the search

‘meaning’ is very important to me. trying to figure out what things mean. what life means. what my life should mean.

inner meaning. isn’t that what we’re all looking for? why we turn to religion, to lovers, to careers?

i’ve been flitting through life, floating. i enjoy it. but i’m still trying to find meaning i suppose. sometimes i feel like i’m an 18-year-old thinking like a 50-year-old, about my best years being behind me. i know its asinine of course. 18-year-olds really shouldn’t be having mid-life crises! but these are the formative years, the years you’re at least supposed to be finguring out what the hell your life is going to ‘mean’.

i tend to change my goals a lot. tonight i had this brilliant epiphany.

“i love writing! i love fashion! perhaps… PERHAPS THESE PASSIONS CAN BE COMBINED?!’

so. fashion journalism. i write. i like clothes. sometimes my love of fashion makes me feel somewhat… vapid. isn’t fashion a horrible world? shallow and unfulfilling, promoting ideas about the way women should look and act and be? aren’t i the nice little girl who refuses to call anyone “fat” and who reads her classics and listens to music that “means something”? does that make me incredibly ill-suited to the world of fashion writing (i’m referring to writing for a fashion magazine, or blog)? i don’t know, but i really want to find out. maybe its my calling, writing about fashion and style and other “woman”-y things.

so currently i want, i want i want I WANT, to get an internship for a magazine that has fashion as a significant constituent of its content.

so, THE SEARCH BEGINS.

(and in the mean time i’m going to be writing about fashion so i can be like ‘LOOK AT WHAT I WRITE!’)

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words

i’m naturally quiet. partly because i’m shy. but mainly because i think words are used far too much. i live and breathe words but people just seem to use them willy nilly. a poem is as much its pauses as its words. what’s wrong with silence? i hate small talk. i hate most vapid conversation. of course not everything has to be metaphysics and poetry… i just hate vapidity i suppose.

oh and partly because i know half the things that come out of my mouth interest no one but me. like that. i think so much, far too much. i spend hours at night thinking about these things. there are so many things running through my head at any given moment. this tends to manifest in me rambling. rambling about my plans to kidnap patrick wolf. rambling about my plans to marry a russian man and live ona  potato farm and make vodka. rambling about my plans to be a romance novellist. rambling about my Fascinating Theories on female sexuality, the value of kindness, the importance of passion, the issue of body image and size in our society… etc.etc.

so i guess its a bit of a paradox. at once i don’t use words enough, because i am quite shy, and i’m constantly afraid of making a fool of myself. and i use words far too often.

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writer’s block

for somebody who wants to be a writer, i have a terrible, terrible, terminal case of writer’s block. i just never ever seem to have any inspiration. i am constantly restraining myself from writing because i have such overly discriminating standards and think i can produce something brilliant, and anything less is unacceptable. i’d rather have nothing than something mediocre.

so i have nothing. nothing to publish. nothing.

it’s depressing. i’m 18 and lately i’ve been asking myself, what the hell have i done with my life? i have a bunch of regrets, mistakes, all that creative fodder and i’ve done nothing with it. i had these wild beliefs i had the potential to be some prodigy. but nup. nothing.

so i’m sitting here listening to cajun dance party and reading this shitty poem i wrote.

grand plan: a suite of poem about eating disorders based on my essay i did for text and context. aaaargh even rereading the essay is painful. it was such a labour, a labour of love and emotion, i worked so insanely hard on it. i want to know what i got for ittttt. not that it can diminish it- i’m proud. i just want to make things i can be proud of, you know? i can go ‘hell yes i wrote that!’.

i won’t post the whole thing because its mine mine mine- i am very possessive of this little thing because i poured my heart and soul into it. i put myself in an essay and offered it to my tutor. it was even more personal than it is now, though i stripped it back a lot. a personal essay can be too personal. i learnt a lot writing it, a lot about myself. it took me back to places i didn’t want to go. back to days of such intense self-loathing. days of self-destruction. days of bullying. it was incredibly cathartic.

actual result of trying to write my poetry: absolute shit. ]

SO. a tinsy bit of my essay.

Plato inaugurated the concept of the binary opposition of mind/ body (Anderson 2008: 2), extended by Descartes’ conception of the supreme ‘thinking thing’ (Anderson 2008: 3; Barnard & Fink 2002: 124). Mind has been privileged over the body. The notion of embodiment challenges the humanist mind/ body dualism. To Maurice Merleau-Ponty, the mind and body are one; they constantly inform one another; thus, we are embodied beings (Anderson 2008: 8).

The eating disordered person represents the extension of the rejection of embodiment to the nth degree; a self that is a body and mind, inexorably split. Except, in a sense, that the body is privileged over the mind. The mind, the self, all the good attributes we can’t see because they are intangible are completely forgotten as hateful attention is directed at the body.

“Pro-ana” websites often have mantras that anorexic girls follow. Most of these tend to emphasise ideas of perfection, purity, and especially emptiness. As though the anorexic can escape her own flesh, be emptied of emotion and desire and love and feel nothing. They will, with their bones jutting out, their ribs on display, faces drawn, skin pale and thin, be pure in their emaciation, perfect on the outside (and then, somehow, perfect and pure in their emptiness on the inside).

Ironically, to the eating disordered their behaviour is a way of discovering bodily perfection but to the ‘normal’ person it is a form self-mutilation. “Mutilations… are dramatic attempts to maintain the boundaries of the body and the Ego and to re-establish a sense of being intact and cohesive” (Anzieu 1989: 20 in Connor 2002). An eating disorder and its associated behaviours- starving, purging- is like any other form of self-destructive behaviour and self-harm. It is steeped in feelings of self-hatred. The hatred directed at the body s usually actually pointed at something inside that is not ‘fixed’ so easily. The outside, as is its hides the inside; the self is body, the self is forgotten.

*

Cajun Dance Party: The Next Untouchable

I can’t believe, I can’t deny, I can’t conceive what’s in your eyes,
Another mistake, another regret, another unwanted cigarette,

And do you really like me? Because one and one and one, makes three,
If you don’t hear me, then why should I hear you?

I can’t walk away,
All I can do is say “better luck next time”

The next untouchable,
Feel her,
Move her,
Believe her,
See her,

And then it comes, I don’t know what to do,
Do I feel it pure, or is that just you?

She said ‘again’, she said ‘again’, she said ‘again’,
she said ‘again’, she said ‘again’, she said ‘again’,
she said ‘again’, she said ‘again’, she said ‘again’,

And do you really like me? Because one and one and one, makes three,
If you don’t hear me, then why should I hear you?

I can’t walk away,
All I can do is say “better luck next time”

The next untouchable,
Feel her,
Move her,
Believe her,
See her,

Forget her.
Forget her.
Forget her

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city lights

last night i went on a harbour cruise. europeans everywhere (it was the european society’s cruise after all). many a vodka cruiser consumed (too much sugar).

it was absolutely stunning. i took a few photos with luke’s camera, as i didn’t take mine, but really… it was the experience of seeing the city lights surrounding us, the incomparable illumination. for me, those lights embody what i love about the city- it is alive, awake through the night; lights, always on, the city never sleeping. always somewhere to go, people to meet.

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Dr. Tiller

So I read on some new feed yesterday that Dr.George Tiller had been killed.  He was one of only 3 doctors in America to perform abortions after 21weeks (late term). He was assassinated by an anti-abortion activist.

http://jezebel.com/5275849/tillers-patients-speak-the-tragedy-of-his-death-the-inspiration-of-his-life?skyline=true&s=x

I literally cried reading this.

“I started to react as if the protesters were talking to me personally and indeed felt like everything they said was directed at me. In truth, they never see the real people behind the rhetoric.”

The vehemence of some people’s anti-abortion sentiments shocks me. It’s legal for them to protest outside abortion clinics, to verbally assault patients. Imagine the trauma of having to have an abortion, whatever circumstances it was under. Perhaps you’re too young to have a child, in no financial situation to take care of that child. You were pregnant as a victim of rape- could you raise that child? Imagine if the reason you were aborting so late was because you’d found out your child, a child you’d deliberately conceived, would be born with sever birth defects and problems. These anti-abortion activists claim to be doing this for humanity, but treat these women, their partners, their families inhumanely. The guilt one must feel when they decide to have an abortion must be terrible. The anguish, if the latter was your reason for a late-term abortion. How terrible to have that exacerbated by these insane activists. How could you NOT have sensitivity for women who have to go through something so traumatic? It isn’t some easy decision. You don’t get pregnant and go, “I don’t want a baby, off to the abortion clinic”. It defies all logic, the way anti-abortion activists act sometimes.

You can’t vilify women who choose to exercise their legal right to get an abortion. You can’t vilify the doctors who work within the law. Attack the laws, not the people who follow them. Although I obviously quite staunchly believe abortion is a justified right of any woman.

http://andrewsullivan.theatlantic.com/the_daily_dish/2009/06/its-so-personal-a-tiller-patient.html

http://www.feministe.us/blog/archives/2009/06/01/patients-remember-dr-tiller/

More crying material.

Also this is really well-written and interesting:

http://rogerhollander.wordpress.com/2009/06/01/george-tiller-a-hero-for-people-who-care-about-the-humanity-of-women/

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botanical gardens

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I really just enjoy how phallic this image is.

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ask me ask me ask me ask me

Shyness is nice and
Shyness can stop you
From doing all the things in life
You’d like to

Shyness is nice and
Shyness can stop you
From doing all the things in life
You’d like to

So, if there’s something you’d like to try
If there’s something you’d like to try
Ask me I wont say no, how could I?

Kindness is nice, and
Kindness can stop you
From saying all the things in
Life you’d like to

So, if there’s something you’d like to try
If there’s something you’d like to try
Ask me I wont say no, how could I?

Spending warm Summer days indoors
Writing frightening verse
To a buck-toothed girl in Luxembourg

Ask me, ask me, ask me
Ask me, ask me, ask me

Because if it’s not Love
Then it’s the bomb, the bomb, the bomb,
the bond, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb
That will bring us together

Nature is a language – can’t you read ?
Nature is a language – can’t you read ?

So, ask me, ask me, ask me,
Ask me, ask me, ask me

Because if it’s not Love
Then it’s the bomb, the bomb, the bomb,
the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb
That will bring us together

If it’s not Love
Then it’s the bomb
Then it’s the bomb
That will bring us together

So, ask me, ask me, ask me,
Ask me, ask me, ask me
Oh, la…

I naturally associate this song now with Purple Sneakers; specifically me dancing very badly to it after getting very excited they were playing the Smiths and Luke laughing at me.

I love that Morrissey writes about shyness. Nobody really writes about it much, directly. He also described “How Soon is Now” as being about shyness. That’s really the appeal of the Smiths- you can talk all about how their music is sad, and depressing, and often self-pitying, but it’s music that you can empathise with. Everyone at some point can relate to a Smiths song. And I love that Morrissey is just such a brilliant song writer that Smiths songs always take on different dimensions depending on circumstances and mood. All different events in my life can be defined in terms of Smiths songs, for different reasons. Any time I listen to any Smiths song there is always some relation I find to my life, to my circumstances, to events that have shaped me.

Yes, I am obsessive in my love for the Smiths. And unabashed.

(I still think Morrissey and I could make amazing, amazing babies. MORRISSEY, CALL ME)

I know It’s Over

Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
And as I climb into an empty bed
Oh well. Enough said.
I know it’s over – still I cling
I don’t know where else I can go
Oh …
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
See, the sea wants to take me
The knife wants to slit me
Do you think you can help me ?
Sad veiled bride, please be happy
Handsome groom, give her room
Loud, loutish lover, treat her kindly
(Though she needs you
More than she loves you)
And I know it’s over – still I cling
I don’t know where else I can go
Over and over and over and over
Over and over, la …
I know it’s over
And it never really began
But in my heart it was so real
And you even spoke to me, and said :
“If you’re so funny
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
And if you’re so clever
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
If you’re so very entertaining
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
If you’re so very good-looking
Why do you sleep alone tonight ?
I know …
‘Cause tonight is just like any other night
That’s why you’re on your own tonight
With your triumphs and your charms
While they’re in each other’s arms…”
It’s so easy to laugh
It’s so easy to hate
It takes strength to be gentle and kind
Over, over, over, over
It’s so easy to laugh
It’s so easy to hate
It takes guts to be gentle and kind
Over, over
Love is Natural and Real
But not for you, my love
Not tonight, my love
Love is Natural and Real
But not for such as you and I, my love
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my …
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can even feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my …

(my favourite of all Smiths songs)

This Charming Man

Punctured bicycle
On a hillside desolate
Will nature make a man of me yet ?

When in this charming car
This charming man

Why pamper life’s complexity
When the leather runs smooth
On the passenger seat ?

I would go out tonight
But I haven’t got a stitch to wear
This man said “it’s gruesome
That someone so handsome should care”

Ah ! A jumped-up pantry boy
Who never knew his place
He said “return the ring”
He knows so much about these things
He knows so much about these things

I would go out tonight
But I haven’t got a stitch to wear
This man said “it’s gruesome
That someone so handsome should care”
La, la-la, la-la, la-la, this charming man …
Oh, la-la, la-la, la-la, this charming man …

Ah ! A jumped-up pantry boy
Who never knew his place
He said “return the ring”
He knows so much about these things
He knows so much about these things
He knows so much about these things

Hand in Glove

Hand in glove
The sun shines out of our behinds
No, it’s not like any other love
This one is different – because it’s us

Hand in glove
We can go wherever we please
And everything depends upon
How near you stand to me

And if the people stare
Then the people stare
Oh, I really don’t know and I really don’t care

Kiss My Shades

Hand in glove
The Good People laugh
Yes, we may be hidden by rags
But we’ve something they’ll never have

Hand in glove
The sun shines out of our behinds
Yes, we may be hidden by rags
But we’ve something they’ll never have

And if the people stare
Then the people stare
Oh, I really don’t know and I really don’t care

Kiss My Shades … oh …

So, hand in glove I stake my claim
I’ll fight to the last breath

If they dare touch a hair on your head
I’ll fight to the last breath

For the Good Life is out there somewhere
So stay on my arm, you little charmer

But I know my luck too well
Yes, I know my luck too well
And I’ll probably never see you again
I’ll probably never see you again
I’ll probably never see you again
Oh …

There is a Light that Never Goes Out

Take me out tonight
Where there’s music and there’s people
And they’re young and alive
Driving in your car
I never never want to go home
Because I haven’t got one
Anymore

Take me out tonight
Because I want to see people and I
Want to see life
Driving in your car
Oh, please don’t drop me home
Because it’s not my home, it’s their
Home, and I’m welcome no more

And if a double-decker bus
Crashes into us
To die by your side
Is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten-ton truck
Kills the both of us
To die by your side
Well, the pleasure – the privilege is mine

Take me out tonight
Take me anywhere, I don’t care
I don’t care, I don’t care
And in the darkened underpass
I thought Oh God, my chance has come at last
(But then a strange fear gripped me and I
Just couldn’t ask)

Take me out tonight
Oh, take me anywhere, I don’t care
I don’t care, I don’t care
Driving in your car
I never never want to go home
Because I haven’t got one, da …
Oh, I haven’t got one

And if a double-decker bus
Crashes into us
To die by your side
Is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten-ton truck
Kills the both of us
To die by your side
Well, the pleasure – the privilege is mine

Oh, There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out
There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out
There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out
There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out
There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out
There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out
There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out
There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out
There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out

Shoplifters of the World Unite

Learn to love me
Assemble the ways
Now, today, tomorrow and always
My only weakness is a list of crime
My only weakness is … well, never mind, never mind

Oh, shoplifters of the world
Unite and take over
Shoplifters of the world
Hand it over
Hand it over
Hand it over

Learn to love me
And assemble the ways
Now, today, tomorrow, and always
My only weakness is a listed crime
But last night the plans of a future war
Was all I saw on Channel Four

Shoplifters of the world
Unite and take over
Shoplifters of the world
Hand it over
Hand it over
Hand it over

A heartless hand on my shoulder
A push – and it’s over
Alabaster crashes down
(Six months is a long time)
Tried living in the real world
Instead of a shell
But before I began …
I was bored before I even began

Shoplifters of the world
Unite and take over
Shoplifters of the world
Unite and take over
Shoplifters of the world
Unite and take over
Shoplifters of the world
Take over

Last Night I Dreamt Somebody Loved Me

Last night I dreamt
That somebody loved me
No hope, no harm
Just another false alarm

Last night I felt
Real arms around me
No hope, no harm
Just another false alarm

So, tell me how long
Before the last one ?
And tell me how long
Before the right one ?

The story is old – I KNOW
But it goes on
The story is old – I KNOW
But it goes on

Oh, GOES ON
And on
Oh, goes on
And on

Stop If Me If You Think That You’ve Heard This One Before

Stop me, oh, stop me
Stop me if you think that you’ve
Heard this one before
Stop me, oh, stop me
Stop me if you think that you’ve heard this one before

Nothing’s changed
I still love you, oh, I still love you
…Only slightly, only slightly less than I used to, my love

I was delayed, I was way-laid
An emergency stop
I smelt the last ten seconds of life
I crashed down on the crossbar
And the pain was enough to make
A shy, bald, buddhist reflect
And plan a mass murder
Who said lied I’d to her ?

Oh, who said I’d lied because I never ? I never !
Who said I’d lied because I never ?
I was detained, I was restrained
And broke my spleen
And broke my knee
(and then he really laced into me)
Friday night in Out-patients
Who said I’d lied to her ?

Oh, who said I’d lied ? – because I never, I never
Who said I’d lied ? – because I never

Oh, so I drank one
It became four
And when I fell on the floor …
…I drank more

Stop me, oh, stop me
Stop me if you think that you’ve
Heard this one before
Stop me, oh, stop me
Stop me if you think that you’ve heard this one before

Nothing’s changed
I still love you, oh, I still love you
…Only slightly, only slightly less than I used to, my love

How Soon Is Now

I am the son
And the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir
Of nothing in particular

You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way ?
I am Human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does

I am the son
And the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir
Oh, of nothing in particular

You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way ?
I am Human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does

There’s a club, if you’d like to go
You could meet somebody who really loves you
So you go, and you stand on your own
And you leave on your own
And you go home, and you cry
And you want to die

When you say it’s gonna happen “now”
Well, when exactly do you mean ?
See I’ve already waited too long
And all my hope is gone

You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way ?
I am Human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does

Still Ill

I decree today that life
Is simply taking and not giving
England is mine – it owes me a living
But ask me why, and I’ll spit in your eye
Oh, ask me why, and I’ll spit in your eye
But we cannot cling to the old dreams anymore
No, we cannot cling to those dreams

Does the body rule the mind
Or does the mind rule the body ?
I dunno…

Under the iron bridge we kissed
And although I ended up with sore lips
It just wasn’t like the old days anymore
No, it wasn’t like those days
Am I still ill ?
Oh …
Am I still ill ?
Oh …

Does the body rule the mind
Or does the mind rule the body ?
I dunno…

Ask me why, and I’ll die
Oh, ask me why, and I’ll die
And if you must, go to work – tomorrow
Well, if I were you I really wouldn’t bother
For there are brighter sides to life
And I should know, because I’ve seen them
But not very often …
Under the iron bridge we kissed
And although I ended up with sore lips
It just wasn’t like the old days anymore
No, it wasn’t like those days
Am I still ill ?
Oh …
Oh, am I still ill ?
Oh …

Rusholme Ruffians

Very old friend
Came by today
As he was telling everyone in town
Of all the love that he’d just found

And Marie’s the name (of his latest flame)

Talked and talked
And I heard him say
That she had the longest blackest hair
Prettiest green eyes anywhere

And Marie’s the name (of his latest flame)

The last night of the fair
By the big wheel generator
A boy is stabbed
And his money is grabbed
And the air hangs heavy like a dulling wine

She is Famous
She is Funny
An engagement ring
Doesn’t mean a thing
To a mind consumed by brass (money)

And though I walk home alone
I might walk home alone …
…But my faith in love is still devout

The last night of the fair
From a seat on a whirling waltzer
Her skirt ascends for a watching eye
It’s a hideous trait (on her mother’s side)
From a seat on a whirling waltzer
Her skirt ascends for a watching eye
It’s a hideous trait (on her mother’s side)

And though I walk home alone
I might walk home alone …
…But my faith in love is still devout

Then someone falls in love
And someone’s beaten up
Someone’s beaten up
And the senses being dulled are mine
And someone falls in love
And someone’s beaten up
And the senses being dulled are mine

And though I walk home alone
I might walk home alone …
…But my faith in love is still devout

This is the last night of the fair
And the grease in the hair
Of a speedway operator
Is all a tremulous heart requires
A schoolgirl is denied
She said : “How quickly would I die
If I jumped from the top of the parachutes ?”
La …

This is the last night of the fair
And the grease in the hair
Of a speedway operator
Is all a tremulous heart requires
A schoolgirl is denied
She said : “How quickly would I die
If I jumped from the top of the parachutes ?”
La …

So … scratch my name on your arm with a fountain pen
(This means you really love me)
Scratch my name on your arm with a fountain pen
(This means you really love me)
Oh …

And though I walk home alone
I just might walk home alone
But my faith in love is still devout
I might walk home alone
But my faith in love is still devout
I might walk home alone
But my faith in love is still devout
La …

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