This is a blog several days in the making. There is so much more rage and sadness inside and I could go for days without dying but it is consuming to feel this way. I am grateful that Wayne and Rachel have offered me their couch, then Amber has offered her brother's room, then the ski camp and Ben's spare room. How much longer?
On days like today, there is a rage that builds up inside you when everything seems to be wrong. People are rewarded when they have digressed or done something that is right in basics but wrong when aligned to standard. The fire burns behind your eyes, making them itch and burn until you break. You turn on an innocent pen which would not write and suddenly there are two pieces of sharp blue plastic flying towards the dresser, all your vehemence and depression expressed in the violent arc. The motion ceases with a clear and crisp collision, all your anger suddenly gone and your eyes itching to cry.
So you do but you want to stop and you know that you can’t. All you want is to be somewhere else. In her arms being rocked to sleep like the last five years never happened. You said a prayer for her whilst you were out today but you couldn’t cry then. There were strangers watching. You waited until this moment, hidden away in your mind and under your blankets, when everything hit you and you wanted to scream from the pain. You can’t scream though. On the other side of those doors is your life and no matter how much you hurt, you cannot let them come in to console you. They do such a poor job of it.
What you want to do is stop crying and stop being angry. You want to go sit in another bedroom and ask your father if he’s here long and if he’ll change things for you. You want privacy and a room where you can hurt all day if you want. You want Sarah to leave. You want all those people who are not family to go away for the night because this is your mother’s birthday and they don’t belong here. Not now. They don’t belong in your grief. You want to go back into that bedroom and curl back up on the bed, wishing you’d done better at the competitions today so you’d feel like you were worthy of an opinion and feelings. You would not yell at your father but you would show him that you are crying and tell him that you want him to fix it.
You can’t even go to her grave tonight. He lost his licence so you have the burden of deciding whether he risks it. It is too much of a burden for you. You are already so far under. Those waves that everyone listens to as they sleep rise far higher than anyone would imagine. You are so sure of being crushed by the weight of the water before you drown. What will it be: death by punctured lung or death by asphyxiation?
You were going to see a play this night but you knew you would be tired from your morning. You regret it but it doesn’t matter. You can always go see a different one. You always do. What frustrates you is that there is so little to do now. All day, it was your mother’s birthday and that was no problem. It caused no drama. You were busy but you paused to take moments for her when you could. You even crossed yourself with the pentagram and prayed. You were not religious. There were no folded palms or fervently closed eyes. You were just praying. Maybe even just talking, having one of those one-sided conversations you are so good at. Now it looks to you like the night will be endless, dragging on and stealing your hopes of sleep. This isn’t just because you have awful room mates who ruin things for you. You are hurting tonight and it has been a long time since you could hurt like this. Eventually you might cry yourself to sleep but it will be a long night.
Some nights you curl up and would rather die before going to sleep but right now that ache in your heart is a nothing that ties you down. No one can die with such a hole in their heart. You cannot die in love. That is why there are failures to attest, a white and a red bracelet to tell you never to be so weak. Tonight you are that weakness that you swore never to be but the ache in your heart keeps you alive. No one who loves may die. Your mother died but there was no love in that death. It was metal and branches. You were angry and violent inside but you loved. It was love for what you used to have that caused it and love for your little family, the ones who have all abandoned you since, that brought you home.
You don’t know who to turn to. Who else has lost someone like you have? More importantly, who can you ask about it? There are bridges which still smoulder and you wish that you could raise them from their ashes but “It’s Complicated”. You are so confused and your head pounds all the time. The effort of seeing straight, of first thoughts and second sights nearly kills you. The throbbing of your skull cripples you. This is the life you have to look forward to. You are never satisfied but it cannot change.
So you become that person in the cemetery at night. You’re the one who opens the gates when it’s dark because you’re at a public cemetery. The public should feel comfortable coming in. I digress. The gates are open and the headlights are bright behind your back. You don’t recognise where you are but it is ok because you know what to look for. The dusty red pot stands out, stark-white under the moon. You talk to your dead mother under the ground because it is her birthday. You’re crying again and you still can’t stop but it is better now that your eyes no longer itch and burn.
All you took were daffodils. You couldn’t find carnations even though you knew they were her favourite flowers. So you took her Cancer Council Daffodils. Your mother was forever supporting the devastating and surely lost cases. She would rather die than refuse someone help. This taught you to value others but it also made you a young woman who does not want to spread her love thin. You are an extrovert by nature and you love people but you are no longer the social butterfly you once were. You love to avoid people but quickly adapt when you are forced into the presence of others. You could never be shy.
Every day you want to claim your home back but you know you can’t. Everyone is equal here but some people are more equal than others. Even you know that. You actually found the courage to speak up to your father but it was of no use. He didn’t see the point you were making and took something entirely different away. Even when he listens to you, he doesn’t hear what you tell him. It will always be one more thing you struggle to forgive him for.
24 August, 2010
20 August, 2010
Merry Meet
Merry may we meet
Merry may we part
Merry may we meet again
Merry Meet
Merry Part
Merry Meet Again
Merry Meet
That is all.
Merry may we part
Merry may we meet again
Merry Meet
Merry Part
Merry Meet Again
Merry Meet
That is all.
06 August, 2010
August 21
It's Mum's birthday soon. God, sometimes everything just starts rushing at me and I don't notice.
We went past the accident site on the way to Lake Mountain for Outdoor Ed (skiing) and Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) came on the radio. Then Bacon was talking about car accidents and how people have their necks crushed so I vomited outside my classroom. Oh, then there's a lack of sleep on top of that. Fuck, everything just keeps coming to beat me down.
They're waves with no break, just a massive trough that I can walk along before being crushed by the crest.
Dialogue With The Depression
Hell-o Amy. How have you
Been; Devastated. Perhaps
You should begin; It is not
Too hard to smile, I’m sure;
But you aren’t me so how
Would you know; I am your
Depression. Don’t forget
That; How could I? You follow
Me everywhere and I always
See you; Remember to be
Polite when we meet; I always
Am and greet you. Good
Evening, good afternoon; I
Know you don’t like me; Of
Course I don’t! My life is
HELL and I owe that to you;
At least I am thanked; It is
NOT a compliment; Say what
You mean; I want to cry; See
I understand you much more
Now I know what you want;
Are you sarcastic; Never
But I am sardonic; You know
They are the same, you
Infuriating imbecile; I love so
Much to hurt you; I can tell,
You watch me bleed out; Still
I am ever polite about it. It is
Why you must show the same
Courtesy; ‘Inside I am bleeding.
Sir, Good evening, good afternoon.’
; Always.
We went past the accident site on the way to Lake Mountain for Outdoor Ed (skiing) and Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) came on the radio. Then Bacon was talking about car accidents and how people have their necks crushed so I vomited outside my classroom. Oh, then there's a lack of sleep on top of that. Fuck, everything just keeps coming to beat me down.
They're waves with no break, just a massive trough that I can walk along before being crushed by the crest.
Dialogue With The Depression
Hell-o Amy. How have you
Been; Devastated. Perhaps
You should begin; It is not
Too hard to smile, I’m sure;
But you aren’t me so how
Would you know; I am your
Depression. Don’t forget
That; How could I? You follow
Me everywhere and I always
See you; Remember to be
Polite when we meet; I always
Am and greet you. Good
Evening, good afternoon; I
Know you don’t like me; Of
Course I don’t! My life is
HELL and I owe that to you;
At least I am thanked; It is
NOT a compliment; Say what
You mean; I want to cry; See
I understand you much more
Now I know what you want;
Are you sarcastic; Never
But I am sardonic; You know
They are the same, you
Infuriating imbecile; I love so
Much to hurt you; I can tell,
You watch me bleed out; Still
I am ever polite about it. It is
Why you must show the same
Courtesy; ‘Inside I am bleeding.
Sir, Good evening, good afternoon.’
; Always.
23 July, 2010
Damnation!
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.
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.
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.
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