Screw you, relativity, and bollocks to you perspective.
Oh look, it’s that can of worms again.
I’ve been told I’m scared. I’ve been told I’m brave.
I’ve been told I’m dependent, co-dependent, and independent.
I’ve been told that I’m amazing, and also that I’m not all that much.
I’ve been told I’m doing brilliantly given the circumstances and also been asked what the hell I think I’m doing with my life.
I’m apparently both a wonder and a neurotic wreck.
I’ve been called plain, I’ve been called beautiful; I’ve been called intelligent, mad, stupid, and a second rate middle class intellectual.
...My point really is that I’ve been called a lot of things; people have opinions about me and they express them. Sometimes they tally, sometimes they contradict. Always I find them interesting. Why? Well, even if you think Hamlet is a play about raspberry jam I’ll want to know *how* the fuck you came to that conclusion and if I can see any fragment of truth in the argument.
I know that I have a very informed opinion of my character.
But I also know, as with any opinion, it’s kinda bias.
It’ll have an amount of truth, it’ll be valid... but it won’t be the whole entire *absolute* truth. Because absolute truths are tricky things and notoriously difficult where people are concerned. I suppose I’m like someone in FlatLand desperately seeking the third dimension: I feel it’s there but no matter how I twist and peer and hop about I can’t see it. Oh, or like those bloody Magic Eye pictures that were in vogue in the ‘90s; staring at squiggle trying to see the fractal tall-mast-invisi-ship or whateverthefuck.
And let's not even get into how I view my past experiences and how anyone else views them; that's an irredeemable tangle of 'Well, whatever, that's the conclusion I came too that seemed sensible at the time, I don't bloody know. Anyhow you weren't there, t'feh!'
*Shrug* Fuckkit.
Do I have a point? Not really. Other than the difference between appearances, opinions and reality is a huge game of Chinese Whispers... And I like to remind the world (and my own neurons) that ‘send three and four pence, we’re going to a dance’ might actually mean ‘send reinforcements, we’re going to advance’... or vice versa.
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Yesterday was gallivanting with the eternally lovely Rain; coffee, cocktails, tarot, makeup, stories and conversation. Oh, and priceless phrases like, "I want to reconnect with the wombats of my childhood." La! Not to mention the Russian males she has freaked out by recounting how I'm a witch and can make boys impotent. Heeheehee. Also her being endlessly amused and surprised by my current situation - which was rather meekle. (I mean, I like that people are nonchalant and 'oh, cool', but it's extra fun to have 'my goodness! that's remarkable! eeee!' thrown into the mix as well =)
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In Carnaby Street there's a shop with mice in eggshells, butterflies in alarm clocks, Cyclopean chicks in glass cases, very small eyes in old police whistles, and (best best best of all) an antique sovereign purse with a false eyeball in it. Heeeeee! It's apparently an exhibition opening in a day or two in Kinsley Court - it's mental - there a KKK little red riding hood and lots of weird dodgy victorian momento-mori stuff. If you're near Oxford St, goo lookit!
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Lastly - dressings on burns make them green and smell and then salt makes them hurt like oh dear bloody fuck do not ever play that game again ow. Just, y'know, for future reference. *sigh*
I’ve been told I’m scared. I’ve been told I’m brave.
I’ve been told I’m dependent, co-dependent, and independent.
I’ve been told that I’m amazing, and also that I’m not all that much.
I’ve been told I’m doing brilliantly given the circumstances and also been asked what the hell I think I’m doing with my life.
I’m apparently both a wonder and a neurotic wreck.
I’ve been called plain, I’ve been called beautiful; I’ve been called intelligent, mad, stupid, and a second rate middle class intellectual.
...My point really is that I’ve been called a lot of things; people have opinions about me and they express them. Sometimes they tally, sometimes they contradict. Always I find them interesting. Why? Well, even if you think Hamlet is a play about raspberry jam I’ll want to know *how* the fuck you came to that conclusion and if I can see any fragment of truth in the argument.
I know that I have a very informed opinion of my character.
But I also know, as with any opinion, it’s kinda bias.
It’ll have an amount of truth, it’ll be valid... but it won’t be the whole entire *absolute* truth. Because absolute truths are tricky things and notoriously difficult where people are concerned. I suppose I’m like someone in FlatLand desperately seeking the third dimension: I feel it’s there but no matter how I twist and peer and hop about I can’t see it. Oh, or like those bloody Magic Eye pictures that were in vogue in the ‘90s; staring at squiggle trying to see the fractal tall-mast-invisi-ship or whateverthefuck.
And let's not even get into how I view my past experiences and how anyone else views them; that's an irredeemable tangle of 'Well, whatever, that's the conclusion I came too that seemed sensible at the time, I don't bloody know. Anyhow you weren't there, t'feh!'
*Shrug* Fuckkit.
Do I have a point? Not really. Other than the difference between appearances, opinions and reality is a huge game of Chinese Whispers... And I like to remind the world (and my own neurons) that ‘send three and four pence, we’re going to a dance’ might actually mean ‘send reinforcements, we’re going to advance’... or vice versa.
======
Yesterday was gallivanting with the eternally lovely Rain; coffee, cocktails, tarot, makeup, stories and conversation. Oh, and priceless phrases like, "I want to reconnect with the wombats of my childhood." La! Not to mention the Russian males she has freaked out by recounting how I'm a witch and can make boys impotent. Heeheehee. Also her being endlessly amused and surprised by my current situation - which was rather meekle. (I mean, I like that people are nonchalant and 'oh, cool', but it's extra fun to have 'my goodness! that's remarkable! eeee!' thrown into the mix as well =)
=====
In Carnaby Street there's a shop with mice in eggshells, butterflies in alarm clocks, Cyclopean chicks in glass cases, very small eyes in old police whistles, and (best best best of all) an antique sovereign purse with a false eyeball in it. Heeeeee! It's apparently an exhibition opening in a day or two in Kinsley Court - it's mental - there a KKK little red riding hood and lots of weird dodgy victorian momento-mori stuff. If you're near Oxford St, goo lookit!
=====
Lastly - dressings on burns make them green and smell and then salt makes them hurt like oh dear bloody fuck do not ever play that game again ow. Just, y'know, for future reference. *sigh*