Wednesday, September 22, 2004

It's easier to destroy than to create. Probably why my blogs have been rather "destructive" as of late. Destructive as in not very productive. More negative, jaded commentaries rather than creative pieces of writing. It's not good.

.......dreams of teeth falling out, jumping and flying, maddening black and white dreams where everyone speaks in an endless high-pitched ringing screech rather than words with one red indistinguishable and nondescript object appearing periodically, running and running but feeling as if your legs are weighed down and you know you can run faster but

.....completely barren and soulless room devoid of any real personality or character furnished with objects which appear to have been purchased all together at the same time on the same day from the same store, like Ikea

.....ould she trust him when he tells little white lies to spare people's feelings or tells people exactly what they wanted to hear to falsely bolster their self esteem? When he smiles he appears genuine but the look in his eyes glaring out from behind the look he's trying to convey tells her all she ever wanted to know. All she ever wanted was to be completely open with someone, completely vulnerable and at the mercy of another person without the slightest hint of fear, completely comfortable and secure and never worrying about ridicule or embarrassment, completely immersed and involved in another person's life, complete

.......blueness of the water sparkles invitingly, enticingly, however illusory it may be. The logical part of your brain knows that water is clear. The illogical part of your brain wants you to jump in with all of your clothes on. The sand gets in your shoes, your socks, blows in your eyes, grits in your teeth, but still makes you smile as she continues to brush her

....wanted it to rain so badly before.

....rning up the volume gradually from zero in the middle of a song so that the music and words quietly fade in and spill over you unexpectedly making you not quite sure where you are in the song for a split second

......the basil between her hands over the bowl on the counter releasing the sweet intoxicating smells that always remind her of her mother's cooking

....wipes a single tear from her cheek and kisses her forehead one last time before she races to board the train as it's leaving the station

....she loves the sound her pen makes as it scratches along rough piece of paper, the feeling she gets from words furiously spilling out of her and onto the paper in an absolute torrent of ideas no longer hindered by wretched case of writer's block

....songs that make you leave your house and race down the street in the rain at an ungodly hour just for the chance to talk for a few seconds and apologise for being such an idiot

.....eyes closed, hands poised, mind blank

Thursday, September 16, 2004

So apparently now I take requests. This is a story for a friend of mine, the lovely and beautiful Marija. I'm 92% drunk when writing this so bear with me. I am under the gun. I should probably write this in pink.

I really hate barbie. And the girls that look like barbie or girls that I classify as "barbie-type" girls. These girls are the type that are soooo "pretty", blonde, medium to large breasts, that most guys drool over. Example: pamela anderson. Girls like this make me want to vomit. The super pretty cookie-cutter type girls that apparently every guy wants to be with. The fantasy perfect girl. Particularly unintelligent but getting by on her extreme good looks. Girls using their sexuality to get ahead in life. And it works. Not relying on intelligence or cleverness, but on persuading others with sex. Who needs school when you've got a nice rack and blonde hair? You could grow up to be a fashion designer. Fuck education. Why waste your time and money on something like that to help the greater good of mankind when you could be making serious money coming up with a new fall clothing line? I mean, isn't making money what it's all about? And, if the fashion career doesn't work out, you could always marry rich. Your job in life would be only to maintain your playboy-like body for your man and attend all of the associated parties at the mansion, bringing your rich beau along with you of course. On your days off (i.e. every day), you would spend your time cleaning the condo and thinking up new and exciting dinner ideas for when your husband gets home from his wallstreet job.

All of this is the very message conveyed by the simple measurements and physical characteristics of the plastic doll. No one would buy a sensible doll. A barbie that was of average looks but above average intelligence. Good at making conversation and having intellectually stimulating conversations. Someone who had real ideas and opinions about the world around them. Someone that was independent and didn't adhere to social conventions. That type of doll wouldn't sell at all. Too preachy. I think the only people that a strong and independent woman intimidates are the male chauvinistic pigs that are used to dominating women and having the upper hand their entire lives. A serious threat to their manhood.

I guess beauty and sex sells, and a practical, everyday barbie would not be market-friendly. I don't know who does these market research studies, but someone should definitely kill all of them. I hate marketing and target market-strategies. Is this really the message we need to be sending out to girls in the process of growing into women? Of course not, but since the correct message isn't as cost-effective, we are helpless. We'll be forever stuck with the sexually-driven money making machine of Barbie and everything that doll symbolises.

Friday, September 10, 2004

I am not pessimistic, or jaded.

I know it seems like that from what I write, but no one really wants to write or read about sunshine and lollypops and rainbows all day. People generally don't bask in your gloriously fantastic life or identify with how great everything is going. They can usually relate to the negative easier than the positive. Usually it's more automatic to write about the bad, and when things are fantastically good, I've noticed that people generally don't have time to write it all down on a blogger site.

Along the same lines of the mass email update, another thing I find is rather silly, is how people communicate with other people via blogger posts. What I mean is that people will write a blogger post with a seemingly hidden message in it made specifically for one certain person, written so that not many other people besides the key person would make the connection. Steph wrote a bit about it on her site (Sunday July 18th post) and I am starting to notice it in my own life now. Of course I've probably been guilty of it in the past, when I went on a tirade and quoted every single quote from taking back sunday because I was mad, but that really was a result of someone rather than meant for someone. I am always a firm believer in saying what you want to say directly to the person and being upfront. Don't hide behind your blog.

Thursday, September 09, 2004

Oh, and what's better than the mass email life update? (and by better I mean much much worse...) The reply-all to a mass email update, 4 of which I've gotten today from no one I even remotely know.

Wednesday, September 08, 2004

Wow. I can't believe people's lives have come to this: Mass-email life-updates. It's SO sick. Is this their idea of keeping in touch? Sterile, generic emails addressed to everyone and no one at all giving out addresses and phone numbers and other contact information despite the fact that the only form of "contact information" this person uses and apparently needs is email. I doubt very much that 2% of the people reading the mass email actually WRITE down the contact info, update their little hand written paper and pen address books and actually plan on calling/snailmailing this person or dropping by their new place of residence.

I fucking hate it. I feel like everyone is turning into robots. I burnt my index finger and it hurts when I type, so I'm stopping. I'll keep you posted as to what's happening in my life via this blogger site, or perhaps maybe possibly a mass-email life-update.

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