Gods....
in puddles of water on the wooden floor....
they fell from their pedestals into the mosh pit

God Damn Ugly The Stars

I'm wrong.
..oh I know, I know, even in saying that I'm right.. for I decided as such thus making it 'right' but damnit, allow me to say;
I'm Wrong.
I apologise. Profusely.

Gods... where are you?
Even the rabbit is hiding behind the clouds tonight.

--

I.. I speak as necessary. When I BURN to... when all else must drop away and allow the words to shape meaning. Existence.
That's how it has [always] been. [Always] since I've been Truly Alive.
And You. You! The one person towards whom I burn most often.... you have never heard my voice. Not without the filter of gears, speakers and tape.

If I could yell loud enough for you to hear my call... what would your answer be?

It's the buzz, it's the buzz

With blue sparks I shorted-out Mr Toasty.
No more toast today...

Stage Manager for Zeitgeist (a consolation prize, but incredible none the less).
What is Love? A Study In Freud - current work in progress.
Caught drinking by the cops, I then shook a man's hand in a dark alleyway.
My Brother turns 19 in minutes. Young enough to be old...

Notice:
Lost, yesterday, somewhere between Sunrise and Sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered, for they are gone forever.

-

"In the name of the best within you, do not sacrifice this world to those who are its worst. In the name of the values that keep you alive, do not let your vision of man be distorted by the ugly, the cowardly, the mindless in those who have never achieved his title. Do not lose your knowledge that man's proper estate is an upright posture, an intransigent mind and a step that travels unlimited roads. Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark, in the hopeless swamps of the approximate, the not-quite, the not-yet, the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish, in lonely frustration for the life you deserved, but have never been able to reach. Check your road and the nature of your battle. The world you desired can be won, it exists, it is real, it is possible, it's yours."
Greatness.

Give me rampant intellectualism as a coping mechanism

I didn't risk all.
Went for greatness... but left booby-traps for myself along the way - false tunnels. Fake obstacles. Faux distractions.
[Scapegoats.]
Places where it was evident to anybody who looked closely that I wasn't throwing my all into it.
And in doing so I betrayed myself.

Why?
So when I failed I didn't look 'silly'. So it was My choice to Fail. Under My Control. It wasn't that I gave it my all and they rejected me for that... it was that I gave it some, and evidently that wasn't enough.
My self-preservation destroyed the possibility of greatness.


And thus the [constant] question;

-What Now?-


Oh to be a motley fool!
May I never be content. May I never be perfect.

and all your food is frozen, it needs to be defrosted

I don't know what I was expecting but this, I believe, is Exactly it.
(the last entry would make more sense in this ones' stead)

I ask myself "Frinny, did you really think they'd accept you into the their company?" and, when the tinyiest little voice in the back of my head squeaks "yes", it breaks my heart anew every time.

*sigh*
Two weeks.
9:30 am, November 13th.. then I find some answers.

You'd think the world was ending right now...

There's no such thing as time; it is a human construct that doesn't truly exist.

The Truth is the Truth no matter how many believe the lie... [or is it?]
The universe as I see it is my own construction. Yes, there is R.W.O.T., but even so, I have the capacity to believe (and delude myself) it into being anything I wish...
I create my universe as I see fit.

So why don't I? Because I still perscribe to the beliefs of others...
The societal trap.
To escape and be (more so) alone... or remain trapped and unhappy.

"People are just people. People are just people like you."
[Are they?]


I... don't have the answers. Not the clear-cut ones I [perhaps impossibly] seek.
Tonight, frustration triumphs. (the battle, not the war)


Chin up man. You're hungover.. and I'm just odd. Between us, we have semblance of youth, pretentious tendencies and varying levels of whacked-out brain chemicals.

Science fiction, double feature

"Society kept forcing them into these categories that I don't think they really needed. And that was so destructive."


Self: Not that there’s much to be proud in anything we do. Finished school? Yes well so did all the other kids. Played sport? Ooooh, you too? Well, being pretty I suppose is something. But I rather gather it has more to do with genes than any natural talent, so pride probability isn’t so fitting. (Pause) ah well, perhaps it’s for the best. They say, well I’m not quite sure who it was, might have been Aristotle, could have been the bible, but they say something of that sorta that ‘pride and a haughty spirit go, or come, or something before a fall’. The point is pride is bad. So, I’m not proud. But I’m not really anything. I’m nothing kind of. I’m shrinking. Today I’m sure I’m a size smaller than yesterday, and that’s what happens to old folk before they cark it. Shrink and die. Shrink to fit into the casket. Shrink, like a brand new shirt someone’s going to taint by wearing.

Your body is a battleground. Or at least that’s what they tell me. A kind of war where the things fought out and the things fought for aren’t at all the tangible ideals that we’re used too. I’m not fighting for food, or for love, and I’m certainly not fighting for human rights. Nobody’s violated the Geneva Convention here in the last five minutes, and nobody here is in a position where they’d have to go without. It’s not that kind of war. It’s an inner fight. The sort you have with yourself when you’ve just stolen a five cent coin from your mother’s purse and you’re torn between spilling it all and never saying a word. It’s a battle of conscience. Except now the halves of my self have their own little halves and so on and so forth and it never really stops. It’s constant. A never-ending fight within a fight within myself between all the little things I’m meant to be. Because that is what divides us, really, when you think about it. It’s the pressures and the expectations; when you’re with Mummy you have to be a daughter and when you’re with mates you have to be a friend. And when they meet? Well you’re stuck between the two and it just leaves them upset. But mostly I’m okay with that. Until now I could handle. I was fine. But lately, lately I’ve been submitting more and more to the stereotypes, the clichés of people. I’ve been sleeping when I should have been awake and, sometimes now, I’m finding it hard to get up at all. It’s a battle. It’s a battle with my self, and all my selves, and all the other selves that everyone else thinks I should have, and, it’s getting to be a bit too much. They tell me that my body is a battleground. I won’t argue with them. But you see, the thing is, I’m just a little scared that I might be losing. That… I… might have lost.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick

Sitting in a tree, thinking, watching the clouds... Breathing.
It started with language... how our sense of reality is linguistically constructed; the mediator of meaning is language. Concepts are based in thought, and thought depends on diction.. Creating solid concepts requires expert control of text... and so on. I was thinking about teaching, about how the use of language means the difference between effective learning or misunderstanding.
Thinking then about how human activity is thus constructed and how knowledge, "truth", values, morals are fluid. How people interperate language based upon their own existing understandings and bias' - how children think themselves a part of the entire universe and how, as they grow older, they think -are taught- that they are separate (apart. Ironic that 'a part' means together and 'apart', though the words are combined, means separate). Things happen outside of themselves.
A realisation: -Content to die- My existence means that other things cannot exist. Must occasionally die. I am ok with this. I would do the same.
It then moved through cognitive dissonance (and how this does not happen to children, but becomes a more frequent occurrence in the adult brain) and all through Hermeneutics and all sorts of Literary Theory that I once knew. New Critics... Michel Foucault.. Poulet (I have no idea how to spell their names any more, this is guesswork)..
Finally, what we see depends primarily on what we are looking for/seeking.

Still thinking.
Still looking.
Still seeking.

"Die Knowing Something."

The wold spins 'round and the people fall down

Two Reasons:
*Zen
*Kaylie

You

laughed
cried
yelled
sat
walked
smiled
called (the police)
hurt
attacked
kissed
mocked
protected

Me

Then said "Never again" [save those two reasons]


For the record: I didn't lie.

Under my umbrella(ella,ella,eh,eh,eh)

I fell in love [with you] again tonight.

With the world.
The night air streaming past my face was perfect.
Cool, not cold.
Sweet, but not overpowering.

Rolling on the cement laughing ("She was set in her old ways.. So old and.. set."), the possum, climbing poles and claiming my tree...
My tears barely dry on your hoodie and we're laughing again.
Thank you, Lara. Friends fo' life, yo. :P "Fork" :D

This is what it's like to breathe.

These violent delights have violent ends

I will post it to remind me how you said it.. I liked the way you use to breathe it rather than speak....
From 100 Love Sonnets
by Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: Where “I” does not exist, nor “You”, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

This time I might.. to ask the sea for answers

"Two seedy, drunk[en dyke]s on swings in a children's park at 1am"
A 'Frin Doust Productions' Installation Piece.

(We.. understood each other. I'd almost let myself forget.. forced myself to forget.
I apologise.
Kind of missed you.)

Ugh, there's so much that I thought I'd remember but I don't. I guess 12 cans isn't too bad for one night (I found another in the morning on my way to the OM - getting posters from Peta, my left hand slightly sticky and green from where the alcohol spilt on me when I picked it up). -Feeling slightly hypocritical, but I won't apologise to myself (yes I do things I don't believe in; deal and move on, self).

"You are an innocent."
I've heard that twice, recently. Once from the drunken stranger [David] on the bus stop bench.. and from her. She who knows me better than most anybody (perhaps only bested by Kaylie)... that almost scares me.

Something along the lines of "Tora; god of [nudity in] physical theatre" and Steven "In league with Amanda"

----
What about the concept of the "Consolation Prize" [almost an oxymoron] ?
The statement 'Impossible to quantify' [in everything it could ever be apply to] comes to mind.
----
He is what you deserve and I... I must go.. leave you to your happiness and find myself my consolation prize (between a rope, a knife, a bottle or a teddybear).
----
It's 'anachronism'.."temporally incongruous" "eccentric" they all apply.. except, there isn't yet a time in which I belong.
Unique, like all [human]s.
----

I wonder if any of my friends ever stumble upon this would they understand the references? Could they place the moments? Would they even recognise themselves through my eyes?

Perhaps I'm just trying to be clever, but it feels like living vicariously through myself.

It's still cold in Alaska

I will be ok.

You're worried for me and I understand that.. but it only serves to undermine me.
Saying I don't have confidence (What the Hell would YOU know about me anyhow? When was the last time you came to see me perform? When was the last time you Listened, even? "Yes, that's nice dear...." I ASKED YOU A DAMN QUESTION) makes me loathe you for you lack of understanding. You're not helping. I did not ask for your assistance.

"Hell is other people."

The air in here is... wrong. Stale. Old. Dusty, almost. Uncomfortably warm.
A "I need to get out" moment.

-
2 hours later

I climbed over a steamroller and left three plastic pink flowers on its roof. Its wheels were taller than I.

Using the bull-bar of a semi-trailer as a ladder I traversed from the cab to the back on shaky legs. It was higher than I expected and the lactic acid in my calves wasn't going to let me forget how easy it would be for me to fall onto the pavement below.
But then I found stillness.
'Finding stillness'... it's a concept I'm quite familiar with, but I've never [truly] appreciated what it involves until that moment.

There's a quality to finding things you are not seeking.

Ash Wednesday

"If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent
If the unheard, unspoken
Word is unspoken, unheard;
Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard,
The Word without a word, the Word within
The world and for the world;
And the light shone in darkness and
Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled
About the centre of the silent Word."


There is so much in my head.. yet to explain it, I do not know how to begin...
The infinity of it all... the fragility and the expansive everything.
From the macro to the micro.. there is nothing unremarkable. (It's almost too much..)

Is it possible to share the tranquillity of being alone?
I would be content to sit and smoke [with you].


[No, the irony of T. S. Eliot's death from Emphysema is not lost on me]

Sitting in my glasshouse

A "Fuck Art" moment.

I just want to burn them all. Every notebook. Every sketch filled "journal" every single scrap I have ever even DOODLED upon. Erase it. Forever.

To Scream: LIES

And: I WILL NEVER BE A COMIC BOOK ARTIST.

Fuck Art.

"Art is what you can get angry with."
Why does that make me smile?
Why do I ask questions I know the answer to?


Did I mention I'm happy? I truly am.

Judgement

As much as I tell myself "I don't care"; I do. I do and I don't want to. Yet, to admit that is to admit more than I am willing to share.
Fear.
Yet, it is overcome by a mere thought ("Nobody minds. And even if they did, do I care? No.")..though, unfortunately, that thought does not simply end there ("...perhaps. Yes. A little. Enough.").

Complex social dynamics. I must remember that I, too, am [human].
Human.

The desire to run away is strong. The fear [I will convince myself] is unfounded. ["I am loved - all you need is love."]

Are they the same as I?
I'm hoping for something unexpected... will that defeat it?

"Did you hurt your hand?"

I hadn't seen him standing there....
He caught me cleaning the gash.. luckily it looks a lot better tonight, I could pass it off as a washing-up accident. The bread knife a likely enough culprit.

"Oh.. yeah.. I didn't want to worry you guys because you get.. worried."
"Where were you?"

I needed to get away. The walls were closing in again. I needed to talk.. but there's nobody to listen, nobody who I want to listen, so I went walking.

"Walking... I had my phone."
"You didn't answer it."

It was on silent, still, from training Tuesday night. The reason I missed Tora's call this morning and why I didn't get Trefyn's message... I should change it.. but I won't. Not ready for the jarring loudness it seems to explode with every time it demands my attention (as if to shout "ANSWER ME").

"Sorry. I didn't know it rang. Oh...yeah, one missed call.."

I wouldn't have answered it anyway.. so deep in thought. I considered calling somebody.. anybody.. then realisation set in; I don't call people. Not that they would mind or that it was too late or anything like that... because I mind, because as much as I love all my friends there is only one that I cry to.. and never by phone. I don't even have her number.

"Yeah..."
"I.. had a thing..sort of.. misunderstanding, with a friend, so I went out."

I really do want to tell them sometimes.. what's going on in my life, how the world is through my eyes. It's obvious they would listen.. but.. even the simplest things go unsaid.
I love you, Dad. Sorry I didn't tell you before I went. Sorry I never tell you. I don't think you know how to hear it.

"Oh. Well, you're home now. Goodnight."
"Night."

We live at the edge of the miraculous

Tantrum over.
Crisis done.

The story has gone to my secret keeper and all is balanced once again..

I'm READY for this.
"Everything remains unsettled forever, depend on it."

What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here...

I had three parties to go to last night.
THREE. One would think I'm fucking 'social' or something.
I chose Kaine's... I chose his and it was "perfect"... meant to be, anyhow. So fucking special.

Felling betrayed; a little angry.
Very much ALIVE, however.

More complications.. not what I was after, but it sure makes things interesting.
Perhaps I should stop analysing.. lying on the floor, freezing, curled in on myself.. it was like old times, while it set the "low"... The desperation was gone. Hurt without the release. Some thing's got to happen.

Feeling less [human]. More detached. Not feeling LESS, simply not being affected by what is there. Tired, mostly.

There's an eloquent way to explain this, I'm sure.

On a long enough time-line even the most extreme things begin to feel contrived.


-----------
3hours & 4minuntes later


I need to write because I.. it seems I have lost the ability of talking and the will to express myself any other way..

Before I get into that, the story of the Canadian Engineer:
It begins (as many interesting stories do), with a bottle of Vodka.
Smirnoff, of course. Like drinking metho from a wine bottle - there's something romantic yet truly repulsive about it.
The setting, Quinn's house; if there is a place that hold more mixed feelings and memories I don't know of it.
We'd been speaking on and off all night. Physics, engineering, a bit of philosophy. He knew his stuff, but I knew far more.. it felt good, showing up a fully qualified engineer while very, very drunk... but the most amazing part of the night was curling up half on the couch and half lying against his chest. I do not even know his name but for that mere 45minutes of stillness, of listening to his heartbeat, his breathing, and the occasional sound of him drinking his beer.... it was WARM and SAFE; I felt CONNECTED to another Human. He assumed me to be sleeping and just let me cling there, against him. When, finally, he had to go, he slipped out from underneath my head and covered me in a blanket saying "I've got to go Fin, I hope I'll get to see you again sometime."
The kindness of others astounds me sometimes...it's so fucking perfect.

I DON'T UNDERSTAND PEOPLE.
Yet, I do. I'm just frustrated.

And I'm mad at [you].
I'm mad at [you] and [everybody] and [everything]... and really I'm just mad at myself.
For being stupid.
For caring.
For not caring enough.

And, truly, I'm not even mad.... betrayed, perhaps. Uninformed. Sad, mostly.

Going around in fucking circles; that's it, I'm breaking this chain.

The killer in me is the killer in you

Felling rather antsy...
In a I-need-to-get-out-of-here sort of way. I might just have to pump the tiers of my bike up and ride until I don't know where I am anymore; it's been too long since I've done that.

An IQ of 146 and I haven't even been able to write a fucking simple three page letter.

I'm sabotaging myself again. It bothers me because I am so hyper aware of it.. which just serves to aggravate the situation further.
There are very few things I care enough about to get angry over and this is one... this one is the toughest. I should be able to do this, I can fight it... I keep telling myself I can and yet...
Argh! I might need to ask for help; that in itself is hard enough.. the problem is, that even if I were to ask, I don't know who to turn to.
I can sort this out.
I will...
I just have to remember I'm [human]... sometimes [human]'s need a little help.... right?

New month. New everything.

I'm changing; for the better.

Sorting myself out.

New hair. New focus. New job. New plan.
It's all getting sorted.

Defying gravity: throw yourself at the ground and miss

I am LEARNING again.
Actively.
It feels like I took too long of a break... like things were atrophying.
No longer.

F = G Mm/R2
I REMEMBER. Gravity. The warping of time-space. There's so much I have to re-discover... it's exciting. Physics!!

Knowledge.

Love.
Life.
Breathing.

I smile a lot.



------

Last night:
The official cast/crew Dracula "It was an amazing show, it's now over so let's all get drunk" party. Wow. I had an incredible time. Though astoundingly drunk I was still within the limits of reason. There were some beautiful conversations..(with Tora on the floor of Robs room would have to be a highlight - she got my teddy Ontempai for me and showed me the most kindness and caring I had seen in a long time, I don't think she realised how much it meant to me). I only wish I could have talked with some people more, there was too much left unsaid; the 2007 interns will be sorely missed...
But time moves on. Things change and evolve. I love this company; I love this life. It's exactly what I want right now. I must rise to the challenge.

I know I am capable of so much more.

"GAME ON!" (yes, I did have to gently mock with a tongue-in-cheek Sub-Con joke) *grin*

I want to fucking tear you apart

I've been insanely busy of late... giving my all to Dracula...
It's incredible.
You know some thing's really right when your arms are starting to ache from mopping up fake blood and all you can do is grin and dance happily to the after-show music.

There are so many stories.. so many moments to remember.
The opening night party. (Drunken conversation)
Happiness. (A near constant - every time I think to remember where I am and what I'm doing)
Crisis. (Torches. Plugs. Light-bulbs. - Awareness and adrenalin)
Love. (every.damn.where)

Favourite quotes include (but are not limited to):
"It's... in... my....... skirt." ("The best part was looking at Kat's face afterwards.....*laughs quietly* I love this company")
"Frin is my favourite individual today."
"Lavender has no place in anything I have ever done. It should not exist as a colour or a smell."
"Fiddle-dee-dee potata... To be freeeeeeeee"
"My heart is breaking.. yet, my pelvis is aroused" ("This sound will tell me a lot about you")
"I fuckin' love you Frin!" (see also: *Muppet laugh*)
"Oooh, that was a triple entendre, you know."
"Going to the VAL-EY!!"

I'm am so grateful for my life right now. At times it may be exhausting and it may be hard but it is, overall, breathtakingly amazing; I adore it. I refuse to take even a moment for granted.
Goodnight Internet Journal - Thank you for helping me remember.

Slow motion see me let go...

Outside, the air is clearer than it's been for a long time. It smells smoky from the fire place and crisp due to the cold.
My iPod was playing as I lay in the hammock just breathing the amazing air... until Amy's song Slow Motion (Third Eye Blind) came on - suddenly it was three years ago; in Gympie, by the fire, sitting in Amy's lap, laughing, joking, playing... comfortable, happy, warm. It made me smile.... I...


Stories.
It's all about the stories.
Narrative.
That's what makes it.
Pedagogy.
The definition of humanity.
Records.
Sharing thoughts, creativity....

life

LIFE

--
Today I got my idea for my Zen Zen Zo Internship Production Proposal.

"Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast"
A series of vignettes based on (or possibly adapted from - I'm not entirely sure yet, perhaps a mix of both) Alice In Wonderland... there's so much I need to figure out yet... It would be nice if I had somebody to tell... somebody who would care.. who would help, even... I'm scared. But excited.
I KNOW I would be an incredible intern... I'm just worried about proving it to them.
I have little confidence in my letter writing ability. If I got an audition I know I could show them...
"Speech is a last resort... you may speak only after you have expressed yourself every other way and you can do nothing else but let your voice explode from your body."
Concise articulation. I need to work on that.

I sat there for hours, thinking you might like a flower

I haven't changed.
Not really. I'm still the kid that built a catapult. I still can't spell. I still become immensely happy when it is foggy. I still make "man-with-an-axe" (and various other) contingency-plans. I still dance in the rain. I still bake things full of food dye for the joy of "BRIGHT GREEN FOOD". I still practice "strategic sitting" (falling over). I still get stuck in trees. I still grin at strangers. I still die a little of joy inside whenever I smell quintessentially "clean" air. I still sing loudly when nobody is around and dance with Roy until he squirms from my arms...
Although I have stopped thinking "What the hell kind of name is 'Roy'?!" and "I have to do something with myself!"... I'd like to see that as some form of 'progress'.

But I digress... it comes down to the fact that I truly, simply, deeply enjoy sharing existence with you.


I'm calmer now. Rational. I hope I didn't scare you with my torrent of "what I have never said".
The more I think about it the clearer it is. I can see the entire thing. How everything lead to this point. I'll explain.. but not now (it will take a few hours yet before I can put it into words).
I'm not as intelligent as I seem.... not when it comes to real life. My knowledge is based in ideals, theories.. I'm easily thrown by the tiniest of moments.
Like the old man asleep on the bus that made me cry.
Or how all the trees in the park were on a lean so I hugged them all; with this vague sweetly-stupid idea of hope inside - hoping they would feel better and stand tall.
Anyhow that's beside the point... what I'm getting at is that life, real life, my real life, I define entirely in terms of this.

"i love you i love you i love you i love you. you're the sweetest thing since sliced tulips."

Por siempre,
-your Frin.

I am a poster girl with no poster, I am thirty-two flavors and then some

--**This entry has been removed as it was fabricated - I was trying to be someone I am not. Thankfully, I failed **--

This little girl breaks laws

"You should see yourself... When will you grow up?"

I'm inarticulate. It bothers me. He treats me like a child. I speak as if I am a fool.
Youth in contemporary society are taught not to articulate their thoughts. Culturally, socially, they are oppressed into specific personality types then ostracised if they do not fit.
"She is like you....
You are little girls in big women brain shoes, really."

Did you ever look, did you ever see that one person

...and the subtle way that they do these things and it hurts so much, so much like choking down the embers of a great blaze...


I'm being childish about this.
I could understand if I accepted.... but there's no such thing as a universal model, is there...? A Grand Unified Theory... I haven't come up with one yet.... it's bothersome. Frustrating.

"Truth." It's still elusive.

It seems like every one's "in the same boat" . Would it be like this if there were different social reactions? It's everywhere. There's a finite number of times the wave function can collapse and have Schrodinger's cat alive. Alive. Alive. Alive.... Dead.

Things physics doesn't explain... (yet)

(see also: rhetorics)

Nibbling at the fruit of the melancholy tree

His name was "Jeff". We had the same top hat. Thanks to him, the final part of my evening at the Zen 'Children Of The Night' party was lovely. :)
"May I sit by you?"
"Go ahead!"
"..Sooo.. what brought you to wear such a dashing top hat to this little party?"

Much better than:
"May I join you in this corner?"
"Yes, sure."
"....."
"....."
"Umm.. how was your evening..?"
"Uh, nice.. up and down. You?"
"..Same. Heh."
"Hah. Yeah, umm.. bye."

I still don't quite 'get' social interaction. Eh. I should just get a PhD in Physics and make that my excuse; "Sorry, I'm just not used to people. I spend my time musing over elementary particles and devising a way to create the Grand Unified Theory... *cough* It's a nice evening though..." ..I probably could get away with saying that sort of thing anyhow, it is after all mostly true.

Actually... I get some sociality.. I'm just not taking first prize for interacting with people who don't want to interact with me...*pause for laughter*... it's a skill that I used to have though, so this frustrates me. [annoyance] FUCKING FUCK. [/anger]

I'm probably just hurt because a person I knew for only a few hours was kinder and gave me more respect than people I've adored and worked with intimately for the past 6 months. *sigh*
..."Brought up by Disney movies to believe that if we're good enough, if we put enough "heart" into it, they'll see us for what we are, then accept and appreciate that. LIES."

Still feels ..(sporadically).. Wrong.

It starts with an "A"! Aardvark, Aardvark!

I was hurt.
Badly.

I forgot I could be this hurt. I thought I'd overcome it... James told me "You're only human." and... I I'd forgotten that.

I didn't even realize just how deep the pain ran until tonight. It'd been there but I overlooked it.

I felt constantly uncomfortable. Unsettled. Bothered. But the 'why' eluded me until about half an hour ago. (Was it obvious to everybody else? ..Am I the only one that didn't see it?)

...the question is, now I know, how do I fix this?
Perhaps asking that question is a step in doing so.

When the war is over got to get away

"Life is no cabaret.. we don't care what you say.. we're inviting you anyway.. you motherfuckers you'll sing someday!!"

Drunkenly wandering other people's unfinished houses and swigging from the bottle while standing in a half built jacuzzi, it occurred to me "I will remember this forever."
The rain started just as I climbed into a house frame without a roof.

I was one of those nights;
Totally worth it.

We all had delusions in our heads

Who knows, maybe I will change my mind again or realize something else further down the road. I'm comfortable with the idea of constantly evolving, rather than heading towards some inevitable goal. That's what life really is, I think.
...
Perhaps.
I talked to Kaylie today. I said more than I meant to. I don't regret it.
I can tell myself I know... and if I change my mind again, well then, I'll see how I think about it then.

“The future you have, tomorrow, won’t be the same future you had, yesterday.”
-Rant Casey

We choose between reality and madness

"I find myself stumped on something I'm trying to say" -Jason Webley

The following is an e-mail I wrote to Steven Mitchell Wright -Zen Zen Zo Teaching Artist- of my recent thoughts. I shan't send because in writing it, it served it's purpose... (the only thing it's missing is the word "discombobulating") ... Also, in the spirit of "truthfulness", another reason I won't send it is that I think I already know the answers... but I'm not comfortable with them. Not to mention the whole thing is written in the style of Buffalo buffalo Buffalo ect; Wank wank Wank wank wank wank (rec).
Perhaps the main reason, however, I'm not sending this is because I want his respect. And showing my 'doubtful, always questioning' side isn't something I do until I've determined I have that persons trust in me equal to my trust in them.

Steven,

I have not decided I will send this yet, but am writing it anyhow. As an experiment. As a form of expression. And, perhaps, as a way to figure out what I actually think about things. Setting them all out in the order that can only really be achieved through a typed letter. E-mail, I know, is a rather... impersonal medium (indeed, I don't even know if you check yours) but, never the less, I carry on.
First of all, let me start with what I'm after in sending this: I've been thinking quite a bit of late and I'd like to present my ideas to somebody I trust and respect and to say; "this is what I've come up with and I'd like you to tell me if I'm being absurd, please. Impart wisdom. Be nostalgic, I just want your opinion."
I hope that's not out of line and unfair to ask of you, but as I look to you as a 'teaching' figure (of sorts) it seemed appropriate. Also, a lot of the issue's I've been pondering have come up in Butoh classes and it seems natural to ask you in regards to them...
I believe what I need right now is down to earth, frank, "truthful" (we'll get to why I put that in inverted comma's in a minute), sensible discussion.
Prior to plunging on any further, I should perhaps provide you with some more 'back story'...
What you told me when I asked for help (or rather, looked pathetic and waved my arms in a defeated manner... I didn't even allow myself to voice it) after class this week wasn't... it wasn't what I was seeking. Though it was doubtless something that did indeed help, I already knew it. I could have sorted myself out without your input in that regard - not that I don't value it; I do. (Before I go any further I'd like to thank you. Deeply. "Truly" -if you will- for how far I've come due to your classes. Thank you, Steven.) I think what I actually wanted to ask was something along the lines of what's written above "I've thought about truth, I'm having difficulty, would you mind hearing me out and telling me your thoughts, please?"

Ok, enough preamble; truth.
I've always thought something 'true' was... inexorable. Yet these days I have such control over myself (and therefore, in turn, my world) it feels like everything has to be manufactured. Or, even if it isn't manufactured, I still have the ability to step in at any moment and alter it so it becomes so.
That is not inexorable. That does not seem like truth. Isn't truth unavoidable? Untameable? Something that you simply MUST do?
Is everything an act? Nobody is simply one dimensional, one person... they change, situation to situation, encounter to encounter ("We are what our situations hand us").
What is "being yourself"? Am I myself? (I seriously had to fight the urge to type "How am I not myself?" just then; it seemed rather cliché... is all of this cliché?) I don't understand.... I mean.. what if EVERYTHING is an act.. because it is really, isn't it? Just in varying degrees. ("All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts")
My every behaviour is measured and calculated within the boundaries that have been set up over my lifetime and as those boundaries and rules change constantly, I adapt to them; learning. Changing. There is no constant. So how can I be "myself" if I'm not sure what that is... or even if it exists..? Every thing's entirely under my control. And perhaps that's the point. Perhaps that's what I've been inadvertently working towards, which is fair enough, but, now that I'm here, how do I deal with such a thing?
Truth is elusive. Truth is fleeting. And, to tell the truth, I don't even know where to find it any more.

I think this also came about because I was finding things "Too easy"... almost "Too beautiful." I missed the fire. The struggle. The "I have to fight my way through this" and the feeling of being "alive" it brings with it. For some reason I'm now thinking of the phrase "Everyone learns faster on fire".
One of my favourite pieces of advice I've ever gotten was "Get over yourself." I need to remember that. I need to let go. I realise how self-indulgent this is of me, so I shall wrap up now.

I'd like to claim the above was written whilst drunk... or affected by some thing in some way - to say that it wasn't all "truth" and to pass it off so as to protect myself from hurt; in case you neglect to reply, or care, or any of the situations wherein the outcome could be considered "bad"... but I shan't, because I am not.
Admittedly it is rather early in the morning and I am without sleep, but that is not unusual, and hardly an "excuse for pouring my heart out".
Finally, I apologise for my garrulous nature and hope that, in the very least, this letter was not a waste of your time, for I do not believe it was a waste of mine.

Sincerely,

-Frin

Dust In The Wind.... All we are is dust in the wind

The Truth 101:

The Truth is a lie.
Fuck truth.
There is no truth.
It's all an act.
What is reality?
Nobody is simply one person... it changes, situation to situation, encounter to encounter.
Truth is fleeting.
Truth is elusive.
And, to tell the truth, I don't even know where to find it any more.

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts

You're my first witness, and I'm here to stay

"I performed in my underwear..."
"Again?"

*smile*
I like teaching my kids.
I want a co-director credit.
Here's hoping!


Going through photo's on DeviantArt gives me faith in humanity. There is GOOD out there. Joy. Love. Play. I like this. Sometimes I can't find it... do I search in the wrong places? Just once I'd like to see somebody else playing puddle jump, or don't-step-on-the-cracks or... anything. What happened to playing in public? Public happiness; is it taboo these days...?

.....I need a unicycle.

You're walking, walking, walking, walking, walking away....

I get it now.

Sort of.

I'm happy.

But, it feels like I'm lying to myself.... because, is happiness possible?
I mean, being this happy actually feels wrong.
It's like I miss the intensity and the "I can't think because I'm feeling so damn much" of being miserable.

That doesn't seem right.



Trust
Acceptance
Learning
Thinking
Physical feeling


Shit. I think I'm obtaining enlightenment.

It just sat there, looking benign, yet chunky. You know; train-like.

Above us, only sky

\These violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume; the sweetest honey is loathsome in its own deliciousness and in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
(Shakespeare: Friar Laurence – learnt almost entirely by osmosis)

Even now I can see in my mind Steven booming out the above lines (sweat pouring from his reddened face) during the Shakuhachi of the first Stomp I had ever seen. It was amazing... beautiful.
I imagine, years from now, hearing somebody saying they married young and smiling softly to myself thinking; "I was married when I was eighteen and I was afraid of my husband because he was a teacher and I was hardly out of school. In those days he seemed to me terribly learned, clever and important. But now, unfortunately, it is different." It's amazing how much one week has changed my life so.
I'm excited and therefore terrified about the future. Now there's point, but with meaning comes risk.

On this stage, on this stage

Life is... amazing.
Right now I am just so... happy to be where I am. I'm on my way to WORKING WITH ZEN ZEN ZO!! It doesn't get much better than this.