counting at war (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kerpingtack) wrote2011-05-23 01:21 am
kerpingtack) wrote2011-05-23 01:21 am
Entry tags:
hodging my bots
Um this is originally from this entry; I've excised everything under the cut tag into a separate post. Because umm I'm fucking crazy. I just don't like having this huge useless block of text attached to an entry that has a lot of comments? Whatever, I do what I want~
Segue into how I'm suiciding my grades into the ground AGAIN. Wowwww what is wrong with me! Could it be... that I am just a dumbfuck? Honestly stupid? A terrible person who cannot get her shit together and cannot learn anything to save her goddamn life?
All these old feelings are just raging around inside me all the time lately. It's very draining. I still don't know how one feeds into the other, but I'm also feeling really down about how I look. I wish I could stop fixating on it. Swinging back and forth from thinking I'm okay and thinking I'm really really ugly and wrong-looking and unattractive. I think I look very unapproachable in real life for whatever reason. I don't think it's ACTUALLY because I'm physically repellent but sometimes it really feels that way. [insert hopeless whining here] Ughh these middle high school insecurities. I'm twenty two now!
Okay that was all dramatic depressive exaggeration. I'm not HOPELESS. If I could stop being such a child and a failure and learn how to put on makeup, that would help. And if I really and truly thought I looked unfit for public consumption I wouldn't have linked them. So uh get over yourself, self, and shut the fuck up. Okay.
End of the quarter and graduation ceremony is coming up. Not that it means anything or will bring any sense of closure; I'm in school non-stop until September. [insert miserable self-indulgent hatred here]
Jesus christ I can't believe I'm still writing entries like this. Seriously a poison in the body. It'll never go away. This is really the reason why escapism is so important to me. I need to be irrelevant to myself, because the way I feel about who I am is so fucking totalizing, I just can't fucking do anything without being reminded that I'm me, that I'll always be me.
Okay~ cool~ moving on~
I was listening to a bunch of Sailormoon songs the other day. Ah nostalgia. I completely forgot that there was a time where I was REALLY into Haruka/Michiru and I would read fics about them all day and hunt down ~Moon Kingdom AUs like my life depended on it. I ~vividly recall this mermaid/sailor AU that had a really explicit sex scene and I was reading it all o__o. I must've been 13 then. It's strange when you suddenly find a pocket of memory like that. I just COMPLETELY forgot that I shipped the fuck out of them. And I didn't even connect it to homosexuality at all, I was just like ~they are meant to be~ . It was only when I started reading slash that I was like o wait wat am I doing again? I wonder what that's about.
The only productive things I've done this weeked are meme-related. Si-hi-highhh. I also have to get my bookmarks in order, it's impossible to find anything. Putting together rec lists took too long.
I really love songs: ohia's Hold On Magnolia. "No one has to be that strong, but if you're stubborn like me, I know what you're trying to be." Oh Jason Molina's unibrow, why do you gotta do these things to me.
Unique opinion: I hate being on my period. It's so unfair. What did I do to deserve this every month? It feels like someone's punched a baby into my back. Like my... back is pregnant? Ew what. Ugh my fucking spine why why why.
It is taking me forever to comment on this fic. Why am I so bad at everything!! ugh no, moving on.
Lots of nostalgia lately. Remembering two years ago, my last spring quarter through that awful summer when I felt like I was in a car crash in slow motion all the time. I was fucking nuts, I copied James Richardson's entire Vector book in a word document. What the hale. I'm reading through them now and it's putting me back in that mindset. Depressing melancholy fucker. Of course I first read this shit during my junior/senior year of high school which were also not good times for me. I guess this has bad associations for me in general. I've been thinking about writing a lot these days. Sadly enough I'm still really stuck on the idea of ~being a good writer~ as something like redemptive or fulfilling. I cannot believe I haven't yet accepted that it is just not going to happen. So these ones still made me feel yearnful:
6.
Our avocations bring us the purest joys. Praise my salads or my softball, and I am deified for a day. But tell me I am a great teacher or a great writer and you force me to tell myself the truth.
25.
Why would we write if we'd already heard what we wanted to hear?
27.
The viruses that co-opt the machinery of our cells; the stories we allow to enter and explain us.
45.
I have to start over and over on the loves and books that most possess me, so fine the difference is between knowing and not knowing them.
92.
All but the most durable books serve us simply by opening a window on all we wanted to say and feel and think about. We may not even notice that they have not said it themselves till we go back to them years later and do not find what we loved in them. You cannot keep the view by taking the window with you.
238.
Music is the highest art, no question. But literature is a friendlier one. It depends on us more, bores us more quickly, can't go on if we don't, can't stop saying what It means, can't stop giving us something to forgive.
249.
Writing is like washing windows in the sun. With every attempt to perfect clarity you make a new smear.
And these old favorites:
4.
Despair says, I cannot lift that weight. Happiness says, I do not have to.
9.
Desire's most seductive promise is not pleasure but change, not that you might possess your object but that you might become the one who belongs with it.
10.
I say nothing works any more, but I get up and it's tomorrow.
26.
It is by now proverbial that every proverb has its opposite. For every Time is money there is a Stop and smell the roses. When someone says You never stand in the same river twice some one else has already replied There is nothing new under the sun. In the mind's arithmetic, 1 plus -1 equals 2. Truths are not quantities but scripts: Become for a moment the mind in which this is true.
31.
Never treat the sadness of a friend as an accusation, though it is.
34.
Where I touch you lightly enough, there I am also touched.
55.
Easier to keep changing your life than to live it.
57.
It's not that reason kills faith; reason is the lesser faith that steers us when we have already lost a greater one.
61.
Even to say I believe nothing, how much you have to believe.
66.
I surely don't understand most things as well as I think I do, since I don't understand why people bother to say them.
91.
What I'm not changes more than what I am.
106.
The wound hurts less than your desire to wound me.
235.
My troubles are tedious even to me, and require no sympathy. I told them only so I wouldn't be wanting to tell them.
243.
I believe in nothing. But I'd prefer that you did not agree with me.
248.
Who breaks the thread, the one who pulls, the one who holds on?
254.
Idolaters of the great need to believe that what they love cannot fail them; adorers of camp, kitsch, trash that they cannot fail what they love.
261.
Turn on the light and you will see, but it will not be darkness that you see.
262.
Competition and sympathy are joined at the root, as may be seen in the game My grief is greater than yours, which no one can keep himself from playing.
263.
How fix the unhappy couple, when it was happiness they loved in each other?
264.
After a while of losing you, I become the one who has lost you. Did the pain change me, or did I change to lessen the pain?
265.
Experience tends to immunize against experience, which is why the most experienced are not the wisest.
269.
What is most remarkable about dreams is not their bizarreness but how rarely we experience them as bizarre. They must contribute silently to our faith that we could live through anything.
271.
While I am laughing at you, asshole, I do not hate you very much. But I am not doing you any favors. My hate, after all, happens to me.
312.
I could explain, but then you would understand my explanation, not what I said.
333.
Life speaks so slowly that I cannot hear, but I wake one morning and understand something it seems no one has told me.
336.
Pleasure is for you. Joy is for itself.
358.
I have so much trouble choosing that I wish restaurants would ask me for a list of things I absolutely will not eat, and then select a dish at random from the rest. In that case, I would only have to figure out how it was good in itself, and not why I again failed to know what would make me happiest.
360.
When my friend does something stupid, he is just my friend doing something stupid. When I do something stupid, I have deeply betrayed myself.
362.
Embarrassment and guilt console us. They imply we have a purer self that we have somehow betrayed. Regret, too, is a disguise of hope, convincing us that things could have gone better, and therefore that they may.
407.
When I re-married, I started remembering things – the smell of yarrow, words of my father – I hadn't thought of in years, as if they had suddenly become necessary to the new self that was organizing. The mind is like a well-endowed museum, only a small fraction of its holdings on view at any one time, and this is true from hour to hour as well as from era to era. I am different tones, capacities, intelligences, memories when I am phoning on business, walking by the canal, or waiting with that finely tensed blankness for a line to write itself. For the most part, there is nothing romantic about the unconscious. It starts as the sentence we did not say, the love we did not use. It is substantial or insubstantial as the shadow of a house, in which some things will grow, some not. Which moves as the sun moves.
499.
To feel an end is to discover that there had been a beginning. A parenthesis closes that we hadn't realized was open.)
Reading through my "where the fuck is the poetry file" document. I'm so sentimental. I love Rainer Maria Rilke.
Segue into how I'm suiciding my grades into the ground AGAIN. Wowwww what is wrong with me! Could it be... that I am just a dumbfuck? Honestly stupid? A terrible person who cannot get her shit together and cannot learn anything to save her goddamn life?
All these old feelings are just raging around inside me all the time lately. It's very draining. I still don't know how one feeds into the other, but I'm also feeling really down about how I look. I wish I could stop fixating on it. Swinging back and forth from thinking I'm okay and thinking I'm really really ugly and wrong-looking and unattractive. I think I look very unapproachable in real life for whatever reason. I don't think it's ACTUALLY because I'm physically repellent but sometimes it really feels that way. [insert hopeless whining here] Ughh these middle high school insecurities. I'm twenty two now!
Okay that was all dramatic depressive exaggeration. I'm not HOPELESS. If I could stop being such a child and a failure and learn how to put on makeup, that would help. And if I really and truly thought I looked unfit for public consumption I wouldn't have linked them. So uh get over yourself, self, and shut the fuck up. Okay.
End of the quarter and graduation ceremony is coming up. Not that it means anything or will bring any sense of closure; I'm in school non-stop until September. [insert miserable self-indulgent hatred here]
Jesus christ I can't believe I'm still writing entries like this. Seriously a poison in the body. It'll never go away. This is really the reason why escapism is so important to me. I need to be irrelevant to myself, because the way I feel about who I am is so fucking totalizing, I just can't fucking do anything without being reminded that I'm me, that I'll always be me.
Okay~ cool~ moving on~
I was listening to a bunch of Sailormoon songs the other day. Ah nostalgia. I completely forgot that there was a time where I was REALLY into Haruka/Michiru and I would read fics about them all day and hunt down ~Moon Kingdom AUs like my life depended on it. I ~vividly recall this mermaid/sailor AU that had a really explicit sex scene and I was reading it all o__o. I must've been 13 then. It's strange when you suddenly find a pocket of memory like that. I just COMPLETELY forgot that I shipped the fuck out of them. And I didn't even connect it to homosexuality at all, I was just like ~they are meant to be~ . It was only when I started reading slash that I was like o wait wat am I doing again? I wonder what that's about.
The only productive things I've done this weeked are meme-related. Si-hi-highhh. I also have to get my bookmarks in order, it's impossible to find anything. Putting together rec lists took too long.
I really love songs: ohia's Hold On Magnolia. "No one has to be that strong, but if you're stubborn like me, I know what you're trying to be." Oh Jason Molina's unibrow, why do you gotta do these things to me.
Unique opinion: I hate being on my period. It's so unfair. What did I do to deserve this every month? It feels like someone's punched a baby into my back. Like my... back is pregnant? Ew what. Ugh my fucking spine why why why.
It is taking me forever to comment on this fic. Why am I so bad at everything!! ugh no, moving on.
Lots of nostalgia lately. Remembering two years ago, my last spring quarter through that awful summer when I felt like I was in a car crash in slow motion all the time. I was fucking nuts, I copied James Richardson's entire Vector book in a word document. What the hale. I'm reading through them now and it's putting me back in that mindset. Depressing melancholy fucker. Of course I first read this shit during my junior/senior year of high school which were also not good times for me. I guess this has bad associations for me in general. I've been thinking about writing a lot these days. Sadly enough I'm still really stuck on the idea of ~being a good writer~ as something like redemptive or fulfilling. I cannot believe I haven't yet accepted that it is just not going to happen. So these ones still made me feel yearnful:
6.
Our avocations bring us the purest joys. Praise my salads or my softball, and I am deified for a day. But tell me I am a great teacher or a great writer and you force me to tell myself the truth.
25.
Why would we write if we'd already heard what we wanted to hear?
27.
The viruses that co-opt the machinery of our cells; the stories we allow to enter and explain us.
45.
I have to start over and over on the loves and books that most possess me, so fine the difference is between knowing and not knowing them.
92.
All but the most durable books serve us simply by opening a window on all we wanted to say and feel and think about. We may not even notice that they have not said it themselves till we go back to them years later and do not find what we loved in them. You cannot keep the view by taking the window with you.
238.
Music is the highest art, no question. But literature is a friendlier one. It depends on us more, bores us more quickly, can't go on if we don't, can't stop saying what It means, can't stop giving us something to forgive.
249.
Writing is like washing windows in the sun. With every attempt to perfect clarity you make a new smear.
4.
Despair says, I cannot lift that weight. Happiness says, I do not have to.
9.
Desire's most seductive promise is not pleasure but change, not that you might possess your object but that you might become the one who belongs with it.
10.
I say nothing works any more, but I get up and it's tomorrow.
26.
It is by now proverbial that every proverb has its opposite. For every Time is money there is a Stop and smell the roses. When someone says You never stand in the same river twice some one else has already replied There is nothing new under the sun. In the mind's arithmetic, 1 plus -1 equals 2. Truths are not quantities but scripts: Become for a moment the mind in which this is true.
31.
Never treat the sadness of a friend as an accusation, though it is.
34.
Where I touch you lightly enough, there I am also touched.
55.
Easier to keep changing your life than to live it.
57.
It's not that reason kills faith; reason is the lesser faith that steers us when we have already lost a greater one.
61.
Even to say I believe nothing, how much you have to believe.
66.
I surely don't understand most things as well as I think I do, since I don't understand why people bother to say them.
91.
What I'm not changes more than what I am.
106.
The wound hurts less than your desire to wound me.
235.
My troubles are tedious even to me, and require no sympathy. I told them only so I wouldn't be wanting to tell them.
243.
I believe in nothing. But I'd prefer that you did not agree with me.
248.
Who breaks the thread, the one who pulls, the one who holds on?
254.
Idolaters of the great need to believe that what they love cannot fail them; adorers of camp, kitsch, trash that they cannot fail what they love.
261.
Turn on the light and you will see, but it will not be darkness that you see.
262.
Competition and sympathy are joined at the root, as may be seen in the game My grief is greater than yours, which no one can keep himself from playing.
263.
How fix the unhappy couple, when it was happiness they loved in each other?
264.
After a while of losing you, I become the one who has lost you. Did the pain change me, or did I change to lessen the pain?
265.
Experience tends to immunize against experience, which is why the most experienced are not the wisest.
269.
What is most remarkable about dreams is not their bizarreness but how rarely we experience them as bizarre. They must contribute silently to our faith that we could live through anything.
271.
While I am laughing at you, asshole, I do not hate you very much. But I am not doing you any favors. My hate, after all, happens to me.
312.
I could explain, but then you would understand my explanation, not what I said.
333.
Life speaks so slowly that I cannot hear, but I wake one morning and understand something it seems no one has told me.
336.
Pleasure is for you. Joy is for itself.
358.
I have so much trouble choosing that I wish restaurants would ask me for a list of things I absolutely will not eat, and then select a dish at random from the rest. In that case, I would only have to figure out how it was good in itself, and not why I again failed to know what would make me happiest.
360.
When my friend does something stupid, he is just my friend doing something stupid. When I do something stupid, I have deeply betrayed myself.
362.
Embarrassment and guilt console us. They imply we have a purer self that we have somehow betrayed. Regret, too, is a disguise of hope, convincing us that things could have gone better, and therefore that they may.
407.
When I re-married, I started remembering things – the smell of yarrow, words of my father – I hadn't thought of in years, as if they had suddenly become necessary to the new self that was organizing. The mind is like a well-endowed museum, only a small fraction of its holdings on view at any one time, and this is true from hour to hour as well as from era to era. I am different tones, capacities, intelligences, memories when I am phoning on business, walking by the canal, or waiting with that finely tensed blankness for a line to write itself. For the most part, there is nothing romantic about the unconscious. It starts as the sentence we did not say, the love we did not use. It is substantial or insubstantial as the shadow of a house, in which some things will grow, some not. Which moves as the sun moves.
499.
To feel an end is to discover that there had been a beginning. A parenthesis closes that we hadn't realized was open.)
You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house--, and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.
GOD WHY. It fits in like a perfect piece of woodwork into mine dumb heart.the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house--, and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.