Yet moar Connies and handbags and hormones and inspiration and things
-This surreal-as-fuck and slashy and Freudian and Veidtlusting fangirl review of The Student of Prague from 1927 makes me feel normal. What in the fuck was she smoking? Although it's entertaining in all its crazy. Speaking of which, the entire movie is up here in case you haven't seen it yet, and it really is fucking awesome. I'm not just saying that because Connie's in it, either; it's one of the last great silent German horrors. Now if only there was a decent restoration of it about. *sigh*
-The lady at the till at the railway station randomly complimented me on my handbag on Saturday. The very one cavefelem got for me--thank you :D It seems everything I've ever found when going to Tampere fleamarkets with her gets me random compliments. o_O Must visit again *soon*...
-Apart from that, I got nothin'. Everything I'd want to post about would be either whiny or ranty or something, and it's not like the above stuff is of earth-shattering importance to anyone except myself. I'm nearly recovered from a combo of a stupid virus and the bloodbath (oh joy) and I'm a bit miffed about that as it means I haven't been able to do yoga for two weeks and that being so blurg from the fever and the painkillers means I wasted my best week re: inspirashuns when it comes to writing. I don't mean I can't write when I'm not hormonal, but the prostaglandin (otherwise one of the shittiest hormones the human body possesses) really, really, really makes a difference. It gives pain (it's literally the hormone that transmits pain in the body) and emos but it also does some magical stuff to my brain's language centres and somehow I am bursting with poems and beautiful visions and when I visualise something in my head when meditating or wanking, I see it in extreme HD detail and it's mindblowing. How do I know it's the prostaglandin? I had to take a horse dose of it in the form of an abortion pill for a miscarriage that didn't miscarry, and as soon as I'd dragged myself out of bed from the pain that had literally nearly killed me from internal bleeding, I wrote and wrote and wrote like I was fucking possessed. It's never the same during other parts of the month, and I'm glad that at least *something* good comes out of the otherwise horrible experience that's PMS. But yeah, now it sucks that I couldn't use all of that hormonal cocktail for writing, like I'd been planning to. I wanted to write today and had some ideas, but I've had a horribly upset stomach and crazy heartburn and stabbing pains in my guts all day and that hasn't really been conducive to writing. A result of all the painkillers I had to homph, methinks, but anyway.
-Aaaand it seems that YouTube link up there led me to a far better copy of the silent Wilhelm Tell movie I only had a really ropey version of, and... and there's evil medieval Connie with a whip. (As Gessler; who else?) Shit. I never watched it through because it was in such poor condition and didn't look all that great anyway, but... damn.
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, OKAY. SO FUCKING WATCHING THIS.
My boyfriend, everybody.
-The lady at the till at the railway station randomly complimented me on my handbag on Saturday. The very one cavefelem got for me--thank you :D It seems everything I've ever found when going to Tampere fleamarkets with her gets me random compliments. o_O Must visit again *soon*...
-Apart from that, I got nothin'. Everything I'd want to post about would be either whiny or ranty or something, and it's not like the above stuff is of earth-shattering importance to anyone except myself. I'm nearly recovered from a combo of a stupid virus and the bloodbath (oh joy) and I'm a bit miffed about that as it means I haven't been able to do yoga for two weeks and that being so blurg from the fever and the painkillers means I wasted my best week re: inspirashuns when it comes to writing. I don't mean I can't write when I'm not hormonal, but the prostaglandin (otherwise one of the shittiest hormones the human body possesses) really, really, really makes a difference. It gives pain (it's literally the hormone that transmits pain in the body) and emos but it also does some magical stuff to my brain's language centres and somehow I am bursting with poems and beautiful visions and when I visualise something in my head when meditating or wanking, I see it in extreme HD detail and it's mindblowing. How do I know it's the prostaglandin? I had to take a horse dose of it in the form of an abortion pill for a miscarriage that didn't miscarry, and as soon as I'd dragged myself out of bed from the pain that had literally nearly killed me from internal bleeding, I wrote and wrote and wrote like I was fucking possessed. It's never the same during other parts of the month, and I'm glad that at least *something* good comes out of the otherwise horrible experience that's PMS. But yeah, now it sucks that I couldn't use all of that hormonal cocktail for writing, like I'd been planning to. I wanted to write today and had some ideas, but I've had a horribly upset stomach and crazy heartburn and stabbing pains in my guts all day and that hasn't really been conducive to writing. A result of all the painkillers I had to homph, methinks, but anyway.
-Aaaand it seems that YouTube link up there led me to a far better copy of the silent Wilhelm Tell movie I only had a really ropey version of, and... and there's evil medieval Connie with a whip. (As Gessler; who else?) Shit. I never watched it through because it was in such poor condition and didn't look all that great anyway, but... damn.
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, OKAY. SO FUCKING WATCHING THIS.
My boyfriend, everybody.