This evening somebody said something interesting to me. " Im a greebo, i like most of the other different types of people though." she was a really lovely girl, really cheery. really nice. But different TYPES of people?
I have always been brought up to think "peoples people" essentially were all human, its not like dogs where you then get seperate breeds of dogs. we arent a mixture of mongrels, great dames, and terriers. All of us are the same . Dalmations maybe? The same beautiful dog, but each with the unique characteristics on their coat. I dont know, what dog would represent humanity?
I understand that people like having little subcultures such as greebo, goth, emo, hipster , whatever. but they change so regularly, and so fluidly. its nice to be part of a community of people with similar interests but when your young interests change so often. your 'group' shouldnt define you and who your friends are.
At the end of the day we all love, we all laugh, we all cry, we make friends. but we are all different. were each so different to our parents, our siblings, even our best friends. we are all so unique. and sometimes to bond yourself to a group or a person so strongly is isolating, and restricts you from finding you true self and others from finding theirs.
We all need the courage to stand on our own. And to not let whats ''cool'' define us but instead what we love.
3.09.2011
2.25.2011
Etre porte sur la chose :S (to have a one track mind..)
Ills on chope la chtouille dans un clapue parisien et ont failli se faire casser la figure par le mac!
(They got a dose of the clap in a parisian whorehouse and almost had their faces smashed in by the pimp!)
My mum gave me a book on streetwise french. the slang. its a very good book. but the language is so crass it makes me cringe, the words i would never even say in english some of them are so very offensive and racist and just erghh so vulgar! Every page i open of it seems to be about how to have phone sex in french, or call up a prostiute, theres even two chapters on l'enculage (gay sex, literally buttfucking). and it goes into a lot of detail about all of the activities involved in these instances. i am a little confused about why my mother of all people, is wanting me to learn such depraved, vulgar things in different language, that i wouldnt even talk about now. there is deffinately nothing beuatiful about the slang french, it is not the language of love!
i have always loved languages. when i was at school my family used to speak only in french so that it became so natural to us children. i used to love how it feels to find a word you never new and slip it into a sentence. it was like a luxury that you are free to indulge in everday. when i was really young i would even think in french for fear tht some one could read my thoughts. i thought that if someone was trying to read my thoughts they would just give up. translating and mind reading is too much effort for a 8 year old!
i did languages at secondary school, french spanish and german gcses. but had to quit a week before the exams because i had taken on way to much with my illness, and at the time could barely speak english.
i dont regret my desicison because i know i could never have got through the exams, but not having a modern language qualification (even though i use the langue on a regular basis where as the rest of my class probably forgot everything long ago) has really limited my uni options.
i miss feeling the words rolling round, and deciding whish to pick. and its just lovely! i have decided to learn lots of languages. it will benefit my career and just be wonderful!
i have always wanted to learn swahili (kishwahli), and to have a more natural grasp of spanish and so this is where i am starting. i have found a swahili learning scheme, and am quite excited! ive even had a lesson in turkish :)
(They got a dose of the clap in a parisian whorehouse and almost had their faces smashed in by the pimp!)
My mum gave me a book on streetwise french. the slang. its a very good book. but the language is so crass it makes me cringe, the words i would never even say in english some of them are so very offensive and racist and just erghh so vulgar! Every page i open of it seems to be about how to have phone sex in french, or call up a prostiute, theres even two chapters on l'enculage (gay sex, literally buttfucking). and it goes into a lot of detail about all of the activities involved in these instances. i am a little confused about why my mother of all people, is wanting me to learn such depraved, vulgar things in different language, that i wouldnt even talk about now. there is deffinately nothing beuatiful about the slang french, it is not the language of love!
i have always loved languages. when i was at school my family used to speak only in french so that it became so natural to us children. i used to love how it feels to find a word you never new and slip it into a sentence. it was like a luxury that you are free to indulge in everday. when i was really young i would even think in french for fear tht some one could read my thoughts. i thought that if someone was trying to read my thoughts they would just give up. translating and mind reading is too much effort for a 8 year old!
i did languages at secondary school, french spanish and german gcses. but had to quit a week before the exams because i had taken on way to much with my illness, and at the time could barely speak english.
i dont regret my desicison because i know i could never have got through the exams, but not having a modern language qualification (even though i use the langue on a regular basis where as the rest of my class probably forgot everything long ago) has really limited my uni options.
i miss feeling the words rolling round, and deciding whish to pick. and its just lovely! i have decided to learn lots of languages. it will benefit my career and just be wonderful!
i have always wanted to learn swahili (kishwahli), and to have a more natural grasp of spanish and so this is where i am starting. i have found a swahili learning scheme, and am quite excited! ive even had a lesson in turkish :)
2.17.2011
Life after Death
When a lovely elephant dies in the wild and all the animals come and scavage after it, effectively making 5 tonnes into 6millions callories. The magots eat 70% of it, all the little cavaties the larger animals cant eat, then the other animals eat the maggots.
Its utterly disgusting. Yet at the same time quite beautiful. to know that your death is providing other animals with food and life.
Having studyied archeology and hating the idea of digging up a body, and disturbing a human soul. i have always wanted to be burnt. but now i wonder if thats selfish.
On one side of the weighing scales is giving "lovely" maggots and other bugs life as they make a stinking soup out of me and some poor person diggs me up years ahead and suffers emotional trauma, and on the otherside nobody gets hurt and i just disappear into thin air somewhere. but then again maybe me husband will be the deeply affected time that cant stop thinking about flames enveloping my body and then hangs on to my ashes in our poxy flat untill the day he dies and no one even knows what this funny little box on the mantel piece is.
Maybe i should just have myself thrown into the pirhanna tank at the aquariame (when there is no little kids there watching obviouslsy!) pirhannas sound nicer then maggots, and the smell much less i imagine. Plus it must cost the aqauriame a lot to buy all that meat!
Im not being depressive. I am actually really excited that even when your dead you can give life. I have many years to go but its a nice thought.
Its utterly disgusting. Yet at the same time quite beautiful. to know that your death is providing other animals with food and life.
Having studyied archeology and hating the idea of digging up a body, and disturbing a human soul. i have always wanted to be burnt. but now i wonder if thats selfish.
On one side of the weighing scales is giving "lovely" maggots and other bugs life as they make a stinking soup out of me and some poor person diggs me up years ahead and suffers emotional trauma, and on the otherside nobody gets hurt and i just disappear into thin air somewhere. but then again maybe me husband will be the deeply affected time that cant stop thinking about flames enveloping my body and then hangs on to my ashes in our poxy flat untill the day he dies and no one even knows what this funny little box on the mantel piece is.
Maybe i should just have myself thrown into the pirhanna tank at the aquariame (when there is no little kids there watching obviouslsy!) pirhannas sound nicer then maggots, and the smell much less i imagine. Plus it must cost the aqauriame a lot to buy all that meat!
Im not being depressive. I am actually really excited that even when your dead you can give life. I have many years to go but its a nice thought.
2.01.2011
Attitude
Charles Swindoll wrote...'The longer I live, the more I realise the impact of attitude on life. Attitude to me is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, than education, than money, than circumstances, than failures, than success, than what other people think or do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness or skill.
It will make or break a company, a church or a home.
The remarkable thing is we have a choice every day regarding the attitude we will embrace for the day. We cannot change our past...we cannot change that people will react in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one thing we do have and that is our attitude...
I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it. And so it is with you...we are in charge of our attitudes.'
1.29.2011
Palin
Never ever do i think i have laughed so hard as when micheal palin says "mmm"
its not even that funny, but for some reason it just cracks me up repeatedly. Time and time again!
He is a curious man.
and that is his opening line. open a door, take a spllit second glance at a map go 'mmmm' and suddenly the map becomes magically animated! it is bizzaree
its not even that funny, but for some reason it just cracks me up repeatedly. Time and time again!
He is a curious man.
and that is his opening line. open a door, take a spllit second glance at a map go 'mmmm' and suddenly the map becomes magically animated! it is bizzaree
Breathe Me
Its nice to breathe.
I know we all breath on a regular basis. but how often have you really paid attention to your breathing, and to feel the strength build up with inhale and then the tension slip away like your melting. it makes you feel a bit like custard. i quite like this idea. for a while i existed solely as custard builing up like a wave and then falling back into the cooking pot again to be as one with the custard. it sounds silly. but it is such a peaceful thing. it is like a reminder that you have little control over this world, you breath in and feel like you have the control, and you are the master of your own destiny ( i no were only talking about split second breathing here!) but then ultimately you have to let go again and submit yourself to nature. Its nice.
There are people living on boats in the middle of the sea of indonesia who have barely set foot on land, all they eat and live with comes from the ocean floor. So they can hold there breath for astonishing amounts of time. one man could do so for 6 minutes! Now theres a challange for the competative!
I went to a dance a few nights ago called Breathe Me. It was a man and a woman, they were married and argued ALL the time! the dance consisted of verbal fights and dancy fights, the lady was developing a mental health issue and becoming scared and paranoid. the dancing was beutiful, especially a scene when they were asleep in bed twisting and dancing with the sheet. the lady was so graceful and thin yet in a half asleep eyes shut slumber could pick up a tall muscley man and swing him so easily around her body like a pillow, never faltering her slumbery expression. it certianly was a feat, and beautiful to see. eventually the man realised she needed help, but the ending was so sad and heartwrenching. a freind said it was beautiful, which it truely was, and even the set was beautifully produced and really well choreographed. but at the same time it was so sad, and laid heavy on your heart. she didnt let him breathe, cos she was so full of panic she could not breath herself. they were co existing in a tense, emotional, stressed suffocating atmosphere. It seemed like the perfect portrayal of marridge in the western world.
It certianly enforced my cry of independance!
I know we all breath on a regular basis. but how often have you really paid attention to your breathing, and to feel the strength build up with inhale and then the tension slip away like your melting. it makes you feel a bit like custard. i quite like this idea. for a while i existed solely as custard builing up like a wave and then falling back into the cooking pot again to be as one with the custard. it sounds silly. but it is such a peaceful thing. it is like a reminder that you have little control over this world, you breath in and feel like you have the control, and you are the master of your own destiny ( i no were only talking about split second breathing here!) but then ultimately you have to let go again and submit yourself to nature. Its nice.
There are people living on boats in the middle of the sea of indonesia who have barely set foot on land, all they eat and live with comes from the ocean floor. So they can hold there breath for astonishing amounts of time. one man could do so for 6 minutes! Now theres a challange for the competative!
I went to a dance a few nights ago called Breathe Me. It was a man and a woman, they were married and argued ALL the time! the dance consisted of verbal fights and dancy fights, the lady was developing a mental health issue and becoming scared and paranoid. the dancing was beutiful, especially a scene when they were asleep in bed twisting and dancing with the sheet. the lady was so graceful and thin yet in a half asleep eyes shut slumber could pick up a tall muscley man and swing him so easily around her body like a pillow, never faltering her slumbery expression. it certianly was a feat, and beautiful to see. eventually the man realised she needed help, but the ending was so sad and heartwrenching. a freind said it was beautiful, which it truely was, and even the set was beautifully produced and really well choreographed. but at the same time it was so sad, and laid heavy on your heart. she didnt let him breathe, cos she was so full of panic she could not breath herself. they were co existing in a tense, emotional, stressed suffocating atmosphere. It seemed like the perfect portrayal of marridge in the western world.
It certianly enforced my cry of independance!
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