Hey guys, I have a newblog specifically for my poems. Here’s the link, please go check it out! http://paperemotions.wordpress.com/
Woops. It’s been such a long time since I’ve posted on here. I suppose that’s because of the up-coming pressure of exams. I’ve had next to no time to relax or have some time to myself. It’s just been revise, revise, revise. In the next week I have 4 exams and it’s been so stressful trying to find time to revise for all four subjects. It’s been taking me a while to realize that i do actually need to eat. Add that to the pressure of being a prefect and having duties at lunchtime at the same time as having revision sessions, well it’s no surprise that I’ve had hardly any time for the computer. I just hope all this revision has been enough.
My best friend, if asked to describe herself, will say that she is a dancer. Not that she is blonde or loud or funny. No, she is first and foremost a dancer. She says that dance is a passion which takes over your body and you can’t help yourself, but when the music starts playing you start to dance. After hearing her say this a dozen times over I began to wonder whether it was true. And even after hearing countless others in her dance group say the same, I still wondered.
To be perfectly honest, I myself love to dance. Personally, when i’m at home I think of myself as a dance goddess. But when I am dancing in front of others, even if it is just my best friend, I suddenly gain two left feet and my limbs poke out at awkward places and my hands look like squashed spiders and god-knows what the hell is going on with my facial expression. In simpler terms, I make a right fool of myself.
But in secret, I adore dancing. It just makes you feel so darned good. I am often shimmying around my flat when I know no one is looking. But I could never ever get up in front of an audience and perform. So how on earth can my best friend?
I am often in control of the light and sound system when my best friend and her dance group are putting on a performance. And of course during that time I get the chance to watch them. And they are good and they clearly enjoy what they do. And i realized why they perform. If you love doing something so much and look good while you’re doing it, why shouldn’t you flaunt it?
I became obsessed with the shapes a dancer makes with their body when they dance and how beautiful the human body can become when filled with so much passion. And I was itching to test it out with my new camera. Dancing makes for good photography, I realized. And if I can’t dance, I can take pictures. And this is how I, a non-dancer, see the beauty in dance.
We defy Death
Because as humans
there are so many ways
we could meet our demise.
And if i could defy him enough
i will live long enough
for him to laugh at my jokes
and when i meet him
he will high five me for my wit
and guide me through the veil
as old friends.
And there will be a stage
and a microphone.
Death will clap his bony hands
and i will be at peace.
Shit happens. In life, it is the only thing that is certain, other than death. Depressing? Tell me about it. I can guarentee that everyone has had some sort of crap go on in their life and if you say no, then we evidently know whose pants are on fire. Sometimes, the amount of shit thats been dumped on you is so great that you’re drowning in it, choking, losing breath. Yeah, I’ve been there.
We all need an emotional outlet. Mine is music. I put it on, raise the volume, sing and dance and wail to my hearts content. And I feel better for it, because with every word I sing its like I’m emptying all the shit out into the air. But that’s my outlet. Everyone has something different.
I can’t say I’ve ever self-harmed. I haven’t and I don’t think I could. It sounds weird but I think it takes a sort of courage to self harm. I couldn’t willingly carve a line into my flesh with something sharp, for I know it’s going to hurt and I’m afraid of that. I also can’t say that I understand everything about those who self harm. But I can say something. I can say I won’t judge.
I know people who’ve self harmed. And from what they tell me, the pain is a release from … everything. That they feel hurt, scared, afraid, lonely, angry, betrayed and it’s all building and building and it’s hitting a dam and it can’t get out and it’s fighting for freedom and it’s choking you and you can’t breath and then….. relief. Oh, I’ve been down. I’ve been so depressed that I couldn’t lift a leg out of bed, for all the emotional baggage weighing me down. But I haven’t been that far gone.
And I can understand why some people do judge. Because, it’s unhealthy isn’t it? Because it can have dire consequences. Because it’s scary walking in on your best friend covered in blood. I’m not going to turn around and say to someone, ‘Oh you’re depressed? I know a way to deal with that, here’s a knife.’ I don’t think it should be encouraged, because sometimes you can go a step too far.
But I know that if I see someone with scars on their wrists, I do not have the right to judge them. There is a heart breaking story behind every line. And I wasn’t there inside their head through every moment of their life, watching their decisions and knowing their reasons and watching them cause harm to themselves. I WASN’T THERE. So, how can I look at them and judge? Well, I don’t know their story. Hell, sometimes I don’t even know my own. And as I said earlier, self-harm takes courage. Do I have that courage? Hell, no. So they can wear their badge of honour, they can bravely show it to those who will listen to their story.They’ve survived. They should be proud.
And I will stand back. I will watch. I will listen. I’ll tell them to stay strong and keep fighting. And I won’t judge.
The most awful realization, is knowing that after reading the novel you have been working on for the past 2 years, you want to completely rewrite it from a whole new perspective.
Commence, heart falling out of your stomach…
I’m in that ‘fuck the world’ mood today. Sorry for my pessimistic attitude.
Intuition hits again…
“I hate Diderot; he is an ideologist, a declaimer, and a revolutionist, a believer in God at bottom, and more bigoted than Voltaire. Voltaire made sport of Needham, and he was wrong, for Needham’s eels prove that God is useless. A drop of vinegar in a spoonful of flour paste supplies the fiat lux. Suppose the drop to be larger and the spoonful bigger; you have the world. Man is the eel. Then what is the good of the Eternal Father? The Jehovah hypothesis tires me, Bishop. It is good for nothing but to produce shallow people, whose reasoning is hollow. Down with that great All, which torments me! Hurrah for Zero which leaves me in peace! Between you and me, and in order to empty my sack, and make confession to my pastor, as it behooves me to do, I will admit to you that I have good sense. I am not enthusiastic over your Jesus, who preaches renunciation and sacrifice to the last extremity. ‘Tis the counsel of an avaricious man to beggars. Renunciation; why? Sacrifice; to what end? I do not see one wolf immolating himself for the happiness of another wolf. Let us stick to nature, then. We are at the top; let us have a superior philosophy. What is the advantage of being at the top, if one sees no further than the end of other people’s noses? Let us live merrily. Life is all. That man has another future elsewhere, on high, below, anywhere, I don’t believe; not one single word of it. Ah! sacrifice and renunciation are recommended to me; I must take heed to everything I do; I must cudgel my brains over good and evil, over the just and the unjust, over the fas and the nefas. Why? Because I shall have to render an account of my actions. When? After death. What a fine dream! After my death it will be a very clever person who can catch me. Have a handful of dust seized by a shadow-hand, if you can. Let us tell the truth, we who are initiated, and who have raised the veil of Isis: there is no such thing as either good or evil; there is vegetation. Let us seek the real. Let us get to the bottom of it. Let us go into it thoroughly. What the deuce! let us go to the bottom of it! We must scent out the truth; dig in the earth for it, and seize it. Then it gives you exquisite joys. Then you grow strong, and you laugh. I am square on the bottom, I am. Immortality, Bishop, is a chance, a waiting for dead men’s shoes. Ah! what a charming promise! trust to it, if you like! What a fine lot Adam has! We are souls, and we shall be angels, with blue wings on our shoulder-blades. Do come to my assistance: is it not Tertullian who says that the blessed shall travel from star to star? Very well. We shall be the grasshoppers of the stars. And then, besides, we shall see God. Ta, ta, ta! What twaddle all these paradises are! God is a nonsensical monster. I would not say that in the Moniteur, egad! but I may whisper it among friends. Inter pocula. To sacrifice the world to paradise is to let slip the prey for the shadow. Be the dupe of the infinite! I’m not such a fool. I am a nought. I call myself Monsieur le Comte Nought, senator. Did I exist before my birth? No. Shall I exist after death? No. What am I? A little dust collected in an organism. What am I to do on this earth? The choice rests with me: suffer or enjoy. Whither will suffering lead me? To nothingness; but I shall have suffered. Whither will enjoyment lead me? To nothingness; but I shall have enjoyed myself. My choice is made. One must eat or be eaten. I shall eat. It is better to be the tooth than the grass. Such is my wisdom. After which, go whither I push thee, the grave-digger is there; the Pantheon for some of us: all falls into the great hole. End. Finis. Total liquidation. This is the vanishing-point. Death is death, believe me. I laugh at the idea of there being any one who has anything to tell me on that subject. Fables of nurses; bugaboo for children; Jehovah for men. No; our to-morrow is the night. Beyond the tomb there is nothing but equal nothingness. You have been Sardanapalus, you have been Vincent de Paul–it makes no difference. That is the truth. Then live your life, above all things. Make use of your I while you have it. In truth, Bishop, I tell you that I have a philosophy of my own, and I have my philosophers. I don’t let myself be taken in with that nonsense. Of course, there must be something for those who are down,–for the barefooted beggars, knife-grinders, and miserable wretches. Legends, chimeras, the soul, immortality, paradise, the stars, are provided for them to swallow. They gobble it down. They spread it on their dry bread. He who has nothing else has the good. God. That is the least he can have. I oppose no objection to that; but I reserve Monsieur Naigeon for myself. The good God is good for the populace.”
Here’s another poem for you all.
I see myself reflected in you
i cringe away
And yet you still pursue
Ruining my seemingly perfect day
Every line on my face
You seem to go over In black marker pen
I run, you give chase
Adding an extra pound or ten
Stuck in this never ending war
Trying to hide my scars
My complexion to you is poor
My cheeks are marred
My hair flying in my face
Does it look styled to you?
Coz i know you aint afraid to say the truth
Compliments from you are few
I tell myself you’re honest
Believe what you show me
I aint ever gonna be a goddess
But now i know i aint ever been ugly
So tell me camera
What lies do you wish to show me today?
On your metallic body
You’ve hurt me too much
Telling me i look shoddy
Screaming, shouting, i cuss
Now i know your game
I’m not a model, i’m not like them
But i dont want to be the same
So show me camera, something beautiful today,
Something that isnt fake,
Show me my understanding face.