get awesome. True story. You should try getting awesome more often. Or just out. My blog is now officially mobile! SQUEE!
I blame you for that.
She was my friend. Now she's my sister. It's pretty awkward. You may be the only person in Pakenham who doesn't 'know' her. Go you.
The past has not disintegrated but rather taken itself apart and set itself out in front of us. The order is occasionally wrong and sometimes parts are obscured but it is there. No piece is missing because there is always a friend who knows where we are and who we were. That's what we are for. We are for remembering all the secrets and embarrassing stories.
We are The Parliament.
On to your dream. Explain, analyse and then laugh because you're pretty sure that odd socks has nothing to do with the grapes. Or Tiffany. Be willing to share of yourself more instead of telling. We do not want to know more about you, we want to know who you are.
I'm sorry that you feel isolated. I understand. Your 'friends' don't need you but they will have you. It's hard when that is all you have. You may be better off finding a friend who needs you. Or you could always bitch and moan to your mum until she lets you come back. Maddi isn't Maddi without her punk look or you.
You need more life.
Terreur.
P.S I refuse to blog and so you abstain from doing the same. I return and so do you. Manchild, why?
07 July, 2010
My Most Sincere Apologies (Letters II)
Dear Ryan,
I’m sorry that I wasn’t very intelligent when we were younger. There’s being smart and then there’s intelligent. I caused a lot of pain and it was entirely unnecessary. I even had someone to talk to but I still did horrible things to myself. That wasn’t your fault and I didn’t do it because of you. I’m just sorry that I made it your problem.
I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about a lot of things that were going on in my head. I’m sorry I kept sending you other people’s texts. Here’s a tip: if your Samsung slide phone has predictive text in the contacts list, don’t use it. The amount of ‘Rya’ numbers in my phone was ridiculous. I’m kind of glad it ended up in the pool.
I’m sorry that I’ve stunted your ability to find someone else. I’m sorry that that has to be part of The Plan. I’m sorry there’s a plan in the first place. I feel like a bitch and like I’ll never have said sorry enough no matter how many times I say it. I’m sorry that part of The Plan is setting you up with someone I’ve never met.
I’m sorry that I wish you are ‘carefree and swirly’ because it gets stuck in my head at random times and I’d rather not think about it. It is not that I don’t care, just that I don’t need the distraction. It’s screwing with my head and my algebra is failing due to it.
I’m sorry that I’m insecure and would rather talk to you about than anyone else. Even worse, I’m sorry that I don’t. I’m sorry that I don’t feel like I’m a part of your life and that I shouldn’t be anyway. I think of myself as a burden and that is wrong. I am not a problem and I am certainly not a problem to someone. It hasn’t stopped me from preventing myself from talking to you though. I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you. I’m a flawed person and you haven’t asked to be a part of that. I am human and that is what makes me flawed but there is nothing wrong with that part of me.
I’m sorry you used to have to put up with some disturbingly wild mood swings. I was pretty much borderline bipolar a few years ago. Actually, I was probably not. It just felt like it. Anyway, I’m sorry. That was definitely no fun to put up with and yet you did. Thank you for putting up with me. I was and still am reasonably insane. You coped very well with that.
I’m sorry that I had a few awesome years when you were around. I’ve been left with inside jokes about ‘The Parliament’ and eyebrows that only Muffin (or Maddog as we knew her then) has ever understood. Although Cody does seem to enjoy mocking the eyebrow thing... I’m sorry that those years were so great because it means that I miss you heaps now so I can only imagine what your other friends are going through. Except Clinky and Mykaelah. If they cared, they’d make the effort. If the make the effort, feel loved.
I’m sorry for no reason. I’m just sorry. I’m so used to being sorry that I’m sorry anyway on top of my justified sorriness. I’m over it.
I’m sorry that I kept you up for hours so that we could chat on MSN. I’m sorry that I wasted your time because you should have been working or sleeping. Or showering. I just liked knowing that there was someone that I could reach at pretty much any time so I never felt alone. I never used to feel alone but I do now and I’m sorry that I used you to try and fix it.
You were a great friend and I love you. It’s like my whole ‘favourite toe’ speech but worse. I wish you were here and that we were friends like we used to be.
You know too much.
Terreur (coz she’s the only way I can face you now.)
I’m sorry that I wasn’t very intelligent when we were younger. There’s being smart and then there’s intelligent. I caused a lot of pain and it was entirely unnecessary. I even had someone to talk to but I still did horrible things to myself. That wasn’t your fault and I didn’t do it because of you. I’m just sorry that I made it your problem.
I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about a lot of things that were going on in my head. I’m sorry I kept sending you other people’s texts. Here’s a tip: if your Samsung slide phone has predictive text in the contacts list, don’t use it. The amount of ‘Rya’ numbers in my phone was ridiculous. I’m kind of glad it ended up in the pool.
I’m sorry that I’ve stunted your ability to find someone else. I’m sorry that that has to be part of The Plan. I’m sorry there’s a plan in the first place. I feel like a bitch and like I’ll never have said sorry enough no matter how many times I say it. I’m sorry that part of The Plan is setting you up with someone I’ve never met.
I’m sorry that I wish you are ‘carefree and swirly’ because it gets stuck in my head at random times and I’d rather not think about it. It is not that I don’t care, just that I don’t need the distraction. It’s screwing with my head and my algebra is failing due to it.
I’m sorry that I’m insecure and would rather talk to you about than anyone else. Even worse, I’m sorry that I don’t. I’m sorry that I don’t feel like I’m a part of your life and that I shouldn’t be anyway. I think of myself as a burden and that is wrong. I am not a problem and I am certainly not a problem to someone. It hasn’t stopped me from preventing myself from talking to you though. I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you. I’m a flawed person and you haven’t asked to be a part of that. I am human and that is what makes me flawed but there is nothing wrong with that part of me.
I’m sorry you used to have to put up with some disturbingly wild mood swings. I was pretty much borderline bipolar a few years ago. Actually, I was probably not. It just felt like it. Anyway, I’m sorry. That was definitely no fun to put up with and yet you did. Thank you for putting up with me. I was and still am reasonably insane. You coped very well with that.
I’m sorry that I had a few awesome years when you were around. I’ve been left with inside jokes about ‘The Parliament’ and eyebrows that only Muffin (or Maddog as we knew her then) has ever understood. Although Cody does seem to enjoy mocking the eyebrow thing... I’m sorry that those years were so great because it means that I miss you heaps now so I can only imagine what your other friends are going through. Except Clinky and Mykaelah. If they cared, they’d make the effort. If the make the effort, feel loved.
I’m sorry for no reason. I’m just sorry. I’m so used to being sorry that I’m sorry anyway on top of my justified sorriness. I’m over it.
I’m sorry that I kept you up for hours so that we could chat on MSN. I’m sorry that I wasted your time because you should have been working or sleeping. Or showering. I just liked knowing that there was someone that I could reach at pretty much any time so I never felt alone. I never used to feel alone but I do now and I’m sorry that I used you to try and fix it.
You were a great friend and I love you. It’s like my whole ‘favourite toe’ speech but worse. I wish you were here and that we were friends like we used to be.
You know too much.
Terreur (coz she’s the only way I can face you now.)
06 July, 2010
Dresses (Letters I)
Dear Mum,
My release is writing and I suppose that I have chosen you as my recipient to try and ease the pain I am in.
I’m a girl still. I think like an adult and I have some very adult problems to deal with but I’m still your little Monkey and I’m still a daddy’s girl. No matter how much he hurts me and makes me hate myself, he is the only person who has never made me feel useless. I painted a room today. He told me I’d have to stop if I stuffed it up but I didn’t and I knew I wouldn’t.
It’s because I run around in girl’s clothes. I own an amount of simple dresses that I would have thought ridiculous as a child. I even like them. There’s something about the movement that makes me feel carefree and swirly. Dresses make everything uncomplicated. They make me exactly who I am supposed to be.
I never thought I’d be the kind of girl who liked ‘teacake’ dresses. Do you remember that? All those fluffy and floaty dresses that have a never ending train of tulle and are doused in lace? I’m actually wearing one of those now. I appreciate the way it makes me look. I feel beautiful so I am. I feel like the woman you will never see me grow into.
Whenever I think about all the dresses you’ll never see me wear, it physically hurts. You never saw me at Graduation or in my high school uniform and you never will. You missed out on the dress that I never wore to your husband’s second wedding. You won’t see my formal dress or my Debutante dress, even though I’m leaving that for next year so Ben can take me.
God, you’ll never meet Ben. He is the most gorgeous and pain-numbing person I have ever been fortunate enough to meet. He is odd and persecuted but we have the real love of the two halves of a soul, each finding themselves in the eyes of the other. I love him so much and I will never forget how he has been my greatest friend.
My wedding dress will be yours but you will never see me wear it. You’ll never watch as I walk towards the person I will promise my life to. When I wear a hospital gown for the first time to bring your grandchild into the world, you will never see it. Every dress that I have worn since you left, you have never seen and never will.
I would give almost anything for you to be here, to see how gorgeous I am right now so I can stop trying to make up for what you miss. I would give you everything that I am to see me in this dress. It means so much to me that you will never know that I have become a woman-child waiting for a Prince Charming or someone to take me away to your home so that you will no longer miss out on who I am and the dresses I will be wearing.
It hurts to love you
Amy.
My release is writing and I suppose that I have chosen you as my recipient to try and ease the pain I am in.
I’m a girl still. I think like an adult and I have some very adult problems to deal with but I’m still your little Monkey and I’m still a daddy’s girl. No matter how much he hurts me and makes me hate myself, he is the only person who has never made me feel useless. I painted a room today. He told me I’d have to stop if I stuffed it up but I didn’t and I knew I wouldn’t.
It’s because I run around in girl’s clothes. I own an amount of simple dresses that I would have thought ridiculous as a child. I even like them. There’s something about the movement that makes me feel carefree and swirly. Dresses make everything uncomplicated. They make me exactly who I am supposed to be.
I never thought I’d be the kind of girl who liked ‘teacake’ dresses. Do you remember that? All those fluffy and floaty dresses that have a never ending train of tulle and are doused in lace? I’m actually wearing one of those now. I appreciate the way it makes me look. I feel beautiful so I am. I feel like the woman you will never see me grow into.
Whenever I think about all the dresses you’ll never see me wear, it physically hurts. You never saw me at Graduation or in my high school uniform and you never will. You missed out on the dress that I never wore to your husband’s second wedding. You won’t see my formal dress or my Debutante dress, even though I’m leaving that for next year so Ben can take me.
God, you’ll never meet Ben. He is the most gorgeous and pain-numbing person I have ever been fortunate enough to meet. He is odd and persecuted but we have the real love of the two halves of a soul, each finding themselves in the eyes of the other. I love him so much and I will never forget how he has been my greatest friend.
My wedding dress will be yours but you will never see me wear it. You’ll never watch as I walk towards the person I will promise my life to. When I wear a hospital gown for the first time to bring your grandchild into the world, you will never see it. Every dress that I have worn since you left, you have never seen and never will.
I would give almost anything for you to be here, to see how gorgeous I am right now so I can stop trying to make up for what you miss. I would give you everything that I am to see me in this dress. It means so much to me that you will never know that I have become a woman-child waiting for a Prince Charming or someone to take me away to your home so that you will no longer miss out on who I am and the dresses I will be wearing.
It hurts to love you
Amy.
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